“Try stop, Chris, try stop,” said Allen, grabbing Chris’s arm.
Chris looked at the small hand, then at Allen’s face. Instead of saying anything, he stopped still, blinked, and wondered when the last time was that someone had grabbed his arm and not met with a fist.
He relaxed. “What, Allen, what?
“I no like you get in trouble.”
Chris had been in this kind of trouble enough times.
“No worry,” said Chris. “Main thing, the guy not going hassle you anymore.”
“Allen is right,” said Andrew. “It’s not like I want to be highjacked every morning, but I don’t want you to get into trouble either.”
Chris had to laugh. “Eh, you guys, no worry about that.”
Then his gaze hardened again, and he turned to see where the pimply boy and the goddess had gone. They’d entered the cafeteria, so Chris dove in among the river of students. Scanning the crowd, he searched for the head bobbing a bit above the others. Nothing.
He walked to the line and looked it up and down, forward and backward. The two were nowhere to be seen.
“What the . . . ?”
Chris stood confused. He turned to look back at the tables. Could the two possibly have already grabbed their lunches and sat? That would be record time given the traffic jam of bodies jamming the line.
Allen and Andrew stood by Chris’s side.
“I guess they not here,” said Allen.
Chris shook his head. “But where then?” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Andrew. “Maybe they decided to go outside?”
This made no sense to Chris whatsoever. He shrugged his shoulders, then dug into his pocket. “Eh, here’s ten cents for each of you. You guys eat lunch. I going outside.”
The two saw there was no stopping Chris. He had that hard look on his face that scared most students. The two thanked, him, but their faces showed their concern.
“Guys, I told you, forget about it,” said Chris, and he began his slog through the student body toward the nearest exit.
Once outside, Chris again scanned the area. It seemed inconceivable. How could the two just disappear? Chris headed over to the nearest set of restrooms and sat down on a bench facing the doors. They had to be in there.
Ten minutes passed and so did many girls and boys going in and out of the restroom doors. Finally, Chris stood up and went into the boys’ restroom. The other students in there, when they saw his face, were immediately wary of Chris. None of them knew him, and their natural reaction was to worry that he was in there to cause trouble, either to beat them up or take any money they had on them.
The place cleared out like a toilet flushing. With the urinal area clear, Chris proceeded down the double row of stalls. All of them were empty.
At that moment, the bell went off, sounding the start of the next period. Chris, shaking his head, pulled his schedule out of his pocket. He had P.E. A natural athlete, it was odd how much he hated that class. He didn’t care for team sports. Swimming, he liked. Himself against the water.
In the locker room, unfortunately, there was no pimply boy changing. Chris got into this white T-shirt and crotch-grabbing khaki-colored shorts. It was the most ridiculous, most uncomfortable outfit he could imagine.
When all the boys gathered on the opposite side of the field from the girls, they waited, wondering why they were standing there alone. Then a muscular haole-mixed-looking man came out of the gym dressed in the same ridiculous outfit. He had a whistle around his neck, and his hair looked to be about a half-inch long. It was the flattest flattop Chris had ever seen on someone that old.
The man came to a stop in front of them. “Men, my name is Arroyo,” he said. “You will call me Sergeant Arroyo or Sir. Is that understood?”
Chris liked this guy already. It was as if Sergeant Arroyo were issuing a challenge to all of them.
“I know you’re used to playing games during P.E.,” said the sergeant, “but we’re not going to play games. You all look like a bunch of puny weaklings. None of you looks like you’re in any kind of condition to even play games. I think if you played dodgeball the way I play dodgeball, you’d keel over.”
Chris smiled.
“What are you smiling at?” barked Sergeant Arroyo.
This didn’t bother Chris at all. “Who? Me?”
“Yes, you. What’s so funny?”
“Well, I like the way you talk.”
He wasn’t sure, but Chris thought he saw the Sergeant holding back his own smile.
“What’s your name?” shouted the sergeant.
“It’s Chris, Chris Andaya, Sir.”
“Well, Andaya, I’m going to keep a special eye on you. Now the rest of you, you see what kind of condition Andaya here is in? It’s passable, okay. And we’re all going to try to get into passable condition, understand? No games, men. We’re going to exercise in this class. Running, push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, burpees. Any questions?”
Someone’s hand went up.
“Yes, you, what’s your name?”
“David Curtis, Sir.”
“Okay, Curtis, what’s your question?”
“What’s, ah, that last one? The burpees?”
“Well,” said Sergeant Arroyo, now smiling a big smile, “why don’t we find out? Everybody, line up.”
After herding everyone into even lines, Sergeant Arroyo shouted, “Men, watch me.”
Taking the whistle off and tossing it aside, the sergeant proceeded to demonstrate a burpee.
Chris admired the way he dropped to the ground, stretched his legs back, did a push-up, drew his legs back up, and then jumped to his feet. It was effortless.
“Got it?” he shouted.
There was general mumbling. Sergeant Arroyo picked up his whistle. “Okay, let’s go!”
The whistle sounded, and the boys dropped to the ground. Chris did the burpee the same way the sergeant had and leaped to his feet first.
This time he did see the Sergeant smile at him.
All the boys had come to their feet, some struggling mightily.
“All right, men,” said the sergeant. “This time, when I sound the whistle, I want you to get down and up as fast as you can because I’m going to blow the whistle again for you to drop again, and I will blow the whistle again and again and again until I think you’ve had enough. Understood?”
And without waiting for any feedback, Sergeant Arroyo blew his whistle and began walking through the lines, blowing his whistle and shouting at the boys to get down and get up.
By the time the sweaty, weary, panting boys were sent to the showers, Chris was in love for the second time that day. But it was a different kind. He was in love with P.E. class. If it was going to be like this every day, with no games and all exercise, he was going to absolutely love this class.
Sergeant Arroyo’s office had a long glass window facing into the boy’s locker room. As Chris was toweling off, much to his amazement, he saw the tall pimply boy come into Sergeant Arroyo’s office and sit down opposite the PE teacher.
Chris scowled. Should he confront the guy outside? Or, how about this? he wondered. Maybe I should get on Sergeant Arroyo’s good side and report pimple boy for being a highjacker. He had to chuckle at the idea of him turning into the goodie-goodie kind of student he didn’t care for much.
As he put on his socks, Chris watched the sergeant come around his desk to the boy. The boy stood, and the two shook hands. They laughed about something, and then they hugged.
Chris stared open-mouthed.
Then the boy turned and ran out of the office, and Chris was stunned by the huge smile on the Sergeant’s face as he watched the boy go.
Lanning Lee 