Stanley dug his shovel into the ground. His hole was about three and a half feet deep in the center. He grunted as he pried up some dirt, then flung it off to the side. The sun was almost directly overhead.
He glanced at his canteen lying beside his hole. He knew it was half full, but he didn’t take a drink just yet. He had to drink sparingly, because he didn’t know who would be driving the water truck the next time it came.
Three days had passed since the Warden had scratched Mr. Sir. Every time Mr. Sir delivered water, he poured Stanley’s straight onto the ground.
Fortunately, Mr. Pendanski delivered the water more often than Mr. Sir. Mr. Pendanski was obviously aware of what Mr. Sir was doing, because he always gave Stanley a little extra. He’d fill Stanley’s canteen, then let Stanley take a long drink, then top it off for him.
It helped, too, that Zero was digging some of Stanley’s hole for him. Although, as Stanley had expected, the other boys didn’t like to see Stanley sitting around while they were working. They’d say things like “Who died and made you king?” or “It must be nice to have your own personal slave.”
When he tried pointing out that he was the one who took the blame for the sunflower seeds, the other boys said it was his fault because he was the one who spilled them. “I risked my life for those seeds,” Magnet had said, “and all I got was one lousy handful.”
Stanley had also tried to explain that he needed to save his energy so he could teach Zero how to read, but the other boys just mocked him.
“Same old story, ain’t it, Armpit?” X-Ray had said. “The white boy sits around while the black boy does all the work. Ain’t that right, Caveman?”
“No, that’s not right,” Stanley replied.
“No, it ain’t,” X-Ray agreed. “It ain’t right at all.”
Stanley dug out another shovelful of dirt. He knew X-Ray wouldn’t have been talking like that if he was the one teaching Zero to read. Then X-Ray would be talking about how important it was that he got his rest, right? So he could be a better teacher, right?
And that was true. He did need to save his strength so he could be a better teacher, although Zero was a quick learner. Sometimes, in fact, Stanley hoped the Warden was watching them, with her secret cameras and microphones, so she’d know that Zero wasn’t as stupid as everyone thought.
From across the lake he could see the approaching dust cloud. He took a drink from his canteen, then waited to see who was driving the truck.
The swelling on Mr. Sir’s face had gone down, but it was still a little puffy. There had been three scratch marks down his cheek. Two of the marks had faded, but the middle scratch must have been the deepest, because it still remained. It was a jagged purple line running from below his eye to below his mouth, like a tattoo of a scar.
Stanley waited in line, then handed him his canteen.
Mr. Sir held it up to his ear and shook it. He smiled at the swishing sound.
Stanley hoped he wouldn’t dump it out.
To his surprise, Mr. Sir held the canteen under the stream of water and filled it.
“Wait here,” he said.
Still holding Stanley’s canteen, Mr. Sir walked past him, then went around the side of the truck and into the cab, where he couldn’t be seen.
“What’s he doing in there?” asked Zero. “I wish I knew,” said Stanley.
A short while later, Mr. Sir came out of the truck and handed Stanley his canteen. It was still full. “Thank you, Mr. Sir.”
Mr. Sir smiled at him. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Drink up.” He popped some sunflower seeds into his mouth, chewed, and spit out the shells.
Stanley was afraid to drink it. He hated to think what kind of vile substance Mr. Sir might have put in it.
He brought the canteen back to his hole. For a long time, he left it beside his hole as he continued to dig. Then, when he was so thirsty that he could hardly stand it anymore, he unscrewed the cap, turned the canteen over, and poured it all out onto the dirt. He was afraid that if he’d waited another second, he might have taken a drink.
After Stanley taught Zero the final six letters of the alphabet, he taught him to write his name.
“Capital Z – e – r – o.”
Zero wrote the letters as Stanley said them. “Zero,” he said, looking at his piece of paper. His smile was too big for his face.
Stanley watched him write it over and over again. Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero…
In a way, it made him sad. He couldn’t help but think that a hundred times zero was still nothing.
“You know, that’s not my real name,” Zero said as they headed to the Wreck Room for dinner.
“Well, yeah,” Stanley said, “I guess I knew that.” He had never really been sure.
“Everyone’s always called me Zero, even before I came here.” “Oh. Okay.”
“My real name is Hector.” “Hector,” Stanley repeated.
“Hector Zeroni.”
