The Wanderers Read Free Page A

dragons tattooed on both sides. C was commanded to suck it, which she did greedily, stopping momentarily to gasp for breath and moan, "I love it, I love it!"
    Richie awoke with the biggest hard-on of his life, which he promptly pounded into mother-of-pearl-colored drops that flew around the room like scatter pellets.
    The Wanderers arrived at school grim-faced. Richie cursed himself for not at least painting over his name last night. As Richie slaved over "who" and "whom" in the dread
Warriner's English Grammar and Composition,
a fat sophomore came into the English class with a call slip from Mr. Mulligan's office for Richie. He had forgotten about disciplinary action.
    Mr. Mulligan, or "Biff," was a huge hurricane of a man. He was dean of discipline, football coach, and top ballbreaker of the school. Richie walked on rubber legs to the basement office.
    "You Gennaro?" Richie noticed the two cops. Big and solemn with guns as huge as horsecocks. "Answer me!"
    "Yes, sir."
    "So you're the sick sonovabitch who did that!"
    "I didn't do that, sir! I didn't!"
    "You're lying."
    "No I ain't, sir."
    The cops looked bored, their thumbs tucked into their gun belts. Richie's disciplinary record lay in its beige folder on Biff's desk.
    "You ... are ... one ... arrogant sonovabitch. Wipe that smirk off your face before I wipe it off with the back of my hand!" Richie wondered where Biff saw a smirk since he was almost in tears. "You're in big trouble, boy."
    "I didn't do it!" His lower jaw started to tremble, a sign that he was going to cry. Biff saw this and eased up a bit.
    "Can you prove you didn't do it?"
    Richie thought. "For one thing ... I know nigger has two g's."
    One of the cops cracked up but quickly regained composure. Even Biff started to smile.
    "Another thing I know is that I'm gonna get killed this afternoon."
    "Awright, get outta here, go back to your class. This isn't over yet, Gennaro."
    As he closed the office door he heard one of the cops laughing and Biff saying, "Ah, the kid didn't do it. I'll get the custodian to tar it over."
    In the cafeteria the Wanderers, feeling puny and defenseless, sat hunched over a corner table. Everyone knew about the vandalism now, and it seemed like the whole school was staring and snickering. Every few minutes a black kid would walk past the table with an evil grin. Richie threw his tuna sandwich in the garbage and buried his head in his arms.
    At three o'clock the Wanderers met in front of the principal's office and left the building together. It seemed like every black kid in the school was waiting for them. They formed a large ring open at one end, the end the Wanderers walked into. Except for Richie the rest of the gang was hustled away and told not to come back or their ass was grass. Richie's gang was left across the street helplessly craning their necks to see what was happening over the woolly heads of the crowd.
    Richie was alone. Clinton Stitch emerged from the crowd and faced him. "Hi, Clinton." He smiled nervously. There was laughter from the crowd. A chorus of "Hi, Clinton's" in falsetto. He felt like a faggot and angry at himself, some strength returning to his body and soul. Clinton was so muscular that his arms and chest looked like round stones were sewn under his skin. "I didn't do it!" More laughter. "I didn't do it." More laughter. He became furious. "Hey, fuck you guys, man. Hah? I didn't do it!"
    Clinton spoke. "Don't worry, man, you ain't gonna have to fight everybody. Just me."
    "I ain't fightin'
you,
man."
    "Then I'm just gonna kill you standin' there ... man."
    The kids in the crowd were gleefully giving each other taps and fighting for a front-row spot. Clinton started for Richie but was distracted by the sound of screeching brakes as five beat-up Buicks came to screaming halts in front of the school, and ten guys scrambled from each car shouting and yelling, swinging tire chains, aerials, and baseball bats, scattering the crowd. Clinton punched Richie in the