"You thought it was a real gun." Jeremy stood in the doorway, a goofy bemused expression on his pot marked face.
I stood behind the teachers desk in an otherwise empty room looking down at the revolver, still confused by the small flicker of flame dancing on the end of the snub nosed barrel.
"It's a lighter you retard." He studied my awkwardness and started developing conclusions, "What were you gonna do if it was real?"
My confusion made way for embarrassment. I dropped the fancy cigarette lighter back into the teachers top drawer and slammed it shut. Movement in the hallway motivated me back to my desk but Jeremy just stood there, the gears in his mind ticking away.
"Who were you gonna shoot Hutch?"
"None of your business, shut up!" I could barely contain my disappointment but it paled in comparison to my new fear - that Jeremy would talk. Gossip was becoming an unforgiving enemy and this would spread like wildfire. "You better not tell anyone Jeremy."
"Oh? And what are you gonna do to me Hutch? You gonna shoot me with a lighter?" He started to chuckle, the flab of his belly bouncing in time, "Then you gonna stab me with a spork? Huh?"
"I will do something..." The powerlessness of my situation was becoming evident as my imagination stumbled over unrealistic options. There was nothing that could stop him from talking and why wouldn't he? The benefit of gossip is social interaction. By judging me he would receive attention from other students and enjoy a surge in public popularity. I, on the other hand, would fall further in contempt and rise only in suspicion.
"You'll do what?" Just then the students started pouring back into the room.
"I'll stop you..." I said under my breath.
All that evening sleep had eluded me. It was the first night I could recall where my nerves kept me from feeling any sense of tiredness, where my fear of the next school day bore into my heart like a rusty screw. After a couple hours of watching old movies on my black and white TV, I shut it off and pulled out a notebook. On one page after another I wrote down every nasty thing I could think to say about Jeremy Jones. My words mocked his hygiene, his clothing, his family, his acne. I accused him of numerous minor crimes, keeping it insidious yet realistic. I copied page after page naming him as a pervert and a druggie. There was no proof of any such things but I didn't care. I needed to discredit him before he humiliated me.
The next morning when Mrs. Steed, my homeroom teacher, asked for a student to deliver a message to the front office, I weakly volunteered.
"Are we participating Mr. Hutchinson?" I merely shrugged. Bypassing her initial surprise, she sent me out the door with a folder.
The office was empty. The secretary was busy in the next room when I placed the folder on her desk and that was when an opportunity presented itself. The teachers received their in house messages using a series of cubby holes that lined the wall next to the front desk. Each hole had a teacher's name where they picked up their mail. With no one present, I pulled out the slanderous papers I had written about Jeremy the night before and tucked each one into different random slot. I ran out before anyone saw me. My heart was racing as I walked quickly back to my homeroom.
For half the day I prayed not to get caught. I didn't sign the paper or leave any indication that I wrote it. When no one came looking for me and no one mentioned the gun, I figured the plan had worked. In fact, the day had become suspiciously quiet as if there was something going on but no one knew exactly what.
When Lunch let out, a crowd had gathered at the doorway between the cafeteria and the front doors. Two policemen stood inside the front office talking to our short, puffy faced principal while hovering over a single student who sat head down in the chair beneath them, it was Jeremy.
"What did he do?" I asked no one in particular.
A red haired, freckle faced girl answered, "Someone narced on him. They told the teachers that he had drugs in his locker. That's what I heard."
At first this seemed unrelated to my scheme. I didn't know Jeremy had drugs in his locker and I certainly didn't write that in the notes. Then again, amongst many other unflattering terms I did call him a druggie. Perhaps the teachers took it literally.
This type of search and seizure was unprecedented at our middle school, the first of its kind. Drugs had not yet become a common subject so the thought of a 12 year old carrying them seemed preposterous. Yet, Jeremy was caught red handed for possession of marijuana. That day he was taken away by the police. He suffered a very public expulsion and received a mark on his juvenile record.
More importantly, to me anyway, was that the incident with the fake gun was never mentioned to anyone. I was off the hook thanks to a well timed piece of slander. For the second time my written words had displayed the ability to affect the world around me. It was a skill that was becoming useful even if I didn't fully understand its power.
