carrots, red peppers. I waited to see if she’d fix herself a salad. I wanted the vegetables to be the mark of a new beginning, a healthier life, but they rotted away, untouched in that drawer. The smell made me want to punch my fist through a window.
I don’t want to be here. But I really don’t want to go home.
Cornpup seems a little nervous. He is switching his weight from his left foot to his right foot, like he’s trying to hold in a fart. He keeps picking his ear too, and I want to throw something at him to make him stop.
“My name is William Schumacher.” He clears his throat. “And I want to show you my skin.”
Me and Charlie look at each other. Cornpup never gives a free bump show. He lifts his shirt over his head, and I feel sick inside. I’m not prepared for how bad the bumps have gotten. There are cysts of all sizes pouring down his shoulder blades. The blood-red rash on Cornpup’s face stretches beyond his chin, down his neck and right arm. There are white spots on his spine, scars from cysts that were burnt off a long time ago. He is hideous. People gasp and turn their faces away. A newspaper photographer snaps his photo.
“Why is he just standing there?” Charlie whispers. “Why doesn’t he say something?”
I shrug. I was expecting one of Cornpup’s long sermons, rehearsed right down to the last detail, an angry blue vein popping out of his neck.
Cornpup holds up photographs of horrible things. A mouse with burnt-out eyes. Tumor-covered frogs. Dead trees with black branches. Birds born without any wings.
“It’s expensive to dispose of chemical waste in safe ways,” Cornpup says. “Mareno Chem saves money when they dump in our creek. They increase profits when they hide barrels of waste in abandoned buildings. No one wants to challenge them. Because of jobs. Watch what happens when Mareno Chem is done using us. Watch whathappens when they can’t find new hiding places for their waste. They’ll close up shop and disappear. They’ll leave us here to die.”
Dan Benecke doesn’t seem worried about anything Cornpup has said. He smiles brightly and says, “I appreciate your comments, son, and I’d like to respond if I may. Mareno Chem is the most environmentally responsible chemical company in the world. We are a leader in green innovation. We budget for safe waste disposal every year. I’ve seen the numbers. Believe it or not, I was a boy myself once, and I know how fun it can be to imagine a good scandal. But illegal dumping doesn’t make good business sense. And when you get to be my age, you’ll understand that. Now for our part, we’ve sealed our drainage pipes as a pledge to this community. We employ hundreds of great people here in Poxton. I’d like to think we’re a positive force around here.”
So that’s how he’s gonna play it. He’s gonna treat us like we’re so cute. Like we’ve got big, healthy imaginations. Like we’re too silly to be taken seriously.
“You’re a liar!” shouts Cornpup. “I saw sludge coming out of your drainage pipes last night. I have jars of red water at my house. Green water. You’re lying.” Cornpup bolts out of the auditorium. I think he might be crying. Me and Charlie run after him. We find him sitting on a generator at the edge of the schoolyard.
“You sounded good in there,” I tell him. “The free bump show was a nice touch. You’re probably gonna be in the paper.”
Cornpup smiles. “You think so?”
A stiff guy in a nice suit approaches us. He says his name is Dr. Gupta, a dermatologist and plastic surgeon from some big hospital in Buffalo. When he asks if he can speak to Mr. Schumacher in private, it takes us a minute to realize that by “Mr. Schumacher” he means Cornpup.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of all of us,” Charlie insists.
But Cornpup tells us to please leave.
“What the hell?” Charlie says, all pissed off. “We sat through that stupid meeting, and now he doesn’t
I don’t want to be here. But I really don’t want to go home.
Cornpup seems a little nervous. He is switching his weight from his left foot to his right foot, like he’s trying to hold in a fart. He keeps picking his ear too, and I want to throw something at him to make him stop.
“My name is William Schumacher.” He clears his throat. “And I want to show you my skin.”
Me and Charlie look at each other. Cornpup never gives a free bump show. He lifts his shirt over his head, and I feel sick inside. I’m not prepared for how bad the bumps have gotten. There are cysts of all sizes pouring down his shoulder blades. The blood-red rash on Cornpup’s face stretches beyond his chin, down his neck and right arm. There are white spots on his spine, scars from cysts that were burnt off a long time ago. He is hideous. People gasp and turn their faces away. A newspaper photographer snaps his photo.
“Why is he just standing there?” Charlie whispers. “Why doesn’t he say something?”
I shrug. I was expecting one of Cornpup’s long sermons, rehearsed right down to the last detail, an angry blue vein popping out of his neck.
Cornpup holds up photographs of horrible things. A mouse with burnt-out eyes. Tumor-covered frogs. Dead trees with black branches. Birds born without any wings.
“It’s expensive to dispose of chemical waste in safe ways,” Cornpup says. “Mareno Chem saves money when they dump in our creek. They increase profits when they hide barrels of waste in abandoned buildings. No one wants to challenge them. Because of jobs. Watch what happens when Mareno Chem is done using us. Watch whathappens when they can’t find new hiding places for their waste. They’ll close up shop and disappear. They’ll leave us here to die.”
Dan Benecke doesn’t seem worried about anything Cornpup has said. He smiles brightly and says, “I appreciate your comments, son, and I’d like to respond if I may. Mareno Chem is the most environmentally responsible chemical company in the world. We are a leader in green innovation. We budget for safe waste disposal every year. I’ve seen the numbers. Believe it or not, I was a boy myself once, and I know how fun it can be to imagine a good scandal. But illegal dumping doesn’t make good business sense. And when you get to be my age, you’ll understand that. Now for our part, we’ve sealed our drainage pipes as a pledge to this community. We employ hundreds of great people here in Poxton. I’d like to think we’re a positive force around here.”
So that’s how he’s gonna play it. He’s gonna treat us like we’re so cute. Like we’ve got big, healthy imaginations. Like we’re too silly to be taken seriously.
“You’re a liar!” shouts Cornpup. “I saw sludge coming out of your drainage pipes last night. I have jars of red water at my house. Green water. You’re lying.” Cornpup bolts out of the auditorium. I think he might be crying. Me and Charlie run after him. We find him sitting on a generator at the edge of the schoolyard.
“You sounded good in there,” I tell him. “The free bump show was a nice touch. You’re probably gonna be in the paper.”
Cornpup smiles. “You think so?”
A stiff guy in a nice suit approaches us. He says his name is Dr. Gupta, a dermatologist and plastic surgeon from some big hospital in Buffalo. When he asks if he can speak to Mr. Schumacher in private, it takes us a minute to realize that by “Mr. Schumacher” he means Cornpup.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of all of us,” Charlie insists.
But Cornpup tells us to please leave.
“What the hell?” Charlie says, all pissed off. “We sat through that stupid meeting, and now he doesn’t
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