Losers, Inc. Page 4

  “Page 97,” Ethan said. “I think the bell is going to ring.”

  He took his seat. Had anyone besides Julius seen him walking with the Lizard? He made himself look at Julius. The pity that shone from his friend’s eyes was embarrassing, but in a way comforting, too.

  “If I didn’t know better,” Julius said in a voice low enough that no one else could hear, “I’d say the Lizard likes you.”

  “She likes me,” Ethan said dully.

  “I guess it backfired,” Julius said. “Your revenge against Lizzie. But at least you can stop reading A Tale of Two Cities now.”

  Ethan didn’t know what to say. “Yeah, well, but at this point, I might as well go ahead and finish it. I mean, I’ve already read 97 pages. It’d be a shame to waste them.”

  Julius just shook his head. But Ethan hadn’t been reading A Tale of Two Cities to irritate Lizzie. Or even to prove something to Ms. Leeds. He had been reading it to be worthy of Grace Gunderson. Even if she never knew he had read it, he was reading it for her.

  * * *

  On Friday afternoon, classes were canceled during eighth period for a school-wide pep rally in the gym. Red Rocks Middle School was West Creek’s biggest rival in every sport, and both boys’ basketball teams were going into tonight’s game undefeated. It would be the game of the season.

  As he walked to the pep rally with Julius, Ethan gathered data for another entry in Life Isn’t Fair: A Proof:

  Friday, January 31. On the way to the pep rally, three different kids asked Ethan Winfield, “Are you really Peter Winfield’s brother?”

  When the team came running out into the gym, the kids in the bleachers went wild. The cheerleaders led the crowd in a cheer for each player: “Pisani, Pisani, he’s our man! If he can’t do it, Winfield can! Winfield, Winfield, he’s our man! If he can’t do it, nobody can!”

  Ethan’s throat was hoarse from yelling. He had cheered as loudly as he could for all the others, but he tried to cheer even more loudly when it was Peter’s turn. He felt ashamed of the disloyal thought he had had the other night at dinner. Peter had to play well tonight. The West Creek Bears had to win. And Ethan couldn’t wait to see it happen.

  * * *

  At the game, Ethan sat high in the bleachers again, this time with his mom and dad. Lots of his classmates were there: Julius was sitting with Alex and David; Marcia was in a group of the most popular sixth-grade girls. Ethan didn’t see the Lizard. Lizzie never went to any of the games.

  Some of the teachers were there, too. Ethan searched every section of bleachers for Ms. Gunderson. He half wanted to find her and half hoped he wouldn’t. If she saw Peter leading the team to victory tonight, she would never again think Ethan was wonderful. But she wasn’t there. She was probably out with her friends from the university. Or with her boyfriend. There was no way someone as beautiful as she was wouldn’t have a boyfriend. Ethan tried not to think what he would be like. Tall, most likely. Definitely taller than four feet ten and a half inches.

  When the team came running out of the locker room to start the game, Ethan jumped to his feet along with everyone else to yell a welcome. Both of his parents were yelling, too. Ethan got a kick out of watching his parents at Peter’s games. His dad, so quiet at home, had the loudest voice in the gym. At least it sounded that way to Ethan. No one had a more booming cheer when West Creek scored, or a more heartrending groan when they missed. Ethan’s mother, on the other hand, could hardly bear to watch the game. Whenever Peter had the ball, she would close her eyes and wait for the roar of the crowd to tell her she could open them. Ethan suspected that when he, Ethan, had played junior league soccer back in elementary school, she had kept her eyes closed most of the time.

  The first half of the game was a close one, ending 28–24, with West Creek in the lead. Peter had scored 10 of West Creek’s points, making him the team’s highest scorer for the half. But in the second half, the West Creek Bears couldn’t seem to do anything right. Peter missed three shots in a row and got called for a foul against a Red Rocks player. With less than a minute left in the final quarter, the Bears were behind 42–38. West Creek would have to make two baskets in the next fifty seconds, or go down in defeat. And Ethan was painfully conscious that somewhere in the stands Coach McIntosh from the high school was watching both teams play, scouting to see which players would be the high school’s future stars.

  All Ethan heard from his father was groans now. His mother hadn’t been watching the game since the final quarter began. Coach Stevens called a time-out. Would he replace Peter with another forward? Ethan didn’t think he could stand it if Peter had to sit out the rest of the game on the bench in disgrace. But Peter ran back in with his teammates, looking grim.

  The coach’s talking-to must have helped. West Creek scored: 42–40. Before Red Rocks could recover, Peter stole the ball from one of their forwards and made a quick lay-up, tying the score. Everyone in the gym was standing now, screaming. There were only ten seconds left on the clock. Ethan glanced at the scoreboard. Red Rocks was out of time-outs.

  The Red Rocks guard threw a wobbly pass in from under the basket. Nine seconds. Eight. The ball rolled free, and Peter dove for it, along with two Red Rocks players. Ethan couldn’t tell exactly what was happening in the next few seconds of pushing and grabbing.

  The referee’s whistle blew. Was the foul Peter’s—his second foul of the evening? But the referee called it against Red Rocks.

  “Right!” Ethan’s father shouted, punching his fist in the air.

  Peter took his place at the free-throw line. He had two chances now to win the game for his team. The gym had become eerily quiet. How did Peter take the pressure of having to make his best shot with everyone watching him? Ethan loved basketball, but he didn’t think he could stand being a basketball star. He’d hate having hundreds and hundreds of people holding their breath, staring at him.

  Ethan’s mother had hidden her face in his father’s shoulder. Ethan wanted to bury his own face in his father’s other shoulder, but he kept his eyes on Peter.

  Was it wrong to pray for someone to make a basket? Ethan couldn’t help himself. Dear God, let Peter make it. Let Peter make it.

  The ball soared through the air, teetered on the rim, and fell away. No score. A collective moan of disappointment came from the crowd.

  Peter bounced the ball twice on the free-throw line. Then, carefully, he took aim. Ethan stopped breathing. The ball swished cleanly through the hoop. 43–42.

  No one watched the last two seconds of the game. The crowd drowned out the buzzer announcing that the game was over and West Creek had won. Ethan’s father had tears in his eyes. His mother was blowing her nose.

  Ethan’s chest was bursting with relief and pride in Peter, together with a secret pain. The wild and joyous cheers resounding through the gym were for his brother; they would always be for his brother. They would never be for him.

  Six

  As soon as Ethan reached school on the Monday after the game, he could tell that something was wrong.

  It started when Alex Ryan greeted him on the playground. “Oh, Eeee-than!” Alan screeched in a high, piercing voice. “Oh, my darling Eeee-than!”

  Alex’s fake display of lovey-doveyness could mean only one thing. The others had found out that the Lizard had a crush on him. Lizzie had liked him for a whole week now; Ethan should probably consider himself lucky to have had her crush escape public notice this long. One thing about Lizzie, after all: She was definitely noticeable.

  Ethan had learned from past experience that teasing goes away fastest if you ignore it. So he acted as if he hadn’t heard Alex. He took out the basketball that he had somehow managed to cram into his backpack and dribbled it a couple of times on the blacktop. Then he ran for a lay-up. He missed, of course.

  “Nice one,” Alex called out.

  Then Alex crossed the blacktop to where Ethan was still dribbling the ball.

  “I have a poem for you, Eeee-than. I wrote it just
for you.”

  It was much harder to ignore someone at close range, but Ethan tried. He pretended he was bouncing the basketball for his science experiment. Bounce. Bounce. Scientists were able to concentrate on their work despite all kinds of rude distractions. Like Pierre and Marie Curie. Ethan was sure they had concentrated on discovering radium even when others were teasing them about liking each other.

  “Roses are red. Violets are blue,” Alex chanted. “Lizards are green. And one loves you.”

  Ethan kept on bouncing the ball, but now, to his annoyance, the ball seemed to echo the rhythm of Alex’s ridiculous rhyme. LIZ-ards are GREEN. And ONE loves YOU.

  Should Ethan keep on ignoring Alex? Should he laugh to show that he could take a joke, that he thought Lizzie’s crush on him was every bit as dumb as Alex thought it was? The real meanness in Alex’s voice made it hard to laugh. That was the thing about Alex. His teasing always had a mean edge.

  “Ethan! Here!” It was Julius, holding up his arms for the ball. Relieved, Ethan threw the ball to him. Julius actually caught it.

  “Hey, Julius,” Alex said, “did you know that Ethan has a girlfriend?”

  Ethan forgot his plan to stay calm and collected. “I do not!”

  “Ethan and Lizzie sitting in a tree!” Alex said. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

  “Did you make that up yourself, Alex?” Julius said. “You really are one witty guy. A guy with your original sense of humor shouldn’t be hanging around in Colorado; you should be off in California writing sitcoms for TV.”

  Alex glared at him. Julius bounce-passed the ball to Ethan. Ethan caught it and then, to his grateful surprise, made the next two baskets.

  * * *

  During homeroom, Ethan wondered exactly how the others had found out that Lizzie liked him. Marcia had probably told them. She was the kind of girl who loved to know a secret about somebody that she could tell to somebody else. He remembered how she had snatched back the poem she had shown him last week, most likely so she could have the pleasure of showing it around. Not that Lizzie ever tried to hide any of her poems. She scribbled in her notebook in full view of the whole world. More than once, Ethan had seen Marcia standing right behind Lizzie, reading over her shoulder.

  One thing was clear, though. If Lizzie’s crush had been a secret last week, it was a secret no longer. When Ethan walked into science class, a couple of the guys in the back of the room made loud kissing noises. On the chalkboard someone had written, in an oversized heart: E.W. + L.A. Ethan wanted to erase it before Ms. Gunderson saw it, but he would only call attention to himself by going up to the board.

  Ms. Gunderson ended up erasing the heart herself, after the bell rang. Ethan hoped she didn’t think he was the E.W. who supposedly loved L.A. For the truth was that E.W. loved G.G.

  In art class, Ethan found a poem waiting for him on his desk.

  To Ethan, My True Love

  I love you, dear Ethan.

  You are my hero.

  Even though sometimes

  You act like a weirdo.

  I love you, dear Ethan,

  Even though your ears stick out.

  I love you, even though

  Your nose looks like a snout.

  It was signed: “Your loveress forever, Lizzie Archer.”

  Who had written it? Definitely not Lizzie. It wasn’t Lizzie’s handwriting, or her style. Was it Alex? Or someone else? It must have been Alex. It would be too depressing if all the guys except Julius turned against him.

  Ethan reached up and felt his ears. He didn’t think they stuck out. And he was almost sure that there was nothing wrong with his nose, except for a few freckles. Did he act like a weirdo? He couldn’t think of any weird things he had done lately, but maybe if the Lizard liked you, that was proof enough that you were weird.

  On the way to third-period math, Ethan prayed. Dear God, please don’t let this be a day for Peer-Assisted Learning.

  But God seemed to listen better to prayers about Peter. As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Grotient said, “Let’s begin with Peer-Assisted Learning. I want to make sure you have enough time to get a good start on studying for your next exam.”

  The others began the familiar pushing and shoving of desks.

  “Oh, Eeee-than!” Alex called over to him. “Lizzie is waiting for you!”

  David Barnett joined in. “Oh, Lizzz-ie! Come to Eeee-than!”

  Ethan didn’t move. The chorus of “Eeee-than!” and “Lizzz-ie!” continued.

  “Boys! Is there some problem?” Mr. Grotient finally seemed to notice that there was a disturbance in the room. Today his bow tie and suspenders were both fire-engine red. “Please move your desks quickly and quietly.”

  Ethan couldn’t move his. He just couldn’t. He waited for Lizzie to move hers. She didn’t budge, either.

  “Ethan, Lizzie, get moving,” Mr. Grotient said. “Let me remind you that the next exam is going to determine half your grade for this marking period.”

  After one of the longest minutes that Ethan had ever known, Lizzie slowly moved her desk—not right next to his this time, but close enough to satisfy Mr. Grotient.

  “Do you want to review chapter seven or go on to chapter eight?” Lizzie asked in a strangled voice.

  Ethan didn’t reply.

  “Chapter seven?”

  Ethan still didn’t speak.

  “Okay, remember how on the first problem, x was in the denominator?” Lizzie’s voice was more steady now. She was at her best when she could be the perfect student, smarter than everyone who laughed at her.

  Ethan let her talk, not that he could have stopped her. But he didn’t say anything to her, not one word, for the rest of the period.

  * * *

  At lunch, Ethan hoped that he and Julius could sit by themselves and be ignored by the others. It would be nice to have a private meeting of Losers, Inc. But David and Alex plunked their trays down on Ethan’s table, and a moment later Marcia joined them.

  “Romeo, Romeo!” David said, with an exaggerated sigh. Marcia giggled.

  “Have you kissed her yet?” Alex asked.

  Ethan felt himself flushing with shame and fury.

  “Have you?” Julius asked Alex. The question fell flat.

  “Look,” Ethan said. He felt he had to say it once and for all, clearly enough that the others could not possibly misunderstand him. “I do not—like—Lizzie.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word love. “I have never liked Lizzie. I will never like Lizzie. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I hate Lizzie.”

  The others still looked unconvinced.

  “It just so happens,” Ethan said, “that I am violently allergic to lizards.”

  Barnett laughed then. Encouraged, Ethan said, “My doctor did tests. I’m allergic to anything that has scales and is slimy and writes poetry.”

  Marcia laughed, too. Ethan had won over two of them.

  “I break out in big red hives all over my body if anyone reads a poem in my presence,” Ethan went on.

  “Lizzie wrote another one about you this morning,” Marcia said. “It started out, ‘Though your lips and mine may never meet…’”

  “Help!” Ethan said. “I’m starting to break out!”

  He was beginning to feel less desperate, though Alex still refused to join in the laughter. Alex wanted to laugh at people, not with them.

  “She really thinks her poems are good, too,” Marcia said. “Like she’s the next Shakespeare or something.”

  “You know what would be funny?” Alex said. “If we, like, pretended there was a contest. Like a big contest for writing poetry? We could put up signs and things. And when she entered it, we’d send her a letter saying she won. Only it would all be a joke.”

  “Dear Miss Archer,” David said, using a fake-solemn voice. “It is my pleasure to inform you that you have just won first prize in the nation for your poem ‘Love Song to Ethan.’”

  Marcia snorted.

  Ethan pretended to gag at the title
of the poem. “Let’s do it,” he said loudly. He had to stop Lizzie from writing love poems about him for the whole class to see; he couldn’t spend the rest of the year listening to a chorus of kissing sounds whenever he walked into a room. “It’d be easy. All we have to do is print up some flyers on somebody’s computer.”

  “Where would we have people send the poems?” David asked. “It’ll look kind of strange if it’s one of our houses here in West Creek.”

  “We can use my cousin,” Marcia said. “She lives in Washington, D.C. That’ll make it look real official. The National Poetry Writing Contest, in the nation’s capital.”

  “And then we’ll tell her?” Julius asked. He sounded uncomfortable. “That it’s all a joke? When it’s all over?”

  “Yeah, after she’s bragged about it to everybody,” Alex said.

  Julius didn’t say anything else. Ethan knew Julius well enough to know what Julius was thinking: The plan was too mean.

  The plan was too mean. Ethan had told the others that he hated Lizzie. But he didn’t really hate her. He just hated being teased about her. He didn’t want to hurt Lizzie. She would be so excited when she got the letter, so pleased and proud. Poetry was all Lizzie had. Well, poetry and long book reports and being good at math and having all the teachers love her. But she didn’t have anything else. It would be a cruel thing to trick her this way. But she’d get over it. Maybe she wouldn’t even believe the letter when she got it. Lizzie was smart, after all. And if she did believe it, well, then it would serve her right, in a way, for being so gullible.

  It was easy for Julius to sit back and judge. Nobody was writing poems about his lips. If Ethan went along with the plan, it would save him from being the laughingstock of the sixth grade. No one could possibly think he was Lizzie’s boyfriend now.

  Seven

  David and Alex had agreed to make the flyers for the poetry contest on David’s computer. Ethan looked for them as he and Julius walked to homeroom on Tuesday morning. Sure enough, they were there, prominently displayed on the big bulletin board by the main office and on the Book News bulletin board outside the library. There was a school rule against posting any unauthorized notices on bulletin boards, but these flyers looked amazingly professional. No one could have guessed that they were made by sixth graders.