The New Kid Read Online Free

Most of the girls looked like they either wanted to run away or lay a big wet kiss on him. Half the boys acted like they wanted to beat the crap out of him and the other half wondered if he was going to beat the crap out of them. High school, you had to love it. Or maybe not. Duncan was hanging with some of his buddies by a bench and he glared at Will as he walked by. He used his fingers to make the “I’m watching you” sign. No , thought Will, I’m watching you. All of you.
     
    Will checked in with the principal, a large oafish man with adult acne, small eyes, and a neck that was thicker than his head so his whole body sort of came to a point.

    “Welcome to Harrisburg High, I’m Principal Steadman,” said the pointy head as it looked down at a folder. “Do you like to be called Willie, Bill, or William?”
    “It’s Will.”
    “Good for you.” Pointy-head—Steadman—smiled, revealing overlapping front teeth. Will mustered a smile in return and studied the man. He could be safe or he could be one of them. It was hard to tell, especially with adults. It usually took a while to smoke them out. Will’s enemies were nothing if not clever.
    Steadman’s administrative smile evaporated as he opened a file, read a little, then tapped it as though he was a hot shot TV cop or something. Guys like Steadman made Will want to puke, but he thought it best to abstain for the time being. Steadman tapped the folder again.
    “You know what this is?”
    Will kept mum, figuring Steadman would get around to answering his own question sooner or later. They always did.
    “It’s your permanent record , your transcripts from the schools you’ve attended. You’ve been around, haven’t you, William?”
    “We’ve moved a lot, yeah,” said Will.
    “And you’ve had some rough patches, haven’t you? It says here you blew up the boiler room in the basement of Wellington High School in San Diego?”
    “Accidents happen,” replied Will, though he knew good and well his blowing up the boiler was a totally necessary act of self-defense and not any kind of accident.
    “Yes, they do,” said Steadman, “and apparently they happen to you with frightening regularity. The bus crash on the Porter Bridge overpass in Corpus Christi, Texas. The gas main explosion at Jordan Manning in Greenhaven, North Carolina.” Steadman flicked the folder with his middle finger. He looked frustrated, like he knew he had to hand down some stupid edict but didn’t particularly feel like
it. He was clearly conflicted. Either that or he really had to go to the bathroom. Finally, he sighed.
    “I want you to know that I’m a fair man, and that as far as I’m concerned you have a clean slate to start with here at Harrisburg High School. Here’s your class schedule and your instruction packet. You’re responsible for reading it and following the rules. Here’s your locker number and the combination. It’s your responsibility to keep your locker clean and free from drugs, contraband, and alcohol. I run a tight ship but a fair ship, William.”
    The name’s “Will,” thought Will, but he didn’t bother correcting Steadman. He just wanted this over. Everywhere you went there were rules, but they were trivial compared to the rules of his world, and those rules Will lived to break in the worst possible way.
    Principal Steadman pinhead stood up, indicating the brief meeting had come to an end. He reached over and grabbed a couple of forearm crutches and then came around the front of the desk to shake hands. Will felt ashamed that he’d held even an ounce of malice for Steadman. The poor guy had multiple sclerosis. Then he remembered the time an enemy had come at him disguised as a blind drooling quadriplegic and decided he’d better stay on the alert even though Steadman seemed like a basically nice guy to whom life had dealt a crummy hand. Steadman shook Will’s hand and Will squeezed tightly, trying to feel for moisture in the center of the palm.