by Elle Casey
His skin was cool, mine warmer from having been soaked in all that hot water. I pretended to be totally unaffected by his presence and by what he had done. Talk about a conflict. One made me hot and the other made me ice cold.
“Jason, I want you to stop saying that.” I looked up into his eyes, refusing to be cowed by his good looks or the frown that he made after he heard my words.
“Stop saying what? The truth?”
I squeezed his hand a little. “No. I mean, yes. I mean … ergh!” Everything was a jumble in my space-cadet brain. I couldn’t remember what I was going to say or if I ever even knew in the first place.
“Ergh?” He smiled a little. “You want me to stop saying ergh or start saying ergh?”
My second hand joined my first and I leaned in closer, giving him my death glare. “I want you to stop focusing all of your attention on the past. Ergh. I want you to talk about something other than being a murderer. Ergh. I want you to admit that you’re not the kind of person that just kills a guy for no reason. Ergh and double ergh!”
My heart was going wild in my chest. It went even nuttier when Jason stared back at me.
“You’re hurting my hand.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I loosened my considerable grip.
“And you need to stop hoping for a miracle,” he said, before adding, “Ergh.”
My mouth opened to respond, but the sound of our parents’ voices coming back in our direction stopped me. I let my hands drop away and stepped towards the kitchen table, putting some distance between us.
“I’ll discuss this with you later,” I whispered, before turning to face the parents. I felt like my mom, issuing promises laced with warnings.
Jason smiled, apparently not feeling threatened at all. He had a lot to learn about me, that was for sure. I wasn’t playing.
“You ready to go to school?” my father asked. He glanced at Jason and nodded once.
Jason returned the gesture.
I had no idea what that meant, man-code being a complete mystery to me. I checked the expressions on my mom’s and Chuck’s faces, but they were totally neutral. Frigging parents. Always playing mind-games.
“Yep. Ready to go.” I walked over and picked up my backpack that I’d left on the floor. “See ya,” I said to Jason casually as I headed towards the front door, following our parents. No one but me knew that my heart was racing and my head pounding. I was working up one hell of a headache to bathe my brain in, just in time for second period.
“Yeah. Thanks for coming by,” Jason said.
I turned around and caught the look on his face. My heart broke right in half at the sadness I saw there. He was staring at my backpack, and I would have been willing to bet the entire balance of my college savings account that he was wishing he could be heading off to Banner High too.
I thought of all the times I’d wished that I didn’t have to go, and then a shiver passed through me as I realized I could have had that wish granted like Jason had.
Be careful what you wish for took on a whole new meaning for me that day.
Chapter Twenty-Six
BOBBY MET ME AT THE entrance to the school, five minutes before the bell was about to ring. His outfit had me shaking my head. Apparently he had decided to go all out for the occasion of my re-introduction to the entire school as Jason’s number-one supporter. Wearing not only black pants, a black shirt and a black satin vest, he was also sporting a small black hat with a black netted veil attached. The only things with any color on his entire body were a red rose in the hat and bright red lipstick to match. I kid you not, he looked like he was going to a funeral in a Tim Burton film. Three guesses whose funeral he had in mind.
“So, what is the dealio, sister? I’ve been in the dark for way too long. Rumor has it that you have some secrets.” He stuck his arm in the crook of my elbow and dragged me along. “And you have four minutes, so start spilling your guts or we won’t be friends anymore.”
“As if you could lose me that easily,” I said, trying to stall the inevitable.
“Don’t play. I have chemistry next period and you know that class always makes me break out in hives.”
I was trying to ignore all the obvious stares and whispers that followed us through the hallways, but it was tough. No one was making any effort to be cool.
“I visited Jason a couple times. No big deal.”
Bobby looked at me, probably glaring, but I didn’t check to see.
“Uh, wrong. Very big deal. How did it go?”
“Good, I guess.” We rounded a corner to get to the long row of lockers that held my books. “He’s depressed a little. Still confessing, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
“Of course I was curious about that, but I’m more interested in how he’s dealing with the fact that you’re the only one coming to see him.”
As we got closer to my locker and the ring of students standing around it, I thought less about answering Bobby’s question and more about what fresh horror awaited me.
“Oh, boy,” Bobby said under his breath. “I was hoping to avoid this mess.”
I pulled away from him, making his arm fall from mine. “Fine. Go if you have to.”
He thrust his arm back through my elbow and pulled me along. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Come on. Let’s go kick some mean-girl butt.”
The front of my locker had something smeared on it. Something red.
Bobby sighed really loudly and rolled his eyes as we approached. People moved to make room for me, some of them giving me the shit-eye, others looking … scared. Maybe they thought because I was hanging out with a murderer it had somehow rubbed off and caused me to be dangerous too. Ironically, that made me want to punch someone.
“Oh, please, is that supposed to be blood?” Bobby asked really loudly. He held his hand up to it, palm towards the locker. “More like my latest nail color. I like it.” He gestured towards the lock and looked at me. “Open it up. I want to see what the tiny-brained idiots have put in there today.”
Several students looked at each other. I couldn’t tell if their expressions said guilt or look-what-the-crazy-gay-boy-is-up-to-today. Bobby was always good for some entertainment. His silliness was taking some of the darkness out of the atmosphere, so I wasn’t about to stop him.
I turned the lock with trepidation. People were whispering, but all I could hear with any clarity was the click, click, click as the dial passed through the numbers.
32 click click click … 48 click click click 12 …
Several slips of paper fell out of my locker and onto the ground. One of them had red smears on it, similar in color to the crap on the outside of my door.
Bobby kicked them into a pile and then leaned down, picking them all up in a stack.
“Okay, folks, F.Y.I. … here’s what we think about anonymous, cowardly notes, delivered by small-minded assholes who should have better things to do with their time than to try and bully someone into turning her back on a friend.” He whipped a lighter out of his front pocket and set fire to the corner of the pile.
He waved the flaming mass over his head. “Here’s our message to the cowards who can’t say whatever it is they think they need to say to Katy’s face … go to hell!”
It was a glorious two seconds as all the faces in front of us angled up to watch the flame of honor and awesomeness burning bright in Bobby’s hand.
Unfortunately, the moment was quickly lost when he waved his flaming standard a little too close to one of the school’s fire-suppression sprinklers.
There was a clack, a fizz, and then water started spraying everywhere, first just over our heads and then out of all the sprinklers in the entire hall.
A fire-bell started clanging loud enough to give me an instant headache, and people began screaming in fright. Everyone who had books with them threw them up over their heads and ran.
Bobby got bumped and slammed around and ended up dropping the papers to the ground, and the fire got p
ut out by the stampede of feet running by.
All I could do was stare at the pandemonium. As bodies flew by bumping into me, sending me left and right, I started laughing, thinking how ridiculous my life had become. In the mornings, I hang out with a murderer, then I move on to spending time with an arsonist who sets the school on fire. I’m so not getting into college.
“It’s not even funny how royally screwed I am right now,” Bobby said, sounding way more depressed about it than I was about my own future. He was standing there with water running down his hair and into his face. His formerly spiked hair was now wet-dog scraggly, hanging down to his chin, and his hat was leaning precariously off to the side.
I pushed some of the moppy mess behind his ear so I could see his eyes. “You are my hero, Bobby Garrity.”
He pulled me into an intense hug, his wet hat whacking me on the ear.
“I wanted to be as brave as you are. I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to Jason’s.”
I patted him on the back. “You win. You’re the bravest kid in the entire school.” I didn’t tell him I was glad he hadn’t gone with me to Jason’s, because if he wanted to go in the future, he should go. Jason needed all the friends he could get. Besides, I liked the time I spent alone with my neighbor a little too much, probably. Bobby would be a nice buffer to keep my girly-emotions in check.
I smiled as I watched teachers coming out and running down the hallways with their purses and briefcases in hand. “You are so going to get suspended for this,” I said, shaking my head at his bravado.
“Excellent. More time for shopping.” Bobby’s chin went up in defiance.
We were still laughing when the school police officer walked up, took Bobby by the elbow, and led him away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“SO, AM I ALLOWED TO go to Jason’s or what?” I asked my mom after school, glad my father wasn’t around to share his opinion on the subject.
My mother paused in mid plant-watering to answer me. “Your father and I spoke last night and we decided that we would let you visit Jason on a limited basis.”
“What’s that mean?” I took an apple out of a bowl on the counter and bit into it, pretending like I enjoyed fruit and wasn’t freaking out inside over what she was saying.
“You may go after school for a couple hours to do homework together, and on the weekend we can negotiate for additional time, but you are not to go over there when you should be in school and you cannot go over at all unless you ask one of us first and get permission.”
“So you’re going to keep me on lockdown, is that it? Treat me like I’m ten again?”
“No, we’re going to protect your interests while also giving you the latitude to support a friend, as you’ve asked to be able to do. You might not like the rules, but you don’t get to make them until you’re eighteen. I think we’re being more than fair.”
I kept chewing the apple to keep from saying what I thought about these so-called fair rules, rules that were very much like the ones set for me when I was in fifth grade. Fact is, they weren’t fair, but I had six months before I was able to do anything about it, and I knew if I pushed it, my father would get all up in my face and make them even more restrictive.
“Fine. I’m going over there now, if that’s okay with you.” I tried to keep the snark out of that last sentence, but I wasn’t entirely successful, or so her burdened expression told me.
“Yes. Take your books. Chuck told us that Jason has a couple of tutors keeping him on track with all his classes at school.”
“All of them?” I could just picture some old hippy coming to his house helping him with his ceramics class. That would be interesting.
“Not the electives but the ones that count towards his graduation requirements, yes.”
I left without another word, worried she’d change her mind if I said anything else.
Instead of going to Mr. Baumgarten’s house, I walked right down the street like I owned it and up to Jason’s front door. There were only three reporters there, and I blazed past them so fast using my super-walk they didn’t even get a chance to say anything before I was ringing the bell. Looking over my shoulder as I waited for an answer, I noticed that they all stayed on the street. It was nice not having my face attacked by microphones.
Mr. Bradley answered the door. “Katy!” he said, on his face a huge smile. “Come in, come in.” He stepped back and closed the door behind me, acting like there weren’t reporters using cameras with long lenses to snap photos of us at high speeds.
“Hey, Mr. Bradley.”
“Call me Chuck.” He looked up the stairs. “Jason! Katy’s here!” He shifted his focus back to me. “I’ll leave you kids alone. I’m doing some bookkeeping in the other room if you need me.”
I nodded and waited in the front hall alone, taking in the ceramic tile floors and scuffed cream-colored paint on the walls. This house was missing a woman’s touch. There were no pictures in the hallway, no crap on the table tops … my mom would have had a heart attack over walls like that with all those scuff marks. I’d lost count of how many times she’d had our front hall re-painted.
For a few awkward seconds, I wondered whether Jason was going to choose to ignore me today and stay in his room, but then there were some pounding sounds and Jason’s feet appeared as he came down the steps.
He wasn’t wearing any shoes, and his jeans dragged the floor under his heels. His hair was wet as if he’d just taken a shower.
It seemed strangely intimate to see him this way. A silly part of me wondered if he’d taken the shower specifically for my visit. I just as quickly squelched that ridiculousness and banned it from my brain.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, stopping at the bottom stair. The smell of his soap wafted up into my nostrils and I tried to inhale deeper without being obvious about it.
“My mom says I have two hours to help you with your homework,” I blurted out.
He rolled his eyes and came down the last stair to the floor-level. “Fun, fun. Come on, let’s go in the kitchen.”
I was glad he hadn’t suggested we go to his room, but at the same time I wondered if we’d always just hang out in the kitchen like two neighbors and not two friends.
“So what’s new at Banner?” he asked. “Everyone talking about the cold-blooded killer?”
“Yep. You’re still the biggest news the school has had since they discovered Mr. Williams was a closet transvestite.” If Jason could joke about his situation, so could I. So there.
I reached down into my backpack that I’d dropped next to my chair and pulled out a book as I sat down.
“They giving you shit?” he asked me in a more serious voice. “My dad says you were on the news in front of our house, and that whole getting-punched-in-the-face-with-a-microphone shot was on every news channel all night.”
I dropped the book on the table with a bang. “Nothing I can’t handle.” I turned to a random page and looked up at him. “You ready to do some work?” My tongue licked at the spot on my lip that was still a little swollen from said microphone incident.
He shook his head. “No.” He was staring at me but then put all his attention on his cuticles.
“I heard you got tutors.”
“Yeah. It’s a joke.” He snorted in disgust. “You should see the homework.”
“Is it better or worse?”
“Way better. A single page. Four problems for math, nothing for anything else.”
“What?” I slapped my book shut. “That’s bullshit, man. You’re getting a free ride?” A sound distinctively like one a pig makes escaped my nostrils. Not attractive at all. I was thinking of the mountain of physics homework alone that I had waiting for me in my bag and I’d have to do later after I got home.
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I guess killers don’t need to worry about having an education.”
I couldn’t decide how to react to that, but it didn’t matter. Jason wasn’t done.
; He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Everyone used to be on my case all the time about grades, giving me extra help, making sure I could qualify not just to play but to get into a good school.”
“But you had scholarships all lined up, right?”
His chair leaned back farther, making me think he was about to flip over.
“They’re better if you have good grades to back them up. It’s not easy to find an athlete who can play and do the classwork too.”
“Because they’re all dumbasses,” I said, agreeing with him, or so I thought.
“No, not really.” His chair rocked back and forth, back and forth on two legs. “It’s because most people choose to do the least amount of work possible, regardless of how smart they are. And if you’re good on the field or the court, you only need to do the minimum, and everything just falls into place.”
“You mean people get bogus good grades so they can make the school proud.”
Jason tipped his head and chair down to look at me. “Let me put it to you this way … strong sports programs bring in the best teachers and the most bucks.”
“For college maybe.”
“Not just college. Don’t fool yourself. You saw the car that Coach drove around, right?”
“Who didn’t. Mercedes SUV, right?”
“Yeah. You don’t think he paid for that out of his pocket, did you?”
I shrugged. “I guess I did. Maybe his family has money.”
“Bullshit. He was given a new car to borrow every year.” Jason put the word borrow in finger-quotes. “Same as the assistant coach. But you don’t see that happening to the woman’s softball coach, do you?”
“I have no idea what she drives.”
“She drives a nineteen eighty Toyota Corolla, covered in dents.”
“What about the track coach?” I asked, kind of joking. I imagined making a chart of all the coaches and their cars to prove some kind of point to the world.