We Are the Ants(30)

Marcus, Jay, and Adrian spent the entire period whispering to one another, cutting up like they didn’t think anyone could hear them. I did my best to ignore the name-calling and laughter, and between the impending end of the world and Diego, I hadn’t spent much time worrying about what fiendish plans Marcus and his boys were cooking up.

Before the bell rang, I noticed Diego waiting outside the door. He grinned at me and waved. We were only friends, but I hoped Marcus saw him. It was tough to tell whether Diego had dressed up like a surfer for Halloween—wearing board shorts and a tank top—or if he was just trying on another style. Anyway, it never seemed to matter what Diego wore; he always looked like he belonged. I envied that about him, since I never belonged anywhere.

The classroom became bedlam when Ms. Faraci dismissed us for lunch. I’d started hanging back, waiting for Marcus and the others to leave first. Adrian especially enjoyed shoving me into the edge of my desk, leaving me with bruises across my thighs, so I’d learned it was best to remain seated until they were gone. Diego stood at the threshold of the door, leaning from one foot to the other.

“Ah, my nude model has returned.” Ms. Faraci waddled around her desk and lifted the oxygen molecule over her head, setting it on the floor. She looked strange and lumpy in her faded unitard.

Diego blushed. “Yeah. Sorry about that. First-day jitters.”

I shouldered my bag and hurried for the door. “Have a good weekend, Ms. Faraci.”

“Henry, wait.” I flinched, knowing what she wanted. “About your extra credit.”

My chemistry grade was the last thing I wanted to discuss in front of Diego. And I had a perfectly horrible BLT waiting in my locker. Of course, the B was actually butter and the T was probably tuna—I really needed to stop letting Nana pack my lunches. “Can we talk about it later?”

“Your last quiz was an improvement, but you still need to do the extra credit project to pull your grade up. You need at least a B to get into physics next year.”

“I’ll think about it.” I inched closer to the door with every word.

“It can be anything, Henry. Essay, experiment, song and dance. Just give me something I can slap a grade on.” She was practically begging.

The last time a teacher cared so much about my academic welfare was in first grade. All the standardized tests said I was a below-average reader, but Mrs. Stancil kept me after school every day to tutor me. I don’t remember when the blocks of words began to make sense, but by the end of that school year I’d gone from book hater to bookworm. But this was different, and I wanted to tell Ms. Faraci not to waste her time. None of this would matter in ninety--one days.

“You should write a story, Henry,” Diego said, stepping into the classroom. “Henry likes to write, you know.”

Ms. Faraci’s eyes widened with delight. “I did not know that.”

I prayed for the sluggers to take me away, but they didn’t answer. They were probably using their alien technology to spy on me, laughing their eyestalks off. “Don’t listen to Diego. He lies. Pathologically. He can’t help himself.”

“Did I ever tell you that I was almost an English teacher? I spent a year studying medieval literature.” Ms. Faraci’s molecules were jittery with excitement. “I would love it if you wrote a story.”

With Diego and Faraci both gaping at me, hope and optimism relentlessly beaming from them, my resolve began to fizzle. “What would I write about?”

“Write what you know,” Diego said.

“But I don’t know anything.”

Ms. Faraci shook her head. “Oh, Henry, don’t you understand? You know everything.”

? ? ?

It was a stupid idea to schedule PE immediately after lunch.

Coach Raskin informed us after we’d dressed that we were going to be running four miles—mandatory -participation—-with him jogging behind us screaming inspiration in the form of personal insults, as if that were actually going to work. Yes, I did want to go home and cry to my mommy. No, I did not care that a one-legged octogenarian could outrun me.

I managed to jog the first mile, but the air was thicker than tree sap, and the pizza I’d eaten for lunch instead of the “BLT” squirmed in my stomach like a bottled-up squid. I tried to keep up my pace for the second mile, but I developed a stitch in my side, right under my ribs, and I was panting so hard, I thought I would faint. When everyone else had finished and gone to the locker room to change, I still had two laps to go, and Coach Raskin made sure I completed them.

The first bell had already rung, so the showers were empty, which I was grateful for. Showers after gym had been mandatory in middle school, and I’d spent years perfecting how to be naked for the least amount of time. The other boys seemed comfortable in their own skin; I felt like an alien. If I hadn’t been soaked with sweat and smelled like the inside of one of Charlie’s sneakers, I would have doubled up on deodorant and skipped the shower. But since I was already going to be late for last period, I decided it didn’t matter. Besides, I didn’t want to reek when Diego took me home.

Even though he’d clearly mentioned his ex-girlfriend—possibly to make sure I knew he wasn’t into me—I am more confused by him than ever. But I know what it means that I get excited when I see him and bummed when I don’t. I’m starting to like him, and that’s a losing scenario for everyone. Even if the world wasn’t coming to an end, Diego and I are an impossibility. Beyond all reason, he wants to be my friend but would never be interested in more.