Belazi snatched the paper from the desk and examined it with disgust. Rick stared at the boy, remembering his first meeting with 55-206, and his announcement that they’d be making a trip to the bookroom. Belazi had piped, “Is this trip necessary?” A wise guy as well as a cheat. Rick thought. Oh, the hell with them all. Belazi wrinkled his face into a grimace and slowly started back to his seat.
As he passed West, West looked to the front of the room. His eyes met Rick’s, and he sneered, “Chicken!”
“What?” Rick asked.
West looked surprised. “You talking to me, teach?”
“Yes, West. What did you just say?”
“I didn’t say nothing, teach.” West smiled innocently.
“Bring me your paper, West.”
“What for?”
“Bring it up!”
“What for, I said.”
“I heard what you said, West. And I said bring me your paper. Now. Right this minute.”
“Aw, bring him the paper,” Miller said, smiling good-naturedly.
“What the hell for?” West said to Miller. “What the hell did I do?”
“Go on, Artie,” Miller said easily, “bring him the paper.”
“I don’t see why I should,” West persisted, the smile gone from his face now.
“Because I say so, that’s why,” Rick said tightly.
West’s answer came slowly, pointedly. “And supposing I don’t feel like?” A frown was twisting his pimply forehead.
“Look, Artie,” Miller said. “Why...”
“Keep out of this, Greg,” West snapped. “Just keep the hell out of it, understand?”
Miller’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but the smile clung to his mouth. The other boys in the room were suddenly interested. Heads that were bent over papers snapped upright. Rick felt every eye in the class focus on him.
They were rooting for West, of course. They wanted West to win. They wanted West to defy him, like that time he’d threatened to piss all over the floor. Rick couldn’t let that happen.
He walked crisply up the aisle and stood beside West. The boy looked up provokingly.
“Get up,” Rick said, trying to control the modulation of his voice.
My voice is shaking, he told himself. I can feel it shaking. He knows it, too. He’s mocking me with those little, hard eyes of his. I must control my voice. This is really funny. My voice is shaking.
“Get up, West.”
“I don’t see, Mr. Daddy-oh, just why I should,” West answered. He pronounced the name with great care.
“Hey, Artie,” Miller said, “whuffo you...”
“Get up, West,” Rick interrupted. “Get up and say my name correctly.”
“Don’t you know your own name, Mr. Daddy-oh?”
Rick’s hand snapped out and grasped West by the collar of his shirt. He pulled him to his feet, almost tearing the collar. West stood an inch shorter than Rick, squirming to release himself.
Rick’s hand crushed tighter on the collar. He heard the slight rasp of material ripping. He peered into the hateful eyes and spoke quietly. “Pronounce my name correctly, West.”
The class had grown terribly quiet. There was no sound in the room now. Rick heard only the grating of his own shallow breathing. Alongside West, his eyes wide, the smile gone from his face now. Miller sat and watched.
I should let him loose. Rick thought. What can come of this? How far can I go? Let him loose!
“You want me to pronounce your name, sir?” West asked politely.
“You heard me.”
“Fuck you, Mr. Daddy...”
Rick’s hand lashed out, slapping West squarely across the mouth. He felt his fingers scrape against hard teeth, saw the blood leap across the upper lip in a thin crimson smear, saw the eyes widen with surprise, and then narrow immediately with deep, dark hatred.
And then the knife snapped into view, sudden and terrifying. Long and shining, it caught the pale sunlight that slanted through the long schoolroom windows. Rick backed away involuntarily, eying the sharp blade with respect.
Now what, he thought? Now the garbage can turns into a coffin. Now the garbage overflows. Now I lie dead and bleeding on a schoolroom floor while a moron slashes me to ribbons. Now.
“What do you intend doing with that, West?”
My voice is exceptionally calm, he mused. I think I’m frightened, but my voice is calm. Exceptionally.
“Just come a little closer and you’ll see,” West snarled, the blood in his mouth staining his teeth.
“Give me that knife, West,” Rick said.
“Come on, Artie,” Miller put in softly. “You jus’ bein’...”
“Give me that knife, West,” Rick repeated.
I’m kidding, a voice persisted in his mind. I must be kidding. This is all a big, hilarious joke. I’ll die laughing in the morning. I’ll die...
“Come and get it, Daddy-oh!” West yelled.
Rick took a step closer to West and watched his arm swing back and forth in a threatening arc. West’s eyes were hard and unforgiving.
And suddenly, he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Someone was behind him! He whirled instinctively, his fist smashing into a boy’s stomach. The boy brought up his head, and Rick struck again, and he suddenly realized it was Belazi, the kid who’d been caught cheating. Belazi dropped to the floor and cramped into a tight little ball that moaned and writhed on the hard wood. Rick looked at him for just an instant, satisfying himself that any danger he might have presented was past. He turned quickly to West, a satisfied smile clinging to his lips.
“Give me that knife, West, and give it to me now.”
He stared into the boy’s eyes. West looked big and dangerous. Perspiration clung to his acneed forehead. His breath was coming in hurried gasps.
“Give it to me now, West, or I’m going to take it from you and beat you black and blue.”
He was advancing slowly on the boy.
“Give it to me, West. Hand it over,” his voice rolled on hypnotically, charged with an undercurrent of threat.
The class seemed to catch its breath together. No one moved to help Belazi who lay in a heap on the floor, his arms hugging his waist. He moaned occasionally, squirmed violently, but no one moved to help him. West backed away from Rick, and Rick moved forward, passing Miller’s seat. Miller sat on the edge of his chair, his hands clenching the desk top tightly. Belazi moaned again on the floor.
I’ve got to keep one eye on Belazi, Rick figured. He may be playing possum. I have to be careful.
“Hand it over, West. Hand it over.”
West stopped retreating, realizing that he was the one who held the weapon. He stuck the spring-action knife out in front of him, probing the air with it. His back curved into a large C as he crouched over, head low, the knife always moving in front of him as he advanced. Rick held his ground and waited. West advanced cautiously at first, his eyes fastened on Rick’s throat, the knife hand moving constantly, murderously, in a swinging arc. He grinned terribly, a red-stained, white smile on his narrow face.
“Come on, you stupid bastard,” he said. “Come on, stupid. Come and get the knife. Come on, you dumb jerk, come and get it.”
Rick wet his lips and watched the knife, and West paused suddenly and searched Rick’s face. He grinned again and began speaking softly as he advanced, almost in a whisper, almost as if he were thinking aloud.
“See the knife, Mr. Daddy-oh? See the pretty knife? I’m gonna slash you up real good, Mr. Daddy-oh. I’m gonna slash you, and then I’m gonna slash you some more. I’m gonna cut you up real fine, you bastard. I shoulda done this right from the start. I shoulda realized you was too stinkin’ dumb to take a hint, Daddy-oh. Come on, you sonofabitch. Come on and taste this friggin’ knife.”