Small Steps (Holes 2)

“Why, because he’s Mexican? Actually, we were working at the mayor’s house. Maybe you think I got stoned with the mayor?”

His mother laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“The mayor shook my hand,” Armpit said. “She said she admired me.”

“What’d she mean by that?” asked Armpit’s mother.

“You know. Working hard, goin’ to school. She’d read about Green Lake.”

“And how does she know you were at Green Lake?” his mother asked.

“I guess my boss told her.”

“That’s supposed to be confidential,” his mother said. “Those records are supposed to be sealed.”

“It’s no big secret! Everybody at school knows.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“I give up!” Armpit said.

Most parents would be proud if the mayor said she admired their son!

“I want a sample,” his father repeated.

“Why, because I’m tired after working all day?”

“No, because you’re being very defensive. If you’ve got nothing to hide . . .”

Armpit marched off to the bathroom, where he got a plastic cup out from under the sink.

After he returned from Camp Green Lake, his parents bought a home drug-testing kit. They weren’t going to stand by and let him ruin his life, like his brother. He had tried pointing out that the reason he’d been sent to Green Lake had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol, but that didn’t make any difference to them.

“Drugs and alcohol can lead to violence,” his mother had said.

So could a bucket of popcorn.

4

Armpit showered again in the morning, dried off, then ran a stick of deodorant three times under each armpit. He splashed his face with aftershave lotion. He only shaved every other day, but he put on aftershave lotion every day.

There was a girl in his speech class who smiled at him a lot lately. Her name was Tatiana.

He sprayed Sploosh on his feet. He didn’t have a problem with foot odor, but when your name was Armpit you had to be extra careful. He sprayed some Sploosh under each armpit for extra protection.

One of the guys from Camp Green Lake had sent him a whole case of Sploosh. It was probably meant as a joke, but the guy’s father had invented the stuff, so maybe not.

The phone was ringing when he stepped out of the bathroom. It was X-Ray.

“Hey, partner. You know the six hundred dollars?”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop by the ATM after school.”

“Good. Only you need to make it six hundred and sixty.”

“I thought you were putting up sixty,” Armpit reminded him.

“I am,” said X-Ray. “I am. The thing is, there’s a five-dollar service charge on each ticket. So even though the tickets are fifty-five dollars, they cost sixty.”