Out of Order by A. M. Jenkins Page B

lock off with one of my bats.”
    None of them look relieved. They were trying to talk themselves into not feeling guilty, and now I ruined it for them.
    â€œGutterson thinks he’s such hot shit,” I say, because now my thoughts are bounding off in a completelydifferent direction. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”
    Stu twists around and peers back up toward the building. The back of the concession stand’s within clear view of two classrooms. “It’ll be too loud,” he says, but I’m already slipping off the bleachers onto the ground. I was starting to feel bad about mouthing off, but now I can ruin Gutterson’s stupid plan. Ha ha.
    But I’ll have to hurry, because I don’t know how much time we have till the bell rings and people start flooding out of the building for second lunch.
    I unzip my bag and look over my bats. I select my oldest, cheapest bat, an Easton aluminum, to do the job. Nobody else moves. “Let me know if anybody’s coming,” I say, and walk around to the back of the concession stand to get to work.
    Beating a padlock is not the same as hitting baseballs. A couple of minutes later my hands are hurting and my shoulders are sore from absorbing the shock. If the cat’s still alive, it’s probably shit all over the hot dogs from the racket.
    I stop and check the padlock. Not even dented. I lower my bat.
    â€œNo go,” I call to the guys, although I can’t see them. “Sayonara, Kitty,” I say lightly, like it doesn’t matter, but then all of a sudden I’m swinging the bat around for one last really vicious whack to the lock.
    And with that last whack, the screws that hold the hinge onto the door pop halfway out.
    I act like I meant for that to happen. I put the bat down, pry the screws out with my fingers, and pull the door open.
    It’s dark in the concession stand. I make my way into the back, where they keep the boxes of food. I give my eyes a minute to adjust, and when they do, I see there’s a huge triple sink and a refrigerator. A freezer.
    I reach for the handle and pull the freezer door open.
    Rrrow! A cold taffy-colored blur bursts into my face, slices across my right upper lip, and shoots out the door.
    I’ve just released Freddy Krueger’s cat. And now I’m standing alone in this dark room in front of an empty freezer. I touch my lip, gently. I can’t tell if it’s bleeding. It feels like the mother of all paper cuts on my face.
    I edge back over to the door that leads outside. I lean around to peek out.
    The grass is empty. The asphalt is empty. The classroom windows are blank.
    The bleachers are empty too.
    My friends are yellow-bellied dipshits.
    I step out, shut the door to the concession stand. How many minutes till the bell?
    I poke each screw back in its hole. The wood’s splintered, and the screws keep falling back out. I finallyhave to give up. I pick up my bat, stick it back in my bag. I sling the whole thing over my shoulder and walk, very casually, up the slope toward the parking lot. The back of my shirt is wet from the sweat I worked up hammering on the lock. My lip stings from the cat scratch.
    The bell rings right as I’m slipping onto the breezeway. Then I’m walking down the hall to my locker, so I can get my English book. I duck my head when Max Gutterson passes, so he doesn’t see the mark I know is there, on my face.
    I don’t mind much that my friends were afraid. They’re my friends, after all, and this kind of thing is why I have the rep I do. Besides, I like danger, and I got to destroy school property and save a helpless animal all at the same time!
    I’m a fucking hero.
    Â 
    Not for long. On the way up the stairs to assistant, it occurs to me: What if somebody sees the broken lock? What if somebody saw me from the windows and puts two and two together? What if it gets back to Vice Principal Sheridan that I had something