General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part VII

Kenny snorted. “You’re just not thinking politically.”

“You’re the doc, doc.” I informed him. When in doubt, brown nose. Motioning for me to follow, Kenny pulled on his backpack, walked out the door, into the street. He stopped at a corner, stopped. Then he turned around. Went back the way we’d just come.

“Shut up.” He said. I had to hold in a laugh. Wrestling to keep it under control kept me pretty well occupied for a while. After that, the pain in my feet kept me occupied.

Since our parents thought we were home sick, we didn’t have any money the subway or anything. It felt like we must have hoofed it half way across the island before Kenny stopped outside a wrought iron gate looking into a foreign playground. Reaching into his pocket, Kenny pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.
“Here, hold on to this. And when we go in there, try to act supercilious.”

I blinked.

Kenny Sighed.

I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t say anything and follow my lead.”

Kenny marched resolutely down the street and up the steps of the brick building. From the outside it didn’t look so different from our own school. Just over the door, however, was a sign containing the word middle. I swallowed hard. I was about to ask Kenny what he thought he was doing but right then he turned and glowered at me. He put his arms behind his back and curled his lips into a frown. For a second, seeing Kenny angry was very unnerving.

Then I remembered that he’s a skinny little shrimp and my friend besides, but his eyes were still sharp. Gesturing with his head, he walked briskly ahead navigating the corridors to take us to the school’s courtyard. He nodded towards the door. I waited for the door to nod back. It didn’t.

“Astin, get the door.” He said to me.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

“Why don’t you get the door?”

“You’re not thinking politically.” He informed me.

“Right, right. I have a real problem with that.”