The King of Jam Sandwiches Read online

  I climbed the stairs and got into bed. I crawled back into my sleeping bag, pulled the zipper up and pushed my head down, so I was almost completely covered. I held my breath and listened. I was hoping he’d played himself out, that by going downstairs I had calmed him enough that he’d let me sleep for what was left of the night.

  I heard Candy’s toenails clicking up the stairs. She padded into my bedroom and jumped onto my bed. I opened the zipper of my sleeping bag, and she climbed in beside me. She was warm and soft, and even with her stinky dog breath, it felt good when she started to lick my face.

  “Don’t worry, girl. It’ll be okay.” I said that to her a lot. “No matter what happens, I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

  I knew my father would likely be alive in the morning. Sometimes I thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be better if he did die. Then I could stop anticipating the worst and get on with it. Waiting was hard, but it was all part of the plan. One more day down. One more day closer.

  TWO

  The next morning when my eyes popped open, I didn’t know what was happening for a split second. I had kicked off my sleeping bag, and Candy was gone. I’d managed to go back to sleep, but what time was it now? It was light, and I could read the clock. Six twenty-five. The alarm was set for six thirty, but I always seemed to wake up just before the alarm.

  As I climbed out of bed, the memories of the previous night all flooded back. It was like a dream. Actually, more like a nightmare. Or one of those movies where they keep killing the monster and it keeps coming back to life. Except this monster hadn’t died—it had only threatened to die.

  I stopped moving and listened. There were no sounds. Nothing. My father had probably left for work. His job was on the far side of the city, and he had to be out early to beat the traffic. He was already gone. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. Or dead. It was like an echo in my head. What if I walked downstairs and found him slumped over the table or lying on the floor? I couldn’t let myself think like that. He had gone to work. Simple as that. But I wouldn’t know for sure until I went downstairs. I didn’t want to do it alone.

  I whistled, and almost instantly I heard Candy’s toenails tapping along the floor and racing up the stairs. She jumped against me, practically knocking me backward and off my feet.

  I walked over to my dresser, pulled out the bottom drawer and rearranged the clothing so I could pull out the notebook. A pen clipped in the middle opened it to the right place. Taking the pen, I crossed out 1,627 and wrote 1,626 instead. I closed the notebook and hid it away again.

  I walked down the hall, Candy at my heels, and hesitated before looking into my father’s room. He wasn’t in there. No body. The bed hadn’t been slept in. That meant he had slept on the couch. He did that a lot. Or maybe it meant he was downstairs. Dead.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I muttered under my breath.

  I went down the stairs but stopped before entering the kitchen. What would I do if he was dead? Would I just go to school and take my test and act like nothing was wrong? I was pretty good at pretending nothing was wrong.

  There was something I could do before I looked into the kitchen. I spun around, went to the front window and looked outside. The car wasn’t in the driveway. My father had gone to work. He wasn’t dead. Not today, at least.

  Life was going to go on, and there was so much I had to do before I could leave for school. I ran back upstairs with Candy barking and nipping at my heels. For her this was a game. I peeled off my pajama top, threw some water on my face and then, using a little sliver of soap and a facecloth that wasn’t much more than a rag, I washed my pits.

  Back in my room I looked through the pile of clothes on the floor waiting to be washed. It wasn’t like I had many clothes, but it had been a while since I’d done any laundry because we were out of detergent.

  My pants were clean enough, so there was no problem there. I picked up a shirt and did the smell test. It didn’t pass inspection. I tossed it into the corner and grabbed another one. Before I even smelled it, I noticed a red stain. Spaghetti sauce. I tossed that shirt over with the first one and picked up a third. This one passed both tests.

  There wasn’t time to walk Candy, eat breakfast, study a bit more, pack my lunch and get to school without being late. I put her out in the backyard. She deserved better, but I’d make it up to her later.

  The aroma of the pizza wafting through the air signaled it was almost lunchtime. On pizza days everyone seemed a little more excited than usual. Of course, I just had my usual crappy jam sandwich. I didn’t have any extra money to buy pizza.

  The bell finally rang, and people jumped up and rushed for the door. I grabbed my stuff too.

  “Robbie, can you wait a second?” asked Mr. Yeoman. He was my homeroom and language arts teacher.

  “Um, sure.” I felt anxious. I had the stupidest thought, that he was going to tell me I’d done badly on the test we’d taken, but he wouldn’t have marked it yet, and besides, I knew I’d done well. I always did well.

  Sal, my best friend since second grade, stopped beside my desk and leaned in close. “Don’t worry,” he said.

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Sure you’re not. He probably wants to tell you why you’re his favorite student. See you in the caf.”

  Sal and I ate lunch together every day. It was Sal, me, Taylor, Raj and Jay. That was my pack, and we’d eaten together almost every day from seventh grade on. We always sat in the same place in the cafeteria, and we talked about movies and superheroes and school and sports.

  “And, Harmony, can you stay as well?” Mr. Yeoman called out.

  Harmony was new—this was her first day. I looked at her, and she scowled at me. As the last couple of stragglers left the room, I waited beside Mr. Yeoman’s desk. He and I both waited as Harmony slowly gathered her stuff and then, even more slowly, made her way up to the front.

  “Harmony,” Mr. Yeoman began, “this is a big school, and it can take some getting used to. So, Robbie, I want you to show her around, help her settle in.”

  “Him?” The look on Harmony’s face had changed from complete disdain to complete disgust.

  “Me?” What was Mr. Yeoman thinking? This was not a good idea at all.

  “Yes, you, Robbie. You can be Harmony’s guide for the next day or so.” He turned to Harmony. “He’s very responsible. Very mature.”

  She snorted.

  “It’s time for lunch, so Robbie will show you where the cafeteria is. I’m sure he’ll even let you sit at his table, won’t you, Robbie?”

  “Sure…if she wants.”

  Harmony’s expression made it clear she most certainly did not want to do that. I wasn’t so thrilled with it either, and I didn’t know how the guys would feel about it.

  “I started a new school when I was about your age, and I remember how tough it was, so I thought you could use a little help,” Mr. Yeoman explained.

  “I don’t need any help,” Harmony said.

  “Everybody needs help. Now off you go. Robbie, you’re in charge. Understand?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Now go get some lunch.”

  I left the room first. Harmony was a few steps behind me. When she stepped out into the hall, she made a hard turn to the right.

  “Wait, the cafeteria is this way!”

  She kept walking. I looked back through the open classroom door, hoping Mr. Yeoman hadn’t heard.

  “Go get her!” he called.

  Great. She had already turned a corner and gone out of sight. I ran after her.

  “Wait!”

  She stopped, turned and scowled. Was that her only expression?

  “The cafeteria is the other way.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I’m supposed to take you to the cafeteria.”

  “You’re not taking me anywhere,” she snapped.

  “But Mr. Yeoman told me to—”

  “Screw him and screw you.”

  I felt
a rush of anger and almost yelled, Screw you too. But I knew that wouldn’t help. I took a deep breath.

  “Look, I know a school this big, with this many people, can be scary.”

  “Do I look scared?”

  She didn’t look scared. She looked scary. But it occurred to me that maybe she was so nervous she was trying extra hard not to look scared. Like when people laugh when they really want to cry.

  “You can come to my table and sit with me and my friends.”

  “You have friends?” she asked.

  “What?” Did she really just say what I think she said?

  “I was just surprised that you have friends. I thought he wanted me to sit with you so you wouldn’t have to sit by yourself anymore.”

  “I’ve got lots of friends,” I replied, puffing up a bit. Okay, maybe not lots, but really, who had more than a few?

  “I just thought your mummy was your best friend.”

  “What?” What a jerk! Why was I wasting my time with this girl? If she didn’t want to come with me, well, who cared?

  “It’s just that it looks like your mummy dresses you…and probably in the dark.”

  I felt the pit of my stomach tighten and anger starting to form. I couldn’t let that happen. I took another deep breath to calm myself.

  But when she turned and started to walk away, I reached out and grabbed her arm. Quick as lightning, she brushed off my arm, spun around and glared at me. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” she said, eyes blazing.

  I was shocked. I hadn’t meant to grab her. I had just reacted.

  “If you ever touch me again, I’ll pop you in the nose.”

  “You’re going to pop me in the nose?” I said with a nervous laugh. “What is this, a cartoon?”

  “Go away and leave me alone or I’m going to smack you.”

  “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do. I’m just trying to—”

  Her fist smashed into my nose, and pain shot up into my skull. I staggered backward and screamed.

  “What did you do?” I yelled through my hands, which were clutching my nose—my bleeding nose. I felt my eyes tearing up.

  “I did what I told you I was going to do.”

  “Are you crazy?” I blinked back the tears. Bleeding was bad enough. I didn’t need to add tears.

  “Do you want another?” she asked.

  I took a slight step back and held out one bloody hand to try to protect myself. If she tried to hit me again, I’d show her exactly what—

  “What is going on here?” a deep voice asked.

  I spun around. It was Mr. Arseneau, the school principal.

  “Your nose! What happened?” he demanded. He sounded angry, but he looked concerned.

  “Were you two fighting?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I don’t do that…not anymore.”

  “Did she hit you?”

  I looked back at Harmony. Now she did look scared.

  I wanted to swear at her. I wanted to hit her—at least, I wanted to tell the principal what had happened. I wasn’t going to do any of those things.

  “No, sir, of course not, sir…I just fell…tripped on my feet and smashed into the locker.” I pointed at the row of lockers like somehow they would verify my story.

  His expression changed to disbelief. “Really? Is that what happened?”

  “Yes, sir. Ask Harmony.”

  Harmony hesitated for a second before replying. “I didn’t see him fall against anything.”

  What was she doing? Was she trying to get us suspended?

  “But I heard a big smash,” she continued. “Like somebody had kicked the locker. I turned around and saw him picking himself up off the floor.”

  Wow, she described it so convincingly I could almost picture it happening.

  “And I feel bad because it was all my fault,” she continued.

  Yeah, of course it was. But why tell a lie and then follow it up with the truth?

  “Robert was acting as my guide,” said Harmony.

  Robert? Nobody ever called me Robert.

  “Mr. Yeoman sent Robert after me. He saw that I got turned around, and Robert was coming after me to bring me to the cafeteria and he was running, and that’s when he fell and that’s why it’s my fault. If I’d have known where I was going in the first place, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s exactly what happened,” I said.

  Mr. Arseneau looked like he didn’t believe our story. I gave him a bit more.

  “If she had punched me, I would want her to be suspended.”

  “And I wouldn’t have any choice. You certainly know the rules about that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Let’s take a look at that nose,” he said.

  As I took my hand away, some blood dripped onto the floor. Mr. Arseneau carefully put two fingers on the bridge of my nose and gave it a little wiggle.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s good. I don’t think it’s broken, but you should go to the office and get some ice on it to keep down the swelling.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you should go with him,” he said to Harmony.

  “Me?” she asked.

  “It’s Harmony, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must be new.”

  “She started today,” I said.

  “Welcome to Osler Middle School. I’ll assure you we’re not usually this exciting.”

  “I don’t mind a little excitement,” she said.

  Not only did she not mind excitement, but she clearly wasn’t opposed to causing it either.

  THREE

  Mr. Arseneau got a call on his radio—he was needed someplace else. He told us again to go to the office and then rushed off.

  “You don’t have to go with me,” I said.

  “I have nowhere else I have to be.”

  “It’s this way.”

  I noticed I was still leaving a little trail of blood droplets behind me. A few kids stared as we passed. Thankfully, none were people I really knew. And I was even more grateful that nobody had seen what had really happened.

  “Why didn’t you tell him that I punched you?” Harmony asked.

  “I’m no rat. I didn’t want to get you suspended.”

  “Would he really have suspended me?”

  “School policy. You fight, you get suspended. First offense, one day. Second, three days, and the third is a full week.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever want a few days off,” she said. “Why do you even care if I’m suspended?”

  “According to Mr. Yeoman, I’m supposed to take care of you…at least for a few days.”

  She laughed. “I can take care of myself. Probably better than you can.” She paused. “But you certainly can take a punch.”

  “Gee, thanks…although instead of insulting me, maybe you should be thanking me for not turning you in.”

  “Maybe you should think more about not annoying me so I don’t have to punch you again.”

  More kids stared as we passed them.

  “And maybe you should keep your voice down so somebody else doesn’t tell the office what really happened and you do get suspended for fighting.”

  “Fighting? That would involve you trying to hit me back instead of just bleeding all over everything.”

  I wanted to tell her that if she ever did this again, she’d get the fight she wanted so bad. But instead I said, “How about we just shut up about this and never tell anybody what really happened.”

  “Sure. We could shake on it, but I don’t want your blood on me.”

  I was still dripping. Some of it was on my shirt and some was on my pants and there were even a few specks on my left shoe.

  “Here we are,” I said as we got to the office. There were a couple of kids sitting in chairs, and I was relieved I didn’t recognize either of them.

  “Actually, if you think abou
t it, you are showing me around the school,” Harmony said. “Knowing where the office is will probably come in handy.”

  We walked up to the counter.

  “Oh my goodness!” said Mrs. Henry, the head secretary, when she saw my face. “Robbie, what happened?”

  “I tripped. Mr. Arseneau sent me here to get cleaned up and get some ice.”

  “And you?” she asked Harmony.

  “I was told to bring Robert here.”

  “Wait…aren’t you the one who just started here today?”

  “Yeah,” said Harmony.

  “Would you mind going and getting me some wet paper towels?” asked Mrs. Henry.

  “Me?” Harmony asked.

  “Yes. The washroom is just off to the left. Thanks, hon.”

  I expected Harmony to refuse or say something sarcastic. Instead she turned and walked away, heading for the washroom. Mrs. Henry opened the office fridge, pulled out a little plastic bag filled with ice and handed it to me.

  “Sit,” she ordered.

  I took one of the remaining seats, and she knelt down beside me.

  “Hold it right there,” she said, pressing the bag to my face.

  The bag was cold and felt good.

  She turned to the two students sitting beside me. “You two go grab lunch and then come back closer to the bell.”

  They didn’t need to be told twice. They got up and raced down the hall.

  “So you tripped, did you?” she asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “And you couldn’t get your hands up in time?”

  “I tried, but I’m clumsy. My father says I’m still growing into my feet.”

  “And you’re sure you weren’t in a fight?” she asked.

  “Positive.”

  Harmony reappeared with a mass of sopping paper towels. She handed them all to me. Water dripped onto my pants as I started to try to wipe away the blood.

  The office phone started ringing. Mrs. Henry stood up and said, “Okay, it looks like the bleeding is slowing down. But you should stay put until it stops completely.”