THE PRETENDER: Black Mountain Academy

by Brent, Cora

“Ben, I don’t understand.” She’s got circles under her eyes and yesterday’s makeup still sticking to her skin. Her robe is a rose colored satin tent that’s frayed at the sleeves and has seen better days. Kind of like us.

  “I need a day off. So I’m taking it.”

  Her mouth opens and shuts. She’s struggling with the argument that I need to get my ass to school because I’m a kid and school is where I belong. Then she remembers that I’m not really a kid anymore and there’s no way to force me to go anywhere.

  “All right.” She leans against the counter and stares down at her hands, which are red and calloused and self manicured with green sparkly nail polish that’s chipped at the edges.

  As I wash the cereal bowl out I can feel her eyes on me. I hope I haven’t just set off an episode of worry and hand wringing. My head is full of my own problems today and I just don’t have the energy to handle hers.

  A distinct thump echoes from down the hall, followed by feet shuffling toward the bathroom and then the clear noise of guttural spitting.

  My fingers tighten so hard around the cereal bowl it’s a small miracle the cheap ceramic doesn’t break in half. “I didn’t know he was here.”

  “Oh.” She’s instantly flustered, whipping her head around to glance down the dark hallway where her boyfriend is doing gross things in our only bathroom. “Yeah, Darren spent the night on the couch.”

  She obviously thinks I’m an idiot. An idiot with no eyes. There was no one on the fucking couch when I passed through the living room a little while ago.

  But for reasons unknown she wants me to like the bastard so she gives me a nervous smile and says, “It’s my day off and Darren’s going to take me Christmas shopping at the outlet mall in Pennington.”

  She says this like she’s expecting a diamond ring out of the deal when in reality he’ll talk her into buying him something she can’t afford and then stick her with the lunch bill.

  “You guys are taking his truck?” I ask.

  She beams. “Yes, he said he’d drive.”

  “Can I borrow your car then?”

  “Why? I thought you didn’t feel well enough to go to school.”

  “I just need to borrow it today.”

  She frowns, processing the request. I make an effort not to sigh with frustration. It’s very rare that I ask to borrow her car. It’s rare that I ask her for a damn thing.

  “Look, I’ll have it back in the carport this afternoon and I’ll top off the fuel tank, okay?”

  Finally she nods. “All right. You can borrow the car, Ben. I’ll call your school and tell them you’re sick today so you don’t get in trouble.”

  I don’t care if I get in trouble. And I don’t expect to accomplish anything by ditching. I just don’t feel like pretending to be Ben Beltran today.

  Dirtbag comes straggling into the room looking like he’s just tumbled through a spin cycle.

  “No breakfast?” he complains by way of a greeting.

  “I’ll get you something,” my mother says, bustling around in search of something to feed Dirtbag. He helps himself to a seat at the table and I’m in danger of dry heaving when I see him make a grab for my mom’s rear end.

  However, she seems pleased, turning around with a smile and then briefly running her fingers through his greasy hair. I’ll never get over my disbelief about seeing my beautiful, intelligent mother go from being treated like a queen by my father to hunting crumbs of affection from losers like Darren.

  “Get me some coffee too,” Dirtbag orders my mother and then notices that I also live here. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “Shouldn’t you have a job?”

  “Watch your mouth, junior.”

  “Eat shit, asshole.”

  He pouts and addresses my mother. “Michele, your kid’s got a hell of an attitude. You know I work plenty. I deserve some time off.”

  My mother is uneasy, looking from one of us to the other. “I really wish you would both make an effort to get along.”

  No, I won’t be making an effort do a damn thing except extend my middle finger. Apparently Dirtbag feels the same way because he waits until my mother’s back is turned and then he gives a hard kick to my right kneecap. It’s more annoying than painful and I throw him a look that’s supposed to say ‘Are you fucking serious?’ but he doesn’t get the message because he just grins like a cartoon cat.

  This clown really ought to think twice about challenging me. He’s twice my age, his gut looks as soft as a pillow and I know how to pack a punch. Bennet Drexler was a third degree black belt and Ben Beltran got to keep those skills, which came in handy after arriving in rough and tumble Devil Valley. I must have been in ten fights within my first month here and only after I squashed both the McGill brothers in one battle did everyone else decide that I was worth some respect. The McGills never gave me any trouble after that but I’m sure the memory sticks with them. Which is why they backed right the fuck off the day I made it known that Camden Galway is off limits.

  I get a pain when I think about it now, the way she’d dashed into the store with her eyes wide, looking over her shoulder because the dreaded McGills were hunting her. The brothers live just down the street in a corner house where the front yard always looks like a landfill. They prey on anyone they believe is an easy target and I would have gone out of my way to keep any girl out of their trashy claws. But the fact that they were coming after Camden made me feel especially primal even then, even before it truly dawned on me that she was really special. I would have gladly suffered a few bruises to keep her safe. And maybe I should have told her that straight up, instead of being a dick and playing hot and cold games for weeks.

  Anyway, after spending the night thinking about a thousand and one ways I could have better handled the situation with Camden I’m in no mood to deal with Dirtbag’s antics.

  Taking note that my mother’s back is still turned, I jump to my feet and before Dirtbag can so much as flinch I seize a fistful of his stringy hair and slam his ugly face into the hardwood kitchen table. He howls and there’s blood and my mother screams but I didn’t use nearly as much force as I could have. Dirtbag might have a broken nose and he’ll need some tissues to mop up the blood but he’ll be fine. Or at least he’ll be no more hideous than he usually is. I’m not worried he’ll call the cops because he’s already got a long history of being on their bad side.

  “BENNET!” my mother shouts. It’s not often that she slips and uses my real name. I ignore her, grab the car keys from where they hang on a nail next to the door and make an exit before things can get worse.

  I’m driving down the street when I realize that while I had the presence of mind to grab my jacket, this time I’ve left my phone behind. Being without a phone sucks but I’m not returning to that scene of fresh hell in order to get it.

  I don’t have a destination in mind. Somewhere outside of Devil Valley but not Black Mountain. My mind has lost track of the time and I don’t even realize that the bus is due to show up any minute.

  Then I turn the corner and I see Camden.

  She’s standing in exactly the spot where she was standing the day she caught me looking at her the instant a cold gust of wind blew her skirt up. She’s not writing in her notebook now. She’s not looking at her phone or chatting with Mrs. Copella. She just stands still and stares straight ahead as if she’s thinking. Or waiting.

  She’s facing in this direction, the direction where she expects to see me appear and I’d give a lot to know if she’s hoping for or dreading my arrival. She doesn’t notice the beat up red car that pulls up to the curb along Cardinal Street and she doesn’t notice that she’s being watched by the driver.

  We were so fucking awful to each other yesterday.

  I wish I knew how to not be awful. I wish I had all the right words on the tip of my tongue and that I could give them to her. I wish she was sitting in the seat beside me right now. I would tell her that I’m sorry. I would tell her about this morni
ng’s debacle with Dirtbag and how there’s an unseen war raging inside me and that sometimes I just want to stand in the wilderness where no one can hear me and scream. I would tell her that I miss my father. And I would tell her that whoever I am and whatever name I’m attached to wants to be with her. Because she’s beautiful. Because she drives me nuts in the best way. And because there’s not another girl anywhere who can compare to her.

  The bus appears and the moment of opportunity passes. Camden glances down the street one last time and her shoulders sag with disappointment before she trudges up the steps of the bus.

  I stay put until the bus is gone and then I yank the car out of park. Halfway between Devil Valley and Black Mountain there’s a turnoff that leads to Angel Peak State Park. I don’t expect there will be many people hiking around in the woods on a weekday with snow on the ground and sure enough, aside from a guy who’s got an expensive camera setup pointed at the designated lookout point, there’s no one around.

  My fingers become stiff after five minutes on the trail but I’m wearing my boots so at least I don’t slip and slide all over the ground. There’s nothing special enough about this area to be a huge tourist spot, not like the more well known landmarks looming over the town of Black Mountain. There’s a picnic gazebo a few hundred yards up ahead and it’s deserted, the canopy covered with snow, cobwebs in the charcoal grill. But beneath the canopy is a long table, the kind that my Devil Valley neighbors keep in their backyard for summer cookouts where seventeen extended family members show up and everyone eats hot dogs and laughs about someone accidentally setting fire to the living room couch twenty years ago.

  The Drexlers were never that kind of family. My grandparents were dead by the time I was three and my mother had already lost her family when she married, so my memories only include the families of Uncle Gannon and Uncle Layton. The adults would drink from expensive bottles and the men would bicker in low voices while my mother and aunts had passive aggressive conversations about handbags and marble floors. My oldest cousins were rarely around and I wished they’d take the twins from hell with them but Angus and Grey were present a lot more than I cared to see them. During a pool game Angus once held my head underwater until I started to black out. Another time he and Grey asked me if I wanted to see something cool and ushered me over to a backyard corner where they unearthed a mass grave of decaying seagulls they’d killed with pellet guns.

  And then there was the time my mother’s cat – a soft, trusting calico named Betsy – disappeared. The following Christmas, while the adults were preoccupied with their liquor, Angus cornered me and bragged that he’d smothered the cat and dismembered her body.

  Deep in my left pocket my fingers connect with a wrapper and I pull out a Milky Way bar that I’d stowed in there last week and forgotten about. It’s a nice surprise because I’m hungry and as I tear the wrapper off I can’t help but think of my dad. This was his favorite candy and he kept a glass jar filled with the miniature versions on the cherry wood desk in his office. He let me know I could sneak in there and take some anytime I wanted even if my mother was shouting that dinner would be served in five minutes. He always wanted to see what new tricks I’d learned in karate or hear about my baseball games and he paid attention to my report cards.

  He was a good father.

  He worked a lot and often missed little league games and school concerts but he loved me and he loved my mom. Professionally he was known for ruthlessness and I’ll probably never know if he was involved in that terrible situation with the activists. But I like to think that the guy who idolized my mother and slipped me candy bars and tucked the blankets around my shoulders long after I should have been asleep was a decent man at heart.

  After washing the candy bar down with a mouthful of snow I decide to take a hike up the peak. It’s not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, considering the ground is slippery, I have no phone and no one except for the camera man at the lookout has any idea that I’m out here. But the peak is small and I scale it without a problem. From the top I can see Black Mountain in the distance. The valley in between looks like a Christmas postcard. The sun has broken through the haze of grey winter clouds and for now the temperature is less hostile even all the way up here.

  My gaze is still pointed in the direction of Black Mountain. All I see of the town is the distant spire of the tallest church but I know that church is located within a mile of Black Mountain Academy.

  Where I should be right now.

  Where Camden is.

  Every time I think of the betrayal in her voice and the way her pretty eyes were bright with tears yesterday I feel a little worse and I already felt pretty bad in that moment. She doesn’t know whether or not to believe anything I say and why should she? So far I haven’t given her much to work with. The truth is, Camden is the first girl I’ve really wanted to know in every way.

  No, it’s more than that. I want her to know me too. When I ask her to trust me I want her to feel no hesitation in believing that she can.

  And I’ve already started to think of her as mine.

  In fact, I can’t think of her any other way.

  Damn it.

  That’s right. Damn it all to hell.

  Because there’s more than Camden at stake here. I fucking hate the thought of living the rest of my life this way. Wrapped in terrible secrets like some mafia character, muttering ‘Don’t ask about my business’ threats to anyone who gets too close.

  I hate it so much that I open my mouth and scream. I scream at the sky and at the tall evergreen sentinels below and at Black Mountain and at Devil Valley. I scream at my mother and I scream at myself. I scream at my broken past and my lonely future.

  When my throat is raw and my voice exhausted I sit there for a while and watch the shadows change. No one has heard me screaming or even knows that I’m here. I don’t think I’ve ever been as physically isolated as I am right now. But it makes no difference. I’ve already been alone for a long time. That’s what matters.

  I’m not sure of the time when I climb down the peak and make my way to the parking lot but the sun has disappeared behind clouds again and I would guess that it’s sometime in the late afternoon.

  If the camera guy was still at the lookout point I’d ask him but he’s long gone. I promised my mother I’d have the car back in the carport so I gas it up and return to the shabby little house where my mother has tried her best to make a home for me. She doesn’t always make the right choices but she has suffered too. She still suffers. I should try to remember that more often.

  She’s sitting at the kitchen table and she doesn’t look surprised to see me when I quietly enter and place the keys back on their nail beside the door. We stare at each other for a long moment and I can tell her eyes are slightly puffy, like she’s been crying at some point today and might cry again.

  “I’m sorry about this morning,” I tell her.

  She nods. “Darren is gone. I told him to go and not come back.”

  “Good. You deserve better.”

  She tries to smile. “Do you want dinner? I could cook you something.”

  I check the digital stove clock. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get to work pretty soon.”

  “Oh.” She chews at the chapped corner of her lower lip and looks at the surface of the table where I smashed Dirtbag’s face this morning. “I’m really tired. I’ll probably be asleep when you get home.”

  “Okay.” I’ve got one foot out the door when she calls me back.

  “Ben?” She’s digging around in her purse and comes up with a wrinkled ten dollar bill, which she carries over to me. “Get yourself something to eat.”

  “Will do.”

  As I pocket the money I’m sure that there’s a chance being wasted here. A chance to talk about the things my mother and I never really talk about. Like my dad. We never talk about him.

  She lowers her head and turns away. “Bye.”

  I shut the door behind me and for the second time
today I’m halfway down the block when I realize I’ve left my phone behind. Again.

  Fuck it.

  People got along just fine for centuries before they were welded to their stupid phones. And I won’t have any messages from anyone I care about hearing from right now. Because Camden is the only one I really want to hear from and she doesn’t have my cell number because I’m a jackass who never thought to give it to her.

  She’s not scheduled to work at Dee’s today and I have no clue if she took the first after school bus. If she did, then she’s probably already at home. And I know where her house is. I walked her there once. I kissed her goodnight at her front door and then ran home feeling like I’d just won the fucking World Series or something.

  With this thought in mind I change direction, hop two chain link fences and cut across the empty Devil Valley High field. Some kids are clustered together beneath the bleachers, probably doing something illegal. “Beltran!” one of them bellows but it’s not Camden’s voice and so I act like I don’t hear.

  Five minutes later I’ve just rounded the corner of Camden’s street when I see something that makes every ounce of the blood in my veins turn to ice.

  And then, an instant later, to murderous fury.

  Camden

  Ben is all I can think about when I wake up after a fitful night. I don’t expect that we’ll hug it out at the bus stop after yesterday’s terrible fight but I can’t stand the way we left things.

  And I know the next move needs to be mine.

  Apparently as I sit at the kitchen table with my elbows propped up while glaring into my orange juice glass I look wretched enough for Frankie to notice. As he snatches his English muffin from the toaster he says, “What’s the matter, Cam? You get a B on a test?”

  “No.” I make a face at him. My dad left for work hours ago and Adela returned to bed after I assured her I’d make sure Frankie got out the door on time. “Nothing so tragic.”

  Frankie stops squirting grape jelly on his breakfast and eyes me. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”