Colin Fischer

by Ashley Edward Miller

  “Yeah, okay,” Eddie said. He sounded old, somehow. “How?”

  Colin opened his eyes. He had to see. He wanted to read the emotion on Rudy’s face when he spoke next. He had to know what Rudy was, underneath.

  Rudy smiled, but not with his eyes, like a shark considering a wounded seal. There was no emotion. There was nothing for Colin to read. There was nothing at all.

  “Oh,” Rudy sang, “I’m just full of great ideas.” And then he was gone.

  Colin watched Eddie, waiting for him to follow Rudy so he could escape his toilet prison and report back to Mr. Turrentine. But Eddie didn’t leave. Instead, he entered the stall next to Colin and slammed the door closed. He didn’t do any of the usual things Colin associated with someone going to the bathroom; Eddie simply sat down.

  And Eddie wept.

  Moments later, Colin burst out of the bathroom, clutching his scrub brush. He ran straight into Mr. Turrentine, who said nothing. He just looked at Colin, expecting some sort of report on the status of the task, but Colin was at a loss. They could hear the soft, muted sound of Eddie’s sobs coming from inside the bathroom.

  “Fischer. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Yes,” Colin said. He looked back at the bathroom, noting the yellow sandwich board. It was a warm color, much better than the scrub brush. “Do not go in there. Eddie needs privacy.”

  Mr. Turrentine nodded, thinking he understood. Perhaps he did.

  “Can I go?” Colin asked.

  “I don’t know, can you go?”

  It took Colin a moment to realize the question was rhetorical. Then he returned to the gym, grabbed his backpack and his Notebook, and ran home as fast he could. As he ran, he scribbled furiously in green ink, over and over again:

  …Moore, R.T. Moore, R.T. Moore, R.T. Moore, R.T. Moore, R.T. Moore, R.T. Moore, R.T….

  By the time he stopped, safe on his trampoline, Colin had filled an entire page.

  The meticulously folded-up note Rudy found in his locker the next day was addressed to Moore, R.T. It read as follows:

  Football field. Today, 4:30 P.M. Come alone. —C.

  And so Rudy found himself on the empty football field later that afternoon as asked. He was alone, as asked. He looked around himself, taking it all in. The field seemed so small when watching a game, but so large when standing in the center of it. Especially when you appeared to be the only person in the world.

  It felt good to think so, and Rudy smiled. But only with his mouth.

  “You.”

  The voice behind Rudy was not Colin Fischer’s, nor did it seem the sort of thing that freak would say to begin a conversation. Rudy didn’t have to turn around to know who had addressed him. What he did not know—what he found fascinating—was why.

  “Wayne,” Rudy said. “Wayne Connelly. Thus the ‘C.’”

  “Yeah,” Wayne said. “Did I fool you?”

  Rudy shrugged. The two boys walked toward each other. Each unafraid, each for different reasons. “It wasn’t his handwriting,” Rudy said. “It wasn’t his style.”

  “He’s a weird kid,” Wayne allowed. “The truth is, I don’t really have him figured out yet. But you? You I have all figured out.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait.”

  “Colin solved the whole thing because he’s really smart. He’s not so good with people, but he was good enough to put together why Sandy had the gun in her purse and why Eddie had it in his locker. He even knew Eddie wasn’t capable of making contact with La Familia and buying a gun on his own—he knew Eddie needed help. There was just one thing that didn’t make any sense to him…but it makes sense to me.”

  Rudy considered Wayne for a long moment, noting everything about him. His clothes. Hairstyle. Shoes. Everything, down to the dirt under his fingernails. Rudy committed every detail to memory with perfect recall. “And what’s that?” Rudy asked.

  “Why you helped him. How you had skin in the game. He asked me if I had ever done anything to you, if I had ever crossed you or one of the people you call your friends. I told him no. I told him in eight years, I had barely spoken to you.”

  “Then why did I do it?”

  “Because you could,” Wayne said. “Because you wanted to see what would happen next. You wanted to push a button and blow up somebody’s world, whether it made any sense or not.”

  Rudy feigned horror. “That doesn’t sound very nice at all.”

  “Here’s the thing, dude. I know you’re smart. You may be as smart as Colin. For all I know, you may be smarter. I don’t care.” Wayne moved up next to Rudy, chest to chest, staring down at him, blotting out the sun. “I don’t give a damn how smart you are. If you ever do anything like this again—to anyone—I’ll beat you stupid.”

  Wayne didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and marched away. His business with Rudy was done, at least for today.

  “Connelly,” Rudy called after him. “I know you. I know where you went the first day of school, third period. I know what you do after school. I know everything.”

  “Then you know I’m serious,” Wayne said, and he did not look back.

  Moments later, Rudy was alone in the world once more. As he preferred.

  EPILOGUE:

  HUMAN BEHAVIOR

  The word “altruism” dates only to the nineteenth century, but the mystery of why people are so willing to put the welfare of others before their own has consumed philosophers, theologians, and scientists for over two thousand years. If nature is a constant struggle between organisms for survival and sustenance, why would one creature ever sacrifice its own well-being in favor of another?

  Religious texts tend to celebrate altruism and self-sacrifice, but often without explaining why it’s preferable to love one’s neighbor as oneself. The prospect of reward in the afterlife is sometimes dangled as payment for compassion and self-sacrifice, and that is that. But I find the idea of a heavenly quid pro quo distasteful and unsatisfactory.

  Psychologists trace the origins of altruism to the emotion of empathy—the ability to feel the pain of another being as if experiencing it oneself. I don’t like this explanation either. If the empathy-altruism hypothesis is correct, then a person is helping another to make his or her own suffering cease, making altruism just another form of selfishness.

  Biologists, meanwhile, have invoked evolution in attempting to explain altruism, specifically the idea of kin selection. The theory goes that for most of history, humans lived together in small, closely related bands. When one hunter-gatherer helped another, he was actually helping ensure the survival of his own genes by proxy. Evolutionary mathematician JBS Haldane expressed the principle best when he declared, “I would lay down my life for two brothers or eight cousins.” I find this explanation unsatisfactory, too. I only have one brother, but I would lay down my life for him if necessary.

  I expressed this to Danny on his eleventh birthday, just before he blew out the candles and made his wish. He told me not to get his hopes up.

  Colin bounced high in the air—higher, perhaps, than he had ever bounced before, pushing the elasticity of the trampoline to its limits. The springs pulled the fabric taut, groaning with the strain, but held as Colin landed and soared once more into the clear, blue San Fernando Valley sky.

  Wayne stood at the foot of the trampoline with a DUBIOUS frown, arms crossed.

  “No, really!” Colin exclaimed as his feet floated above Wayne’s head. “It helps you think!” he shouted as he belly-flopped onto the fabric and rebounded. “And now it’s an Olympic sport!”35 He tucked into a forward flip and performed it expertly.

  Colin’s enthusiasm was difficult to dismiss. It was even more difficult to dismiss when Colin slowed to a light hop and beckoned Wayne onto the trampoline, insistent but unassuming. “Try it.”

  “What the hell,” Wayne said. He shrugged, addressed the aluminum frame, and unsteadily pulled himself over the pad and onto the mat with no small sense of CONCERN.

  Colin rea
ched out to help.

  Wayne’s outstretched hand froze an inch from Colin’s, suddenly uncertain. He’d never seen Colin touch anyone on purpose, and the consequences of unwanted physical contact were well documented. Wayne looked in Colin’s eyes, searching for an answer he knew would not be written there.

  Colin splayed his fingers, reaching further.

  Now, Wayne understood. He accepted Colin’s offer, long enough to stand. The trampoline wobbled, punishing his inexperience, but Colin would not let him fall. He was stronger than Wayne imagined.

  Then, his confidence growing, Wayne let go of Colin’s hand. He bounced. A test flight, and a successful one. Wayne bounced higher, and grinned. Colin grinned too. He was not mirroring Wayne, and he was not following a script. He felt JOY.

  Colin’s parents stood together at the kitchen window. They watched in silence, struck by the effortlessness of their son’s play and the ease of his connection to Wayne. The sight was unprecedented.

  Mrs. Fischer smiled. “He’s really gonna be okay, isn’t he?”

  Mr. Fischer smiled back and pulled his wife close to him, his eyes locked on his boy with his new friend. Possibly from the look of things, the best friend Colin had ever had. Then Mr. Fischer frowned. He knew he should be happy, but somehow…he saw his own face reflected in the glass and wondered what Colin would make of him now.

  “Life is a mystery,” he said.

  Outside, Colin was too busy making plans to notice his father’s expression. If he had, he would not have understood why his father looked SAD. It was not a thing for boys to understand until they became fathers themselves, and this strange moment arrived.

  “We could train together,” Colin declared breathlessly. “Compete in the pairs category…” Colin laid out his Olympic vision, and Wayne listened, and they bounced into the late summer sky together.

  Each in their own way, they knew Rudolph Talbott Moore was far from finished with them. He had declared war, and there would be consequences. Colin and Wayne did not speak of it. For now, the future was a trampoline.

  For now, they were just boys. And what could be better than that?

  The End

  35 Trampoline has been an official, competitive Olympic sport in the gymnastics category since the 2000 games in Sydney, Australia. The highest recorded score is still held by the first male gold medalist, Alexandre Moskalenko of Russia, who was awarded a rating of 41.7.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Victory may have a thousand fathers, but thanking everyone who made Colin Fischer possible would require bloating this little book to doorstop proportions. Nevertheless, attention must be paid. So a heartfelt thank you to…

  …Our wonderful lit agent Eric Simonoff for encouraging us to finish this book, then going out and selling it.

  …Our editors Ben Schrank and Gillian Levinson, who have been wonderful collaborators and infinitely patient in teaching neophyte novelists the ins and outs of the book world.

  …Multi-hyphenate genius and friend Lev Grossman for his encouragement and support.

  …Shawna Benson, who can probably recite this book from memory and knows every comma intimately.

  …Our film and TV agents, managers, and attorneys, who have been tireless in advocating and protecting the book (and us) through this entire process. So thank you also to Paul Haas, Jeff Gorin and the whole team at WME (Kimberly, Tom, Zach, and Jordan), Allen Fischer at PYE, and Ken Richman and Gretchen Bruggeman-Rush at HJTH.

  Finally, a special thank you to Susan Solomon, our Mama Bear. Without her, the sun doesn’t rise and the world doesn’t turn.

  Susan, we’re sorry your favorite word isn’t in this book.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ASHLEY EDWARD MILLER and ZACK STENTZ met on the Internet, a consequence of their mutual love of all things Star Trek. Together, Miller and Stentz have written and/or produced over a hundred hours of television. Most recently, they co-wrote the films X-Men: First Class and Thor. Upcoming projects include The Fall Guy and a Starship Troopers remake. Miller and Stentz both live in Los Angeles. Find out more at: facebook.com/colinfischerbook.