Richard Scrimger - Zomboy

I t was the worst Tuesday of the year. You know the one I mean. I was going into grade seven at Westwood Elementary in my smallish townDresden, Ontario, home of the Buzzards of the Inter-County Football League. (Go Buzzards!) The sun was about to pop out from behind a fluffy cloud, the school bell was about to ring, and my pulse was running about 140 beats per minute because we were going to jump to our death.

You have to, Bob, said Evil-O. You said you would jump. Come on.

Its a mile down!

Is not. Dont be such a chicken.

Our bodies will smash on the rocks and the vultures will eat our corpses.

She smiled.

I dont wanna, I said.

Ill say one, two, three, and well jump. Ready?

No.

Bob!

Hey, guys! said Gezink. What are you doing?

His head was just below our feet. He was on the ground and we were standing on the bridge of the climbing thingy in the school playground. The sun popped out and Gezinks glasses flashed. His nose was running. Something was usually leaking out of Gezink.

Jumping to our death, I said.

Get out of the way, said Evil-O.

A few years ago Dresden was voted one of the top ten places to live in Canada, and the bit I could see from up here looked clean and green and nice. The September sky was dotted with spoonfuls of mashed-potato clouds. Dinky little trees stood on front lawns up and down Westwood Avenue like soldiers on parade. Mr. Buzminski, the principal, was smoothing down his hair with both hands. A few kids ran around the playground screaming, but a lot of them stood around looking sad. They knew what day it was.

One, two

Hey, look! I said. A school bus. Whats it doing here?

Westwood is a neighbourhood school. A couple of kids get lifts but mostly we walk or ride bikes or skateboards. The only time you see a bus is when youre going on a class trip.

Bob, said Evil-O. Pay attention. Were jumping.

Geez, Evil-O. I dont think Im ready to do this. I have frail bones, you know. I doI just remembered. My doctor says Im like an eggshell inside. The impact from a fall might

One, two, three!

She grabbed my hand and pulled me with her. I screamed. (Sorry. I mean, I gave a manly shoutDeath from above! Or something.) We landed, and I rolled onto the pebbles that surrounded the climber.

I checked my body for pain. Little ouch in my left knee but that was all. Could have been worse. The three-legged race at the county fair last summerthat was worse. I ended up on crutches for three weeks. Evil-Os always getting me into things. Hanging out with her means living with danger. Shes one of those JUST DO IT girls. On my own, Im more of a THINK ABOUT IT AND THEN GO HAVE A SNACK guy.

Evil-O was on her feet. That was fun! she said.

I lay still.

Youre not really dead, Bob, said Gezink. I can see you breathing. Your stomachs going up and down.

Mrs. Swartman came by and told Evil-O to be careful and me to get up.

But its the worst Tuesday of the year, I said.

Tell me about it, said Swarty.

Evil-O and I met in kindergarten, the year she and her mom moved onto my street. Her name was Olive then. I told her that I could say my name backwards or forwards. Bob or Bob. I like it backwards best, I said. She laughed and said that she liked her name backwards too. It took me a minute to work it out, and then Olive became Evil-O. And shes been Evil-O ever since. Everyone except her mom calls her that. Every year on her birthday, the announcement over the loudspeaker says, Celebrating a birthday today, Evil-O Forester.

We grabbed her skateboard and our backpacks and went over to the school bus. Only one kid came out. At first I thought he was a first-grader, he was that small. Way shorter than me and even skinnier than Evil-O. Scrawny little guy. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, even though it was a warm day. Baggy pants held up by a belt.

Hi there! said Evil-O, super-friendly. He nodded hi back. His face was older than the rest of him. It had lines and creases and things. He looked like he hadnt slept in a year. Not a first-grader at all.

Whats your name?

Imray, he said.

Nice name.

Is it? He sounded doubtful.

Before we could introduce ourselves, Mr. Buzminski came over and led him into the school, ignoring us completely. Evil-O shouted goodbye. I didnt.

Something about that guy, she said.

Yeah.

Hes kind of cool, dont you think?

No, I said. My knee was still twinge-ing. I rubbed it.

The bus was backing down the drive. I caught a flicker of movement from insidesomething pressed against the windshield. Or someone. I grabbed Evil-Os arm.

Dyou see that?

The bus backed onto Westwood.

There it is again! See? Someones inside.

The driver?

No, something else. A face oror something.

Youre dreaming, Bob.

The bell rang. Time to line up. Evil-O and I stood together. She clutched her skateboard in both hands. I wonder what grade the new kids going into? she asked.

She seemed awful interested in him.

A kid ahead of us in line fell over. I heard Calvins laugh. I bet hed pushed her.

What happened to you? I asked Gezink. He was sucking his finger.

He shrugged, checked the end of his finger, and put it back in his mouth. He was that kind of guy, Gezink. Always catching bits and pieces of himself on things. Most days I end up bleeding, he said once.