by Rob Harrell
After our umpteenth time through, Denny throws a towel over to Jimmy, who’s sweating like it’s his job. And it’s a job he’s really, really good at.
“You’re rushing, Jimmy.”
Jimmy shakes his head while he wipes down his neck. “No, these jack-wagons are dragging.”
“Seriously, Jimmy. Please don’t make me play that song again. I beg of you. Just trust me that it’s more of a slow roll than an up-tempo thing. It’s called ‘Take It Easy,’ after all. So, y’know—take it easy.”
“Okay, okay. Slow my roll. I gotcha.”
I look over at Abby, and she raises her eyebrows, like, Check him out! It’s weird to see Jimmy accept a critique without throwing something or stomping around like a mad little kid. He’s really trying.
We practice for an hour and a half. And again the next night. And Sunday afternoon. Sometimes we run through other louder rock songs just to blow the cobwebs out, and to keep Denny from going out of his mind—those are some of my favorite times—but then we get back to the business at hand. And we keep sounding better.
It’s pretty great.
33
SMEARS YOU CAN’T WIPE AWAY
And just like that, it’s the Tuesday before the talent show. When I wake up that morning, my bad eye has learned a new trick.
I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth in the mirror before I notice that something’s weird. My face looks screwy.
I close my good eye, and the edges of my face look . . . melty. Or warped. Like I’m looking at a wet painting that got smeared. Or like I’m looking at it through a rain-streaked window. I feel my heartbeat speed up.
I hold my toothbrush out in front of me, and it’s all warped.
Whoa.
Something tightens in my chest as I walk into my room and look at a magazine cover with just my right eye. I can still see, but it’s sort of like how things go gooey when your eyes well up with tears.
I knew the vision would go in that eye at some point, but I always assumed it would just fade away. Get darker slowly. I wasn’t expecting the trippy, swirly thing. Or for it to get this bad overnight.
It pretty much freaks me out. It’s kind of like having on glasses that are all smeary, only the smears are part of me. I can’t wipe them away, and it makes me feel kind of like I can’t breathe. I have to sit down on the edge of my bed for a few minutes and let myself chill out.
I mention it to my dad in the kitchen while he’s pouring his coffee, and he makes a call to see if that’s normal. He hears back from Throckton’s office that it’s unfortunately normal.
I look around at the cabinets. Out the back door at the yard. “It’s a little like having a lava lamp for an eye, which isn’t all bad, I guess.”
My dad laughs, but at school—as I’m walking to my locker—it occurs to me that I’ll never have normal vision in that eye again. My stomach drops, and I stop in my tracks.
I’ll never have normal vision again.
I look around for a few seconds—at backpacks and lockers and the bright red GO BADGERS banner on the wall—until the panicked feeling in my stomach relaxes. A little.
All the same, I’m fascinated all morning by the weird ways my eye warps things. I can’t stop looking around at stuff. At people.
Seventh grade! Now in WonkyVision!
It’s freezing outside, so Abby and I are eating lunch at the table in the corner when Jimmy walks up with a bag lunch and a carton of chocolate milk.
“Scoot over. I’m sitting here.”
I’m surprised, but I make some room. I instinctively look around the room to see people’s reactions—this might be the first time anyone has seen Jimmy in the cafeteria. It’s like seeing a bear sitting in a movie theater with a bucket of popcorn.
I spot Sarah and her friends—Denise and Angie—coming in the door. Sarah and Denise the Unpleasant are looking right at us. Or maybe just at Jimmy. Either way, I feel myself clench. I guess I’m now a known Jimmy associate.
Jimmy tears open his milk. “What’s up?”
I look down at my sandwich. “Oh, just . . . eating, y’know?”
He takes an enormous bite of a bologna sandwich and nods his head aggressively. And I have to ask.
“This is weird, but . . . where do you normally eat? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at lunch.”
Jimmy waves a thumb over his shoulder and talks with his mouth crammed full. “Down with Mr. Hanley.”
“The janitor?” Abby stops with a grape halfway to her mouth.
Jimmy lowers his sandwich. “Is there something wrong with that, Princess?”
Abby unfreezes. “No! No, not at all. He’s really nice. I just figured you hung out in the Grit Pit or something.”
The Grit Pit is a wooded area just past the football field where some of the rougher kids hang out. You see smoke drifting out of there after school sometimes. It’s to be avoided, if possible.
Jimmy gives her a look like she’s lost her senses. “No. But thank you for assuming that.” He takes another large bite. “Hanley is cool. We play cards.”
I feel myself nodding, even though something about that makes me sad. “That’s cool.”
Jimmy gives me a look that’s a little challenging. “It is cool. Hartley’s really smart. He gives me advice and stuff.”
I hear someone’s phone ding at the next table. Then another one, somewhere behind me.
“So.” Jimmy takes a gulp of milk, leaving an impressive milk mustache. “You may be wondering why I’m here.”
Abby and I nod. “Sure.” Another phone bleeps farther down the table.
Jimmy’s eyes change, and I see something that looks like . . . caring? Compassion?
“It’s not good. It’s really crappy, actually.” Another phone goes off, and I look over to see a few people staring.
“I know who’s making the memes.”
I jerk my eyes back to Jimmy. “Who?”
Abby’s phone chimes. She looks down at the screen. “Aw, man.” She turns it over, and something in the way she does tells me it’s about me.
“Is that another meme?” I ask Abby. “WHO?” I raise my voice at Jimmy.
I lunge forward and grab Abby’s phone from her.
“Ross! Don’t. It’s just—”
On the screen is yet another Ross meme. Another cartoon that someone has changed.
The cartoon is of a blind guy—cane and all—about to walk into an open grave. They’ve put my school headshot over the cartoon guy’s head and drawn dark sunglasses over my eyes.
Wait. Me . . . blind? The only people who knew I could lose my vision were me and Abby and . . .
I look around the room until I spot her.
Sarah.
She’s two tables away. I catch her looking right at me—and I just know. She looks away, quickly. My face goes cold as it sinks in, and I stand up without even realizing I’m doing it.
“Sarah?” It comes out quietly, but Jimmy and some tables near us hear me.
“Yeah. I overheard her. I was . . . Well, I was coming to warn you.”
Abby’s catching on. “Wait. Sarah KENNEDY? What the . . .”
I start to walk around the table, and Sarah gets up—like she’s going to just stroll out, whistling like a guilty cartoon character. Then I find my voice.
“Sarah?” It’s a lot louder this time, and the room goes quiet—except for a phone bleeping here and there as the meme spreads. “I told you about the whole vision thing in—that was between us.”
She stops and turns to me now. The school is watching, so she doesn’t really have a choice. She looks like her fight-or-flight response is kicking in. “Ross. I don’t know what on earth you’re—”
“Sarah made the memes.” Jimmy states it, loud, cutting her off. “All of them.” I feel Abby step up beside me, glaring daggers at Sarah.
Sarah takes a step back. “That is not true!” Her hand drifts to her phone, sticking out of her pocket. Like a reflex.
“I
heard you, Sarah!” Jimmy is still sitting, but he sounds disgusted. “You were right next to me at the lockers. Tell him!”
Sarah’s eyes dart around, looking for her friends. “I . . . I didn’t do all of them!” She blurts it out, and then looks surprised that it popped out of her mouth.
She looks around at the frozen lunchroom. “I did, like, one, okay? And not one of the bad ones!”
I feel my lunch threatening to come charging back up my throat. Like I just got punched in the guts. I can’t stop watching Sarah. Her face is morphing into . . . something other than what I thought it was. And it has nothing to do with my screwed-up eye.
A girl two tables over—Janice Linder, maybe—yells out, “I know of two she did, at least.”
Someone else yells, “Make that three.”
Sarah’s face goes from Flabbergasted Victim to Angry Demon in a tenth of a second as she spins.
“Whatever, Janice! You laughed just like everybody else! We were just goofing around.” Her face morphs back to Sweet Innocent Sarah as she turns to face me. “Ross, I’m sorry. I did . . . Okay. I did two of them. Denise and I were just joking around, and it went too far. I’m sorry.”
Denise lets out a loud (unpleasant) “Hey!” She glares up at Sarah. “I’m the one who only did two! Sarah really took to it.”
Jimmy sighs, behind me. “I’m sorry, man. She did that new one today. She was telling her friends about it by my locker. I saw it over her shoulder.”
My head is reeling. Me as a blind guy? Why did I tell her that? Was I showing off? What was I thinking?
I look back over at Sarah as Abby chimes in.
“Wow. What’s wrong with you, Sarah?”
Then Sarah’s just upset. Things are unraveling in her perfect world, and it’s entirely her fault. I don’t think her brain can compute the shift.
“Whatever, Abby! Since when are you guys all buddy-buddy with Jimmy, anyway?”
I look back as Jimmy picks up what’s left of his sandwich and calmly takes a bite.
My heart is going like a snare drum. I want to start screaming, but I also want to go hide in a stall in the bathroom. It’s like all of the emotions are having a four-way tug-of-war in my brain, and it’s a standstill. So I just do nothing as Sarah goes on.
“So . . . what? Are you guys gonna run to the principal now? Is that next? I can prove I only did . . .” She turns back at her friends, sounding cornered. “Denise started it!”
Denise, her face getting red, looks away.
I turn around and grab my tray as calmly as I can. Abby grabs hers, too, as Jimmy stands up. I’m starting to shake. I need to get out of here fast, so I don’t have a public meltdown.
I walk past Sarah, looking straight ahead. She’s clearly worried I’m going to report her.
“Ross. I’m sorry, Ross. Okay?” Something breaks in her voice, and she actually sounds like she means it.
I hear another voice—our vanished friend, Isaac Nalibotsky—yell from off to the side, “Unreal, Sarah. You must be really proud of yourself.” I look over to see Isaac and his new friend Chris Stemmle coming over to us. “You too, Denise.”
Isaac steps up and grabs my arm. “You okay, Ross?”
I meet his eyes and give him the quickest of nods. Somewhere in the back of my brain I register the gesture from my vanished friend—it’s a sign that he’s still in there somewhere—but I’m too much in shock to really absorb it. I nod again and keep moving.
I don’t see this, but Jimmy tells me later that as Abby passes her, she flicks a single Tater Tot at Sarah. It bounces off of her forehead.
Jimmy stops just long enough to look her in the eye. “Real classy.”
I drop my lunch—tray and all, like the signs say not to—in the trash can and leave. We don’t walk to the principal’s office, but down the band hallway to the door we take to the loading dock. I sit down with my back against the cold glass. I’m having a hard time catching my breath. My eye is stinging, and my headache is back.
Abby drops down next to me. “So . . .”
Jimmy awkwardly lowers himself to the ground. “Sorry I did that in there, but I was just . . . mad.”
I nod for a while. “Yeah. No. You . . . Thanks, Jimmy.” I tip my head back and put in some drops. “I think.”
Abby starts digging in her pack for chapstick. “See? I never trusted her! Nobody’s that nice and sweet all the time. Had to be a mask, and wow . . . that mask slipped today, boy.” She laughs—a laugh with no pleasure in it—as she slathers her lips. Then she reaches over and rubs my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I run my hands over my face. “No. I am definitely not okay.”
I feel the hot sting of tears warming up at the back of my nose. I pinch my eyes shut trying to will them away.
“Everything is miles from okay. I can’t . . .” I taper off, again fighting to keep the water out of my eyes and the shake out of my voice. “You know, on top of all this, my eye chose today to start going haywire too. Vision-wise.”
Abby looks sad and confused. “Haywire?”
I let out a combo sigh/gasp loud enough they can probably hear it back in the cafeteria. “It’s all screwed up and melty. Wavy. It’s like it’s starting to . . . I don’t know. It’s the start of losing it. Or maybe I’m losing it, or . . .”
Abby shifts over and puts her head against my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ross.”
“You should break somethin’.” Jimmy looks as serious about this suggestion as I’ve ever seen him. “That’s what I do. Makes me feel better.”
Abby and I look at him for a bit. “Like what?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. A glass? A plate? I smashed the taillight out of a broken-down truck at my uncle’s house, and it felt amazing.”
“Yeah . . .” I put my head back. “Good suggestion, Jimmy, but I’ll be okay.”
He shrugs. “Suit yerself.”
After a few minutes, Abby asks, “You gonna tell Principal Kingsley?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe? I just need to think. My brain feels like a forest fire right now.”
There’s another pause before Jimmy chimes in. “So . . . the talent show is kind of Sarah’s . . . thing. Are we still . . .”
My head snaps up. “Oh. Yeah. We’re still playing, no question. And we’re gonna win this thing. Right?”
They both nod enthusiastically, especially Abby. “Yeah, let’s do it. What’s the saying? ‘Living well is the best revenge’? Something like that?”
I like that. “Yeah, well, let’s do some serious ‘living well.’”
Jimmy scratches at the elbow of his denim jacket.
“I like it, but hear me out. Slashing bicycle tires is pretty good revenge too.”
I look over at him quickly, and he puts up a hand. “Kidding! Kidding!” He sniffs and looks away. “But you know . . . somethin’ to keep in the back of your mind . . .”
34
MADSAD
As a seventh grader, I’ve never once thought about my blood pressure. But as the day goes on, I feel like mine is on the rise. Like I’m a cartoon thermometer, getting closer and closer to bursting.
A couple of kids stop me in the hall, individually, to tell me how much they thought what Sarah and Denise did sucked. They seem kind of ashamed, too, like maybe they shouldn’t have seen them. Or maybe they laughed at them, I don’t know.
I even get a text from Isaac.
I’m still angry with Isaac, and the fact that it’s the first text from him in a couple of months just serves to make my mood worse. I don’t text back.
My fuse continues to get shorter and shorter. I barely speak while Linda drives me to treatment, and when I get there, I’m a sullen mess. I sit in the waiting room hating the warpy-looking fish in their warpy-looking tanks.
Those dumb fish have never even heard of a meme.
Stupid fish.
I’ve just turned my wrath on the ugly turtle-looking carpet when Frank bursts through the electric doors, full o
f life.
“Ross, baby! How’s it going?”
That’s when I yell. It’s just Frank and me in there. Throckton’s office is empty, and I haven’t seen the front desk lady, Susan. So I let loose with a roar. A long, loud one. Like it was coming up from my toes.
I don’t yell a specific word or anything. It’s just a weird, primal scream. Something a caveman might shout if a saber-tooth tiger stole his dinner.
“GGGYYAAAAAAAAARRAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
Frank looks at me blankly until I run out of air. Then he nods.
“Gotcha.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Sorry.”
“No apology needed. But let’s get back there before someone calls 911.”
As we pass through the doors, Callie and an older nurse come running up. “Is everything okay? Did someone scream?”
For my treatment soundtrack, I ask Frank for an angry mix. He has just the thing. He pulls out a well-worn disc.
That day, Callie wears earplugs.
I lock in on my red X, although it’s all smeary and weird-looking now.
Too many things are filling my head.
DESPAIR: The girl I’ve had a crush on since fourth grade has turned out to be a jerk, and my best friend on earth is leaving in a few days. My only other real friend has moved on.
FRUSTRATION: My eye is making the world look weird, and it’s messing with my head. I want my normal eye, and I know it’s only going to get worse.
EMBARRASSMENT: That whole scene in the cafeteria was brutal. How humiliating and mind-twisting and . . . ugh. I can barely process the change in how differently I see Sarah now. After the years of worshipping the ground she walked on . . .
FATIGUE: The radiation has me so tired I feel like I could fall over asleep on the floor at any moment. And maybe not get back up.
PAIN: My head is throbbing. My eye hurts. It stings from the dryness, and the side of my face feels like a raw, gooey piece of bacon that might slide off my head.