The Secret Life of Harry Houdini - Part I

"Doug."

"Here!"

"Rick."

"Here!"

"Lisa."

"Here, m'am."

"Chris."

"Here!"

"Bobby."

Silence.

"Bobby?"

Still no answer. There would be no Bobby today.

"Carol."

"Yes, m'am."

After reading about ten or twelve other names, Mrs. Pollet put her attendance book in the top drawer of her desk. Looking up at the class, she walked over to my desk and put her hand on my shoulder.

"Class, we have a new student in our room today."

I could feel the eyes of every single 7th grader in that room boring a hole in the back of my head, since I had been assigned a seat on the front row. No one gave me the time of day before class started, though plenty had taken the time to give me the stink eye.

"His name is Stefan Schetselaar."

Stifled giggling could be heard quietly emanating from the around the class of tittering students. By the 7th grade I was used to hearing it when my last name was mentioned to people who'd never heard it before. And nobody here had heard it before.

"Did I pronounce that correctly, Stefan?"

She had, but I knew she'd had help from the principal and had taken time to practice it several times before telling her students.

I quickly looked up from examining the New Jersey dirt stains on the tip of my black Chucks, and replied "Yes, m'am." As quickly as I'd looked up, I looked back down again, focusing intently on the fact that "Becky loves Johnny". It was etched deeply into the surface of the wooden desktop I now called my own. I was happy for them, but I had no idea who they were, nor would I ever.

"Stefan and his family have moved in from New Jersey and he'll be in our class for the rest of the year," Mrs. Pollet said. "I expect everyone to be nice and get to know him."

A gentle susurration arose from the class, everyone giving her the "Yes M'am" or "OK" she expected.

"Would you like to tell us anything about yourself, Stefan?" she asked, turning her steely focus toward me. Her name was French, but there was nothing French about her. She was as Virginia as the rest of them.

"Um," I began. "Not really, m'am. Like you said, we just moved here from New Jersey."

We'd only left our comfortable suburbian home a few days earlier and I still said Jersey so it rhymed with Boise. A cacophony of laughter arose from the group, each student's smile now a vacuous cavern of chuckles. I felt the blood quickly rise to my head and I knew my face was as red as a cardinal's cassock.

Rick Hall, who was sitting just to my left, was laughing so hard under his breath that he had a snot bubble coming out of one nostril. His hair, cut straight across his forehead and just behind his ears, was also bright red, matching the freckles that stippled his face.

"OK, guys, let's behave, please," warned Mrs. Pollet, waving her hands above her head. "Quiet down." She had dark, short hair, eyes to match, and a tough, yet delicate way about her. Turning to me she smiled and said, "That's fine, Stefan. Thank you very much and welcome."

I dug a hole in the floor with my eyes, desperately wanting to climb in and cover myself forever. We'd only lived in New Jersey for five years, but they were important growth years, and I'd left several very good friends behind. None of us had really wanted to leave the comfort of our former home for the relative wilds of Southwestern Virginia, but dad didn't want to commute 16 hours a day.

At recess later that morning, David French came up and introduced himself. He was only 12, but he wore sideburns better than most adults could grow and a scraggly mustache he hadn't cut since he was 8. The bangs of his dirty blond hair hung down over his right eye, but he was also one of the nicest kids in the class.

"My name's David," he said with an even deeper Southern drawl than I had expected. "Wanna race?"

"Sure," I replied, reaching down to tighten up my Chucks. I fancied myself a pretty quick runner, but I didn't know at the time that David was the fastest kid in school.

The race started innocently enough. Bobby Poff said, "Ready, Set, Go" and David and I started running down the open field next to our trailer. From the outset it was obvious that he was a lot faster than me, but I pushed hard to at least make it a good show.

Rounding the first turn by the tennis courts, David, who was already a good 15 feet ahead of me, turned completely around and ran backwards, I guess to give me a fighting chance. Not watching where he was going, he hit the corner of the concrete slab with the back of his foot and tumbled to the ground in a writhing heap.

The ambulance only took about five minutes to get there. They wrapped up David's ankle and told him to stay off of it for a couple of weeks. During the fall, he'd tried to right himself, but his foot landed awkwardly under his body. It wasn't broken, but he could barely walk.

"He's the quarterback of our football team!" shouted Chris. "What are we going to do now? He's the only one who can throw the ball!"

The Cowboys were Belview Elementary School's football team, playing teams from other elementary schools in the area. Mostly because of David's speed and cannon-like arm, they were in first place, with a game coming up at the end of the week against another of the tougher teams around. Most of the boys in Mrs. Pollet's class were on the team.

The other boys gathered around David's ailing ankle slowly turned their heads and looked at me.

"What?" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air. "I didn't do anything!"

Chris got up immediately and got right in my face. "It's because of you he's hurt!" he said through gritted teeth. "If you hadn't raced him he would be ok now."

I backed up one step and pointed my finger at no one in particular. "Hey, you can't blame this on me! I wasn't anywhere near him when he fell. It's his own fault for running backwards."

All five boys stood in unison and surrounded me like they were fencing in a defenseless calf. "We'll get you for this, new guy. You just wait."

They left me trembling in the schoolyard, wondering when their vengeance would find its next victim. They were all bigger than me, football players, Cowboys nonetheless, and all itching for a bloodletting. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Unfortunately for me, it would not be the last time.