The Smoky Corridor

18

Zack sat alone in the middle of the school bus, because Benny and Tyler were still pretending they didn’t know him, and Kurt Snertz was sprawled out like a king in the back so he could keep an eye on all his terrified subjects.

“Excuse me? Is this seat taken?”

The kid sat down before Zack answered.

“Pardon me for asking, but you’re new, correct?”

Zack nodded.

“I attended fifth grade at Pettimore Middle last year,” the kid said, smiling from ear to ear. “So, tell me: Why does everybody already hate you? I know why they don’t like me and it’s not because I’m black, because, as you can see, Shareef Smith in the second row is also an African American and everybody wants to sit near him because he is cool. Me? I mostly do sudoku puzzles. Do you do sudoku?”

Zack inhaled but didn’t get to answer.

“It’s actually very simple. Sudoku puzzles are based on a Latin square. Do you know about Latin squares?”

Zack shook his head while his seatmate pulled two sudoku books out of his backpack and started filling in squares on two puzzles at once—one with a pen in his right hand, one with his left.

“It’s basically an n × n table filled in such a way that each symbol occurs exactly once in each row and exactly once in each column. Oh, by the way, my name’s Malik. Malik Sherman.”

“I’m Zack Jennings.”

“Pleased to meet you, Zack. If you like, we can be friends. I promise not to ostracize you! Do you know what that word means?”

Zack nodded.

“You do?”

“Yeah. Means you’ve been banished.”

“But did you know that ‘ostracized’ comes from the Greek word ‘ostrakon,’ which means ‘shell’ or ‘potsherd’?”

“No,” said Zack.

“It’s true! The Greeks used to write names on shells or potsherds when they were voting to kick unpopular people off their peninsula.”

Zack wondered if the Greeks turned it into a TV show.

The school bus lumbered up the road. Made stops. Picked up more kids, some of whom almost sat down in the rows behind or in front of Zack before Kurt Snertz, all the way in the back, loudly cleared his throat or coughed to suggest that they’d better sit somewhere else or face his wrath.

Finally, Zack could see Pettimore Middle School.

Malik closed both sudoku books. “So, Zack, what’re you doing for lunch?”

“I packed a sandwich.”

“Good idea. The food in the cafeteria is rather awful. Except the chicken strips with broccoli florets on Wednesdays.”

The bus chugged to a stop. The front door swung open.

Someone walking up the center aisle finger-flicked Zack on the back of the ear.

Kurt Snertz.

“See, Jennings? You just never know when I’m gonna sneak up and get you!”

The three guys behind Snertz started chuckling.

“What’s the problem back there?” demanded the bus driver, watching the boys in his big rearview mirror.

“Nothin’,” snorted Kurt Snertz as he and his crew moved forward.

Zack and Malik remained seated while everybody else exited the bus.

“I take it Kurt Snertz is not a fan of yours?” said Malik.

“He hates my guts.”

“Excellent. He hates mine, too! See you at lunch, Zack, if not before!”

“Right.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

And to keep his promise, all Zack had to do was stay alive till lunch.