The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,2

Like the specimen jars above her head, he’d never really paid attention to her before. She’d only been at the school for a month. She was quiet and didn’t speak to anyone. She wore gray—sweatshirt, jeans, sneakers. If it weren’t for her thick, messy red hair, she might have faded entirely into the wall. The next time she lit the lighter, to his surprise, she held it against her ankle. The flame raced up her white sock before extinguishing itself. Timothy couldn’t have been more shocked if the thing in the jar had leapt off the top shelf behind her and landed in her lap.

“This is going to stink,” Stuart said, not noticing the pyro in the corner. Timothy was too fascinated by what she was doing to pay any attention to his friend. Stuart poked Timothy in the shoulder and said, “Right?”

Suddenly, her brown eyes shifted toward him, and Timothy realized that he’d been caught.

“Abigail Tremens?”

The girl cupped the lighter in her fist and looked to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Crane was staring at her. “Yeah?” she said.

“Who would you like to work with?”

“Oh.” Abigail let her eyes fall to the desk. “I … uh … don’t know.”

Mr. Crane peered across the blank faces of his students, who waited in silence for him to continue. “Would someone please volunteer to be Abigail’s partner? We’ve all got to have a partner.”

Abigail seemed to shrink into her seat with embarrassment.

The class did not answer.

Timothy absentmindedly scratched at his ear. Mr. Crane suddenly exclaimed, “Timothy July! Good.”

Surprised, Timothy managed a weak whisper. “But—”

Mr. Crane didn’t seem to notice. “Abigail and Timothy,” he said pointedly, writing their names down in his notebook.

Timothy turned around. The girl stared at him, her mouth open in shock.

“Moving on. Stuart Chen, who would you like to work with?”

Timothy glanced apologetically at the boy who had been his usual partner, whenever they’d been given the opportunity, since kindergarten. But Stuart’s mouth was pressed tightly shut; his face shone faintly red through his olive skin. He glared at Timothy, sending a different type of fire across the three-foot aisle.

2.

After sneaking away from the history classroom without speaking to Stuart, Timothy gathered books from his locker for his next class. His friend was angry, and Timothy knew he had every right to be. If their places were switched, he would have been just as upset.

After a moment, he decided it would be best to explain that it had been an accident. And if Stuart didn’t get it—well, too bad.

Something was happening in Timothy’s life that Stuart could not possibly understand, something his parents had made him promise to keep secret, a task he was finding more and more difficult with every passing day.

He’d just taken his hand out of the locker when the door slammed shut. Timothy leapt backward to find Stuart standing beside the locker, smiling strangely. After a few silent seconds, Timothy managed to say, “Hey, I’m really sorry about the whole partner thing. It was—”

“A little late for that now,” Stuart interrupted. “You could have said something to Mr. Crane during class.”

“I—I said I was sorry,” said Timothy. “We’ll be partners next time. Promise.”

“Fat Carla,” said Stuart, his eyes darkening. “How would you like to be working with Fat Carla?”

“I’d like it all right.” This was what he’d been afraid of.

“Liar.”

Timothy felt his face start to burn. “You’re kinda being unfair, don’t you think? It wasn’t my fault. Plus, during class, you kept saying how lame the project was going to be.”

“That’s ’cause it is going to be lame,” said Stuart. “But at least we would have been in it together.”

Something was bubbling deep inside Timothy. Something he’d wanted to say to Stuart for a while now. “Maybe it’ll be good to try something different.”

“Different? What do you mean—different?”

“Stuart,” Timothy whispered. “Sometimes you can be …”

“Be what?” Stuart’s smile finally dropped away.

“Not everything is lame. Not everyone is ugly and stupid. In fact, I think the field trip tomorrow might be fun. You’re always so … I just think … maybe it would be a good idea …”

“What would be a good idea?” Stuart’s voice hardened.

“To work with a different partner on this project,” said Timothy, clutching his math book. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh, that’s all you’re saying?”

“I gotta get to class.” Timothy started to back away, heading toward the math wing.

“You wanna talk about different?” said Stuart, following him. “You should know. You’ve been acting different ever since … I don’t know when.”

Timothy