GO YOU ONE BETTER
by Allen McGill

Jimmy would lie in bed at night imagining ways to get even with all the bastards who had been mean to him, made fun of him, or even just ignored him. He'd toss and turn in anger or glee at elaborate scenarios displaying themselves in his imagination, like a custom-designed slide show:

Oil boiling furiously in cauldrons over a pyre of flaming logs; a highly polished guillotine gleaming in the noonday sun; hoards of rats and scorpions swarming over a helpless and screaming body that deserved every last bite and sting. Jimmy would eventually fall asleep with a smile on his face.

Mornings, however, brought the heavy realization that nothing had changed. All his victims of the night's tortures would be as alive and active as ever, and just as nasty. He dreaded having to go to school. He was trapped there, unable to escape the taunts and ridicule from the other students. And the teachers, too. They were just as bad, supposedly smiling, but actually laughing at him--to his face! God, he hated those teachers. He had thought middle school was bad, but high school teachers were even worse.

Steven King knew how he felt. Jimmy had read his book Carrie three times and saw the movie five times. Carrie was his idol. She took care of all those rotten people, and her mother, too. After having seen the movie so many times, Jimmy realized that his parents were as bad as his teachers. They didn't care about him, so he stopped caring about them. He needed them for now, but just until he grew old enough to get rid of them too, and live on his own.

For now, he just stole things that they liked and threw them away, and they never knew it was him. He had a real laugh when his mom searched the house for days, trying to find her wedding ring. He'd locked himself in his closet and laughed and laughed after he'd seen her sobbing in the kitchen, her body jerking with what he hoped was real pain. Oh, that was so funny. That would teach her to be nicer to him, if she only knew, but he'd never tell. Telling would be like saying he was sorry, and he wasn't.

There was the other time he had a real laugh, when the photo album disappeared with all those stupid pictures of Stevie, his baby brother that they liked better than him. The baby who died in his crib. "SADS," he thought they called it. Something like that. Jimmy was only ten when it happened, but he was lots stronger than Stevie.

Then there was the time they found the kitten....

But Carrie was wonderful. She really knew how to take care of people. Oh, that wonderful scene in the gym after they'd dumped blood all over her and all the doors and windows slammed shut and all the people were screaming and burning and all the flames were everywhere and Carrie was standing in the middle of it all...

God, he wished he had her powers, even just for one day. He'd burn up in the gym, like Carrie did. It would be worth it. He'd do anything to get even. Once, he'd even tried to make a deal with the devil, but the devil didn't seem interested. He never appeared with the contract to be signed in blood. He'd gotten mad at the devil then. But, how do you get even with the devil?

Jimmy didn't speak much, appeared timid. Never told people to stop bothering him. Never talked back. Never let anyone see his pain. He considered himself strong and brilliant. Kept everything inside. Building up the pressure of hatred. He appeared as tranquil as a long inactive volcano, while plots and anger and visions roiled behind his adolescent facade.

Today, with the night's fantasies still clear in his mind, he'd follow his usual routine: classes, volunteer time in the school's cafeteria before lunch, and maybe afterwards, working as a stock boy in Walmart just two blocks away. A day like so many other day or so it would seem to the others.

“Hey, Scab-Face, you're early!” one of the boys called to Jimmy before he'd even entered the school building. “Lookin' good! Your mother use your face for a scrub brush?” The laughter that followed from the nearby students caused a sick feeling in Jimmy's stomach. As usual, he didn't react in any way, outwardly, but this morning he was smiling inside. He just hefted his weighty back pack higher and slunk into the school, trying his best to be inconspicuous.

His first class didn't start until the second period, so he waited until the bell rang and the students vacated the hallways. Then he slinked down the stairway to the basement level where the cafeteria was located. It was locked, of course, and would remain so for another hour when the staff would arrive to begin preparing lunch.

Jimmy had worked in the cafeteria for almost a full school year, now, and had watched and learned all there was to know about the schedules, the preparation of food and the layout of the behind-the-scenes areas. No one arrived before nine-thirty, which gave Jimmy more than enough time.

The key to door of the cafeteria's kitchens had always been left hanging on the cooks' change room wall, in full view of everyone who worked there. It took no effort to lift the key, have a duplicate made at Walmart and return it with no one even aware it had ever been missing. Jimmy chuckled when, with a twist of his wrist, he had free access to the entire steel-countered, white-tiled heart of the school's "culinary center."

Except for those who shopped at lunchtime, virtually everyone ate in the cafeteria, students and teachers alike. It was cheap, filling and the food was pretty good, considering it was assembly-line fare. Jimmy smiled to himself. Especially Mondays, he thought. Meat loaf Monday, as it was known, with mashed potatoes and veggies--a big favorite.

Most people didn't know that the mashed potatoes were freeze-dried, white flakes mixed with milk in huge vats and heated until they could be whipped into a semblance of "mashed." But, Jimmy did. He'd watched the metamorphosis numerous times, knew where all the ingredients were kept, how many containers would be used for a single lunch hour. Oh, yes. He'd learned a lot as a volunteer.

He'd also learned a great deal at Walmart, in the hardware and gardening areas especially. That was where they kept the pest control items. Jimmy had listened to the salespeople explaining the means, methods and dangers of handling some of the exterminator products. Exterminator. Jimmy liked that word. Even more than movies by that name.

Now Jimmy was going to join two facets of the things he learned in each location. After setting his backpack on a counter, he opened a cabinet drawer and removed a round barrel of potato flakes. It was nearly full and would be half of what was needed for the day's lunch. He opened a second, lifted the lid and emptied some into the trash. He then removed two smaller containers from his backpack, emptying the white powder from each one into each barrel. He was careful to not get any powder on himself as he stirred the contents with a long-handled spatula. The powder was invisible in the flakes.

After returning the kitchen to its former neatness, Jimmy left quickly and quietly, locking the door behind him. He passed the front door of the school and was delighted to see that it had begun to rain. Every one would be staying inside for lunch today! He let out a loud whoop. This was something he couldn't have planned. Wonderful.

He went to study hall and tried to appear calm, but it was difficult. He was fluttering with excitement inside. He wanted lunch to come, and soon. The powder he'd poured into the potato flakes had an interesting ingredient that he'd never heard of before his research. It was called Warfarin . It was used in some medicines in very small doses, meant to thin the blood of people who over-clotted. In high doses, it caused internal hemorrhaging of all the organs. And quickly.

Jimmy couldn't wait. He was giddy with expectation. What a laugh it was going to be. Let's see them try to treat hundreds of students, all erupting blood at once. Oh, yes. This was going to be even more fun than his dreams!

End