Stanley was half asleep as he got in line for breakfast, but the sight of Mr. Sir awakened him. The left side of Mr. Sir’s face had swollen to the size of half a cantaloupe. There were three dark-purple jagged lines running down his cheek where the Warden had scratched him.
The other boys in Stanley’s tent had obviously seen Mr. Sir as well, but they had the good sense not to say anything. Stanley put a carton of juice and a plastic spoon on his tray. He kept his eyes down and hardly breathed as Mr. Sir ladled some oatmeal-like stuff into his bowl.
He brought his tray to the table. Behind him, a boy from one of the other tents said, “Hey, what happened to your face?”
There was a crash.
Stanley turned to see Mr. Sir holding the boy’s head against the oatmeal pot. “Is something wrong with my face?”
The boy tried to speak but couldn’t. Mr. Sir had him by the throat. “Does anyone see anything wrong with my face?” asked Mr. Sir,
as he continued to choke the boy.
Nobody said anything.
Mr. Sir let the boy go. His head banged against the table as he fell to the ground.
Mr. Sir stood over him and asked, “How does my face look to you now?”
A gurgling sound came out of the boy’s mouth, then he managed to gasp the word, “Fine.”
“I’m kind of handsome, don’t you think?” “Yes, Mr. Sir.”
Out on the lake, the other boys asked Stanley what he knew about Mr. Sir’s face, but he just shrugged and dug his hole. If he didn’t talk about it, maybe it would go away.
He worked as hard and as fast as he could, not trying to pace himself. He just wanted to get off the lake and away from Mr. Sir as soon as possible. Besides, he knew he’d get a break.
“Whenever you’re ready, just let me know,” Zero had said.
The first time the water truck came, it was driven by Mr.
Pendanski. The second time, Mr. Sir was driving.
No one said anything except “Thank you, Mr. Sir” as he filled each canteen. No one even dared to look at his grotesque face.
As Stanley waited, he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and inside his cheeks. His mouth was as dry and as parched as the lake. The bright sun reflected off the side mirror of the truck, and Stanley had to shield his eyes with his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Sir,” said Magnet, as he took his canteen from him.
“You thirsty, Caveman?” Mr. Sir asked.
“Yes, Mr. Sir,” Stanley said, handing his canteen to him.
Mr. Sir opened the nozzle, and the water flowed out of the tank, but it did not go into Stanley’s canteen. Instead, he held the canteen right next to the stream of water.
Stanley watched the water splatter on the dirt, where it was quickly absorbed by the thirsty ground.
Mr. Sir let the water run for about thirty seconds, then stopped. “You want more?” he asked.
Stanley didn’t say anything.
Mr. Sir turned the water back on, and again Stanley watched it pour onto the dirt.
“There, that should be plenty.” He handed Stanley his empty canteen.
Stanley stared at the dark spot on the ground, which quickly shrank before his eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Sir,” he said.
