The Rule of Won

by Stefan Petrucha

  I’d really, truly been hoping Mondo Cane would provide some sort of Rule-like secret that’d allow me to defeat Ethan and the Crave.

  Nope.

  Turns out, it was pretty lame. It was this old documentary from the sixties. Most of it was stuff I guess at the time they considered gross and shocking—people eating dog meat and insects and stuff. There were some sick violent rituals, too, like animal sacrifices. There was also this really long sequence of cars being crushed, which didn’t seem to have much to do with anything.

  And yeah, at long last, there was the Vanuatu. Finally. Vanuatu’s an island nation in the South Pacific and the home of what’s called a cargo cult, which basically worships cargo. During World War II there was an air base there and the locals, who weren’t technologically advanced (and when I say that, I mean they had spears and clothes and agriculture and that was about it), developed a sort of religion around what they saw at the air base. They came to believe that the giant metal birds and all the stuff they carried was really meant for them, that the white men who’d built the airport had tricked the gods into bringing the cargo to the wrong people.

  So, to get the goodies of the gods back, they built fake airports, fake control towers, even fake airplanes, all out of bamboo and wood. Some of them even made fake soldier uniforms for themselves. Then they’d sit around, manning the fake airport, tending the fake planes, hoping a real one would show up and give them stuff.

  What any of this had to do with The Rule of Won was beyond me. It did provide a last distraction before my rendezvous with destiny—also known as waiting-to-get-the-crap-kicked-out-of-me-by-some-psycho-who’d-studied-martial-arts-all-his-life-and-didn’t-think-much-of-cutting-people’s-brake-lines.

  The whole running-away thing sounded like the only sane choice. Screech Neck had never been great to me, so what was I hanging around for? By Saturday night at ten, with Joey snoring on the couch, I was packed and ready to go.

  But then the lock in the door rattled and in walked my mom, carrying so many grocery bags she practically fell into the apartment.

  “Some help, Caleb?” she said.

  I stumbled up and helped her unpack, feeling like a heel that she even had to ask.

  “Long time no see,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but I could tell it made her feel guilty.

  “I’m trying to change my schedule, honey, but the new manager’s got something to prove, so he’s not even listening,” she said with a yawn.

  “Tell him to screw off,” I told her.

  I always wished she had a little more slacker in her. But apparently I got all that from my dad, the one who ran off when I was three. The one whose face I didn’t even remember.

  “Wish I could, but the homeless shelter’s a little cramped this time of year. How are things at school since that poor boy got attacked? And what are you doing home early on a Saturday? Aren’t you still seeing that nice girl Vicky?”

  I wanted to say, “Nope. Turns out she’s Satan and she’s dating this guy who tried to kill a teacher and wants to beat me up tonight.”

  But Mom’s eyes were half closed, so I sort of shrugged. “We split up a while ago.”

  She patted me on the shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’ll work out.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  She twisted her head, looked me in the eyes, and rubbed my temples with her thumbs, like she could squeeze the worry in my face away. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  She scanned me, trying to read the truth in my face. “No, you’re not, but you’re not going to tell me about it, are you?”

  “Mom . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Caleb. I used to be so sure things would be different. I was so sure your father would come back, so sure I’d have a better job, so sure we’d move out of Screech Neck, so sure at least I’d be able to see you more, but all of it just never happened, and here you are, almost grown.”

  Her eyes watered a bit, so I hugged her.

  “It’s okay, Mom. You’re doing great. I’m fine. Really. I love you.”

  You know, even if everything else hadn’t already convinced me The Rule was a crock, that sure did. She wanted all that stuff for me, pictured it so perfectly, but she got none of it.

  She sniffed and nodded, and we went back to her unpacking. Fifteen minutes later, she was in her bedroom, asleep, and I was realizing I couldn’t run away and leave her and Joey behind.

  Just couldn’t.

  Which left me pondering the best of the worst-case scenarios. At least if I showed, and Ethan beat me up a bit, everyone might be satisfied and just leave me alone. Dylan and his pals, after all, did things like break jaws. Maybe Ethan would be more merciful.

  Satisfied I was the only one left in the apartment who wasn’t dreaming, I put on a peacoat, an old hand-me-down from Joey. I always thought that was the most ridiculous name ever for a piece of clothing (What do you wear with it? Carrot-pants?), but it was warm.

  And I slipped out the door.

  It was cold enough for the crisp air to sting my face and for my breath to hang like a little cloud in front of me whenever I exhaled. When the bus didn’t show on time, I jogged toward school to warm up. About two stops down the line, I heard the vacuum-cleaner roar of the bus engine and waited for it to catch up.

  It was empty except for me and a grouchy driver who seemed annoyed he had to open the door for me. After I paid my fare, I found a warm seat near the back and let the chill slip out of my bones. I thought about my spork, about imanifesting a winning night for myself, or at least one where I survived, but I decided not to. Win or lose, I was going to do this without The Rule, finally prove to myself beyond any doubt whether it really worked or not.

  Twenty minutes later, I was at SNH standing on the same small hill overlooking the construction that I’d been on in January. With the work almost finished, it was looking pretty much the same as it had then. Apparently they hadn’t bothered to redesign it or use different material.

  Funny, if I hadn’t been here last winter and run, Alden Moore never would have seen me. I never would have been suspended, never would have joined the Crave. Of course Vicky and I probably would still have broken up, and the Crave would still have happened in all its weird glory, but at least I wouldn’t have been so tied up in it.

  Or would I? I might have gotten to know Erica anyway, then seen that book of hers and gotten worried just the same. But would I have gotten involved or just stayed a slacker, minding my own business, just watching things collapse?

  If a school building falls and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound?

  Time to go in.

  The new gym, like the old, like any school gym, I guess, has tall windows. Through them I could see light inside, a white glow that didn’t even reach the top of those windows, instead petering out in a semicircle about halfway up.

  As I made my way to the entrance, I heard the low sound of many voices. They were all chanting, of course (say it with me, now):

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  The door, as promised, was wedged open. Taking in the mother of all deep breaths, I pushed it and walked inside.

  To borrow a phrase, OMG.

  Most every kid from SNH must have been there, at least the whole Crave. Each head swayed back and forth as they chanted. Lit flashlights stood in regular spots on the floor, sending columns of dusty white light into the air, accounting for the windows’ dull glow. Looking like a herd of wildebeests, they stood, sat, and leaned, but all faced the same way, toward the same far wall.

  It was the only wall that remained unfinished. Two scaffolds stood against the cinder-block construction, a wide space between them, like they were the light rig for a rock show. On the shiny new floor in front of it, a large white circle had been painted with the number “1” in the center.

  In the middle of that circle stood Ethan.

&nb
sp; He wore a black martial arts outfit. His fists were clenched and facing each other. His head was bent, but I could see his lips moving. He had his sneakers on, their bleached white laces glowing almost as brightly as the flashlight beams.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne. Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  It was like walking into some kind of freaking zombie ritual.

  I had a hard time trying to get through the mob to reach the circle. No one moved out of my way until (thankfully?) Dylan spotted me, and he and Mike cleared a path for their sacrificial lamb.

  I noticed a ball of duct tape stuck to the edge of one of the scaffolds like a bird’s nest. Figuring that must be Guy’s webcam, I gave it a wave and a smile.

  “What do you have to grin about?” Dylan asked.

  I looked him dead in the eyes. “Because I’m going to kick your master’s ass, dog-boy.”

  Hey, if you’re on a roller coaster to hell, you might as well stick your arms up and scream, right?

  Dylan was ready to pound me into a beef patty right there, but Mike pulled me ahead and shoved me into the circle with Ethan.

  As I crossed the white line, I took a bit of the paint up with my foot. It was some kind of watercolor thing that they could clean up easily enough. At least they were considerate crazy people. Or maybe they just didn’t want to leave any evidence.

  The moment I entered, the chanting stopped. Just stopped, like a switch had been flipped. I looked at all the staring faces. Many of these friends and strangers, just a week before, had been slapping me on the back like I was their best buddy.

  One figure stood out, a slight girl, hair hidden by the cloth of a hoodie, face concealed by wide sunglasses. Despite the threat of the coming beating, I said to myself, “Geez, who’d wear sunglasses in a gym lit by flashlights at night?”

  But when she cried out, “Get him, Ethan!” and everyone howled, I knew who. It was Vicky, trying to remain incognito because of her growing political career. Wouldn’t want to be recognized here if the police showed up, right? It might look bad on her record.

  Ethan raised his hands to quiet everyone.

  Not bothering to look at me, he called out, “Landon here?”

  The former Goth lumbered out from the mass to the circle’s edge. He hesitated at the white line, but Ethan nodded him in.

  As Landon came forward, Ethan picked up a box he’d been standing in front of and held it out. He said, not shouting, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “The universe is one of eternal abundance. Take what is yours.”

  And he handed Landon the box.

  Landon’s eyes got nearly as big as his head as he realized what it was: an Xbox 360. The big guy shook, he was so happy. The damn thing had been so important to him, I felt good for him, too, until he shouted maniacally, “Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne!”

  Everyone howled again as Landon held the box over his head and ran through the crowd, cheering wildly.

  Okay, so maybe it was more like a game show than a zombie ritual.

  Finally, Ethan turned to me. “It’s simple. First one who leaves or gets thrown out of the circle loses. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I shook my arms and stretched my neck, trying to look like I knew what I was doing.

  Ethan bent over and undid the laces of his sneakers. Head down, he whispered so I could hear: “I’ll give you one chance to just walk out of the circle on your own now. Do it and I’ll tell everyone to leave you alone.”

  I eyed the circle, I eyed the crowd. Would they let me go if Ethan said so? Maybe. I’ll never know what I would have decided. Ethan was lying anyway.

  Next thing I knew, his foot slammed into my mouth. It didn’t even feel like a foot, unless it was a foot strapped to the front of a pickup truck doing about sixty. I have no idea what Moore felt like when his jaw broke, but I’m guessing this was close.

  My head snapped back. My body followed a full second later, like it had finally gotten around to wondering where my head had gone off to. To keep from falling backward and cracking my skull, I lobbed myself forward onto my knees.

  That’s where the side of my face met his other foot.

  I may have gone unconscious for a second or so. My ears rang. My skull throbbed. No, it wasn’t a throbbing. It was that damn chant.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne. Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  Somehow, I stood. I made out something blurry that looked like Ethan. Not wanting to go down without some sort of fight, I ran for him, shoving my head into his gut. It was like hitting a wall.

  He didn’t look built out of muscle like Dylan. Maybe his martial arts training let him turn his body into a solid piece of mahogany, or maybe he really was absorbing some kind of unnatural strength from the crowd.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne. Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  Didn’t matter much, y’know? He grabbed my head and pulled me toward the edge of the circle. Maybe six feet from it he grunted, twisted, and hurled. I went flying. This was it. No way could I stop myself from hurtling out. It’d all be over in a flash. I felt good about that, actually, what with still being alive and all.

  But it was just another of Ethan’s tricks. Before I could sail out of the circle and end the match, he grabbed my right hand and pulled me back in, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket.

  I sprawled to the ground in front of him.

  Aside from being tremendously painful, it was ridiculous. He could win any time he wanted. He just wanted to make the part where he beat the piss out of me last as long as possible.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne. Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne.

  Once I realized that, I had a new goal—get the hell out of the circle. Agreeing with this strategy, an animal survival instinct kicked in and gave me a burst of energy. I stood—well, half stood, anyway—and ran for it. As soon as they figured out what I was trying to do, everyone booed.

  Tough crowd.

  I thought I was going to make it, but I felt a fist in my gut and tumbled over from pain. Ethan dragged me to the center of the circle, my body smudging the white paint of the giant “1.” Things were dim, but it looked like the white paint was speckled with red. Blood. Mine. The crowd cheered, happy again.

  Ethan leaned over me and whispered, “What made you think you could go against The Rule? Against me?”

  My voice was hoarse. One of my teeth felt loose. “Kind of had to, Ethan. You tried to kill Mr. Eldridge.”

  He brought his head closer to my ear. “I had doubts, too, Caleb, when I cut that brake line. Then I realized I wasn’t just acting for myself. I was part of something much, much bigger. I’d become a tool of The Rule. A tool of the universe.”

  “You’re a tool all right,” I said. “A real tool.”

  Sometimes I just don’t know when to keep my mouth closed.

  Ethan shut it for me, letting loose a flurry of punches on my face and chest. I slumped like a sack of potatoes. Bruised and bleeding potatoes.

  My fellow students went wild with pleasure.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne! Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne!

  “Get up,” Ethan said.

  I couldn’t. He took my arm and pulled me up.

  I could open only one eye, but through it, I saw him point at the circle’s edge.

  “Walk out. Now.”

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne! Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne!

  I hoped he meant it this time, because it sounded awfully good to me. I didn’t want to walk out into the crowd, though. They didn’t seem to like me. I staggered toward the edge of the circle that faced the wall, the one with the two scaffolds.

  Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne! Ethan will beat Caleb Dunne!

  As I got closer to the edge, I could feel everyone ready to break into cheers. What would happen after that? Maybe they’d let me make it to the door, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe I’d only been stupid enough to show up here because part of me wanted this all to happen, because part of me wanted to be punished for daring to challenge E
than Skinson and The Rule.

  My bad.

  I got closer to the edge, hoping Mason, Drik, and Guy would remember their promise to call an ambulance. Every step was agony. About a foot from the white paint, I glanced up into the webcam. I stopped a second and tried to breathe. When I inhaled, there was a sharp pain in my side, like a rib had been broken. When I exhaled, I made a gurgling noise.

  Then, for some reason I’ll never, ever get, or maybe for some wild, brazen lack of reason, I turned, faced Ethan with my one eye, and said, “No.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “Suit yourself.”

  He took a few lightning-quick steps to cover the distance between us.

  As I watched him, my mind went blank, not in terror or anything, but in a totally calm way. It was like for a single, shining moment, I didn’t picture anything at all, like all this time I’d really only been pretending to have an empty open mind, and this, out of nowhere and from nowhere, was the real deal. No spork. No nothing.

  It was the Ultimate Slacker Moment.

  For that second, I really didn’t want anything. I didn’t want to escape. I didn’t want not to escape. I didn’t want to lose (nobrainer there), but I also didn’t want to win. I was just there. The world was just there, and there we were, together.

  I heard the chanting crowd like it was in slow motion. I heard Ethan’s heavy breathing, smelled his sweat. I even heard the slight rush of air as he launched his body into the air for his perfectly placed final kick. His foot came up toward my face with what looked like enough force to send me through the wall. Then . . .

  I floated.

  Actually, I just dropped, gently and completely and totally out of the way.

  Ethan’s foot hit air. His eyes were just beginning to widen when his body found itself pulled forward by the force of his own kick. He went past me—out of the circle, where his heel hit right in the center of that unfinished wall. A few chunks of cinder block and dust flew from the point of impact.

  It could have been my skull.

  When everybody saw that, instead of erupting into a cheer, the crowd went, “Urgh!” figuring Ethan had broken his foot.

  I realized what it meant before he did, so through my one open eye I could watch the realization dawn on his face.