I'll Stop the World (46)

Robbie nodded. “They better be right, for what I paid for them.”

“Because you know your mom said if you flunk another test, we can’t do sleepovers anymore.”

“Dude, chill out,” Robbie said, capping his pen and tugging his sleeve back into place. He ripped the sheet of answers into tiny strips and then—to Karl’s horror—turned toward the row of stalls.

Karl pressed himself against the cinder-block wall, hugging his backpack to his chest and holding his breath as Robbie’s footsteps approached.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Robbie was saying. “I just gotta—”

He quieted as his hand slapped against Karl’s unyielding door. “Yo, who’s in there?” he called, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.

Karl didn’t say anything. He realized he was clutching his sandwich so hard that bits of bologna and cheese had turned to paste between his fingers. He stared at Robbie’s shoes on the other side of the door, willing them to just give up, walk away, leave him alone.

Robbie’s face appeared at the bottom of the stall door, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear as he met Karl’s terrified gaze. “Derrin, my man, have you been eavesdropping on us?”

Karl shook his head, his throat dry. Please leave, please leave, please—

“I think you’re lying, Derrin. I think you were listening.”

“I wasn’t,” Karl whispered, frozen in place. His hands had gone numb. “I promise.”

“Why don’t you open the door and come on out here so we can talk? This is making my neck hurt,” Robbie said, that same rictus grin still plastered across his face.

“No thanks,” Karl rasped. “I think I’ll just stay in—aughhh!”

He screeched as Steve appeared beside him from the adjacent stall, sliding under the divider and popping to his feet in one smooth motion. “Hey, Derrin,” Steve said jovially, throwing an arm around his neck and dragging him off the back of the toilet as he used his other hand to unlock the stall. Karl’s backpack fell to the bathroom floor, his lunch scattered across the tiles as he struggled to get away, but it was no use. Steve’s arm might as well have been made of cement.

After dropping his handful of shredded test answers into the toilet, Robbie turned to face Karl, arms folded across his chest. “What are we going to do with you, Derrin?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Karl gasped, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. “I swear.”

“I want to believe you, Derrin, I really do,” Robbie said, dropping a meaty hand onto Karl’s shoulder and squeezing, his thumb digging painfully into the soft spot just under Karl’s collarbone, making him wince. “But I think I’m gonna need some convincing.”

Robbie’s eyes fell to the smushed bologna-and-cheese sandwich on the ground, still tangled up in aluminum foil. He picked it up, looking pensively from the sandwich to Karl. “Aw, man, you didn’t get a chance to finish your lunch, Derrin! You must be hungry.”

“No. No thanks. I’m good.” Karl’s heart hammered so hard, it was a wonder Steve was able to hold his arm in place.

“Come to think of it, you look thirsty, too.”

Robbie stepped into the nearest stall and bent down, dunking the corner of the sandwich into the toilet bowl. It came up dripping, the white bread falling apart in soggy chunks.

He held the toilet-soaked sandwich out to Karl, fake concern making his eyes wide. “Here you go, Derrin. Take a bite.”

Karl wriggled and kicked, pushing against Steve’s arm around his throat, but Steve only tightened his grip.

“C’mon, open up. Yummm,” Robbie said, circling the sandwich in front of Karl’s face like he was trying to feed a baby. “My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R,” he sang in a high-pitched voice, the sopping sandwich hovering closer and closer to Karl’s mouth until it brushed his lips.

The bread was cold and wet, and while it didn’t smell like anything but bologna, Karl couldn’t stop himself from thinking about all the other things that had been in that toilet bowl. His stomach gurgled queasily. He pressed his lips together, straining away from Robbie as much as he could—but thanks to Steve’s chest against his back, that was barely at all.

“My bologna has a second name, it’s M-A-Y-E-R.”

Without warning, Robbie drew back his fist and punched Karl in the stomach. Karl’s knees buckled as he clutched at his middle, coughing and gasping for breath.

As soon as his mouth opened to gulp air, Robbie shoved the sandwich inside. Slimy, wet bread filled Karl’s mouth, all the way to the back of his throat. He gagged and tried to spit it out, but Robbie clamped a hand over his mouth. “Swallow! Swallow!” he commanded, laughing so hard tears spilled from his eyes.

Karl didn’t have a choice. Chewing as quickly as he could and fighting the urge to vomit, he choked down the sandwich. It took him a few attempts to get it all down, interspersed with fits of retching. Snot streamed from his nose and his eyes burned with the effort, but finally, finally, the sandwich was gone.

Steve released him, and Robbie dropped his hand from his mouth and frowned at the flecks of wet bread and meat smeared on his palm. “Gross, Derrin,” he said, wiping his hand down the front of Karl’s shirt.