Out of Shadows by Jason Wallace Page A

while, but when it happened it was obvious. The lights were whipped on, the victim’s bedding ripped back, and all he’d ever been from that time on, without mercy, was the one in the school caught with his pajamas drenched in his own urine. Apparently the guy had eventually left the school because of it.
    It was a cruel story, though we secretly doubted it was really true because what kind of idiot would be so stupid as to fall for something like that?
    None, I told myself as I followed Ivan’s instructions and let everyone else in the dorm in on the plan. It couldn’t possibly work, I convinced the voices in my head as I kidded Simpson-Prior into thinking I was making him cups and cups of tea before Lights Out because I was his friend. We couldn’t possibly all close in around him, trying not to laugh, without him waking and realizing.
    Simpson-Prior slept while we produced a bowl of water and coaxed his bladder into letting go. After a while he murmured and grinned, and we detected a familiar smell rising from his bed.
    The lights went on. The sheets ripped back. Simpson-Prior blinked as though coming out of a trance. He hadn’t yet noticed his pajamas were matted to his skin.
    â€œ
Prior’s pissed himself!
” someone yelled loudly—perhaps Ivan himself—and suddenly our dorm was full of older boys, too. They must have known, someone had told them.
    The chant began.
    â€œ
Prior’s wet the bed! Prior’s wet the bed!
”
    Simpson-Prior tried to pull the sheets back up but two boys grabbed him and stopped him, giving everyone an eyeful.There was nowhere to hide. Simpson-Prior started to cry but that didn’t make any difference, and he was dragged up and then through the whole house like a spoil of war.
    I can still see his face today. Surprise? Disbelief? Horror? Hate? There is no word that could describe the harrowing look of betrayal in his eyes as he gazed through tears at each of us in turn—me in particular—in a dreadful search for what was going on, because even though he knew perfectly well, it was just too much for him to face.
    Klompie came out of the San after a few days. I’d already swapped beds by then to the other side of the dorm, away from Simpson-Prior and Nelson. I wasn’t comfortable over there anymore. I felt bad for what I’d done to Simpson-Prior and for the way I’d treated Nelson, but luckily Ivan and Klompie were there to make me forget about all of that.
    My friends.
    Who knows, maybe that was the plan. Maybe Ivan’s idea had formed as early as then.
    Ivan was pleased with my decision to move beds without being prompted. When I went down to the showers that evening, he shook my hand and patted me on the back like I was a champion boxer. Then he quietly pointed out Nelson, who was standing under the spray.
    â€œThat’s why we’re getting head lice, because of people like him. They can’t wash them out. I’m telling you.”
    The water was bouncing off Nelson’s hair; it didn’t get wet like ours. I’d never really noticed that before.

ELEVEN
    Because of everything
that had gone on, it only dawned on me at the end of that term that I’d had just the one postcard from my grandmother, and that had been right at the beginning. That wasn’t normal.
    I was desperate to ask my mother about it, but ever since I’d come home, her bedroom door had remained almost permanently shut and I never saw her. I guessed it was because she was feeling more sad than ever for some reason, though I didn’t know why.
    Almost a week into the holiday, and I decided I’d just wait for her. I sat at the bottom of the garden where the lawn sloped into endless bush and threw stones at a Coke bottle.
    Don’t bend your arm so much
. I imagined Ivan telling me what to do. Not that I needed the advice because I was hitting it every time from thirty feet away. I wondered what he was doing at the