Free The Prince of Neither Here Nor There by Sean Cullen Page A

forgot!”
    Brendan turned back to see his dad digging in his pants pocket. He held up two thin strips of paper. “A friend of mine gave me tickets to a show tomorrow night. He played guitar on her last album so she shot him some freebies. Wanna go with me?”
    Brendan stepped closer and took one of the tickets. “Deirdre D’Anaan,” he whispered.
    “You’ve heard of her?” His father was mildly surprised.
    “Not really,” Brendan said quickly. “Just saw a poster today.”
    “She’s playing Convocation Hall. It’s an early show: 7 pm. Your mum shouldn’t mind too much. I thought we could come home for spaghetti night and then go to the show.”
    Brendan couldn’t stop staring at the ticket. A coincidence? He shivered.
    “Are you all right, B?” his father asked.
    Brendan shook off his chill. “Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Sure, I’d like to go.”
    “Good.” His dad smiled. “Now go wash up. And tell your mother I’ll be there in a minute.”

SECRETS
    The next day, Brendan awoke feeling better. He had slept well, but he knew that his sleep had been filled with vivid dreams. He could barely remember them on waking. He was left with the impression that someone had been searching for him, calling him in a dark and trackless forest, but he had chosen not to make his presence known. He hadn’t been frightened, just not willing to be found.
    He met Dmitri and Harold at the corner of Harbord and Spadina and they got to school in time for homeroom. Brendan had hoped to talk to Kim, but she came in just at the opening bell and plunked into her seat without giving him a chance to say a word.
    The rest of the morning, he bided his time. In English, French, calculus, and biology, he tried to get Kim’s attention, but she was more focused than he’d thought possible on the teachers and the lessons. He decided he would have to wait for lunch, hoping he might get her alone. He didn’t know why it was so important. He just had a feeling that she knew more about Greenleaf than she was saying.
    In gym class, Mr. Davenport was feeling sadistic as usual. He put them through a gruelling session of calisthenics. Brendan didn’t mind the stretching and push-ups. At least there was no chance of him tripping over himself. And when you were doing a push-up, you weren’t a long way from the ground.
    Chester Dallaire was at his best, or worst, depending on your point of view. He had no problem with all the push-ups and sit-ups. Brendan had long ago learned to stay far away from him if possible. To begin with, Chester was the first of their class to really develop B.O. and perfect it. To be exposed up close could lead to watering eyes, hallucinations, paralysis, and, in extreme cases, death. The other reason he kept his distance was the prospect of being the victim of one of Chester’s hilarious “pranks.” Pranks in Chester’s repertoire included supergluing shoes to the floor or holding down a victim and farting into his face. Sometimes, like today, he merely settled for a jolly “pantsing.” 32 Chester waited to strike until Mr. Davenport was busy in the equipment room hunting down a medicine ball. The victim was a skinny kid named Miles Horsten, who stood with his head down and his shorts around his ankles as the class roared with laughter.
    Brendan stood with Harold and Dmitri, but they didn’t join in. They had all been victims in their time and found nothing to laugh at in another kid’s humiliation.
    “I’d like to get that guy,” Harold grumbled.
    “He is a jerker, that’s for sure.”
    “Jerk, Dmitri,” Brendan corrected. “Not jerker.”
    “What?” asked Dmitri.
    “I said he’s not a jerker. He’s a JERK!
    In the uncanny way the world has of wanting to get you destroyed, the laughter chose this very moment to fade out and the whole class heard Brendan pronouncing, very clearly, the word “jerk.” There was an audible gasp.
    Chester Dallaire stiffened. He turned his large face and skewered Brendan in a