The Boy Who Lost His Face Read online

  “What’s the matter, David?” asked Alvin. “You need a girl to protect you?”

  “Is she a girl?” asked Alvin.

  “I don’t know what it is,” said Randy.

  They walked away laughing.

  Mo handed David his project.

  “Thanks, Mo,” he said.

  “You just have to stand up to those assholes,” she told him. “You can’t let them push you around.”

  David shrugged. It was a lot easier for her to stand up to them than it was for him, he thought. They’re not going to fight a girl.

  “You know, it does look like an apple,” said Mo. “I mean, now that I know what it is, it definitely looks like an apple.”

  “It was supposed to have a stem,” David explained, “but I accidentally cut if off. It would have looked more like an apple if it had a stem.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see that,” Mo agreed. “But that’s okay. It still looks like an apple. I mean, not all apples have stems.”

  David looked at the doghouse with the nameplate KILLER nailed above the entrance. “So what kind of dog do you have?” he asked.

  “What?” asked Mo. “Oh, this.” She glanced at her project. “I don’t have a dog.”

  14

  SCIENCE MADE SENSE.

  It was logical. It was consistent. If you dropped a rock, gravity would always cause it to fall down. It wouldn’t sometimes fall up. If you combine two parts hydrogen with one part oxygen, you’ll always get water. You won’t sometimes get milk.

  Maybe that’s why it was David’s favorite subject. Nothing else in his life seemed to make sense anymore.

  “David, will you please assist me,” asked Mr. Lugano, his science teacher.

  Mr. Lugano often called on David to help out with experiments. The chemicals could be dangerous and David could be trusted. Some of the other kids instantly turned into mad scientists whenever they were asked to help in an experiment.

  “Hey, Ballinger,” Scott whispered as David walked by him on his way to the front of the room. “Your fly’s down.”

  David didn’t look.

  It was Friday, three days since he’d walked into Spanish class with his cremallera down. Every time Scott or his friends saw him, they told him to zip his fly. If he looked down, they’d laugh. If he didn’t look down, they’d call him a pervert who liked to walk around with his pants unzipped, until at last he’d look. Then they’d all laugh.

  David had the feeling that they would leave him alone if it wasn’t for Scott. It was like Scott was using him as a way to become popular. The more Scott picked on David, the more the other kids liked Scott.

  Mr. Lugano handed David a beaker full of some kind of foul-smelling chemical and asked him to fill six test tubes halfway.

  He heard several kids snicker.

  Maybe his fly was down, he worried. No, he wouldn’t look. What if he was standing in front of the room, this time facing the class, with his zipper down? Still he didn’t look. If it was down, it was down. The damage was already done.

  He heard more laughter as he continued to pour the chemical into the test tubes.

  “What’s that smell?” asked a girl from the front row.

  “It smells like rotten eggs!” said someone else.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe they were just laughing at the smell.

  He tried to think about Carmelita. He thought about her whenever he was feeling depressed. His problems were so trivial compared to hers. And still, she was laughing her head off.

  The image of Carmelita disappeared and instead he saw Mrs. Bayfield lying on her back in the rocking chair, her face covered with lemonade.

  The beaker slipped out of David’s hand, fell on top of the test tubes, and the whole experiment crashed to the floor.

  The smell of rotten eggs exploded across the room like tear gas. “Everyone outside!” ordered Mr. Lugano. “Now!”

  The students hurried outside, gagging, coughing, but mostly laughing.

  “Try not to breathe!” said Mr. Lugano.

  David looked down. His pants were zipped. He ran out of the room with one hand over his nose and mouth.

  Out on the blacktop Mr. Lugano explained what happened. He discussed the chemical reaction that had taken place and how the molecules had been dispersed through the air to cause the resulting odor. It all made sense, logically and scientifically.

  But there was one thing that didn’t make sense. Roger had broken Mrs. Bayfield’s pitcher of lemonade. And now David had broken a pitcher. How do you explain that, Mr. Lugano?

  “YOU KNOW, if someone else did it,” said David a little later while eating lunch with Larry, “everyone would have thought it was funny. Like if Roger Delbrook had done it, everybody would think it was real cool. He’d be bragging about it—‘You hear about how I made a stink bomb in Lugano’s class?’ But because I did it, then it’s not cool. It’s, ‘Did you hear what that stinkpot Ballinger did now?’ ”

  “I know,” Larry agreed. “It’s just who you are. Roger or Scott could do anything they want, and it would be cool. But if you or I do the same thing, we’re stinkpots.”

  They were sitting across from each other at the end of a long table. No one else was sitting at the table. That was partly because almost everyone else had finished their lunch, but it was also because Roger had walked past holding his nose and said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Puke, you stink!”

  “You don’t stink,” said Larry. “I don’t smell it on you.”

  “You sure?” asked David.

  “I can’t smell it at all,” Larry assured him.

  David looked at his ham and cheese sandwich, but he couldn’t eat. The smell of rotten eggs was stuck in his throat. “I wonder what Carmelita is doing right now,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Larry muttered, leaning on his elbows. “I bet she’s doing okay,” he said hopefully.

  “Too bad she’s not here,” said David.

  “Yeah,” Larry agreed. “I wonder if she’d be my girlfriend or your girlfriend.”

  “Mine,” said David with a laugh. Then more seriously he said, “She wouldn’t have to be the girlfriend of either of us. She could just be our friend. Besides, there’s this other girl I kind of like.”

  “Really?” asked Larry. He sounded surprised, but then he said, “There’s a girl I kind of like, too.”

  “Really?” asked David. He bit into his sandwich. He had to concentrate very hard to keep it from tasting like rotten eggs.

  “What if Carmelita didn’t like either of us?” asked Larry.

  David looked at him, surprised, as he swallowed his food. He had never thought of that.

  “What if she thought we were nerds?” asked Larry. “What if she came here and just turned into another Leslie Gilroy or Ginger Rice?”

  “Carmelita’s not like that,” said David.

  “How do you know?”

  “She just doesn’t seem that way.”

  “All you saw was a naked picture of her when she was nine years old.”

  “The way she was laughing,” said David. “I bet Leslie Gilroy never laughed like that.”

  “Yeah,” Larry agreed.

  “Besides, she’d have to like us,” said David, “if we’re the ones who go down there and find her and rescue her and everything.”

  “I guess. But what if we weren’t the ones who rescued her? Suppose she was born here, and never lived in Venezuela, and her parents had plenty of money. She might be Randy or Scott’s girlfriend.”

  David shook his head. “No way!”

  “Maybe if Carmelita were born here,” said Larry, “she wouldn’t be able to laugh like that. Maybe it’s not Leslie Gilroy’s fault. It’s just that all pretty girls in America automatically turn snotty. There’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “Maybe,” David agreed, “except the girl I like is pretty, and she’s not a snot.”

  “Yeah, the girl I like isn’t a snot either,” said Larry. “She’s pretty, but not lik
e Leslie or Ginger. I mean, I think a lot of kids think she’s kind of strange.”

  “The kids think the girl I like is kind of weird, too,” said David.

  They looked at each other and the same thought struck them simultaneously. “I hope we don’t like the same girl,” said Larry.

  David laughed. “So what, even if we do?” he asked. “It’s not like she’ll really want either of us to be her boyfriend!”

  Larry smiled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. “It’s hard to imagine a girl like her ever liking a guy like me.” He laughed. “It’s hard to imagine any girl ever liking me.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe she would. Sometimes I think she does.”

  David thought about the way Miss Williams always said “Hello, Mr. Ballinger” or “Good morning, Mr. Ballinger” or “Good afternoon, Mr. Ballinger” whenever she saw him. If she didn’t like him she wouldn’t say that. Still, that didn’t mean she wanted to be his girlfriend.

  “So what’s her name?” asked Larry.

  “You tell me your girl’s name.”

  “I asked you first.”

  David bit his lip. “I don’t know her name,” he admitted.

  Larry laughed.

  “I know her last name,” said David. “Williams. There’s this sort of game we play. Whenever we see each other we act very proper and formal. I say, ‘Hello, Miss Williams,’ and she says, ‘Hello, Mr. Ballinger.’ ”

  David waited for Larry’s opinion on whether the game was stupid, or if it meant she liked him, but Larry obviously was thinking only about the girl he liked. “I don’t know my girl’s last name,” he said.

  “What does she look like?” asked David.

  “Well, she’s kind of little,” Larry said, “petite. She has big brown eyes and real short brown hair.”

  “The girl I like has long red hair,” said David.

  Larry smiled. “Well, that’s good anyway,” he said.

  “Does she know you like her?” asked David.

  “No, I’m cool,” said Larry. “She’s in my math class. I stare at her all the time, but she can’t tell where I’m looking ‘cause of my shades.” Suddenly his cheeks reddened. “That’s her!”

  David turned around. “Where?”

  “Don’t stare. She’s heading toward the door to the library. She just walked past it. Don’t let her know you’re looking at her.”

  David tried to hide his eyes as he looked at the girl. He had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Mo?” he asked. “She’s in my shop class. I share a table with her.”

  “God, you’re lucky!” said Larry. “Don’t you think she’s pretty? And she’s really funny, too.”

  “Um, sure,” said David. “I never really thought of her like that. I mean, being in shop, I guess because she’s always hammering and stuff like that.”

  Larry sighed.

  “Maybe if her hair wasn’t so short—” David started to say.

  “I like her hair like that,” said Larry. “That’s how girls wear their hair in France.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I used to live there.”

  “I thought you lived in Venezuela.”

  “We moved to France after we left Venezuela,” said Larry. “Mo reminds me of a girl I used to see every morning in a café in Paris.”

  15

  DAVID WAS feeling pretty crummy as he headed home after school—until Miss Williams popped up. He was walking by the bike racks and she was bent down fiddling with her bicycle lock, hidden by her bicycle. He didn’t notice her until she suddenly popped up right next to him, as if out of a jack-in-the-box, and said, “Good day, Mr. Ballinger.”

  It caught him completely off guard and he didn’t know what to do or say.

  She smiled, glad to be the cause of his befuddlement.

  “Good day, Miss Williams,” he said at last.

  She hopped on her bicycle and rode off.

  He smiled as he watched her go, but he wondered what she thought about his fiasco in science class. She had to know about it. She probably even heard Roger say, “Puke, you stink!” to him at lunch. And of course he didn’t do anything about it. He just sat there.

  As he headed home he tried to think of something else he could say to her the next time she popped up. He finally decided on “Delightful weather we’re having.”

  He imagined the conversation. Good afternoon, Miss Williams.

  Good afternoon, Mr. Ballinger.

  Delightful weather we’re having.

  Yes, it is lovely, isn’t it?

  It wouldn’t matter if rain was pouring down at the time. In fact, it would be funnier if it was.

  He thought maybe he’d even wear a hat to school, so he could tip his hat when he spoke to her.

  It was just so nice, amid all the garbage of junior high school, to be able to say “Hello, Miss Williams” to her and hear her say “Hello, Mr. Ballinger” to him. It was their own private joke, calling each other Miss Williams and Mr. Ballinger and speaking so formally. But besides being funny, there was also something very nice about it too.

  He found himself thinking about her a lot over the weekend. He wasn’t thinking anything in particular about her. She was just there, taking up all the space inside his head.

  “It’s your move,” Ricky reminded him.

  “Huh?” asked David. “Oh,” he said, looking at the chessboard.

  He wondered if maybe he should try talking to her like a normal person. Maybe he could even ask her to go the school skate party with him next month?

  “It’s your move,” said Ricky.

  “Huh? Oh.” He moved his bishop.

  Of course, just because she had said hello to him didn’t mean she liked him enough to go to the skate party with him. He didn’t even know her name.

  She might not like him if he talked to her like a normal person. He couldn’t risk that. He didn’t want to chance wrecking the only good thing in his life. At least he could still daydream about her; lying on the grass next to her, counting her freckles, laughing together, walking along a deserted beach holding hands. He didn’t want to lose his daydreams.

  “Check,” said Ricky.

  And what about the curse? He didn’t believe in curses, but still, how could he risk doing anything with her, when there was even a tiny chance that he might be cursed? What if he accidentally poured lemonade on her head?

  It could happen very easily. They always serve refreshments at skate parties. They probably had lemonade. And then she’d say, “I’m thirsty, Mr. Ballinger. Would you mind getting me a glass of lemonade?” So of course he’d have to get it, and he wasn’t a very good skater to begin with, and the next thing he’d know he’d lose control, fall over her, and pour the lemonade on her face.

  “Checkmate!” Ricky shouted triumphantly.

  David studied the board. He had nowhere to move his king.

  “I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Ricky. “I beat you in chess!” He smiled knowingly at his brother. “You let me win, didn’t you?”

  “No,” David assured him. “You beat me fair and square.”

  “I can’t believe it! Wait till I tell Mom and Dad!”

  David heard Ricky run through the house telling their parents how he beat David in a game of chess. He even told Elizabeth.

  I’m the one who broke the window, thought David. I fell over in my chair. I forget to zip my fly. Mrs. Bayfield didn’t do anything to me. I did it all to myself.

  Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better.

  Well, there is one thing for certain, he decided. I am not, not, not going to pour lemonade on my head.

  16

  MO’S DOGHOUSE was finished. “I don’t know how I’m going to get this stupid thing home,” she complained.

  David was leaning on his elbows, still feeling depressed after something that happened in homeroom. He glanced at Mo’s huge project, with KILLER over the entrance.

  He wanted to a
sk her why she built a doghouse if she didn’t have a dog, but he was afraid she would take it the wrong way. “I’ll help you carry it,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “You?” she asked.

  He didn’t know if she was surprised that he would help her or because she thought he was a wimp and didn’t think he could carry the heavy wooden doghouse.

  “I could probably get a friend of mine to help, too,” he said slyly. “Larry Clarksdale. Do you know him?”

  She looked even more surprised. “Larry Clarksdale,” she repeated. “Uh, yeah, I think I know who he is.”

  David tried to see if he could read anything into Mo’s voice or the way she looked, but he couldn’t. “He always wears blue sunglasses,” he said.

  Mo smiled.

  Again David couldn’t tell if she was smiling because she liked Larry or because she thought his sunglasses were goofy.

  “So we’ll meet you back here after school?” said David.

  “Okay,” said Mo.

  “Me and Larry,” said David.

  “Okay,” said Mo, staring intently at her project.

  David smiled, glad to be able to help Larry. He looked at Mo and tried to imagine her sitting in a Paris café, but couldn’t. Of course he had never seen a Paris café.

  The reason he was depressed was because he had said “Good morning” to Miss Williams in homeroom, and she’d replied “Good morning, Mr. Ballinger,” but she’d seemed distracted, like she was thinking about something else and was in no mood to be bothered. She’d seemed sad, too.

  He didn’t say “Delightful weather we’re having.” It suddenly seemed like a dumb thing to do.

  He realized it was stupid to be depressed over something like that. She might have been tired, or maybe she had the Monday morning blues. Or something else could have been bothering her that probably didn’t have anything to do with him. It could have been anything! She had a whole life that he knew nothing about. Who knows what could have been on her mind? Who knows what she did over the weekend?

  It was just that saying hello to her and hearing her say “Hello, Mr. Ballinger” to him was the high point of his day. He had hoped it was a high point of her day, too, but maybe it didn’t mean anything to her at all.