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.
Karl kept his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall, avoiding their eyes. He hoped that Robbie didn’t realize there was still another half of his sandwich on the floor. He willed himself not to look at it.
Robbie’s smile fell from his face, his eyes cold. “Just remember, you tell anyone what you overheard in here, and next time, you’ll be eating something else out of the toilet. Got it?”
Karl nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up.
Satisfied, Robbie and Steve left the bathroom, cackling and slapping each other on the back. With shaking hands, Karl gathered up the ruined remnants of his lunch and tossed it all into the garbage can.
He dared to look at his reflection over the sink. Bits of food flecked his chin and the front of his shirt. His neck was a little red where Steve had held him in place, but it was fading fast enough that he’d be fine by the time he went to class.
The bell rang while Karl was still attempting to clean himself up with warm water and paper towels. He picked up his backpack and gingerly threaded his arms through the straps, wincing slightly at how the motion aggravated the bruises on his neck. After taking a last look in the mirror, Karl took a deep breath and pushed his way into the hall.
The door bumped something solid, and for a horrible second, Karl thought it was Robbie and Steve, lurking outside the bathroom waiting for him to come out. Adrenaline flooded his system and his legs tensed, ready to sprint down the hall, before he realized it wasn’t a student he’d hit; it was an adult.
The guidance counselor, Mr. Warren, jumped out of the way of the swinging door. “Sorry, didn’t see you there, kiddo,” he said.
Karl shrugged, working to keep his breathing even so Mr. Warren wouldn’t ask questions. He ducked his head, hunching his shoulders to hide the redness on his neck. The last thing he needed was Robbie thinking Karl had ratted him out. He tried to squeeze around Mr. Warren to get to class, but the guidance counselor stood blocking his path, his head tilted. “Everything okay, Karl?”
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
Mr. Warren considered him for a moment, frowning slightly. “Want to go talk about it in my office? I’ll write you a pass for class,” he said, putting a hand on Karl’s shoulder.
“I said I’m fine,” Karl snarled. Wrenching free of Mr. Warren, he spun around and fled down the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BILL
“You coming in, or you just going to lurk there like a gargoyle?” Bill asked, a cigarette dangling from his lips, not looking up from the papers on his desk.
Pat Shaw filled the doorway of his office like an eclipse, blocking out the light from the hall. Pat was tall enough that his wavy hair brushed the top of the frame and broad enough that he could’ve served as a decent door himself.
The history teacher came in and folded himself awkwardly into one of the rounded armchairs opposite Bill, which were an adequate size for the students but seemed like doll furniture compared to Pat. “Gargoyle? Really?” He had a low voice, like distant thunder.
Bill gave a one-shoulder shrug, his pencil still scratching across the file in front of him. “I mean, they lurk, right? Basically all they do.”
“They more perch, I think. Like birds. Not really lurkers.”
“Okay, then, what’s something that lurks?”
Pat cocked his head, his bushy mustache twitching in thought. “A vampire maybe? Or . . . perhaps a mummy? Although I’m not sure if it’s considered lurking if it’s still in a sarcophagus.”
“How about a yeti?”
Pat nodded slowly. “Yeah, I could be a yeti.”
“You pretty much are a yeti.”
He laughed, running a hand over his dark beard, which he kept neatly trimmed to an inch below his jawline. “You’re just jealous that you can’t look this—”
“Sasquatch-adjacent?”
“Rugged and handsome, but sure.”
Bill closed the file, giving up on the idea of getting any more work done that afternoon. Pat was a great history teacher, but outside the classroom, he could often be worse than the students. “What can I do for you, Pat? Or did you just come in here to distract me from working?” He opened his top desk drawer and pulled out an ashtray, setting it on the desk and extinguishing his cigarette.
“That last part is just a bonus,” Pat rumbled, digging a small gift box out of his pocket and sliding it across the desk. “I finished it.”
“Really? Already?” Bill opened the box excitedly and carefully lifted out a thin gold chain. From it dangled an intricately carved wooden pendant, fashioned into a delicate M?bius twist from a single piece of wood. Into the wood, Pat had carved love you forever over and over in wide script, so that the words seemed to flow back into themselves, like the wood itself.
Bill had asked Pat a couple of months earlier if he would make a custom necklace for his and Veronica’s two-year anniversary next month. Pat’s hobby was woodworking, and although he’d never made anything quite like Bill’s request before, he’d been up to the challenge. But even though Bill had known Pat was good, the necklace exceeded his expectations.
“Pat, this is amazing,” Bill said.
Pat shrugged. “I think it’s a little thick at the bottom,” he said. “And the spacing between the words on one side isn’t quite even.”
Bill shook his head. “It’s perfect. She’s going to love it.”
“Let me know if she doesn’t,” Pat said. “I can try again.”
“That definitely won’t be necessary,” Bill said, closing the box and tucking it away in his top desk drawer. “I can’t believe you finished it so early, too.”
“Yeah, well, you know how I work in my garage when I’m feeling stressed?”
“Uh-oh,” Bill said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s up?”
Pat tossed a folder onto Bill’s desk. “I need your advice.”
Bill flipped open the folder. “What am I looking at?”
“That,” Pat said with a sigh, “is last year’s ninth-grade World War II unit test.”
“Okay . . .”
Pat leaned forward and slid the top paper to the side. Underneath was a similar-looking test, this one filled in in neat pencil. Most of the answers were marked out with red Xs. Pat tapped the sheet with a meaty forefinger. “And that is this year’s ninth-grade World War II unit test. Notice anything interesting?”