wonderful

day！”　She　pulls　out　a　list　of　names　and　starts　ordering

us　into　line。　We　get　numbers；　our　baskets　get　numbers；　we　fill　out　three…by…five　cards　to　her

insane　specifications；　and　by　the　time　she's　got　us　all

organized　and　is　sure　we　know　what　to　do　and　what　not　to　do；　we've　missed　all　of　first　and

most　of　second　period。　“Okay；　gentlemen；”　she　says。

“Leave　your　baskets　where　they　are　and　go　to…　where　are　we　now？　Still　in　second？”　She

looks　at　the　clock。　“Right。　Second。”

“What　about　passes？”　some　sensible　basket　boy　asked。

“Your　teachers　have　a　list。　But　if　they　say　anything；　tell　them　I　say　your　neckties　are　your

passes。　I'll　meet　you　back　here　when　everyone's

dismissed　for　the　auction。　Got　it？　Don't　dawdle！”

We　grumbled；　Yeah；　yeah；　and　headed　to　class。　And　I　can　tell　you　this；　not　one　of　the　twenty

of　us　listened　to　a　word　any　of　our　teachers　said　that

morning。　How　can　you　listen　with　a　noose　around　your　neck；　pinched　toes；　and　a　room　full　of

idiots　thinking　it's　open　season　on　basket　boys？

Whoever　started　this　stupid　tradition　ought　to　be　crammed　into　a　basket　and　tossed

downstream　without　a　serving　spoon。

I　was　basket　boy　number　nine。　Which　meant　I　had　to　stand　there　on　the　stage　in　the　gym

while　nearly　half　the　guys　got　auctioned　off。　Minimum　bid；

ten　bucks。　And　if　nobody　bid；　the　secret　was　a　teacher　was　assigned　to　bid　on　you。

Yes；　my　friend；　the　possibilities　for　mortification　were　infinite。

Some　of　the　moms　showed　up　and　stood　off　to　the　side　with　their　camcorders　and　zoom

lenses；　fidgeting　and　waving　and　basically　acting　as

………　Page　76………

dweeby　as　their　sons　looked。　I　should　know。