Page 45 of Something Like Summer
Tim saw him and lookedaround nervously.
Ben beckoned him silentlyas he stepped back through the doorway. Tim followed, eyessearching the room for anyone else as he entered.
“There’s no one else here,you dork!” Ben said once the door was closed.
“What are you doing here?”Tim laughed.
“Did you see the papertoday?”
“Yeah, nice poem. You lostme with ‘pauper’s love’ though.”
Ben sighed. “When twopeople are so poor that they have nothing, they still have love.That’s their happiness.”
“Ah, but neither of us arepoor,” Tim winked.
“We aren’t a guy and agirl either!”
A knowing look spreadacross Tim’s face. “Someone screwed with your poem,huh?”
“Yeah, my douche bag of ateacher changed it.” Ben shook his head irritably. “I came here totell her off, but there’s nobody home.”
“Why don’t you leave amessage?” Tim glanced around, spotted the hat rack Mrs. Jones keptby the door, and kicked it over with a faux roundhouse. It landednoisily on the floor with a crack that suggested it was no longerin one piece.
“Don’t!” Ben scoldedbefore smiling with satisfaction.
“You should try it,” Timsuggested. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“She does deserve it,” Benconceded. He looked around for inspiration. He grabbed the nearestdesk and tipped it over. Considering that the desk surface had beenempty, this wasn’t very impressive.
“C’mon, you can do betterthan that. How about her desk?”
Ben matched Tim’s wickedgrin, his anger at his mistreatment rising in him. He marched overto Mrs. Jones’s desk and with one hefty heave, sent all of thedesktop contents flying onto the floor.
“Yeah!” Tim laughedmanically as he grabbed the drawers and pulled, papers flyingeverywhere. “What’s next?”
“Wanna see the dark room?”Ben asked with sudden inspiration.
“Sure.” Tim followed himthrough the strange spinning corridor into a small cramped roomglowing with red light.
“What’d you have in mindhere?” Tim asked, pressing up against Ben from behind and breathingon his neck.
Ben didn’t answer. He wasdistracted by the developed photos that had been pinned up to dry.Some of them were of sports scenes or of the grinning faces indrama club, but a handful were of couples hugging or leaning oneach other. These photos would never be censored. They would be putin the paper without anyone ever questioning them or insisting theybe altered. The people in those photos would always have theirrelationships instantly accepted and would never consider how itwould feel to have something as simple as holding hands beridiculed in public.
Ben’s eyes flickered overto a small fire extinguisher clamped to the wall. He shrugged Timoff and took it down, struggling to pull the safety pin free beforeaiming the nozzle at the photos.
“I hate this fuckingschool,” Ben swore before white foam exploded over the photos,soaked the hanging strings of negatives, and seeped into thedelicate developing equipment.
Soon it became difficult tobreathe, so they fled through the spinning doorway and back intothe main room where Ben began spraying everything he saw withartificial snow.
“Let me try,” Timsaid.
He walked around the room,spraying a bookshelf until it dripped with foam. Tim’s jawclenched. There was a rage in his eyes that Ben found fascinating.What did Tim have to feel so angry about? Was it his parents? Hisinability to openly be who he really was? Did he hate the verysociety that he fit into so perfectly?
The fire extinguisher beganto sputter. Having exhausted its supply, Tim threw it at the markerboard on the far wall, putting a nasty dent in its center. Theyleft the room stealthily. For the first time, they walked side byside down the school corridors. Once they were out of the building,they broke into a run, laughter making their sides ache as theytried to put as much distance as possible between themselves andthe school.
They reached the bike pathsand followed them into the sanctuary of the woods. There they fellonto the pine needle carpet, laughing and gasping for breath untilthey were exhausted.
“Hey,” Ben said seriouslyas something occurred to him. “Did you like it?”
