Echo

by Kate Morgenroth

But Ms. King had lost the class’s attention. All eyes were on Justin now. His voice dropped to a terrible whisper.

  “The times have been, that, when the brains were out, the man would die, and there an end; but now they rise again.” The harsh whisper died out and Justin stood on stage, staring at the empty chair.

  For several seconds he stood rooted to the spot, and he stared so intensely at the empty chair, most of the class had to look as well, just to check to make sure there wasn’t someone there.

  33

  By the time he was standing in line in the cafeteria, it had become obvious to Justin that most of the kids avoided him not because he was being ostracized but because they were afraid of him. He got his food and chose to sit at a table by himself, and a few minutes later Tim came and slid into a chair next to him.

  Justin remembered being confused by the fact that Tim seemed almost nervous when delivering his message. But now there was nothing confusing about it. It made sense to him because Justin had discovered that his anger was like a bullet constantly looking for a target. And Tim knew that by sitting down next to Justin, he was presenting himself as a target.

  “Come to steal my lunch money?” Justin asked, and there was a mocking undercurrent to his question. When Justin had still been part of the gang, he and Billy had seen the movie The Godfather and had decided to extract protection money from the freshman boys. They decided that every week a different member of the gang would go around and collect. It had become a great joke with them that Tim hadn’t managed to get a single penny when it was his turn to collect.

  Tim laughed nervously. “Gimme a break, Justin.” He tried to say it lightheartedly, but it was almost an appeal.

  It was an appeal that Justin could hear but knew he wouldn’t respond to.

  Tim continued, “Listen, I’m just here to give you a message from Billy.”

  “Why? He can’t speak for himself?”

  “He wants to talk to you, but every time he tries—”

  “I’m here now, and he can say whatever the hell he wants,” Justin retorted. “So where is he?”

  At that moment Billy appeared at the doorway to the lunchroom.

  “There he is,” Justin said, half-rising from his chair.

  “Wait,” Tim hurried to explain, “I mean he wants to talk to you, but not now. Later. During last period, around three thirty, at the back stairwell near the gym.”

  As Justin watched, he saw Billy’s brother, Zack, sneak up behind and try to get his brother in a headlock. Billy twisted out of it, and in retaliation gave his brother a playful shove.

  The sight of that made Justin feel…he didn’t even know what. Empty. Desolate. Wild.

  “If he wants to talk to me, he can talk to me now,” he said, almost breathless with anger. He started toward Billy.

  “Justin, no…” Tim reached out and grabbed his arm, but Justin’s look when he turned around made Tim drop his hand as if he had touched a live burner on a stove.

  “I think you’d better stay out of it,” Justin said.

  Then he turned his attention back to Billy, who was still rough-housing with his brother. They were both laughing. They didn’t notice Justin approaching—until he stopped a few feet away and spoke.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  Billy looked up. When he saw who it was, he let go of his brother and stepped forward, putting himself between Justin and Zack.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Justin demanded.

  “Yeah, but later,” Billy said.

  “If you have something to say to me, you can say it now.”

  Justin could hear his voice getting louder. Kids at the tables nearby turned to see what was happening, and Billy’s gang, most of whom had been seated at a table a little ways away, headed over toward them.

  But it was Zack who stepped between them.

  “Let it go, Justin,” Zack said, and there was the tone of command in his voice.

  At least Zack wasn’t scared of him, Justin thought, with the most unexpected feeling of gratitude.

  It might have ended there, but Billy ruined it. He quickly pulled his brother back. “You stay out of this, Zack,” he said urgently, as if Zack were in some sort of imminent danger.

  That’s when Ricky grabbed a bottle of ketchup off the table and darted forward, squirting it on Justin’s shirt. “Murderer,” he said in a mock-hysterical voice. “Look, he’s got blood all over him. He’s a psycho murderer.”

  Justin looked down at himself, and the sight of the splattered ketchup brought back that other image. He remembered what it had been like to be covered in a fine mist of his brother’s blood. At that moment in the cafeteria, covered in ketchup, Justin thought he experienced something of what a murderer might feel.

  Billy stepped up, obviously intending to try to keep Justin from tearing Ricky apart. But at that point, in Justin’s rage-filled world, Billy was just as good a target as Ricky. Better even. The rage was like a fire that burned his brain clean of thought, and he lashed out viciously. Billy caught him in a clinch, and they crashed to the floor together.

  The very intensity of Justin’s response ignited some sort of primal instinct in the boys who crowded around them. There was a shrill, almost frenzied pitch to their yelling. Justin could hear the noise, and he gave in to the blissful release of striking out. Even when Billy fell on top of him, Justin continued pummeling Billy in the body. He did nothing to protect himself, so when Billy let go and started hitting back, the blows landed on Justin’s face. The first split his lip. The second connected with his jaw, and his head snapped back, cracking sharply against the concrete floor. He didn’t exactly black out. Rather, everything went white. It was as if the fluorescent lighting suddenly took on the brightness of a nova.

  34

  Justin blinked—and found himself sitting outside the principal’s office. The blinding intensity of the pain dulled suddenly to a throbbing ache that pounded through his head. He looked up and saw that Mr. Franks was opening the door to his office. The principal half-turned and laid his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “You’re doing just fine,” he said.

  Billy glanced over at Justin. “Thanks, Mr. Franks,” he said, obviously uncomfortable. “Can I go?”

  “Yes, you can go now, Billy.”

  Billy fled.

  Then the principal turned to Justin, and his face creased into a frown. He opened the door a little wider and said, “Justin,” and it was both a command and a reprimand.

  Justin got up and followed the principal into the office. He sat in the chair that Billy had occupied a few moments before, sliding down so he was slouched as low as he could manage—as if by this method he could somehow disappear under the principal’s radar.

  There was a long, heavy silence.

  Finally the principal spoke. “So, here we are again,” he said, stating the obvious.

  Justin always marveled at how good adults were at being able to speak without actually saying anything.

  Mr. Franks went on, in a kinder tone. “Look, is there anything you want to say to me before we get into this?”

  Justin didn’t even look up, much less respond—not because he was angry, but really because he had no idea what to say. How would he start? How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself?

  The principal waited a moment, then sighed.

  “Justin, we can’t have this kind of thing, you know. You can’t attack other students. That’s just not acceptable.”

  “But he came after me,” Justin protested. It was exactly what he’d said the other times, but this was the first time that, as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. Billy had been the one to grab him, but only to keep him from going after Ricky. So Justin didn’t feel the same swell of bitterness and injustice when Mr. Franks shook his head and said, “There comes a time when you have to take responsibility for your actions. I want you to promise me you’re going to leave Billy alone.”

  “You want me to leave him alone, huh?” Justin repeate
d.

  “Will you?”

  Justin opened his mouth to say he would, but instead he found himself saying sarcastically, “I guess he’d better stay out of my way.”

  That’s when Mr. Franks started to lose his temper. His lips thinned as he said, “I’ve tried to make allowances for your situation, but there comes a point when allowances turn into excuses.”

  Justin gritted his teeth to keep from yelling back at him—to keep from asking him, at what point did you get over your brother getting his brains blown out so they splattered all over you?

  Right after the accident Justin had become obsessed with war films: Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and The Thin Red Line. His parents were disturbed by this and tried to stop him. They didn’t understand. How could they? It hadn’t happened to them. When he watched the movies, he felt like those guys would understand how he felt. They’d had their best friends blown to pieces in front of them. At fifteen he had had an experience that most people never have in a lifetime. And the principal was sitting there telling him that at a certain point you had to get over it. Somehow Mr. Franks had decided that a year was supposed to be enough time. Justin didn’t know if a lifetime would be enough.

  The principal must have realized his mistake. Maybe he read Justin’s face, maybe he just realized how what he said had actually sounded, because his next words were milder.

  “You know what I don’t understand? You and Billy used to be friends.”

  “Things change,” Justin said.

  “I hope things will change for you, too. They have to change. It can’t go on this way. I sympathize, but I can’t have you doing this kind of thing repeatedly in this school. Either you shape up or you’re out. Do you understand?”

  “I don’t believe this,” Justin said bitterly. “This is so unfair.”

  “Life’s not fair,” Mr. Franks said, but gently. “We all want to help you, Justin.”

  “What do you want to help me with?”

  “We want to help you move past this,” Mr. Franks said.

  Finally Justin allowed himself to say what he was really feeling. “Move past this?” he practically spat. “How the hell am I supposed to move past it? It happened. It’s not about to go away.”

  “It happened a year ago,” the principal pointed out.

  “Yeah. To the day.”

  Mr. Franks looked up sharply.

  “It was a year ago today?”

  Justin shrugged.

  “I didn’t realize it was a year ago today,” the principal said. “Is there a memorial service?”

  “Yeah. My parents are having something.”

  “I didn’t hear…”

  “They didn’t want to make a big deal of it,” Justin said. Thank god, he thought. He remembered the actual memorial as if it had happened yesterday. It was like a circus. Hundreds of people had come. Everyone from Mark’s class. His teachers. Most of Justin’s class and his teachers. It was like a nightmare. He’d felt everyone sneaking glances at him, trying to see how he’d hold up. He knew they were wondering how he could look so calm. He didn’t tell anyone that he felt frozen. Numb. He felt like he could have put his hand in a fire and he wouldn’t have felt a thing. Not even a trace of heat.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Mr. Franks said again.

  “Yeah. Can I go now?”

  Mr. Franks said, almost humbly, “If that’s what you want.”

  Justin got up to go. He had just reached for the handle of the door when Mr. Franks spoke again. “I’m sorry if I was hard on you.”

  Somehow that was just too much. Justin couldn’t take the sympathy. It seemed to release the huge ocean of emotion that he was barely managing to keep contained.

  He turned back and gave the principal the finger.

  Then he pulled open the door…and stepped straight into the prop room behind the auditorium. It felt as if everything were unraveling—and being knit together at the same time. The day was accelerating now. He was hurtling toward the end at terrifying speed.

  The door swung closed behind him, and he turned to face the room filled with junk from a hundred different high school plays. He rounded a clothes rack packed tightly with old, molding costumes. There were seventeenth-century doublets and hose shoved up against flapper dresses and zoot suits.

  Once he squeezed by the clothes rack, he immediately caught sight of Megan. She was perched on the arm of an old sofa—just sitting there, head bent, her hair half-falling around her face. Justin stood there quietly for a moment, watching her.

  She must have sensed something, because at that moment she looked up. When she saw him, she stood abruptly, then didn’t seem to know what to do with herself.

  “Hey,” she said awkwardly.

  He could feel almost tender toward her when she wasn’t looking at him, but the second she looked at him, he felt incredibly self-conscious under her gaze.

  “Hey,” he said, but in a clipped, cold tone.

  She looked down again, and bit her lip. But she valiantly tried again. “Thanks for coming to meet me.”

  “Yeah.” He hesitated. “So what do you want?”

  His words were rude, but he somehow managed to say them in a milder tone.

  She looked pathetically grateful for that little consideration.

  “I…well…I mean, I remembered that today…that today…” She faltered and trailed off, looking down at her feet again.

  She looked so sad. And upset. And pretty at the same time. Without even thinking, Justin took two steps forward and kissed her. And it made him think of the time when he thought kissing could make up for everything that could possibly go wrong. He wanted that to be true again. He tried to make it true by kissing her harder, by holding her tighter, but Megan finally struggled and pushed him away.

  She tried to make a joke out of it, saying, “So you missed me too?”

  “Sure,” he said, trying to pull her back to him.

  But she fended him off with her words. “’Cause you were really awful to me. Don’t you want to say you’re sorry?”

  Justin drew back. “You want me to say I’m sorry?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who changed. You didn’t even bother to break up with me. You just stopped speaking to me. Do you know how hard that was?”

  “How hard that was?” he repeated, not quite believing what he was hearing.

  “I know I can’t compare it to what you went through—”

  “You’re damn right you can’t,” he said.

  “—but I think you should know you’re not the only one with feelings. You weren’t the only one who got hurt. I got hurt too.”

  “You didn’t get hurt,” he retorted. “You didn’t lose a brother.”

  “No. But I lost you,” she pointed out.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I just want it to be like it was,” she pleaded.

  It seemed like everyone wanted him to suddenly revert back to normal. First the principal, now Megan.

  “Just like it was,” he repeated, his lip curling.

  “With us, I mean.”

  “Okay, Megan. You want it to be just like it was,” he said nastily. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her toward him.

  “Let go of me, Justin.”

  “You said you wanted it to be just like it was,” he insisted.

  “Ow. Justin, you’re hurting me. Let go.”

  As he let go, he gave a little shove, but it was harder than he meant it to be. She lost her balance and tripped and fell. The couch was right behind her, and she landed on that instead of on the floor, but she was still shaken—and angry.

  “Asshole,” she spat.

  He turned his back on her.

  “You piece of shit. You friggin’ loser,” she yelled after him as he walked away.

  She was still yelling as he opened the door and stepped through…

  35

  …into the boy’s bathroom.
>
  He was still breathing heavily as he crossed to the sinks and turned on the faucet. He splashed some water on his face and patted it dry with his T-shirt. Then he leaned over and rested his forehead against the edge of the sink, trying to fight off the sudden pressure in the back of his throat.

  He jerked upright when he felt the hand on his shoulder. Spinning around, he saw it was only Daniel.

  “You okay?” Daniel asked.

  “What’s it to you?” Justin snapped. He turned back to the sink, and busied himself washing his hands, but Daniel didn’t take the hint and leave. Instead he waited a moment, then spoke again.

  “Do you have history with Ms. Hines?”

  “Yeah,” Justin said without turning around.

  “Did you do the paper?”

  Justin looked over his shoulder at this. “What paper?”

  Daniel gave a little laugh. “Guess not,” he said.

  Justin couldn’t help smiling a little at that.

  Then there was a moment when Justin and Daniel simply stood there. Something had shifted, just a little bit.

  “What do you want?” Justin asked gruffly, but not unkindly.

  “I wanted to say thanks for this morning.”

  “Forget about it,” Justin said.

  But Daniel wasn’t about to let it go. He went on, “Billy and those guys are so lame. I know you used to hang with them, but”—and here he grinned to show he was half-joking—“I don’t believe in holding people responsible for past mistakes.”

  Justin eyed him, not sure how to respond to this teasing, confident version of Daniel.

  “Oh yeah?” Justin managed.

  Daniel was suddenly serious. “Yeah. It’s a waste of time. And you never know how much of that you’re gonna have, right? Time, I mean. Everyone thinks they’re gonna die in their bed when they’re eighty. But you know different. You know that it can happen just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Bam. Game over.”

  Daniel was speaking Justin’s own thoughts out loud. Justin ducked his head to try to cover the fact that the choking feeling was in the back of his throat again, along with a pressure behind his eyes. He tried to pass it off by saying sarcastically, “That is so deep.”