Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks

by Nathan Burgoine

  No. Nope. Nada. Cole, stay put. Now was not the time. Parents. Dinner.

  I pushed past it, and there was sort of a snap sensation as it let go.

  I was in the hallway. Successfully.

  Check me out. I had just triumphed over the modern door.

  I raised my fist a second time, then went to find my dad.

  * * *

  You feeling better? my dad signed between slicing up green peppers. He was standing at the island. It looked like a stir-fry was in the making. Simple, quick, but when my dad cooked, it was always amazing. He’d tried to teach me some of the basics, but the way he cooked—he just threw stuff together and it was always incredible—was for people who had a natural talent for cooking, and I was not a natural. Following recipes was right up my alley. You followed the instructions and ended up with edible food. I could do that. I didn’t ignore what he suggested when he told me I could do something different than what the recipes said. I just never did if I was cooking something myself.

  Today? Up and down, I signed in reply. Truth by omission was the new black. Today, Mom also feels up and down! Sooner Mom eats, sooner Mom can crash.

  He smiled and pointed at the mushrooms. I brought them to the island and started slicing them up opposite my dad.

  Today down what? he asked before starting another pepper.

  “This.” I pointed to my lip. “I was the hot topic of the day.”

  Tell them you in bar fight?

  I laughed. “That’s what Grayson suggested.” I exaggerated my expression of amusement.

  My dad paused. Don’t-know how I feel about that. He screwed up his face comically. Grayson’s ability to alienate the people around him didn’t limit itself to kids my age, though I wasn’t sure if he’d ever said something directly to my dad, or if my dad was just reacting to what he’d heard about Grayson from me. Grayson didn’t come over much, and my dad was somewhat aware of the fallout from last year’s disaster between Grayson and Alec. And of the Rainbow Club, only Alec really dropped by. Dad was firmly Team Alec.

  Well, because many people saw me faint, it doesn’t matter.

  He nodded, picked the knife back up, and set to chopping again.

  Once I was done with the mushrooms and he’d finished his second pepper, he stopped again.

  Today up what?

  Right. I’d told him there was good stuff today, too. I took the mushrooms over to the wok, where chicken was already sizzling, and poured them in, stirring it up and flipping the little chunks of chicken. They were turning white as they cooked.

  When I turned back, he was still waiting for me. Luckily, my delaying had given me time to find the right, totally-not-a-lie words.

  “I think I got a handle on some stuff that was worrying me,” I said, remembering my return from our old house to my bedroom. I fought hard to keep eye contact with him. See? Totally the truth. Just maybe a bit light on the honesty.

  He did that laser-eye dad thing again, like he was reading way more than my signs.

  If you need to talk, he signed, then tapped the center of his chest. I know a genius.

  “Me too,” I said. “But she’s in the shower.”

  He put a hand to his heart like I’d stabbed him, but the smile gave him away.

  God, I was lucky. He was a ham and didn’t know when to quit, but I couldn’t have asked for a better freaking dad.

  We worked across the island for a little while, my dad making the sauce and me setting up the rice steamer. All the veggies went in with the chicken and then Dad covered it with a sauce he’d magically assembled from his own head involving soy sauce and tomatoes and other stuff from the spice rack and various cans and some sort of alchemy.

  “Smells good.” My mother came into the kitchen. Her hair was still damp but pulled back in a ponytail, and she had on one of Dad’s university T-shirts and a pair of khaki shorts.

  Dad tapped his lips, and my mother leaned in for a kiss. They smiled at each other, and I stared down at the rice steamer because when they looked at each other like that, I could never decide if it was the most awesome thing in the world or if it was really, really gross.

  Once they were done being gross awesome parents in love, my dad leaned over and checked the timer.

  Five minutes, he signed.

  I’ll set table. Watching them move around each other while she gathered cutlery and paper napkins was like watching them dance. They touched each other in passing, little touches that weren’t necessary but made my mom smile and my dad wink. It was adorable.

  And gross.

  Really, it was a wonder I’d ever made it out of therapy. Didn’t they know their kid was watching?

  The timer flashed, and Dad started serving onto the three plates my mother had left for him.

  My stomach growled again.

  Man, I was hungry.

  I wondered how many calories it took to teleport.

  To-Do

  X Bring home calculus textbook

  Exam prep: calculus, biology

  Exam prep: English (reread?)

  Exam prep: French (practice exam!)

  Movie night with Alec this w/e?

  X Make lunch for Tuesday, slacker

  X “What happened?” joke

  Laundry

  Slap Malik King

  Doors? DOORS! Definitely Doors.

  Alec at RC on Thursday

  Hungry?

  Eight

  Wednesday morning, I stumbled out of my bedroom a bit late after one too many hits of snooze and ended up standing on the front step outside the door in my pajama bottoms.

  Scrambling back in through the front door—if there was a God, no one saw that—I found myself staring right at my dad, who stood just inside the kitchen, decidedly groggy. He was turning on the coffee machine. When he saw me coming in from outside, he frowned at me.

  Everything okay?

  Need to brush teeth, I signed, dodging past him to get to the stairs before he could ask any questions about why I’d been in the front yard in my bare feet and pajamas if I needed to brush my teeth. This time, when I went through the door to the bathroom, I remembered to pay attention. The little tug-then-snap sensation happened again, but I made it to the sink.

  This teleporting thing wasn’t going away. As far as plans went, “ignore it” was officially a spectacular failure and off the table. Time to face facts.

  “Hi, my name is Cole, and I have a teleporting problem,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror.

  “Hi Cole,” I replied, in a deeper voice. “Your lip looks less gross today. Also, you realize you’re talking to yourself, right?”

  I brushed my teeth, spat, rinsed, and had a shower. By the time I dried off, I’d made a decision. This was no different than self-defense classes or calculus. Neither of those things had come naturally. I’d had to work at them, so I needed to practice. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, I opened the door and looked across the hallway to my bedroom. The door was still open from when I’d accidentally ended up outside.

  I took a step, staring at my bedroom and willing myself to skip the hallway and just be there.

  It didn’t work. I was in the hallway. Annoyed, I went to my bedroom door and paused. I was wearing a towel. Now was not the time to teleport somewhere else.

  “Just going to my room to get dressed,” I muttered to myself.

  I crossed the threshold. Another tug-and-snap. But I was in my room.

  How in the world was I going to practice this?

  “Cole!” my mother yelled from downstairs. “Ten minutes!”

  I glanced at the clock. Crap. I dressed quickly, grabbed my backpack, and made it through my bedroom door without incident again. I needed to grab some toast and then run for the bus, or I’d have to walk it and might end up late.

  * * *

  “Hey, Cole?”

  Malik King was standing over me. I’d eaten my lunch and was just waiting out the clock with cowardice so I wouldn’t bump into Grayson
or the rest of the club.

  Given that I was sitting with my back against one of the trees along the track field, I didn’t look up so much as I looked way up. Boy was tall.

  “Yeah?” I said. It came out of my throat a bit wary, which wasn’t exactly polite. Cute or not, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Malik having come by the Rainbow Club to drop his little bomb yesterday.

  He bit his lip. Okay, so he wasn’t just cute. He was kind of hot. Okay, he was really hot. Oh, let’s be clear: the boy was on fire. How in the world he could make a plain red T-shirt do all the things it was doing for him I’d never know, but now I felt bad about my less-than-warm greeting.

  “Sorry,” we both said at the same time.

  “What?” we both said a beat later.

  He held up a hand. I closed my mouth.

  “Can I sit?” he said.

  I nodded. Okay. Malik wanted to sit with me. That was…what was that?

  He sat. He was playing with an orange, not peeling it, just rolling it around in his hands.

  “I thought you would have told them,” he said. “About the locker. I’m really sorry.”

  He was staring at his orange like looking at me would be a bad idea. I felt bad. From his point of view, it really did look like something I should have brought up, right? If I’d really been shoved into a locker, I damn well would have told the rest of the Rainbow Club. There’s no way I’d put up with that crap.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  He looked at me. He was doing that eyebrow thing again. It was a really, really good look for him.

  “Really,” I said.

  “How’s your lip?”

  I fought the urge to cover my mouth with my hand. “It’s okay.”

  “I guess I left too soon, eh?”

  “Low blood sugar isn’t sweet.”

  He smiled and did this little half-chuckle.

  Oh my God. Did I just successfully tell a joke to a cute boy?

  “Your friends…” Malik said, and then he stopped. He was back to staring at his orange.

  “My friends?”

  “They’re not mad at you, right? I mean, it really sucks when your friends are mad at you.”

  Huh. I looked at him. Was it just me or was there more going on here? The way he fiddled with the orange, the way he wasn’t looking at me. Body language. I wasn’t my dad, but…

  What reason would your friends ever have to be mad at you? I thought. Goose pimples broke out across my arms.

  “What?” he said.

  I blinked. “Sorry, uh…” I swallowed. “I don’t think so. I mean, they might be after we talk, but they’re not mad right now. I’m maybe avoiding them in the meanwhile.”

  “Why would they be mad after you talk to them?”

  “I’m officially going to tell them I don’t want to do anything about the whole locker thing.”

  “Ah.” He finally started to peel the orange. “I bet they’ll be okay. They seem cool.”

  I smiled. “They are. But I’m still rewarding myself with Meeples after.”

  Malik glanced at me. “That board game place?”

  “It’s sort of the best place ever.”

  “Haven’t been,” he said.

  “This is my surprised face,” I said, though I tried not to sound too mean about it. “It’s more my crowd than yours.” When he raised his eyebrow—he needed to do that less often if I was going to manage to remember how to speak in coherent sentences—I added, “That’s not a dig. It’s an observation. I am at one with my geekness. Have you ever seen me throw a sportsball? I don’t sportsball well.”

  “Sportsball?” He laughed when he said it, though.

  “I rest my case.”

  “Hey, King, you slumming? Community outreach with Colenap doesn’t count for your volunteer hours, y’know.”

  We both turned to see Austin walking by with his two usual accessories, Billy and Ethan.

  “Fuck off, Austin,” Malik said in this cool, included way. He threw some of his orange peel at him, too. Austin laughed, dodging it, then kept moving. He was gone a second later.

  I stared at the ground. What was that I’d just been saying about our respective crowds? Of all the times for a drive-by Colenapping.

  “Can I ask you something?” Malik said.

  And there it was. I sighed. I hated this question.

  “I don’t remember,” I said. “Like, anything.”

  He frowned at me.

  “I was four years old, and as far as I know, she didn’t do anything to me. I mean, yeah. She apparently snatched me, locked me up in her backyard, and kept me for the afternoon, but even the doctors checked me out and couldn’t find anything worse than a cat scratch. She was a crazy old cat lady, not a pedophile. No, I don’t have nightmares. Yes, I still like cats. Yes, my parents barely let me out of their sight. Any other questions?”

  Malik was staring at me now, his eyes wide. I realized I’d raised my voice.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s…I just really hate that name. Colenap. It’s…stupid, but…whatever.”

  “That’s not what…” Malik cleared his throat. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “Oh.” Oh man. Maybe I could have a heart attack and die right now? That might be good.

  “Austin’s an asshole,” Malik said.

  “Yes.”

  He finished peeling his orange and pulled off a section. I tried not to stare while he ate it. I mostly failed. He caught me looking and did the eyebrow thing again. Paralyzing.

  “So, what was the question?” I said.

  “Never mind.” He shook his head. “It’s okay. I just wanted to apologize for the other day.” He popped another slice of the orange into his mouth.

  He was eating his orange pretty quickly now, like it was the top of his to-do list, and he was going to check it off ASAP. I was pretty sure I’d just messed something up.

  “Anyway,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans as the last piece disappeared. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Okay,” I said, mystified.

  He rose and walked off.

  “It’s really okay,” I said, a little louder than maybe I needed to. But he turned and smiled and waved before he went back toward the school.

  My phone buzzed.

  Are you hiding again? It was Grayson.

  I’ll have you know I was hanging out with Malik King, thankyouverymuch. I hit Send.

  BS. You’re hiding by the trees, aren’t you?

  I smiled. Busted, I sent.

  Be there in five.

  I leaned back against the tree. I should probably enjoy the last five minutes of quiet I was about to have of my lunch break. I looked up.

  The same substitute teacher from Tuesday was back, staring at me from the same spot on the field. I shuddered and looked back at my phone. I wondered if people would find bodies buried in the guy’s basement someday. I couldn’t put a finger on why he set off my rando-freak alert, but I didn’t much care. Even a substitute teacher should know better than to just stand there in a field watching kids eat their lunch, right?

  When Grayson showed up, I looked again.

  Bearded creepy guy was gone.

  Huzzah.

  I grabbed my bullet journal while Grayson talked at me about a song I hadn’t heard, and it reminded me I needed to make a plan for biology. That was definitely what I’d do tonight. Then I turned to a new page and started a new list. This morning, I’d been standing at my front door in nothing but my pajama bottoms.

  After biology?

  It was time to get serious about being a freak of nature.

  To-Do

  X Bring home calculus textbook

  X Exam prep: calculus, biology

  Exam prep: English (reread?)

  Exam prep: French (practice exam!)

  Movie night with Alec this w/e?

  X Make lunch for Tuesday, slacker

  X “What happened?” joke

  X Laundry

  Slap M
alik King

  Doors? DOORS! Definitely Doors.

  Alec at RC on Thursday

  Hungry?

  Calculus: practice derivatives

  Biology: review biochem and metabolic processes

  Cole the Teenage Freak

  Concentrate at doors. All the doors. Every time.

  Locked doors. One way?

  Blood sugar? Hungry?

  CARRY YOUR PHONE.

  Nine

  When Alec showed up at the club meeting with me, it got a little quiet. The tugging sensation as I passed through the door had been pretty intense, and I half stumbled getting through, like maybe I just barely escaped another trip. Alec put a hand on my back, and the little snap sensation let me go.

  That had been close. God, what if I’d teleported away right then and there?

  On the other hand, I could have skipped the whole club meeting if I had. And I bet vanishing in front of them would make them drop the locker thing real quick. I smiled at the thought while I took my seat in the circle of chairs, and Alec sat beside me. Grayson stared at him across the circle. You could have cut the tension in the room with a knife.

  Why had I thought this was a good idea again?

  Alec ignored Grayson and gave me a little smile.

  Oh. Right. Backup.

  “Good to see you,” Rhonda said. She was talking to Alec. He bobbed his head in her direction.

  Nat went through the usual welcome and read over the last meeting’s notes. The complete lack of mention of my locker revelation sort of hung there when they were done. “The only thing on our plate is going to be planning our year-end party, unless anyone else wants to bring something forward,” they said, putting the notepad down.

  “About that,” I said. All eyes were on me. I’d rehearsed this. That was how I did public speaking. That was how my whole “Born to Those Who Aren’t Like You” speech had done so well. I wasn’t good at the spontaneous making of words. I was good at practice. “I know it’s maybe not what any of you were hoping for, but I don’t want to do or say anything about the whole locker thing. There’s nothing I can say, and I hope you all trust me enough to know I wouldn’t lie about that. There’s no one I can point a finger at and say, ‘You. You did this.’”