Upstander James Preller (best finance books of all time .txt) 📖

“No, we’re going to walk five miles,” Jonny said.

“Jog, maybe,” Dez quipped, snickering again. It’s what he did, Mary surmised, made unfunny comments and giggled like he was the only one deep enough to get the joke. Truly annoying. They tumbled out the door like leaves blown by some invisible wind. Mary turned the lock and leaned her back against the wall, breathing heavily, relieved they were gone. After a few minutes, the oven dinged.

Pizza was ready.

And there on the side table, Mary saw the shoebox of baseball cards. Jonny had left them behind. Maybe he wasn’t ready to sell those memories after all.

27[junkie]

Mary hadn’t said more than ten words to Griffin Connelly since the ketchup incident. They saw each other in the halls, locked eyes, but didn’t speak or smile. No one in school would have detected any outward enmity—theirs was just your basic, standard freeze-out. It was just one more thing that added to the overall suckiness of seventh grade in September. Middle school blues: the trouble with Chantel, the weirdness within the shifting dynamics of her friend group, and bad vibes from the entire crew that hung around with Griff. It didn’t leave a lot of options. No matter where Mary turned, nothing felt right. She’d already bombed a science test and was lost in math—Ms. Parmeleit was the worst at explaining things, and she was an unbearable Yankees fan, constantly crowing about every last victory. Up to this year, Mary had aced her studies without effort. But things had changed.

Outside during recess, a loose gathering of students sat at the tables under the shade of a large, umbrella-shaped tree. Drew Peterson sauntered up to Mary’s table with Will and Sinjay. “We ran into your brother last weekend.”

Mary slowly turned her head in the direction of Droopy in a show of supreme indifference.

“It was messed up,” the big, raw-boned boy continued. “Is your brother, like, homeless or something?” He had a sneering, mocking attitude in his delivery. “Jonny, right?”

Mary glanced at the others, assessing the mood. At least eight people had heard what he said. In middle school, that was as good as making announcements on the PA system. The whole world would know. Droopy had also gotten the attention of Alexis and Chrissie, who lived for this kind of playground gossip. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Mary spat.

“It was scuzzy—he was with a couple of dirtbag friends. He asked if we knew you. What happened to him? They were smoking cigarettes and even tried to hit us up for money—I mean, we were all wondering, is your brother a junkie?”

“How do you even—” snapped Mary.

“Is that true, Mary?” Alexis asked.

“Oh, so true!” Droopy interjected, enjoying the spotlight. “Total human trash show. Cigarette butts, broken glass everywhere. We were, like, gone, you know, out of there. Bunch of dopeheads. I didn’t want to be near that stuff. Griff told us they sniff heroin, maybe shoot it.”

Griff told us, Mary noted. Was he the one pulling these strings? She felt the presence of eyes on her, waiting for a reaction. Mary shifted with embarrassment. A worm of shame crawled through her stomach. She found it hard to think. A dull roar, like the drone of a jet engine, filled her head.

Chrissie reached out, squeezed Mary’s hand.

“That’s enough, be gone,” Alexis said, flicking a wrist at the boys.

“We want to be alone with our girl,” Chrissie said.

Mary appreciated their support. They could be really nice at times. A moment later, Mary got up to leave. “I’ve got to, um,” she stammered. “The nurse’s office.”

“Are you okay?” Chrissie asked. “Do you want us to come with you?”

Mary didn’t answer. She just blindly hurried away, bent slightly forward, holding her stomach. She muttered something about the nurse’s office and barreled past Mrs. Rosen, the trim and tidy lunch aide, who wisely let Mary go. When kids held their stomachs and moaned about the nurse’s office, Mrs. Rosen knew to get out of the way. It wasn’t her first rodeo.

Claiming a killer migraine (which always worked) and a mother too busy with work at the bank to pick her up, Mary managed to spend the rest of the school day in the nurse’s office. She lay on a cot in a darkened space, an aromatic towel draped across her forehead. She felt humiliated about Jonny, and at the same time she hated herself for letting it get to her. Why was she so afraid and embarrassed? As if what Drew Peterson thought meant anything to her. And yet, there it was: she couldn’t even rise up in defense of her only brother. He had called Jonny “human trash” and a “junkie,” and she just sat there in stunned silence and shame.

Mary’s thoughts bounced around like bumper cars the rest of the day, so that when it was time to go, she felt foggy and uncertain. Not wanting to look at another face, Mary lingered until the buses left and most of the walkers departed. She distractedly fumbled with the lock at the bike racks when she heard a voice. “Everything okay?”

Mary turned and saw the school cop, Officer Goldsworthy, standing nearby. He often circulated outside at the end of the school day, saw the buses off, kept a low-key eye on the comings and goings. Mary realized she’d been crying, burbling like a baby while spinning the combination lock round in circles. No wonder he checked on her. In response, Mary wiped her eyes. “Fine, I’m good,” she said, looking at her feet. “Really.”

Technically the school’s resource officer, Officer Goldsworthy was a cop who’d been assigned to the middle school. He was an intimidating presence, a large black man who always looked physically constrained in a suit and necktie, but Mary had never seen him do anything other than talk quietly to people. A lot of big guys were like that. They didn’t have to “do” anything, because nobody dared test them.

There, Mary finally got the lock.