Chapter 50: Lay of the Lunchroom
I was last in line on the way to lunch. It might have been a form of mercy, considering my earlier freakout. It might have been seen as a childish penalty due to perceived ‘fussiness’ earlier that morning. Heck, it might have just been because I was the last to get changed before lunch.
With the clean diaper and my pants back on, being last in line was the least of all evils. As promised, Zoge changed me and shimmied the sailor shorts back up my waist when she was done. Even said ‘I love you’, too… This torturous day was over half complete and I had a reasonable facsimile of modesty back. All told, I was fairly confident that I could hold anything in until after my visit with Cassie that afternoon.
I held onto Sandra Lynn’s hand with my right, my left remaining free. Sandra Lynn was nowhere near as strong as Ivy. Not that I was going to risk it on the first day, but if I’d had a mind to I could have wriggled out of her grasp and made a run for it. ‘Wriggle’ would have been too strong a word; she wasn’t pulling me along. She was barely touching me.
Combine all that with the talk with Tracy and the vague beginning of some kind of plan, and the emotional vise my mind was in was loosening just a tad. It didn’t stop my head from being on a swivel, however.
“Lookin’ for somebody, dude?” Chaz asked from his stroller. “Or were you a sprinkler in your past life?” Thank whatever capricious gods there are that Annie and Billy were further up the line and couldn’t hear the sprinkler comment. Chaz had a point, though. Me being constantly and visibly on the lookout drew more attention to me.
“Just get through the day,” I whispered to myself so low that it was more lip syncing to the track in my head than anything else. “Just get through today. Only a few more hours to go. Everybody at school already knows. Breakfast took care of that. Band-aid officially ripped-”
“OH MY FRIGGIN GAWD! GIBSON REALLY IS A BABY!”
Knees locked back up. Grip went limp and the Little line went on without me. Beouf stopped Chaz’s stroller to not collide with me. I turned my head and looked up; a deer in the headlights of an oncoming subway train.
As we were nearing the corner of the walkway to go into the cafeteria, another class was passing by in the opposite direction. Mrs. Springfield’s Fourth Grade class was on their way to the P.E. field. Third from the front of the line, pointing, and with his short blonde hair gelled up into spikes, was Jeremy Merriwether.
“Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf called out. Zoge turned around and stopped the line.
I didn’t move; a mouse caught in the gaze of a tiger Jeremy had slowed his walk to take the full view in; rubbernecking the car wreck that my life had become.
He reached over and poked another kid in the shoulder. “Look! Do you see this! Mr. Gibson really IS a baby! He’s dressed up like a sailor!” It all came out in one unsteady wave of uncontained laughter. “He looks so goofy without the beard!”
“He’s prolly just helping or something.”
“No way,” I heard a third kid say. “He’s wearing a diaper! You can tell!”
“Awww,” Jeremy renewed the attack, “did widdle baby Gibson make a poo-poo or pee-pee in his pants and now he has to go to the baby cwass!”
More cruel laughter from the assembled children. Encouraged by Jeremy, a few started edging their thumbs to their lips in mockery of me. More giggles and laughter and whispers hidden behind hands. More kids who I’d seen every day for years were seeing me in the same light they’d seen every other Little. Worse, perhaps, because they’d thought I’d been an exception to the rule. This was everything that I was fearing would happen.
Then a small miracle happened. Mrs. Springfield stopped and looked back, realizing her class was no longer following her. “Jeremy!” Mrs. Springfield called back, “I know you’re not making us late for P.E. just so you and your friends can point fingers and delay Mrs. Beouf’s students.”
“Sorry,” Jeremy giggled, and picked up his pace.
Mrs. Beouf made a signal to Mrs. Springfield. Springfield stopped and nodded back to Beouf.
“JEREMY MERRIWETHER!” she boomed. Now Jeremy froze. On a dime, the normally calm and pseudo-nurturing Melony Beouf transformed herself into a drill sergeant. “What do you think you’re doing picking on a Little kid?”
Jeremy started to stutter. “I wasn’t doin’ anything, I was just-”
“I saw what you did young, man. You were pointing and laughing at one of my students. Several of you were.” Jeremy’s friends went quiet and looked away, some scooted backwards a bit trying to distance themselves from him. “Why is a big fourth grader laughing at a baby?”
“Cuz he used to be a teacher and now he’s-”
Beouf didn’t let him finish. “So you think it’s funny because he’s older than you? Because he’s a grown baby? You think he’s here as a punishment? ”
“I-I-yea-?”
“If you’re right, then you’re kicking someone when they’re down. That’s not very mature, is it?”
Jeremy’s face twisted up in knots “Ummmm…” He looked to others for help. None came. No one was bailing him out of the ditch he’d dug for himself.
“Maybe you need to come to my room next. Would you like that?”
“N-n-n-no? NO!”
“Are you sure?” Beouf goaded. She’d locked Chaz’s stroller and was now staring down at Jeremy with her hands on her hips. “Are you sure? I’m sure I’ve got some diapers and baby clothes that you’d fit into. I’m sure your parents would be thrilled to learn how immature their son is. They’d probably have your crib back up by tonight. You and Clark can be playmates.”
“NOOOOO!” The brat’s fists were clenched and his voice was cracking.
“No?” Beouf tilted her ear forward.
“NO MA’AM!”