BenBee and the Teacher Griefer Read online

  I one hundred and fifty-five percent forgot that Mom was here, too, until she brings out a tub of ice cream and two spoons and puts it on the rug in front of me and Ben Y and winks and says, Who’s ready for second breakfast?

  Mom squeezes Ben Y’s shoulder when she walks past us to go back to the kitchen to find some paper towels because I already accidentally dripped ice cream on the rug and Spartacus isn’t here to lick it up. That makes it hard to swallow the ice cream that made it to my mouth because now my throat has a Spartacus-sized planet stuck in it and Ben Y sees my throat planet maybe, or maybe just has a brother-sized planet stuck in her own throat because she squeezes my shoulder like my mom squeezed hers, and it’s like she squeezed out a smidge of sadness and replaced it with the warm feeling of I got you, just like D’Andre says I got you to Theresa when she leaps into his arms and he catches her tight and safe and spins her over his head while her smile goes from scared to relieved and you can see her body relax just a little and that’s probably why Veronica Verve gave them ten out of ten, outstanding.

  I give Ben Y ten out of ten outstanding for that shoulder squeeze and for the way she can eat ice cream because dang there is already none left, get it girl. Then I ask her if she thinks pre-planet dust in a box can also be a little bit like being in your own Sandbox and maybe her brother is in his own Sandbox and would he think that was cool or no and she gives a tiny little cough as she swallows her ice cream and then she cries like really super hard and all I can do is cry a little bit with her because I always cry when other people cry and I point her face at my shoulder and pat her head like Mom patted my head last night until I fell asleep.

  JAVIER

 

  BEN B

 

  Javier puts his hoodie back on,

  we grab our stuff,

  and we are running.

  I don’t love running.

  It’s hot.

  It’s sweaty.

  And yet

  here we are.

  Javier’s long legs

  cut through the tall grass

  and I chase after him,

  a panting puppy

  running after a deer

  or a gazelle

  or what’s that animal

  with the twirly horns?

  Kudu!

  Javier is a kudu.

  I am . . .

  a corgi?

  We run,

  bursting through the school doors,

  flying down the hallway,

  stopping,

  hands on our knees,

  gasping,

  sweat dripping,

  so late,

  trying to catch our breath

  before we go through the last door,

  into the stairwell,

  to face the day.

  Her dress is golden today,

  with black on its edges.

  There are sun shapes,

  shimmering on the fabric,

  the same color,

  but somehow they shine

  even in the buzzing

  ugly light

  under the stairs.

  Her dark eyes greet us.

  Her mouth pressed in a line,

  but not in a line I know.

  It’s thinner, tenser,

  like maybe she’s biting her lips

  from the inside.

  How kind of you boys,

  she says,

  to deign to come to class today.

  Her voice is weird, too,

  higher-pitched,

  like it’s almost joking,

  but her face says

  no way

  no jokes

  not now

  sit down.

  We sit down.

  Ben B.

  Can I have you at your desk today?

  The computer in front of me

  pings to life.

  Turn that off,

  and take your seat, please.

  But . . .

  I don’t understand.

  Is this because we were late?

  Is she mad?

  I thought I was the best typist in the world?

  I thought this was our new plan?

  My path to the 504?

  For right now.

  Please.

  Your seat.

  She points at my old desk.

  And it’s only now I realize two things.

  One: Javier and I are the only kids here.

  Two: There’s a man I didn’t see when we came in,

  a man who could make better choices about where to put his chair,

  a man staring at us

  like we are putting on a very interesting show

  and no way is he moving his chair

  because he has the best seat

  in the house.

  I don’t suppose you two know

  where everyone else is?

  She tries to laugh,

  a hairball noise,

  a dry-throat noise,

  a . . .

  scared noise?

  Javier and I shake our heads.

  Ms. J blinks

  and it takes so long

  for her eyes to open,

  I wonder if she’s fallen asleep

  standing up.

  When her eyes open,

  she breathes:

  Wonderful.

  A whisper so quiet,

  under her breath,

  I can barely hear it

  even from my desk

  right in front of her.

  I can tell

  she doesn’t think anything

  is wonderful

  right now.

  Well, let’s go ahead

  and get started.

  The assessment retake

  will be here before we know it.

  Javier, can you remove your hoodie, please?

  Dress code.

  Not once

  in all of the ten million days

  we have been in summer school

  has Ms. J ever

  ever

  asked Javier

  to take off his hoodie.

  He looks at me

  instead of her.

  I shrug.

  He frowns.

  And then—

  A lot of things happen at once.

  Jordan J and Ben Y

  come smashing

  through the door

  running a hundred miles an hour.

  The door crashes open

  with such force

  it slams into the man in the chair,

  bouncing off him,

  and then hitting him again

  when it swings back.

  He yelps,

  grabs his nose,

  his glasses skittering across the floor,

  his notebook sliding off his lap,

  a slap as it lands at his feet.

  Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiitake mushrooms!

  Who’s that guy?

  Jordan J’s voice bounces through the stairwell.

  Ben Y starts to laugh,

  a giggle at first,

  then loud whoops,

  then the whoops turn into gasps,

  and then

  she’s crying

  hard,

  falling to her knees

  right where she stands,

  and

  Ms. J crashes into her

  on her way

  to the man

  whose nose is freely bleeding

  down his chin

  and onto his white

  short-sleeved

  button-up

  shirt.

  Uh.

  Javier and I stay in our seats,

  watching everything.

  Tangles of arms and legs,

  flashes of gold,

  gushing nose blood,

  and now Jordan J is crying, too,

  on the floor, too,

  hugging Ben Y

  rocking back and forth

  and
what

  is

  even

  happening.

  Everyone is stunned quiet

  except for the crying people.

  Ms. J is back on her feet.

  The man

  holds his bloody face with one hand,

  his notebook with the other,

  his glasses retrieved, and propped on his head

  as if they were fancy sunglasses

  and he was a superstar

  who just got smashed in the face

  with a basketball.

  Or an elbow.

  Or, you know,

  a door.

  Mr. Maillot.

  Her voice is a shattered whisper.

  Mr. Maillot,

  as you can imagine, this—

  He interrupts her

  with a shaking,

  rumbling

  volcanic

  voice:

  I’ll see you in the hallway,

  Jordan.

  Now.

  Jordan looks up,

  his face shining with tears.

  I’m sorry. We didn’t see you. We—

  He means me.

  Ms. J puts her hand on Jordan J’s shoulder,

  for just a second,

  before she follows the man,

  Mr. Maillot,

  out the door.

  She turns,

  looks at us.

  My name is Jordan, too.

  BEN Y

  <0BenwhY>

  One year ago today.

  Summer school.

  At my desk.

  Daydreaming.

  Thinking about the potion.

  Thinking I’d be a Ghostkiller now.

  Wondering why Benicio taught me.

  Wondering so many other

  unimportant things

  when

  a man came in the classroom,

  a man in a short-sleeved,

  button-up

  shirt,

  a man named Mr. Maillot,

  the vice principal,

  a man who went to my teacher,

  whispered in her ear,

  and then kneeled by my desk,

  asked me to please follow him

  to the front office

  which I did

  and there was my mom

  and Esme

  faces blank

  with shock

  at school to pick me up,

  take me to the hospital.

  There had been an accident—

  Benicio’s car—

  the rain—

  a curve—

  and Mr. Maillot held my hand,

  walked us to Mom’s car,

  then

  wished

  us

  luck.

  Mr. Maillot.

  An angel of death.

  Holding my hand

  as I took my first steps,

  my baby steps,

  into a new world,

  a foreign place,

  a universe that somehow existed

  without

  my brother in it.

  And it was like he really was some kind of angel,

  because I never saw him again.

  Maillot.

  I didn’t go back to summer school,

  and he wasn’t at school during the school year.

  Gone, poof, like he’d been made of smoke.

  But now he’s here?

  Bleeding in my classroom?

  I can’t . . .

  I don’t . . .

  Who is he here for?

  Who else has died?

  Whose hand is he about to hold?

  Please,

  please,

  please,

  don’t have it be mine again.

  Please don’t have it be anyone’s.

  JORDAN J

 

  Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait wait.

  Ms. J is also Jordan J? There are two Jordan Js in this class?? How will anyone tell us apart???

  Is her middle name also nothing because she doesn’t have one like I don’t have one????????? Is this why she also does fart noises sometimes????? Is this why we both get so many chat infractions??? Because those are all things Jordan Js do??????

  A lot of questions about a lot of things are flying around inside my head right now and also a lot of feelings are still inside me because of Spartacus and now this dude who is a stranger is bleeding all down his face in a super yucky way and that’s because I hit him with the door, which was by accident. Except, wait, even though it was kind of a photo finish, I’m pretty sure Ben Y beat me in the race so technically she hit him with the door and now she’s sitting on the floor crying and crying and crying and uh-oh, you know what that means.

  It was Ben Y who said maybe we should stop eating ice cream and go to school, that maybe school would somehow make us feel better and maybe she needed to say she was sorry for yelling at Ms. J even though Ms. J totally deserved it and maybe it would be nice to see our friends and since Ms. J is learning how to farm pigs in Sandbox that will probably be funny to watch, all the pigs running around, so I said, okay sure, let’s go, and Mom said, are you two sure? And we said yes and she said, okay, let’s get in the car, and we said maybe we can walk? And she said, it’s really far, are you sure, and we said sure and started walking.

  It was really far, though, and also really hot so we decided to take the bus but the bus broke down which, what, that has never happened before and we had to wait for a new bus and so by the time we got to school we weren’t just late we were really really really late and I was like, maybe we should run and Ben Y was like I’ll beat you there and I was like, no way, and then! It! Was! A! Race!

  And now we’re here and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come. Ben Y is still crying and crying and we all know what’s going to happen when I see someone crying and crying, just like when I see someone throwing up. So now we’re both crying and crying (but at least not throwing up) and I know she’s crying because of her brother and I’m crying because of Spartacus and we’re hugging each other and crying but not in a weird way just in a sad way and I just heard that bleeding guy ask me to come out into the hallway but Ms. J said no, Jordan, he means me, and I really feel like this day has spiraled out of control.

  JAVIER

 

  BEN B

 

  We wait.

  We wait.

  We wait.

  We wait.

  Ms. J,

  Mr. Maillot,

  they don’t come back.

  We wait.

  We wait.

  We wait.

  We wait.

  The bell rings.

  Should we stay?

  Should we go?

  No one says anything.

  We keep sitting

  until Javier stands,

  and one by one

  shows us all

  what he just drew.

  Oh

  shiiiiiiiitake mushrooms.

  BEN Y

  <0BenwhY>

  He’s right.

  Javier is totally right.

  This was Ms. J’s assessment.

  She told us it was coming.

  This was her teacher FART.

  Son of a bench.

  JORDAN J

 

  If Javier is right and he is very much probably right, then hopefully Ms. J will get to retake her teacher assessment FART like we all get to retake the regular FART, and hopefully she will pass like hopefully we all will pass and hopefully everything will be fine for everyone just like how in Fierce Across America they sometimes have a Save Your Bootie Dance when the judges give someone a low score but the audience thinks the dancer just had a bad day or whatever so the dancer dances really, really hard to save their bootie and to try to add points to their score. Ms. J has been working all summer to help us save our booties, so we can definitely make
sure to help her save her own.

  JAVIER

 

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  JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: 0BenwhY, you okay?

  0BenwhY: nah.

  0BenwhY: you okay?

  JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: nah

  JORDANJMAGEDDON!!!!: but maybe we both will be okay some day

  BenBee ENTERS GAME

  BenBee: You y’alls okay?

  BenBee: What happened in class today? all the crying stuff