Losers Read Online Free PDF Page B

heating up.
    â€œYeah,” he said. “It so fuckin’ makes me want to—”
    â€œJupiter?”
    Bates quickly dug his still-clenched fist into his lap. His forehead unclenched, and his other hand took the bottom hem of his massive, oversized Death Eats Everything shirt and wrapped it over his fist to hide it.
    I looked up. It was Ms. Fortinbras, who’d been subbing in my English class. As far as I could tell, she was a mellow, agreeable type, the kind of substitute teacher who doesn’t make you listen to the lesson as long as you aren’t out of your seat or texting with your phone above the desk.
    â€œJupiter, what are you doing here?” she asked, looking honestly puzzled. I’d been in the front row, and earlier today I surprised myself by actually paying attention to the lesson and even asking her a question.
    â€œMr. Denisof sent me to the principal’s office.”
    â€œYes, I can see that.”
    I gazed vacantly into my lap. “He couldn’t understand my accent. He thought I can’t speak English, and that I shouldn’t come back to class until I learn the language.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous; your English is absolutely fine. He’s just a bigot looking for an excuse to whittle down his class size. Get out of here, take the rest of the period off, and if he still remembers on Monday that he kicked you out—which he won’t—just tell him that your accent is from Cleveland or something.”
    â€œTell him it’s from Cleveland?”
    â€œWhatever. If he asks, tell him he has to deal with me. But he won’t.”
    â€œUm, okay.” I nodded, unsure whether I was actually supposed to listen to her and get up out of my seat or just throw away the note and keep waiting.
    Ms. Fortinbras jiggled the pile of papers she was holding.
    â€œWhat are you doing sitting there? Get out of here! It’s Friday afternoon. Go have a weekend or something.”
    I jumped out of my seat, straight toward the North Lawn, and clocked it out of there before Ms. Fortinbras could rethinkher verdict or before Bates decided to kick my ass for getting out of my appointment when he was still in line for his own.
    The bus to the Yards was full when I got on. Almost half the chairs were empty, but there was somebody sitting in at least every pair of seats. Philadelphia transit buses all have two rows of seats, with a few choice single seats on the left that get filled immediately. On the right side of the bus are pairs, two-by-two rows of seats. The people in those seats shot me hostile glances as I walked down the aisle, everyone trying to protect his or her territory. I slid in what I thought was the only unoccupied pair left, and hesitated halfway down, realizing that someone was sitting there, too short to be seen from in front. Then I realized that person was Vadim.
    â€œWhy are you leaving early?” I asked him, settling down into the barely comfortable seat lining, a scratchy felt.
    â€œMy Organic Chem teacher threw me out of class,” Vadim replied.
    â€œHe threw you out?” I gasped, not comprehending. “For what? For knowing more than he does?”
    Vadim looked at me with innocent, unsuspecting eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Actually, for that exact thing.”
    â€œWell, damn,” I huffed. “It’s official: This school has no sense of decency.”
    â€œNah,” he said. “It’s cool. I think they’re gonna skip me up a grade.”
    â€œAnother one? But you’ve already skipped fifth and seventh…”
    â€œWhat can I say?” Vadim made a Groucho Marx caught-in-the-act face. “They know talent when they see it.”
    â€œYeah,” I echoed blankly. I stared out the window and watched the houses go by.
    The Yards, the neighborhood where we lived, was the dusky, dingy attic of Philadelphia, the horrible family secret that everyone wished could stay buried.