The Misfits Read Online Free Page B

gets there, she turns and cradles the booksin the crook of her left arm and raises her right hand high in the air so she looks, I swear on a stack of pancakes, like the spitting image of the Statue of Liberty (which I expect is exactly what she intends) and she proclaims in a voice that sounds like she’s been listening a whole lot of times to that “I Have a Dream” speech: “Until there is LIBERTY and JUSTICE for AWWLL... let there be TRUTH in SILENCE!”
    Ms. Wyman’s jaw drops. Some of the kids clap. Some laugh. Jimmy Lemon calls out, “What a loser!” Ms. Wyman says, “That will be enough, Mr. Lemon.” DuShawn Carter sends a spitball flying, but it misses Addie because she’s turned and walked out, and hits the “a” in Ms. Wyman’s name on the door instead. Ms. Wyman sees it and there’s blood in her eyes as she yells, “Kevin Hennessey!”
    â€œWhy is it always me!” Kevin protests. “I didn’t do it!”
    The whole class gets laughing so hard I forget that Addie is in serious trouble.

5
    SO NOW it is Tuesday after school and an emergency meeting of the Forum has been called on account of what happened to Addie today, her being sent to Mr. Kiley’s office and all, as well as some other matters I will attend to in due course. But I am not yet sitting with Addie and Skeezie and Joe in the back booth with the torn red leatherette upholstery at the Candy Kitchen; as of this very moment I am standing ten feet away from Killer Man, waiting. I listen to the sound of his fingertips drumming the wooden edge of the Calvin Klein neckwear display case, while at the same time making the observation that whenever the Muzak choral
oo-ah
rendition of “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head” plays it is always followed by a sprightly accordion version of “Y.M.C.A.,” and I think I may be trapped in a time warp or an episode of
The
Twilight Zone.
And then I begin to worry that if I keep coming here on Tuesdays and Fridays and the occasional Saturdays, I will become accustomed to standing around waiting for customers who do not appear, waiting for time to pass, waiting for who knows what, and that eventually I will turn into either Mr. Keller-man or a Zen Buddhist.
    I do not know why I have this job, except that my dad does not make much money at the nursery and I do what I can to help out. So, okay, I know I have to work, but why
this
job, I cannot figure, other than that my dad knows the store manager. Perhaps, I think, it is not about the job. Perhaps there is a lesson I am meant to glean from the experience. Perhaps it will make me a better person. I think,
I am already turning into a Zen Buddhist.
    At this moment, the anti-Buddha walks in, in the person of JoDan Bunch.
    â€œLook at you,” he greets me with, “in that tie with all the little amoebas on it. How science dweeb is
that?”
    â€œThese aren’t amoebas,” I inform him. “This a style called paisley.”
    â€œWell, I think I knew that,” says Joe, casting his eyes over the ties on the nearest display table and gingerly selecting a purple one. At least I do not have to worry that his hands are filthy. This is never a question with Joe.
    I glance over my shoulder to see if Killer Man is giving me the evil oculus, but he is not so much as looking in my direction. He appears to be lost in thought and whatever has got his brain cells occupied is having a strange effect on his facial muscles. They are not locked into their usual the-world-is-beneath-me sneer, but hang on his face like melting cheese, creating the illusion that he is an actual human being and a sad one, at that. Seeing him like this makes me wonder once again about his life outside of Awkworth & Ames, and I make a mental note to try and find out a thing or two.
    Joe has come to remind me of the emergency Forum at five-fifteen, which will be brief but crucial. I have no doubt that