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2
CLARK
This kid has waged war upon me. I may have pushed him a tad, but I didn’t think he’d react like I’m his sworn enemy. The first day of third grade, and I’d been the new kid. He’d been relentless as soon as Mrs. Reardon picked me to lead Red Light, Green Light.
I don’t know what it is about him that gets under my skin. Maybe it’s his slicked-back blond hair, his eyes too close together, or that stupid grin he gives everybody. I want him to go away. I have a whole year with Xander Lynol, and he’s already chosen me as his next victim. The gossip on the playground today was about a girl named Susie Weaver. Apparently, she and Xander competed for everything. The teachers were glad when one of them moved away, but now I’m his next victim in his crazy competition of life. I’ve never backed down from a fight, even in my short eight years, and I don’t plan to now.
“Okay, kids,” Mrs. Reardon calls for us, and we sit in a circle. “We’re about to play a friendly game of addition flashcards.” She points to half the circle. “You guys form one line,” she instructs and looks at the other part of us, “and you all form another line.”
We’re all side-by-side in two lines, and somehow Xander weasels his way next to me. We’re both first, as Mrs. Reardon gives us the directions.
“We’re going to do one practice round. We’ll start eliminating people when we return to Clark and Xander.”
I turn my head directly toward Xander. The jacket and tie he’s wearing today are stupid. Everybody has complimented him on it. Though it makes him look like an idiot, all the teachers think he’s so darling.
“You’re going down, Lynol,” I warn. What a messed up last name. I would hate it, especially if it was mine.
“Says who, new kid?”
“You don’t scare me.” I laugh because as stupid as his last name is, his comeback is worse.
Mrs. Reardon returns to the rug as we finish our verbal attacks. With the addition cards in her hands, she announces for all of us to hear. “Remember, this is just a friendly game. Okay?”
Mrs. Reardon may be reminding us of this all throughout the school year. I doubt Xander Lynol and I will ever be friends with one another.
“Okay, kids, this will just be a practice round first.”
She turns over the card, and it’s easy. Eight times four, give me something that’s challenging.
“Thirty-two!” he shouts before me.
“Good job, Xander,” Mrs. Reardon compliments, and he skips to the back of the line, all smiles that he beat me in the practice round. The jerk is whistling, high-fiving one of his friends. He has friends? I’m surprised. But, he’s still a stupid brown noser.
Xander has his arms crossed and tips his chin to me as the winner. He’s rubbing it in my face. But I pay attention to the numbers in the flashcards to understand the patterns as everyone plays along. These are all multiplication facts we learned last year in my old school, and I have the advantage.
We get to the front of the line again. Mrs. Reardon explains the rules moving forward with the elimination round beginning. Xander looks past me as though I’m nothing to him. I turn my attention to the front of the room, awaiting the problem I’ll solve.
She flips over the card, and we’ve gone from one-number facts to a two-number fact in this multiplication problem.
Twelve times seven.
He stumbles next to me, utteringum, but I’m quicker, answering with eighty-four. As I advance he hits the back of a chair on his way to his desk. I twist my head back to where he is, with his arms crossed and pouting. I give him a smile, and it’s not nice. I don’t intend to be nice to Xander Lynol. We continue to wage war on each other, and no doubt, however long this goes on, I’ll win.
* * *
The car ridersare dismissed before the bus riders. Of course, Xander thinks he needs to beat me through the door, and I let him because I’d rather not be near the jerk. Exiting the school, I follow him simply because he’s heading toward my mother, who is speaking with another woman. My ma will talk to anybody, and she’s been quite lonely since we moved, leaving all her friends from Kansas behind. Before I can be happy for her, Xander runs over to the other woman, and she brings him to her side, kissing the jerk on the top of his forehead like most mothers do. Of course, my ma is talking to Xander’s mom.
“Hey, sweetheart,” my ma says, “Liz Lynol and I were just talking. We realized our sons are in the same class. What a wonderful coincidence, right?” She stops for me to give her an answer, but my stare moves from her to Xander and back to her. “We can get together and let you guys play in the park one day. How does that sound, boys?”
The demon child and I both speak at the same time. “No way!” Apparently,there issomethingXander and I agree on.
My mother swings her gaze to me, and there’s an expression I’m all too familiar with when she thinks I’m rude.
“Clarkston Jackson Farmer, that is no way to act, young man.”
At least I’m not the only one being disciplined by my mother.
“Xander Marcus Lynol, I’m very disappointed in you, mister.”
