Don't Care High Read Online Free Page A

with an olive complexion. His straight black hair was slicked back from his forehead, giving him a weasel-like appearance, which was accentuated further by his beady black eyes. His posture was terrible, combining a slump with a forward tilt, and he wore a voluminous, full-length, dull-beige raincoat which hung on him as if on a bent coat hanger. Beneath his open coat he wore a pink shirt and jeans which were turned up tightly at the ankles. Each cuff was secured with a large safety pin. On his feet were glossy black dress shoes.
    â€œ
Who
is
that
?” Paul whispered in awe.
    â€œI don’t know his name,” Sheldon whispered back. “I think he’s a senior. I’ve seen him around. Not the most outgoing guy in the world, I’d guess, but he looks like presidential timber to me.”
    â€œWhat? Are you crazy? You can’t make that guy president!”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWell, first of all, because he’d never let you do it!”
    Sheldon smiled wisely. “He won’t have to know about it. We’ll just file nomination papers on his behalf.”
    â€œBut — But that can’t happen — Can it?”
    â€œI see no reason why not. We nominate him, wait a while, nobody else runs, and he’s president. I don’t think he’ll mind. Of all the people in this school who don’t care, I’d say he doesn’t care the most. I mean, it isn’t as though he’d have to do anything.”
    Paul shook his head. “But don’t you think he’ll complain when he finds out he’s president?”
    â€œHe might, but I doubt it. From what I can tell about him, he’ll probably just ignore the whole thing. We’ve got a problem, though. We don’t know his name. We can’t just nominate him as the guy with greased-back hair and safety pins in his pants.”
    Paul looked back at the apparition, who was still standing and staring into his locker. Him? President? “Well, I guess that’s it then. You don’t know his name, so you can’t do it. Too bad.”
    â€œFollow me,” said Sheldon. With Paul tagging along cautiously, he approached the boy in the raincoat. “Hi. I’ve seen you around here a lot. I’m Shel, and this is Paul.”
    The black eyes remained blank. The response was quiet and dry. “Hi.”
    Sheldon waited for more and, when none came, added, “I don’t think we know your name.”
    The boy looked at him again. “I don’t think so either,” he said in an unpunctuated monotone. He shut his locker door and snapped on the lock. “Bye.” Then he was gone, hunching down the hallway, headed for the stairwell.
    â€œWhat
was
that?” asked Paul in awe.
    Sheldon was impressed, too. “He’s something special, even for this school. But you’ve got to admit that he’s perfect to represent the students of Don’t Care High.”
    Paul laughed. “All right, Sheldon, let’s drop it. You can’t make that guy president. You can’t even get him to identify himself.”
    â€œI’ll find out who he is. Somebody must know him.”
    * * *
    Rosalie Gladstone shrugged almost expansively enough to dislocate both shoulders, then snapped her gum three times. “What do you want to know that for?” Her voice seemed to operate on the same frequency as Paul’s mother’s telephone.
    Sheldon put on his most charming smile and treated the question as rhetorical. “But you
have
seen him?”
    â€œOh, sure. I guess. I don’t know.” She laughed.
    Peter Eversleigh was not much help, either. He sat cross-legged in front of his locker, taking precise, rhythmic, quarter-inch bites out of a long string of black licorice. He looked up at Sheldon and Paul.
    â€œYeah, I know the dude about whom you are speaking. Greased-back hair, raincoat, jeans with safety pins. Must be one conceptual