Тонкое искусство пофигизма
Chapter 3
“Nodrugstoday,eh?”Hetriestosoundcasual.
“Nope.”SodoI.
Hespreadsmystuffout,separatingeachitemandcoagulatingthemintolittlepilesbesidemygymgear.Mycoatandbackpacknowlieemptyandlifelessonhislap.Hesighsandstaresatthewall.Likemostthirteen-year-oldslockedinanofficewithamanangrilythrowingtheirshitalloverthefloor,Iwanttocry.
Mr.Pricescansthecontentsorganizedonthefloor.Nothingillicitorillegal,nonarcotics,notevenanythingagainstschoolpolicy.Hesighsandthenthrowsthecoatandbackpackonthefloortoo.Hebendsoverandputshiselbowsonhisknees,makinghisfacelevelwithmine.
“Mark,I’mgoingtogiveyouonelastchancetobehonestwithme.Ifyouarehonest,thiswillturnoutmuchbetterforyou.Ifitturnsoutyou’relying,thenit’sgoingtobemuchworse.”
Asifoncue,Igulp.
“Nowtellmethetruth,”Mr.Pricedemands.“Didyoubringdrugstoschooltoday?”
Fightingbacktears,screamsclawingatmythroat,Istaremytormentorinthefaceand,inapleadingvoice,dyingtoberelievedofitsadolescenthorrors,Isay,“No,Idon’thaveanydrugs.Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Okay,”hesays,signalingsurrender.“Iguessyoucancollectyourthingsandgo.”
Hetakesonelast,longinggazeatmydeflatedbackpack,lyinglikeabrokenpromisethereonhisofficefloor.
