Made You Up(19)

“Uh, they said I could get a uniform from the janitor.”

“Oh, yeah. There are some here . . . hold on a sec. . . .”

He disappeared and I heard some muted, angry cursing. When he returned, he held a uniform. “It might be a little big, but it’s the only clean one. The others were yellow.”

I took the uniform. “Thanks, Tucker. What are you doing in the janitors’ closet?” I looked behind him, but I didn’t see anyone else.

He gave me a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it.” And then he closed the door.

I forced myself not to take any pictures—it was Tucker; Tucker was not a hallucination, even if he was hanging out in a janitors’ closet—and ducked into the nearest bathroom to change. Tucker had really been playing it down when he said the uniform might be “a little big.” I needed swimming lessons to wear it.

I had to pass through the science hallway on my way to class, and that was when I saw the snake.

Its head hung down between ceiling tiles that had been shifted to the side for some reason. I jumped. I’d only ever seen pythons in the zoo, behind glass—but annoyance settled in when I got over the initial shock of seeing it.

Freaking snake. I didn’t even bother getting my camera out. A snake hanging out of the ceiling was exactly the sort of thing my mind would cook up. I stuck out my tongue and hissed at the python as I walked underneath it.

I slunk to Mr. Gunthrie’s room, hoping I wouldn’t meet Cliff or Celia or, God forbid, Miles on my way. People still stared at me—this hair, this damn hair, why did it have to be so damn red—but I ignored them.

Theo was kneeling outside the classroom door, mixing condiments inside a Mason jar, while Miles stood next to her with his arms crossed. A shiver ran up my spine when I walked past him, but I forced my face to remain expressionless. He didn’t notice me—if he did, he didn’t say anything.

I got a glimpse of Theo’s disgusting concoction. Pickle juice, mustard, what looked like pepper shavings, sour cream, horseradish—basically all the things you put together when you’re thirteen and you want to trick a younger sibling into a vomit-induced coma (Charlie had never forgiven me for that one).

I slipped into my seat, keeping them in my peripheral vision while I did a perimeter check. Theo capped the Mason jar, shook it, and handed it to Miles. Miles watched the cloudy, swirling liquid for a second, then raised it to his lips, and chugged the whole thing in one fell swoop.

I gagged and yanked my collar up over my nose. Ironically, the collar smelled like barf already, so I lowered it. Miles sauntered into the room and dropped into the chair in front of me, his gaze fixed on the whiteboard.

Class started normally. As normally as it could, I suppose, when the first announcement of the day is about a scoreboard, and your drill sergeant of a teacher is yelling at everyone. I tried paying attention to Mr. Gunthrie’s lecture on British literature, but the side of Miles’s face had turned chalky white and was morphing into sickly green.

“. . . THE FACT THAT BURGESS TAUGHT ALONGSIDE THE WOMAN WHO WOULD GIVE HIM IDEAS FOR A CLOCKWORK ORANGE IS VERY LITTLE-KNOWN. HE WAS IN THE ARMY AT THE TIME.”

Mr. Gunthrie stopped in front of Cliff’s desk, leaned over, and got right into Cliff’s face. Cliff, who had been making hand signs across the room at Ria Wolf, jumped and faced forward.

“TELL ME, MR. ACKERLEY, DO YOU KNOW WHERE BURGESS WAS STATIONED?”

Cliff’s mouth popped open like he was going to say something.

“NO? THAT’S A PITY, MR. ACKERLEY. PERHAPS I SHOULD ASK SOMEONE ELSE. DO YOU THINK I SHOULD ASK SOMEONE ELSE, MR. ACKERLEY?”

“Uh, yes?”

“WHO DO YOU THINK I SHOULD ASK, ACKERLEY?”

“Uh . . . Richter?”

“UH, RICHTER. THAT SOUNDS LIKE A QUESTION, ACKERLEY. DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO ASK ME A QUESTION?”

“No.”

“NO WHAT?”

“No, sir!”

“NOW I’M GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN, MR. ACKERLEY. TO WHOM SHOULD I ASK THE QUESTION YOUR INCOMPETENT ASS COULDN’T ANSWER?”

“Ask Richter, sir!”

Mr. Gunthrie straightened up and marched across the room to Miles’s desk.

“RICHTER. COULD YOU PLEASE TELL ME WHERE ANTHONY BURGESS WAS STATIONED WHEN HE TAUGHT ALONGSIDE ANN MCGLINN AND TOOK HER IDEAS ON COMMUNISM FOR A CLOCKWORK ORANGE?”

Miles didn’t answer at first. He was hunched in his seat, swaying a little. Slowly, he looked up and met Mr. Gunthrie’s gaze.