The Best Man Read Free Page B

without a knife. Even in the future, years from now—in prison—he’ll have a knife. He’ll make one out of a spoon or something.
    He couldn’t take his eyes off my Cubs shirt, but he said, “I’ll just have the patch.” He pointed the knife at the Wrigley Field hundredth-anniversary patch, which was what made the shirt valuable.
    I decided not to cry, but I was getting there.Jackson grabbed the shoulder of the shirt and bunched it up. Then here came the knife. “Do yourself a favor and hold still.” He squinted and worked the tip of the blade under the patch. “Or you’ll be bleeding like a stuck hog.”
    It was a Swiss Army knife. I felt the flat of the blade.
    The door behind Jackson banged open. Jackson jumped. He could have cut my throat. He whipped around. The school security guard filled up the doorway. He was usually out at his post, but here he was.
    The knife hit the floor. “This kid pulled a knife on me,” Jackson said.
    â€œGive me a break,” the guard said.
    Having the guard show up at just the right time seemed too good to be true. It was. But I didn’t think about it then.
    He stepped around Jackson and scooped up the knife. He had a patch on his shirt too. It read: “Andy.” He must have been six-five. He’d ducked in the door.
    Now the tears came. I couldn’t help it.
    â€œYou’re the one with the restroom pass, right?” he said. “You can cut off back to your classroom.”
    Jackson stood there, smaller without the knife, level with the guard’s kneecap. Then Andy did something surprising. He put his big hand down for Jackson to take. And Jackson took it. His hand, the one that had held the knife, disappeared into Andy’s big fist.
    â€¢ • •
    I was just coming out of the boys’ room when guess who was coming out of the girls’? Lynette Stanley, not looking my way. A girls’ restroom pass fluttered in her hand.
    I didn’t think too much about it. I was seven. I didn’t think too much about anything. I was just glad I hadn’t lost the patch off my Cubs shirt.
    Behind me Andy the guard was leading Jackson by the hand down to Mrs. Dempsey’s office. She’s the principal. Jackson was in and out of her office through the rest of his days at Westside Elementary.

5
    A fter school, I found Grandpa sitting on a playground swing. We walked home, picking up some litter on the way.
    Mom was still at work. Grown-up couples came to see her during office hours. I thought she was a wedding planner. As soon as her last customers left, she was all over the house, then all over me.
    â€œHoney, are you all right?” She was down in a crouch, holding me at arm’s length, looking me over.
    I’d changed out of my Cubs shirt to keep it fresh. “Sure, why not?”
    â€œWhy not?” Mom said. “Here’s why not: Jackson Showalter pulled a knife on you at school. A knife!” Mom’s eyes sizzled.
    â€œMom, how do you even know this?”
    â€œBecause Lynette Stanley saw you get a restroom pass, and she knew that Jackson Showalter was wandering the halls. Lynette got a restroom pass herself and went straight to the security guard.”
    â€œAndy,” I said.
    â€œWhoever,” Mom said. “And he found you with the Showalter gangster holding a knife to your throat. Lynette told her mother. Her mother called me.”
    I stubbed a toe in the rug. “I told Lynette not to.”
    â€œNot to what?” Mom said.
    â€œNot to save me.”
    â€œYou can thank your lucky stars she did,” Mom said.
    Stars reminded me of Jackson’s arms.
    Mom couldn’t let it go. “Archer, honestly, I don’t want to be a pushy parent. I don’t want to be Elaine Schuster. But I have half a mind to go to Mrs. Bird and tell her if she can’t manage her students—
first graders
—she may be in the wrong