“Sure.”
Theo walked across the cafeteria to a counter where cups of free apple juice were waiting. He picked up two, and was walking back to April when a group of seventh-grade boys began chanting, “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”
Theo looked at them and flashed his braces, offered a fake smile, as if he found it humorous. The biggest loudmouth was a kid named Phil Jacoby, a tough kid from a bad part of town. Theo knew him but they did not hang out. A few other kids joined in, “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” But by the time Theo sat down the chants were dying; the fun was over.
“Creeps,” April hissed as she glared at the boys.
“Just ignore them,” Theo said. “If you fight back, it just gets worse.”
More kids arrived and backpacks hit the tables.
“What will the police do next?” April asked, almost in a whisper.
“Finish their investigation,” Theo said softly, glancing around. “There are no fingerprints on the tablets found in my locker, so they figure the thief is pretty smart. They were going to dust my locker, but now they figure that’s a waste of time. You gotta keep in mind, April, this is a minor crime. The cops have much more important matters to worry about.”
“Like finding Pete Duffy.”
“Exactly. Plus they have drug cases and more serious crimes to investigate. They won’t spend a lot of time on this burglary. It’s not that serious.”
“Unless you’re the accused. Don’t tell me you’re not worried about getting framed for this.”
“Sure, I’m worried, but I trust the police and the courts. You gotta trust the system, April. I’m innocent and I know it. The police will find the real thieves and I’ll be off the hook.”
“Just that simple?”
“Yes. I think.”
The gang of seventh graders walked behind him. Phil Jacoby said loudly, “Hey, you guys, watch your backpacks. Theo the Thief is in the room.” His buddies howled with laughter but kept walking. The other students glared at Theo. A couple moved their backpacks closer.
“Oh boy,” Theo said, defeated. “I guess I have a new nickname.”
“Creeps.”
Theo found it difficult to bite his lip, grit his teeth, and hold up his head. This would indeed be a long day.
The fight broke out a few minutes later as Theo was closing his locker. The troublemaker was another loudmouth, a kid named Baxter who was in Madame Monique’s eighth-grade homeroom and had a locker not far from Theo’s. Baxter walked behind Theo, and in a loud voice, said, “Hey, what’s up, jailbird?” This got a few laughs but not nearly as many as Baxter was looking for. He stopped and grinned at Theo.
Baxter’s mistake was opening his big mouth when Woody happened to be closing his own locker. He whirled around and angrily said, “Shut up!”
Nobody messed with Woody. He had two older brothers who played football and loved karate and were known to fight for any reason. Woody’s home was in a constant state of physical conflict, with broken windows, furniture, and sometimes bones. As the youngest, Woody had been the tackling dummy and the punching bag, and he actually enjoyed a good fight with someone his own size. He was never a bully, but often he was too quick to throw a punch, or to threaten a classmate.
But Baxter had his own tough-guy reputation, and he could not back down with people watching. “Don’t tell me to shut up,” he shot back. “If I want to call Theo a jailbird, then I’ll call him a jailbird.”
Woody was already walking toward Baxter, and at that point serious trouble was inevitable. Excitement gripped the hallway as the other students realized that, like a couple of gunslingers, neither of these two would back down.
Theo glanced up and down the hall in hopes of seeing Mr. Mount or another teacher, but there was no adult in sight at that crucial moment. He said, “It’s okay, Woody, it’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay with Woody. He glared at Baxter and said, “Take it back.”
Baxter said, “No, thanks. When you steal and get arrested, then in my book you’re a jailbird.” He was still talking tough, but his eyes were also getting bigger. His left eye, though, was about to get closed.
Woody lunged with a right hook that landed perfectly on Baxter’s face. Baxter, to his credit, managed to land a solid punch before both boys locked each other up in death grips and tumbled to the floor. Fights were rare at the middle school and a good one was not to be missed. A crowd gathered around instantly. Down the hall someone yelled, “A fight! A fight!” Woody and Baxter were sliding all over the tiled floor, clawing and scratching like two cats.
Baxter’s sidekick was a runt named Griff, and evidently he knew what the other boys knew-it would only be a matter of seconds before Woody gained the upper hand and began working on Baxter’s face. So Griff, to protect his friend, made the dumb move of joining the fray. He growled some sort of impromptu battle cry and lunged himself onto Woody’s back. Theo and the rest of the crowd gawked in disbelief.
Fighting carried an automatic suspension from classes. The student manual was clear and every teacher stressed the evils of fighting. The punishment, handed down by Mrs. Gladwell, was flexible and depended on the circumstances. A push-and-shove match on the playground might result in a one-day suspension with three extra hours in study hall. A full-blown fist fight with busted lips and bloody noses might result in a three-day suspension, no after-school activities, and one month of probation.
Theo was not a fighter. His last scuffle had been in fourth grade when he and Walter Norris got in a heated wrestling match at the city swimming pool. But as he stood there, frozen, and watched the fight right in front of him, he suddenly had the urge to join it. After all, his friend Woody was slugging it out in defense of his honor. The least Theo could do was go to his rescue. And perhaps a suspension was not the end of the world. His parents would go berserk, but they would eventually settle down. What did his mother say last night? “The first thing you do is fight back. Attack. When you’re right, you never back down.”
Ike would be proud.
Sometimes, a guy has got to fight.
Theo dropped his backpack, yelled something that not even he understood, and jumped into the pile.
Chapter 12
On one side of the table, Baxter sat with Griff, and on the other side Woody sat with Theo. The opposing sides faced each other as the tension slowly faded and reality set in. Baxter had an ice pack on the side of his face and his left eye was swollen and completely closed. It looked awful. Woody was proud, though he suppressed a smile. With suspension coming and angry parents to deal with, smiles were not possible. Griff’s face showed no damage, nor did Woody’s. Theo’s bottom lip was puffy and there was a spot of dried blood on it. He tapped it with a tissue. His more serious wound was a throbbing head, courtesy of a kick at the bottom of the pile by either Baxter or Griff, but he did not mention this.
Mr. Mount sat at the end of the table and stared at the boys. He had angrily pulled them apart and marched them down to the library and into the small study room where they were now sitting and cooling off. As the seconds and minutes ticked by, the boys settled down. Their breathing slowed. Their heart rates were returning to normal. Nothing like a good fight to get the pulse racing and the blood pumping.
“What happened?” Mr. Mount finally asked.
All four boys stared at the table. Nothing. Not a word.
“Could this have anything to do with the rumor that Theo was arrested yesterday?” Mr. Mount asked, looking squarely at Theo, who did not take his eyes off the surface of the table.
Mr. Mount knew that Woody was a hothead and Baxter liked trouble. He also knew that Griff followed Baxter around like a new puppy. He would never believe, though, that Theo Boone would start a fight, or jump into the middle of one. But Mr. Mount had once been a boy, and he understood things. The way he figured it, Baxter and Griff were picking on Theo, and Woody defended his friend.