Harrison Squared Read Free Page A

everybody so quiet?”
    She frowned. “Why are you always talking?”
    â€œI’ve said like five words since I got here.”
    Mrs. Velloc’s head whipped around at the noise. I shut up. A few seconds later, Lydia whispered, “Chatterbox.”
    Somewhere far away, a gong sounded. The students stood as one, and then packed the piles of rope into large wooden trunks lined up at the back of the room. I’d managed to connect three or four lengths of rope. In the same amount of time, Lydia had created a net the size of a queen-sized blanket.
    The students began to file out of the room. I walked to Mrs. Velloc’s desk. Eventually she looked up from her book.
    â€œI don’t know where to go next,” I said. “They didn’t give me a schedule.”
    She looked at me as if I were a moron. “Follow Lydia,” she said.
    â€œTo where? The office? Because I can—”
    â€œDo what she does. Go where she goes. Your schedule is her schedule.”
    I glanced toward the door. Lydia had already left the room.
    â€œIs that too complicated for you, Mr. Harrison?”
    I didn’t know where my temper came from. Mom didn’t suffer fools gladly, but her anger never lasted longer than a minute. My dad supposedly never hurt a fly. But me … Calm did not come naturally. Sometimes—like, say, when somebody treats me like I’m an idiot—I could clearly picture my hands around their neck. I could almost feel myself squeezing.
    When I was little I didn’t know what to do with all that emotion, and I actually did try to strangle people. I punched other kids. Bit teachers. Screamed at, well, everybody, but mostly my mother. Gradually I learned to control myself. My main technique, and still my go-to move when I was feeling the rush, was to simply observe myself. Catalog what was going on in my body and my head. Hey there, look at that fist clenching! Feel that heart beating! Take a gander at that violent movie playing in your head—got any film music to go with that?
    I didn’t actually step out of my body. I wasn’t that crazy. But watching myself did get me to settle down. Rage makes little sense from the outside.
    I relaxed my hand and smiled at Mrs. Velloc. “I think I got it,” I said.
    I walked out, and my right leg was throbbing, right down to my invisible toes. I made sure not to limp.
    *   *   *
    Students streamed out of the rooms, but it was an orderly stream, without pushing or shoving. Nobody yelled or even raised their voice. Most of them looked younger than me, but they all had that same dark-haired, pale, fishy look as the kids in Velloc’s class. From behind I had no idea which one was Lydia, but I finally spotted her as the streams converged on the stairway down.
    â€œHey, Lydia!”
    Scores of faces turned to look at me. The flow of traffic stuttered, then resumed.
    Lydia looked up at me. Then she closed her eyes and slowly opened them again, as if hoping she’d imagined me. Nope. Still here. She backed out of the line of students and waited for me on the first landing with her back to the aquarium.
    â€œThanks,” I said when I reached her. “Velloc says I should shadow you until they give me a schedule.”
    â€œShadow me,” she said skeptically.
    â€œIt’s not my idea,” I said. And suddenly it seemed like a very stupid idea. “Listen, never mind, I’ll figure this out.”
    â€œI doubt that,” she said. “Lunch is this way.”
    She led me downstairs and along a corridor to a cavernous room. The cafeteria. The serving line was on one side, and wooden tables filled the rest of the space. I followed Lydia’s lead and picked up a large wooden bowl and tin cup. One by one the students passed the counter, where a pair of lunch ladies filled the bowls with a steaming, chunky stew. The air smelled of vinegar.
    I held out my bowl. The lunch lady,