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And that, our first interaction, starts our hatred for one another, and nothing Clark Farmer can do will ever make it better.
* * *
“Mom,it’s time to go. I won’t be the first one at school if we don’t leave now.”
“Xander Marcus Lynol, it’s only six a.m., buddy. School starts at eight o’clock. No one is even in the building at this point.”
In her jumbled tone, she’s tired and pulls the sheets over her head—to block out the noise, I’m positive.
I stay near the side of her body and stare at her even though she can’t see me.
“Xander, honey.” Her voice is never raised, even when I push my luck. My mom is my favorite person in this world.
“Liz, what is that incessant noise?”
My face turns ashen at my father’s harsh tone. I can’t see my reflection, but I feel it. I’m not scared of anyone in this world except for the man who’s next to my mom. I don’t know how she puts up with a guy like him. He’s not a good person, not to me, and certainly never to my mom.
“Lyle, baby, go back to sleep.” She brings her index finger to her lips, pointing to Dad and signaling to be silent. “Why don’t I get up and make some pancakes since we have time,” she whispers, pushing back the blankets, sitting up, and taking in my outfit. “Buddy, what’s up with the suit and tie? You’re in your Sunday best.”
“Liz, please.” My father’s deep voice has both of us flinching, and she gently takes my hand, leading us into the hallway.
“Why are you wearing the suit set aside for church?” Mom acts like we go to church every Sunday and that my suit is not just collecting dust in the back of my closet.
“I’m waiting, Xander Marcus.” She extends her four-word sentence for at least twenty seconds. “Okay, so how about this? Let’s go ahead and start some breakfast, and you can tell me what’s going on.” I follow her from their downstairs bedroom to the open kitchen, which is better than most restaurants. “All right, buddy, what will it be? Plain, banana, chocolate chip, or blueberry pancakes?”
She’s buttering me up, and I know it, but who can say no to her pancakes? I can’t. “Mom, for real, do you even have to ask?”
“All right, so a large batch of banana chocolate chip pancakes coming up.” I sit on top of the island, and she doesn’t make me move. I snatch the extra pieces of bananas and chocolate chips. Mom’s coffee has finished brewing, and she flips over the first batch.
“Okay, Xander Marcus Lynol.” Her voice is never stern in her declaration of my full name, but I know she means business. “Who is it this year? Last year it was the little Weaver kid. She beat you in a race on the first day at recess. You competed with her all year, and I was happy when her parents decided to move cross country for a job. But I’m assuming there’s someone who, on the first day of school, is trying to prove that you’re not the best at everything. Am I right?”
I can never lie to my mother, but it doesn’t mean I won’t sit here and act as if I don’t know what she’s saying.
She pours the rest of the batter on the hot griddle. “You know, buddy, us moms, we have eyes in the backs of our heads, and we know everything,” she says, stressing everything with each syllable of the word. “I’ll find out, and then we’ll talk about it.”
My mom is resourceful. I wouldn’t put it past her to interview staff members until she gets the information she wants, but I won’t help her.
I raise my eyes to hers and land a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Mom, for the pancakes. You’re the best.” My mom is the best, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. My dad, on the other hand, can jump into a lake. “Hey, Mom, don’t forget, we have to leave at 7:15,” I remind her as she playfully rolls her eyes. Arguing with me is fruitless, and I give her my thank-you in the form of my large toothy grin.
* * *
I meetthe teachers at the door when they begin admitting children into the building at drop-off time. My mom stubbornly stands next to me because that’s the rule, and she gives anI’m sorrysort of wave at one of the teachers beginning their car duty. Liz Lynol insists on holding my hand even though I’m in third grade now. I walk away, and she pulls me back, kissing me on my forehead. Oh my goodness, how embarrassing. “Have a good day, bud. I love you.” I’m happy no one is around to witness our exchange and begin down the hallway. Soon, I hear footsteps behind me, and as I turn around, the boy with the ridiculous name is hot on my tail. What a jerk. Doesn’t he know I’m the one that is first in everything? I’m better at math. I’m obviously better at Red Light, Green Light. I’m the best at basketball. Now that that stupid Susie Weaver is gone, I’m the fastest on the playground. And today, I’m the best dressed. I hurry, but I’ll only run once he starts running. I beat him to the door, and as I open it, the jerk shoves me into the doorjamb. But I’m the victor. I’m the one who wins. And I get to my seat first, dumping my book bag in my cubby.
Mrs. Reardon looks and sees us both sitting at our desks. She’s a pretty teacher, young and sweet, and she gives us both a kind smile. “Well, look at you two, so punctual.”
I’m the first to acknowledge her with a shake of my head, then continue. “I was first today.”
She’s silent at first until she stops at my appearance. “Well, Xander, look at you. Don’t you look dapper?” I don’t know what she means, but in context, I’m taking it as though I look nice.
“Thank you, Mrs. Reardon. I felt like dressing up today.” I turn my head and give that jerk, Clark Farmer, a toothy grin, which isn’t sweet like the one I had imparted on my mom this morning. It’s more of anI got you, jerkwad.
But that jerk, Clark Farmer, returns the same toothy grin, and it’s not the sweet kind either. In my mind, I’m wondering how I can get rid of this kid. Maybe he’ll leave next year like Susie Weaver. I search for my pencil, and I have a reason to get up to walk past the kid who is already my mortal enemy.
“Jeans and a T-shirt, that’s so kindergarten,” I jest, knowing that will shut him up.
“Well, at least I’m not a brown-nosing nerd.”
Oh, this jerk! Yeah, he’ll be my enemy until I rid him from my life, and I’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours.
