The Chocolate War: Chapters 13–24

He awoke each morning depressed, knowing even before he opened his eyes that something was wrong, something had gone askew in his life.

Despite the adulation of the guys at school, he felt as if there was some kind of distance between him and the fellows.

Goober had no way of knowing this was the kind of thing Archie loved to do—intimidate someone, get him worrying.

Once in a while, some guy would drop a book just to see the teacher flinch or leap in panic.

He remembered with a glow when he went up to the stage for his award last year and how the Headmaster had talked about Service To The School, and how “John Sulkey exemplified these special attributes” (the exact words which still echoed in John’s mind, especially when he saw those undistinguished rows of C's and D's on his report card every term).

And now her birthday was tomorrow and he had to buy her the present she wanted, the bracelet she’d seen in the window of Black’s downtown, that terrible and beautiful bracelet all sparkles and radiance, terrible because of the price tag: $18.95 plus tax

Paul felt sorry for older people, stuck in their houses and tenements with kids to take care of and housework to do.

The teacher was unpredictable and yet predictable at the same time, which reasoning confused Brian because he wasn’t exactly a hotshot in the psychology department.

As usual, there was a discrepancy between the amount of chocolates reported as sold and the actual money received.

He fidgeted and fussed around, double-checking Brian’s figures, chewing on a pencil, pacing the floor.

He stood tense at the desk, those watery eyes blinking in the morning light, while Jerry Renault sat as usual at his desk, without emotion, frigid, elbows resting on the surface of the desk.

Janza flipped his cigarette against a tree and watched the butt ricochet into the gutter.

The tone of their conversation had been light, bantering, but Archie knew that Emile was deadly serious underneath.

“I know,” the teacher said, shaking his head sorrowfully, in commiseration.

He fought the sheet, filled suddenly with the terror of claustrophobia, being buried alive.

He had read a magazine article about heart transplants—even the doctors couldn’t agree on the exact moment that death occurred.

Those moist eyes, the white eyeballs and the diluted blue of his pupils, eyes that reflected everything that went on in the class, reacting to everything.

And he’d consoled himself: when I accept the chocolates and Brother Leon realizes I was only carrying out a Vigil assignment then everything will be fine again.

He’d wanted to end the ordeal—and then that terrible No had issued from his mouth.

Jerry felt sad suddenly because Goober looked so troubled, like an old man heaped with all the sorrows of the world, his thin face drawn and haggard, his eyes haunted, as if he had awakened from a nightmare he couldn’t forget.

It was a different roll call this morning, a new melody, a new tempo, as if Brother Leon were the conductor and the class the members of a verbal orchestra, but something wrong with the beat, something wrong with the entire proceedings, as if the members of the orchestra were controlling the pace and not the conductor.

When they left the classroom, there was Archie leaning against the wall, that smirk of triumph on his face.

Kevin had learned long ago to translate whatever she was saying into gibberish.

He could also hold his own in the ring and almost knocked out that monster Carter in the intramural matches last year.

Even though the place was deserted, the aftermath of that final period of calisthenics lingered, the stink of boy sweat; armpits and feet.

Put him in boxing trunks and the sight was almost obscene.

“Well, I understand that the sale is going lousy. Nobody wants to sell the chocolates in the first place and it’s turned into a kind of farce in some classes.”

He had the feeling that Brother Leon was that kind of character, that he would need a scapegoat and Brian would be closest at hand.

And feeling simultaneously a twist of triumph—Leon was such a rat, let him have some bad news for a change.

Brian shrugged and continued, calling out the names in singsong fashion, with measured pauses, letting his voice linger over the names and numbers, a weird litany here in the quiet office.

“Renault . . . zero,” Brother Leon said, his voice a sibilant whisper.

The boys have become infected, Cochran. Infected by a disease we could call apathy.

He was glad that his own voice was normal, unaffected by the running.

Seeing Jerry’s discomfort, The Goober slackened his pace.

He had never spoken to Leon on the telephone before and the disembodied voice at the other end of the line had caught him off balance.

“They’re not selling. The entire sale is in jeopardy.”

The initial push is over. There is no momentum. Half the chocolates haven’t been sold yet. And the sales are virtually at a standstill.

But Cochran really didn’t know Leon, Archie realized now as the teacher’s voice came vibrantly over the line.

Funny, he knew Leon was in a precarious position and yet there was always the danger of underestimating him.

The malingerers, the malcontents—they always rally around a rebel.