Calvin felt nervous, even though he knew he didn’t have a reason to be. He was definitely, definitely not high. He hadn’t introduced a single intoxicant into his system for six days. He felt like his old self again. Dead inside, uninspired, trapped.
After he crashed the Jaguar, Calvin’s lockdown had gotten truly serious. Mr. Harker had reinstalled the lock on the basement and enforced it with two extras. He made sure Calvin only did homework, nothing else, and checked his progress every few hours. His mother and sister stayed out of it, which somehow hurt worse than anything.
The week had been a mind-numbing blur of math and Moby Dick and catching up on all the overdue projects he’d been blowing off lately. He’d been allowed ten minutes of Internet a day on his dad’s computer in order to e-mail assignments to teachers. No music, no poetry. His mind felt so blank he couldn’t have written a poem anyway. At night he dreamed of the sky above his head and the ground beneath his feet. In the morning he woke up on a cot amid four blank, windowless walls.
The only thing that had kept him moving forward was the dance. His dad had promised that if he got his shit together and maintained his solid number-one position in the sophomore class, he could go to the Homecoming dance. His drug stash was completely wiped, but freedom would be enough of a high after the week he’d had. And if it wasn’t, hopefully Virginia would have some Percocet.
Mr. Harker finally dropped his hand. Calvin took a deep breath of air.
“You know the rules,” Mr. Harker said. His voice was gravelly and severe. “You will not leave the gym. You will be home by ten o’clock, and you can expect a Breathalyzer and a urine test. Olek will be watching your every move.”
Mr. Harker gestured to the stony Slavic man who’d been lurking in the corner this whole time. He was like no man Calvin had ever encountered in real life. His head was shaved and he wore a gaudy Tag Heuer watch. Calvin could see the tiniest hint of a neck tattoo peeking out of his collar. Thick biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt. Where on earth had his dad found such a man? Certainly not at the Beau Ideal golf course or the Harvard Alumni Association. Calvin tried not to feel intimidated. It didn’t matter if this guy could crush his skull with his fist. Calvin didn’t need to fight him; he only needed to outsmart him.
“If you take drugs tonight, Olek has been instructed to remove you from the dance and return you to my custody. If you give anyone drugs tonight, I will call the police.”
No you won’t, Calvin thought. If the homework prison downstairs revealed anything, it was Mr. Harker’s fanatical desire for his prize brain of a son to achieve academically. There was no honor roll in juvie, and his father knew that. They were both inventive men: Mr. Harker would invent ways to keep Calvin in school; Calvin would invent ways to get away.
“This is a test,” Mr. Harker continued. “If you ever want to leave the house again, you will behave yourself and give Olek no cause for concern. Trust is earned, not given.”
“Yes sir,” Calvin said.
Mr. Harker nodded toward the front door. “Enjoy your evening.”
Calvin went to the door. Olek mirrored his movements, as if connected to him by an invisible tether. Calvin imagined how it would look, entering a high school dance shadowed by a babysitter plucked from the Russian mafia.
Then something caught his eye out the window. A man was walking in a circle around the dented Jaguar in the driveway. Not a man—a boy. But he looked like a man. He was wearing a sophisticated gray wool suit instead of the sloppy khaki pants/blue blazer/random tie combination that was de rigeur among Winship boys.
It was Benny Flax.
“Ve vill go?” Olek asked behind him. Calvin could feel his eyes boring into his back.
“Just one minute.”
He watched Benny circle the car twice, then stare intently at the massive dent in the driver’s side. What are you up to? Calvin wondered. He liked Benny and found him mildly interesting. But Benny was a product of the world. He was always staring at the ground, searching for clues. Didn’t he understand that the true clues of life were in the stars? This world was a speck in the universe. The mysteries here didn’t matter. Benny was on the wrong track, and always would be.
The parking lot, 8:00 p.m.
This would probably end up being the worst decision of his entire life. Craig was aware of this on some level. But he’d made up his mind—or at least what constituted a mind after five shots of Woodford Reserve and a Miller High Life. He was drunk. He shouldn’t have been driving. But what did it matter? His car was already wrecked, thanks to that asshole freak Calvin Harker, who’d destroyed the fender and the bumper at Trevor’s party. It was humiliating, having to drive around in this dented hunk of garbage. Calvin hadn’t even apologized.
“Yull be sorrrry,” Craig slurred to himself. He was slumped in the driver’s seat, typing out increasingly garbled drunk-texts to Trevor Cheek.
Dude com outside u cant hide from me
He wasn’t sure exactly what his plan was. He just wanted someone to fucking apologize. Trevor for letting Craig take the fall for the golf team when the whole thing had been his idea. Calvin for destroying his car with his big gay Jaguar. Winn Davis for being so popular without ever having to work for it. The whole school for being a piece of shit and never appreciating him.
You’ll all be sorry, he thought. It was in his power to bring them all down; all he had to do was open his mouth. It was more power than he’d ever felt in his life. Greater than the power of being Trevor’s wacky sidekick and getting invited to parties. Greater than the power of making people laugh with his dumbass YouTube channel. This was the power to annihilate and destroy. He’d felt it when he called the cops on Trevor’s party, and he wanted to feel it again. The only catch was that he’d have to destroy himself in the process. But he didn’t care. It’d be worth it to see the looks on their faces. The entire golf team: expelled. Winship’s reputation: down the toilet once and for all.
He got a text. He squinted at the words, which were going in and out of focus. It wasn’t from Trevor; it was from Skylar Jones.
Dude, AV closet is locked. What the hell u want anyway?
Damn it, Craig thought. He really should have planned this better. He’d come up with a vague idea of getting Skylar, who worked in the audio-visual lab, to project the picture from the golf course onto the wall of the gym the second they announced Homecoming King and Queen. That would have brought the evening to a nice grinding halt! Craig rubbed his temples, wishing he hadn’t gotten so drunk. His thoughts felt sloppy and slow, and he was having a hard time coming up with a new idea. Maybe he could just grab the microphone when the King and Queen were announced and make a shocking confession.
“Ladays and gently-man,” he practiced. “Shit.” There was no way he could deliver a coherent confession in this state. He racked his drunken mind. There had to be another way.
That’s when it hit him. The gun. The shiny silver Beretta he’d borrowed from his dad to use at the science expo last week. He checked the glove compartment, fumbling a little with the latch. Sure enough, it was still there. It wasn’t loaded, but Trevor didn’t need to know that. Craig felt a surge of violent glee as he imagined the scene: Trevor, gun to his head, confessing everything to the entire school.
“Say it,” Craig practiced saying. “Tell them what you made me do.” He made me do it, he thought, revising the memories in his mind. It wasn’t my fault.
He had a small, nagging feeling that maybe this idea was a little too extreme. But it already felt too late to turn back, as if the idea had a will of its own, and was running on full steam, and Craig was just its pawn.
Bullets don’t kill; velocity kills.
The gym, 8:10 p.m.
Virginia loitered by the punch bowl, sipping cup after cup of too-sweet red swill. So far the dance had been . . . weird. Some genius in the senior class had sent out a mass e-mail that morning declaring that it was Opposite Day, so the boys could swoop in and restore order instead
of everyone going stag. On the one hand, it was degrading to witness how eagerly the girls of Winship had relinquished the power to choose their own dates; on the other hand, given the general quality of the boys, it was equally degrading to think that was a power worth having in the first place.
And now the Opposite Day thing seemed to be taking on a life of its own. A group of rowdy guys were dominating the dance floor, fast-dancing during the slow songs and slow-dancing during the fast songs. Maybe Virginia should have been pleased by the chaos—she was always complaining about how boring Winship was and how nothing interesting ever happened. But deep down, she knew she relied on the school’s usual monotony so she could seem more interesting in comparison.
She felt bulky and awkward with a cast on one arm and a purse hanging from the other. No one wore purses to dances. Either you put your stuff in your date’s pockets, or you tucked it into your bra. But Virginia was carrying a passport and two sizable pill bottles, which made the purse necessary.
Bring a passport if u have one.
Every time she thought about it, Virginia felt a rush of exhilaration. A passport? Were they running away together? The idea was so crazy, she tried not to get too excited. Calvin probably just needed a government-issued ID to confirm her identity for some reason.
Virginia looked around. The gym was tastefully decorated with blue streamers and strings of lights. It didn’t magically resemble a ballroom the way dances did on TV shows. But it was a far cry from how it had looked last Thursday at the science expo. It felt pretty and romantic, or at least it would have if the buffoons on the dance floor would chill out and stop being obsessed with Opposite Day.
She scanned the gym for Benny. For some reason she felt nervous about seeing him. Maybe it was the romantic setting. It had been easy to push their weird kiss under the rug in the dismal environments of the hospital and the school cafeteria. But what if tonight it felt like a date? Or worse, like it was Chrissie’s date and Virginia was the pathetic third wheel?
I don’t care if you kiss me. I don’t care if you burn my house to the ground. She kept thinking about those words. Wasn’t it strange that he’d equated kissing with committing a crime?
“Dudes, Opposite Day! I’m using a plate as a cup!”
Virginia turned and saw Skylar Jones dumping a ladle of punch onto a small cake plate. Of course it sloshed everywhere, splattering across the floor. In a way, Virginia was glad she didn’t have Zaire’s expensive clothes anymore. What did it matter if Skylar spilled punch on her shitty Target dress? But at the same time, it was depressing. She missed the feeling that wearing Zaire’s clothes had given her. The feeling of dignity.
One of the teacher chaperones walked past, carrying a plastic case containing the Homecoming crowns: a delicate tiara for the queen and a thick, pointy gold helmet for the king. The tiara didn’t make Virginia feel the remotest bit covetous. Who wanted to be the queen of a bunch of high school sheep? She had bigger dreams.
She hadn’t even bothered to e-mail her vote. It was pretty much written in stone that the golden couple Corny Davenport and Winn Davis would win, despite being juniors. The senior class was a particularly boring one that year, with no standouts like Corny and Winn. Amid cheers and applause, they’d be lifted into the horse-drawn carriage for a victory ride around campus. For Virginia it represented just how pointless it was to be popular: riding around in a circle, feeling special but not actually going anywhere.
She saw Benny across the gym. He spotted her immediately and started walking toward her. He looked . . . amazing. He was wearing a snappy suit that fit him perfectly. There was something in his hand. As he came closer, Virginia could see that it was a rose corsage. A yellow rose, just like the one he’d given her in the hospital. Maybe he’d decided not to come with Chrissie after all.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi!” Virginia said back. The DJ was playing an embarrassing Tim McGraw love song, and a handful of guys were square-dancing to it clownishly. Their dates were giggling at the edge of the dance floor. The whole thing felt like fifth grade. Virginia straightened her posture, hoping she looked as grown-up as Benny. She knew she probably didn’t. Compared to him, she was sure she looked like a ten-year-old who’d broken her arm on the swing set.
She noticed Benny eyeing her cast. He was probably worrying that the corsage wouldn’t fit on it. It didn’t matter. She could just wear it on the other wrist.
“How exactly did that happen?” he asked. He didn’t sound curious. He sounded suspicious.
Virginia cocked her eyebrow. “What, my arm? I told you. Big Gabe crashed into us.”
“Why were you in the driver’s seat? You can’t drive.”
“Um, I—”
Benny cut her off. “And even if, for some bizarre reason, you had attempted to drive, why would that result in your right arm being broken? It should be your left.”
Virginia folded her arms instinctively, as if she could somehow hide the cast. Her mind whirred, trying to come up with an explanation that contained the basic elements of the truth without actually being the truth. Admitting that she’d essentially caused the crash by jumping into Calvin’s lap and ramming her tongue down his throat was not an option right now. Not the way Benny was looking at her.
“Whatever,” she said finally. “I’m not required to tell you every single thing about my life. It’s not like you tell me anything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Virginia stared at him for a second. “Benny, who do you think you’re talking to? I know everything. About everyone. Did you know Corny Davenport is pregnant?”
Benny looked baffled. “Excuse me?”
“I know that Chrissie White went to your house.”
Benny didn’t respond. He was looking past her at something. Virginia glanced over her shoulder. There was a man loitering at the doors of the gym. He looked like a guy in a mob film who gets shot in the first scene and is credited as Gangster #1. He was too young to be anyone’s dad, and he definitely wasn’t a teacher.
“Friend of yours?” Virginia asked.
“What? No.” Benny sounded annoyed.
Virginia scowled. How the hell was she supposed to know? He’d shown up at the hospital with that dreamboat Rodrigo—for all she knew, Benny had a whole collection of older guy friends to trot out at random times.
“He has a gun,” Benny said. “Concealed under his arm. He’s watching Calvin.”
“Calvin’s here?” Virginia followed Benny’s eyes. She spotted Calvin in a dark corner talking to Skylar and Sophat. Her heart raced and she looked away, not ready to make eye contact with him yet.
“This guy looks . . . serious,” Benny said. Then he turned back to Virginia. “Listen, do what you want. But I advise you to stay away from Calvin tonight. That man could be a drug dealer. Or a cartel enforcer. Whoever he is, he has a gun, and Calvin led him here.”
“Oh my god,” Virginia breathed. It was so thrilling she could barely stand it. This definitely explained the passport thing. Calvin was fleeing a hit man! And he was taking her with him! She opened her mouth to tell Benny but stopped herself. He’d think she was insane to want to go along. Fifteen minutes into the dance and she’d already reached her peak tolerance of Benny’s judginess. If she wanted to do this, she couldn’t expect Benny to cheer her on.
“I’ll see you later,” she said curtly, setting down her cup of punch.
“See you later,” he mumbled back.
She made a point of taking the long way around the dance floor so Benny wouldn’t think she was running straight to Calvin, which she wasn’t. Virginia was a better tactician than that. As she strode into the lobby, she turned to take a last look at the refreshments table, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt for leaving Benny alone so abruptly. But he wasn’t alone. Chrissie had materialized out of thin air, as if she’d been hiding behind the punch bowl, waiting to pounce on Benny the second Virginia left. She watched them for a moment. Chrissie looked lik
e a wide-eyed kitten. She was touching the lapel of Benny’s suit, obviously awed by it. Benny was staring awkwardly at his shoes. He hated compliments. Didn’t Chrissie know that about him? He held out the yellow rose corsage and Chrissie seized it excitedly.
So it wasn’t for me anyway, Virginia thought. She’d been feeling weirdly undecided about Benny for a while now. But the corsage pretty much settled it. It wasn’t for her.
The hallway, 8:45 p.m.
“You want the red pill this time?”
“Nah. I definitely want the blue again.”
“Good. ’Cause I definitely want the red.”
The conversation made Winn uneasy. He wasn’t sure if it was such a great idea for Trevor to have another red pill. Hadn’t he nearly killed DeAndre Bell when he took one of those last time? Whatever, Winn thought. He had bigger problems, and it was impossible to reason with Trevor anyway. Ever since Winn had told him that he knew who the mysterious drug dealer was, all Trevor could talk about was getting more pills so he could “Hulk out” again. The Incredible Hulk was Trevor’s favorite Avenger. Winn’s favorite was Thor, even though it was confusing because Thor wasn’t in the Bible.
They sat side by side against the lockers in the dimly lit corridor. Trevor’s phone buzzed for the hundredth time. He pulled it out and started messing with it.
“Damn it,” he said. “I can’t figure out how to block people on this thing. I want my old phone back.” Trevor was famous for having the junkiest phone on earth, which he never upgraded as a point of pride. But he’d lost it last Friday and been forced to get a decent one because they didn’t make his old model anymore.
“Here, give it to me. Who are you trying to block?”
“Fuckin’ Craig.”
Winn took the phone and scrolled through the barrage of messages. “What does he want?”
“He’s trying to sneak into the dance. I’m like, dude, you’re suspended. Go home and play video games and leave me the fuck alone.”
Poor Craig, Winn thought. He was the latest toy that Trevor had played with and discarded. Trevor did that with everyone. He’d broken so many of the cheerleaders’ hearts that he had to date Tate Prep girls now because none of the Winship girls would go near him. He just used people until he got bored and threw them away. In fact, the only person he didn’t pull that shit with was Winn. They’d been best friends since they were five, even though they barely liked each other half the time. Trevor thought Winn was a bummer; Winn thought Trevor was an asshole. But they were used to each other, and besides, who else was there to be friends with?
Strange Lies Page 22