The Categorical Universe of Candice Phee Read Free Page B

separated.
    Douglas Benson watched me as I lined them all up so the pointy ends were facing the same way.
    â€œWhy do you do that?” he asked.
    â€œDon’t ask,” I replied.
    â€œOkay,” he said.
    â€œIt’s lunchtime,” I said.
    â€œIs that your answer?” he said.
    â€œTo what?” I replied.
    â€œTo why you do that. Lining up your pens.”
    This was getting too complicated, so I unpacked one of my pens and tore a sheet out of a notepad I keep just for these circumstances. This is what I wrote:
    No. I told you not to ask me. It was simply an observation that it’s lunchtime. How could “it’s lunchtime” be an answer to why I line my pens up?
    He read this with a screwed-up forehead. Well, he actually read it with his eyes, but his forehead
was
screwed up.
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œLunchtime.”
    â€œYes,” I said. The conversation wasn’t very exciting, but I so rarely have conversations at school that I was enjoying it. Maybe that was why I asked him what he was doing at lunchtime. I wouldn’t normally dream of asking something like that, so I must have been stimulated by all our talk.
    â€œWhat are you doing at lunchtime?” I said.
    â€œI am working on a way of getting out of here,” he said.
    I found this mysterious. “That’s mysterious,” I said.
    â€œIs it?” he said.
    â€œYes. Because it doesn’t take much working out,” I replied. This was a long sentence and I was too tired to add another, so I wrote another note:
You just go out the front door and there’s a big gate
. I added a little drawing just to be helpful. I even put
YOU ARE HERE
on the here where we were.
    â€œI didn’t mean that,” he said.
    â€œOh,” I said. “Sorry.”
    â€œIt’s to do with my secret,” he said.
    â€œOh,” I replied. It is my experience that
Oh
is a very useful word and much underrated.
    I tore another sheet from my pad. I couldn’t remember the last time I had used so many sheets in one day, let alone a couple of minutes. This is what I wrote:
    If you like, you could come with me to the library. The librarians keep a chair reserved for me, but they wouldn’t have one for you. They let me eat sandwiches in there sometimes, but I don’t think you would be allowed. It is against the rules. And I don’t even know if you have a sandwich. But you could come if you want, despite the chair and sandwich thing
.
    I handed him the sheet.
    â€œYou’re weird, aren’t you?” he said.
    â€œYes,” I said. “Certainly.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” said Douglas. “I’m weird, too. Maybe it’s a good idea to stick together. We could be friends. Weird friends.”
    I had plenty of friends already. Well . . . that depends on perspective. As far as I was concerned, I had plenty of friends. As far as everyone else was concerned, I didn’t have a friend in the world. Does that make a difference? I’m not sure.
    Anyway, it would make a pleasant change to have a friend who also thought that I was a friend, so even though Douglas was always going to be a friend (according to myview of the world), he might actually be a
special
friend. That felt good.
    â€œYes,” I said. “Good.”
    I repacked my pen and swung my backpack onto my back. It is called a backpack because that is where it belongs. Douglas trailed me through the corridors and up the library steps.
    â€œWho is your best friend?” he asked.
    I gave this some thought.
    â€œYou,” I said. I wasn’t sure if this was strictly true. There was always pen pal Denille, but she might be arrogant and deficient in terms of basic geography. The jury is still out.
    I suppose it might not be obvious why I have called this chapter “C Is for Chaos” (while Darren Mitford caused some, albeit temporarily, Douglas Benson