Justin was sitting alone at a table in the cafeteria, hunched over his tray, chewing methodically without really tasting the food. He glanced around the cafeteria, to see if Tim was coming, and spotted Daniel, also eating alone at a table across the room. Somehow, seeing that made him feel a little less alone.
When he turned back to his food, though, he gave a start. While he was looking the other way, Tim had somehow managed to slide into the seat on the other side of him without Justin noticing. But to his surprise Justin found that this time he wasn’t scared of Tim. “Did you come to steal my lunch money?” he said.
“Gimme a break, Justin.” It almost sounded as if Tim were the one who was nervous this time. “Billy wants to meet.”
Justin nodded, as if he had been expecting it, which of course he had. “Where is he?”
Of course, he didn’t really need to ask. Justin knew exactly where Billy was—or rather where he was about to be; he was going to be coming through the doors of the cafeteria any minute now.
“No. See, Billy wants to talk to you later,” Tim explained. “The back stairwell, near the gym during last period. Like three thirty.”
At that moment, right on cue, Billy passed the table, and he was roughly dragging another boy along by the shirt.
“Why wait?” Justin said. “We might as well get this over with.”
He got up and started after Billy.
“Justin—,” Tim called out.
Justin stopped and turned around. But when he turned, Tim suddenly shrank back. It almost looked like Tim was…afraid.
“What’s wrong with you?” Justin demanded.
Tim stood up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. “I was just passing along a message, okay?” he said.
“Okay. Whatever,” Justin replied. He turned back to Billy, who at that moment had gotten the younger boy in a headlock. He was at it again, Justin said to himself. He wasn’t going to let Billy pick on every kid who was weaker than him.
Justin strode purposefully over to Billy. “Hey,” he called out.
Both Billy and the kid looked up, and Justin suddenly saw that both were laughing. And then, with a lurch of his stomach, Justin realized that the kid that Billy had in a headlock was Billy’s younger brother, Zack.
“You didn’t say before that it was Billy’s brother,” the voice commented.
I didn’t? Justin replied in his head. He was confused. He thought back. How could he not have known it was Billy’s brother last time?
“So you just now realized that it was his brother?” the voice asked.
Yeah, of course I just realized it, Justin said. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have had any reason to go over to get him to stop.
But now that he’d started it, he couldn’t exactly say, “Sorry. I made a mistake.”
So instead he said, “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yeah, later,” Billy replied.
“If you have something to say to me, you can say it now.” Justin thought he was speaking quietly, but when he finished, he realized that all of the nearby tables of kids had fallen abruptly and dramatically silent, as if he’d yelled or something. It was just like the bus that morning all over again.
Billy’s brother, Zack, broke the silence. He took a step forward and said, “Let it go, Justin.”
Billy grabbed Zack by the shirt and pulled him back, putting his own body in between them like a barricade. It was almost as if Billy thought he had to protect his brother from something, Justin thought. Then it hit him. Billy was protecting Zack from him.
“You stay out of it,” Billy said to his brother.
“But—,” Zack protested.
“I’m not letting you get messed up in this. I can handle it.”
Justin was so focused on the conversation between Billy and Zack that he forgot to watch out for Ricky, who chose this moment to dart forward with the ketchup bottle. Ricky squirted it onto Justin, but this time the ketchup didn’t glop out in one heavy stream. In fact, it didn’t spray like ketchup at all. It was almost a geyser.
Ricky’s voice came to him from far away, echoing eerily through the cafeteria.
“Murderer. He’s a fucking psycho murderer. Look, he’s got blood all over him.”
And when Justin looked down at himself, he blinked. On his shirt the ketchup had somehow transformed itself into blood.
Blood again. First it was blood on the kitchen floor. Now it was blood on his shirt, his hands, his face. He could taste it on his lips. Like a year ago when Mark—
The room seemed to whirl, and he found himself on the floor, wrestling with Billy. He was filled with a sudden rage. He was hitting, punching, pummeling Billy with all his might.
The kids had gathered around them and were yelling, screaming, excited by the violence. Justin caught a glimpse of their faces, and it scared him. It looked as if all the kids were possessed—their eyes were open wide, their mouths stretched into gaping holes.
He stopped struggling, and Billy landed a stunning punch on his jaw, knocking his head back against the floor. As his head hit, suddenly it seemed as if the fluorescent lights got very bright. All he could see was blinding white light.
He felt Billy’s weight being lifted off him, but he just lay there.
I can’t see, he whispered.
“That’s all right,” the voice said. “It doesn’t matter.”
But I can’t see, he repeated.
“You’re starting to already.”
And the voice was right. Even as it said the words, the blinding light started to recede….
22
Justin sat outside the principal’s office. Looking in through the plate-glass window, he watched the same scene play out. The principal emerged from behind the desk to sit in the chair next to Billy. Then there was the hand on the shoulder and the mournful shaking of his head. And finally they stood up and walked to the door of the office.
Then it was Justin’s turn.
Justin and Billy sidled past each other, their eyes meeting briefly before sliding away.
Justin took the seat Billy had occupied just a moment before, and listened sullenly to the principal’s speech.
“We can’t have this kind of thing, you know,” Mr. Franks was saying. “I won’t tolerate it. You can’t attack other students. That’s just not acceptable.”
“But he came after me,” Justin said, though it was just for form’s sake. He already knew that Mr. Franks wouldn’t listen.
He was right.
“I want you to promise me you’re going to leave Billy alone,” the principal said.
“I’m supposed to leave him alone?” Justin repeated.
“Will you?” the principal asked.
“I guess he’d better stay out of my way,” Justin said sarcastically.
Mr. Franks pointed his forefinger at Justin. “You have an attitude problem,” he said. “And let me tell you, I’m not going to stand for it. I’ve tried to make allowances for your situation, but there comes a point…You know what I don’t get?” he said. “You and Billy used to be friends.”
Justin shrugged. “Things change.”
“Things had better change,” Mr. Franks agreed. “I’ve tried to be patient, but I don’t believe in coddling. It’s time for you to shape up. Or you’re out. Do you understand me?”
“I can’t believe this,” Justin said. It was all so unfair—he was getting blamed for something that wasn’t his fault. He was the victim, and he didn’t understand how Mr. Franks couldn’t see that.
As he sat there thinking about it, he felt the anger building and building until he thought he was going to explode. The last time he’d sat there, he’d felt some indignation, but it wasn’t anything like this fury.
“This is so unfair,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“You can think so. But, Justin, the fact is, life’s not fair.”
How many times had he gotten the “life’s not fair” speech, Justin wondered. Most of the time they
said it, they had no idea. No idea at all how unfair life truly was. They didn’t really want to talk about how unfair it was, what they really meant to say was, Don’t complain. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t remind other people in case that might make them feel uncomfortable. Well, he wasn’t about to go along with that. He wanted other people to be uncomfortable. The more uncomfortable the better—though it wasn’t possible for them to be as uncomfortable as he was.
“Your brother and Billy’s brother were the same age, weren’t they?” the principal asked.
Last time, Justin had wondered why the principal had brought up Billy’s brother. At least that was one mystery solved: The presence of Zack in the lunch room explained that.
“They were best friends,” Justin said.
“And now Billy’s brother is alive and yours isn’t. That’s not fair, is it? But that’s not Billy’s fault. How long has it been now? About a year, right?”
This time Justin took advantage of the opportunity to make the principal very uncomfortable. Normally he wouldn’t have revealed anything he didn’t have to. But this was too good to pass up.
“A year to the day,” Justin said.
“It was a year ago today?” As he had expected, the principal was startled.
“You didn’t mention that before,” the voice observed.
After a moment the principal recovered from his surprise and asked, “Is there a memorial service?”
“Yeah. My parents are having something.”
“I didn’t hear…”
Justin shrugged. “They didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Mr. Franks said again.
It turned out that making Mr. Franks feel bad didn’t make Justin feel any better. In fact, it was the opposite. It was like kerosene on flames. Justin had to get out of there.
“Can I go now?” Justin asked. “I’ve got bio.”
“Yes. You can go,” Mr. Franks said.
Justin stood up and started toward the door.
“I’m sorry if I was hard on you,” the principal called after him.
Justin didn’t even stop. He just walked out.
23
Justin was standing over the dissecting table with his group. They were all gathered around staring at the rabbit that was staked out in the middle of the table.
“Come on, group three,” the teacher said, noticing their hesitation. “You want to get started over there.”
No one at table three moved.
“Let’s get going over there,” the teacher said. “Who’s going to do it?”
Still no one moved.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Justin said. He picked up the scalpel, leaned over the rabbit, and pressed the blade into the skin right above the breastbone.
“Ugh,” Barbara said as the skin parted.
It was like cutting a soft piece of rubber, Justin thought.
He drew the center line, then the perpendicular lines at the top and bottom so he could draw back the two flaps of skin—like double doors, the teacher said.
As he was pulling back the flaps, with Barbara ready with the pins to hold the flaps open, he was suddenly aware of a whispered conversation going on between two of the girls in his group. They had stepped a little away from the table, and up till now their voices had been too low to hear, but just at that moment their voices had risen a notch, and he could make out the words.
“It figures,” he heard one girl say.
“I know,” the other agreed.
“I mean, who else would do that?”
“I know,” the other said again, with more emphasis.
“It’s totally fucked up.”
“Well, he’s totally fucked up.”
As he listened, he could feel the flush of embarrassment flood through him. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, and he spun around to face them. “Why don’t you just say it to my face?” he demanded.
The two girls looked up in surprise, and Justin could feel the rest of the table staring at him.
“What?” one of the girls asked.
“I heard what you were saying about me,” Justin said belligerently, though he was starting to feel a little unsure.
The two girls exchanged glances.
“We were talking about her boyfriend.”
The second girl hit her friend lightly on the arm, whispering, “Don’t tell him that.”
“Who cares if he knows?” Then, under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear, she said, “Freak.”
“How’s it going over there, table three?” the teacher called out.
Justin turned back to the rabbit, glad to have a cover for his confusion. But just as he was about to press the scalpel into the skin once again, he saw that the rabbit’s eyes were open. The eyes were bright and glistening—and alive.
Justin took a sharp breath. But when he looked around at the other students, no one else seemed to have noticed anything. So Justin simply put the scalpel down on the table very gently and said, “I think it’s someone else’s turn now.”
He went over to the sink to wash his hands. The rabbit had been packed in formaldehyde for months, so there was no blood, but Justin didn’t trust that blood wouldn’t suddenly appear. It would be right in keeping with the kinds of things that had been happening.
He ran his hands under the water, as hot as he could stand it. I’m not crazy, he said to the voice.
But it wasn’t really a statement. It was a question.
“No,” the voice reassured him. “You’re not crazy.”
Justin felt comforted, but only for a moment. Then he realized the irony of the situation. The voice in his head was telling him he wasn’t crazy. And how much comfort could he really take from that?
24
Justin made his way though the auditorium, Megan’s note clutched in one hand. As before, he had slipped out of bio, down the hall, and into the auditorium. Now he climbed the stairs to backstage and approached the prop room door.
It would be different now, he promised himself. He’d make it different—if it was possible to change something that had already happened.
He took a deep breath and went inside. As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he edged his way around the rack of clothes, but once again he hit his shin hard against the metal edge of the steamer trunk with HMS stenciled across the top. That didn’t bode well for being able to change anything, Justin thought, stooping to rub his leg. He lifted his pant leg, and sure enough, he’d hit it hard enough to draw blood.
Always blood.
He used the fabric of his pants to blot the few drops that welled up. After the first, most intense wave of pain passed, there was a dull throbbing ache. Justin let the leg of his jeans drop back down over his sneaker. When he glanced up, he saw the shadowy outline of a person sitting in one of the old armchairs at the back, deep in the shadows. He stood there, waiting for Megan to come toward him or to speak. But she didn’t move, and she didn’t say a word, even though she had to be staring right at him. Then, as he stared back, he started to wonder if the silhouette wasn’t too big. It seemed more the size of a man.
“Megan?” he said uncertainly.
She answered him, but her voice came from behind him.
“Justin?”
He whipped around and found her standing just a few feet away. So who was it in the chair? When he looked back over his shoulder, it was gone. The chair was empty.
Was that you? Justin asked the voice silently.
“I don’t know. It might have been.”
It scared him. When it was just a voice in his head, it seemed somehow less threatening. What did the voice want? Justin could have asked, but he didn’t. Because he didn’t really want to know the answer.
When Justin turned back, Megan was still standing there awkwardly, looking as if she didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. She looked so lost. So unsure. What had happened to the aggressive assurance of before? He waited, but n
othing happened. So this time Justin was the one to close the distance between them. He was the one to bend down to kiss her.
She took a second to respond, but then, after a few seconds, her lips softened, and her arms snuck around his waist. Justin was dizzy with the feeling that he was sliding into his past, that the last year simply hadn’t happened. He gave in to it; he let his mind shut down and he just floated in the feeling of kissing her.
Megan pulled back a little. “Hey,” she said.
“Yeah?” Justin murmured, but then he kissed her again. He didn’t want her to talk. He wanted, more than anything, to just stay with the feeling.
“Are you sorry?” Megan managed to get out between kisses.
“Sure,” Justin said, not even really registering what she said.
“’Cause you were really awful to me,” she said. “And I think you should say you’re sorry.”
At this, Justin pulled back and looked at her. He was sure he remembered Megan being the one to apologize. He was positive that she had admitted that she’d treated him pretty badly. But now it had gotten turned all upside down.
“Are you kidding?” he asked.
She pushed him violently away. “What is your problem?” she demanded.
“What?” he said, bewildered.
“You’re so weird. Why can’t you just be normal?”
He reached out for her—to try to calm her down, to get her to explain, maybe just to touch her again—but when he caught her arm, she instantly ripped it away.
“Get away from me,” she spat.
He took a step back.
“Asshole,” she yelled at him. “Fucking asshole.”
At that, Justin turned and ran. He stumbled and almost knocked over a bin of plastic swords, then the rack of clothes. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. But even after he was out of the prop room, and the auditorium, and out in the hallway, he still thought he could hear her voice.
25
Justin was upset, even more this second time than the first. He had known what was coming—or thought he had known. The changes were starting to mount up, and something about that terrified him.
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