I remember the thing with Joe Gardeman: we had art class together and he thought it was funny to smear paint on me and my artwork. When I complained to the teacher, she intimated my artwork didn’t have any redeeming qualities to start with so it didn’t particularly matter. So the next time he tried to sneak behind me to do something annoying, I tried to elbow him with a backswing of my arm but missed and fell out of my stool instead. Obviously this with quite embarrassing for me and amusing to him and I tried for awhile to even the score.
Joe was friends with this intimidatingly strong yet friendly classmate named Cameron Hicamp. Cam was also on the football team and, taking pity on me after I’d whined about being head-butted (with my helmet on) during practice, told me if anyone ever messed with me to let him know and he would take care of it, which meant that Joe and I were always friendly after that and nobody would mess with me for the remainder of junior high, after which Cam moved away.
Every year we had to take the Iowa Test of Basic Skills (ITBS). Everybody hated those things, but I always secretly enjoyed the essay section as some of them were rather interesting. In fact, I would sometimes get so wrapped up in the essays I’d have to hurry through the test questions, and later when I got bored with the other tests, I’d skip back in the test booklet to re-read them. Anyway, one day I sat down to take the test only to realize I had a #3 pencil. As anyone who’s taken it knows, basically the only rule of the test is that you have to use a #2 pencil. I somehow procured one, but as time began, Cam leaned over and said, “Quick, give me that pencil,” referring to the #3 pencil I’d left on my desk. Not knowing what else to do, I gave it to him, and until this day have always wondered what the outcome of that was, never daring to mention it to anybody.
When the results of the ITBS came in, the principal called me to his office to personally congratulate me for scoring at the absolute top of the curved percentage test. As I spent the majority of my time surrounded either by idiots or people that couldn’t care less about tests, I didn’t find that result particularly exciting. Then, the principal suggested that I could help tutor some of my peers. That suggestion struck me as ludicrous. I didn’t know how to teach. I didn’t know how to interact with peers. Basically, the only thing I knew was how to fill in little ovals with a #2 pencil. Later that day, I heard Cameron Hicamp’s name over the loudspeaker, being called into the office, and I knew it was to inform him he’d scored at the bottom of the ITBS.
Once I got through the first semester, the rest of junior high was awesome. Erik and I played a lot of GI Joe (yes, we were aware we were too old for GI Joe), Nintendo (at which I never improved) and, most importantly, befriended Bryan Hitz. Bryan is the most imaginative person I’ve ever met. He was constantly coming up with a myriad of games for us to play, ranging from Supreme Retaliation to Willie’s Quest and culminating in a club called SASL (Students Against Stephen Leach), in which we devised ways to torment our favorite teacher. Bryan introduced me to “Weird” Al Yankovic, Dr. Who and who knows what else.
I didn’t intend to go back out for football in eighth grade, but Mr. Taylor, the coach, came up to me the first day of 8th Period study hall and gave me some speech about not quitting, so I inexplicably spent another semester being crushed by people actually big enough to play football. I also went out for basketball both years of junior high. Bryan, Erik, Trace and I sat at the far end of the bench and amused ourselves by mimicking the coaches and whatnot. The coaches threatened us with not letting us play if we goofed around, which didn’t discourage us at all, as not only did we not want to humiliate ourselves on the court, we already knew they weren’t going to put us in anyway.
One day during Mr. Latimer's eighth grade history class, I suddenly threw up, possibly in the direction of Brenda Nelson. From then on, Matt Larsen would call me Barf Boy, which I didn’t actually find particularly worse than Wormser (because I looked like that character from Revenge of the Nerds), Will or the various other bastardizations of my last name I was generally called. Honestly, I was rather proud that Matt Larsen knew who I was.
Whereas I didn’t even know why other males considered them interesting, Matt seemed to understand girls. Further, he seemed to know which girls. Several of them flocked around him, and he had a way of showing off with smart-ass, condescending retorts. When I wore a Harley Davidson shirt that he said I wasn’t cool enough for, I knew that was some kind of hint to wear that shirt more often. On rare occasions when Matt was not with girls, he talked to me like I was a normal person.
If I could figure out a way to combine Bryan’s creativity with Matt’s confidence, I figured that was about all I’d need in life.
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