Borrowed Boy

by Gene Gant

  He was like an overgrown kid himself in those days. I loved Mom for sure, but I was crazy about Dad because he was way more fun. He really liked playing video games with us. Sometimes he’d tell us things that happened in his own childhood days growing up on the gulf coast of Mississippi, like the time he and his dad rode out a hurricane that flooded their little town. They spent two days trapped on the roof of their house by steadily rising waters and had to be saved by a fireman patrolling the devastated hamlet in a boat for survivors.

  Other times he would make up these crazy exciting stories, with Cole and me as kid heroes who battled little fire monsters with water bazookas or rode rockets into space to rescue astronauts trapped on the moon. It was amazing that his words and the flow of his voice could thrill me as much as any movie or video game. Those stories were not only fun, they made me believe I could be brave and strong.

  A shot of bravery and strength was just what I needed after Mom left me that evening. I sat in the dark of my room for a long time. Somehow I felt tricked. My brain seemed to be spinning slowly in my skull. The whole thing—adoption, kidnapped, another set of parents—was so unreal it just wouldn’t settle in my mind.

  Please don’t let it be true. Please don’t let any of it be true.

  Mom came in maybe an hour after she left to bring me a plate of salmon croquettes, buttered rice, and corn on the cob. The croquettes were dry and the corn was mushy from being kept warm in the oven for so long. I didn’t eat any of it. I wouldn’t have been able to eat even if the food had been one of my favorite dishes fresh off the stove. My stomach felt sick—boiling, ugly sick.

  When Dad came in later and flicked on the light, my dinner plate was still sitting on the desk where Mom had left it. “You haven’t eaten anything,” Dad said, pointing out the obvious.

  In agreement I shook my head at him, the only part of my body that seemed capable of moving. After being wedged in that little corner for so long, I felt as lively as a statue.

  “Do you want me to make you a sandwich? Or I can heat one of those frozen pizzas you like so much.”

  Just the thought of eating made my stomach wobble. “No, thanks.”

  “You have to eat something.”

  “Dad, I’m not hungry.”

  He picked up the plate and then just stood there, as if he didn’t know what to do next. “You’re so angry.”

  Angry? I couldn’t tell if that was still true or not. It’s hard to make much sense of anything when you feel completely bizarre inside.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  No, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to listen. I wanted for him to sit down on the floor and tell me a story. I wanted to hear a story that would take me far away from my room, a story that would make me laugh and erase from my head the awful things I’d heard this evening. I wanted to be the little boy again who was crazy about his dad and had sleepovers with his best friend.

  “I just want to be by myself now,” I said without looking at him. “Okay?”

  Dad stood there for a few more seconds before saying, “Your mom and I will be in the living room if you need us.” Then he walked to the door, turned off the light, and left me alone.

  I wanted to text Cole, tell him all the craziness that had happened to me. He’d understand it. He’d help me to make sense of it. Cole was good at calming me down and helping me to see things clearly. Back in January, right after school started up again following the Christmas break, this girl in our homeroom named Talia Dumfries started bugging me. In the cafeteria she once pulled a chair out from under me as I was sitting down and I landed butt-first on the floor, which almost broke my tailbone. Just about the whole cafeteria cracked up at that. Another time when I was rushing to get to math class, Talia tripped me going up a flight of stairs, which almost broke my neck. I couldn’t figure why she was out to get me suddenly, but I was ready to stand toe-to-toe and fight her. Ordinarily I wouldn’t brawl with a girl, but Talia was about half a foot taller than me and had really long arms, so I figured that made things even.

  “Don’t go throwing punches at Talia,” Cole had said when I told him what I intended to do. “That would be stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid. That girl’s trying to kill me.”

  “She doesn’t want to kill you, Zay. She likes you.”

  “If this is what she does to the people she likes, I sure as heck don’t want to know what happens to the people she hates.”

  “No, dumbhead, I don’t mean she likes you. I mean, she likes you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let me put it this way. Talia would rather kiss you than kill you.”

  “Oh…? Oh! Ew.” Short little me. Kissing a giant girl. Not a pretty picture. But Cole’s insight had helped me avoid a catastrophe. Not only would I have gotten suspended from school for fighting, Talia would have most likely kicked my behind and embarrassed the heck out of me in front of about a thousand kids.

  I definitely needed my best friend now. I needed someone with a cool head and an intelligent mind, qualities I was definitely lacking at the moment.

  But if I told Cole or any of my other friends about this horrible situation, that would make it real. There’d be no way to escape it once it was in the open and everyone knew.

  I cursed quietly and bitterly.

  Maybe I should just sleep. If I slept, maybe it would all go away overnight, evaporating like a bad dream.

  I got up, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas. Then I walked up the hall and stuck my head in the living room. Mom and Dad were sitting together on the sofa, looking at TV. I could tell they weren’t really paying attention to the movie on the screen.

  “Good night, I’m going to bed,” I called to them.

  They turned, surprised. “You’re turning in this early?” Dad said.

  “Come and watch a little television,” Mom said. “I’ll make chocolate sundaes for us.”

  “No. I just want to go to sleep.”

  Before they could say anything else, I went back down the hall to my room and closed the door after me. I got in bed, pulled the covers over me, and curled on my side.

  For the longest time, I lay there, staring into the darkness, listening to the lonely, hypnotic whir of the ceiling fan slowly spinning overhead.

  Chapter Five

  “ZAVIER.”

  A hand shook my shoulder. I raised my head from the pillow, squinting. The curtains on my windows had been opened, and the room was dazzling with sunlight. In that white-out glare, Mom was a silhouette leaning over me.

  “It’s almost ten. Time to get up,” she said.

  I rubbed my face. It felt as if cotton had been stuffed under my eyelids and in my brain. For most of the night, I’d squirmed around in bed, the sheets twisting like snakes under me. There’d been dreams, bad ones, dreams of… I didn’t want to think about them. In some dreams, crazy people dragged me out of the house while I screamed and Mom and Dad stood by helplessly. In others Marquis Loeffler rode me through the neighborhood on his motorcycle. He sat far back on the seat with me in front of him, wedged between his thighs, his arms outside mine as we both gripped the handlebars. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his bare chest was like a warm cushion against my back.

  I still don’t know which dreams freaked me out the most.

  The world was as lousy this morning as it had been when I crawled into bed. More than anything, I wanted to bury myself beneath the covers and go back to sleep.

  “No, do not put your head under that pillow, Zavier Beckham.” Mom pulled the pillow and bedcovers away. I suddenly thought I knew how a worm felt when it was dug out of the warm earth and tossed in a cold metal bucket. “Here, I brought you a cereal bar and a banana. Eat.”

  “I’m not—”

  “No, don’t tell me you aren’t hungry. You skipped dinner, so you will eat now, young man.” She took my arm and pulled until I was sitting on the side of the bed. My eyes focused enough for me to get a clear look at her. She was wearing pale bl
ue sweats and white sneakers, and she seemed perky. “Trust me, you’re going to need your strength. When you finish eating, I want you to get dressed and come join me on the front porch.”

  Mom practically marched out of my room. My stomach wasn’t all that queasy this morning, and I was actually kind of hungry. Once I’d eaten the breakfast Mom brought me, I pushed myself up from the bed and headed for the bathroom. My body felt as heavy as a bag of bricks. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I got dressed in short pants, a T-shirt, and sneakers, and grabbed my cell phone.

  When I stepped outside, Mom was doing stretches on the porch. She looked so energetic. I felt like sludge. The sun streamed down through a swirl of high, thin white clouds that had been streaked across the blue sky like splashes of paint. Birds were singing away in the treetops, and a nice gentle breeze stirred the air. Any other time a great morning like this would have had me pumped up for some fun. I was too grumpy and tired now to be pumped up.

  Mom smiled. “Lock the door, honey. I have my key. You and I are going for a little walk.”

  It was a “little walk” the same way Niagara Falls is a little wet. We marched past Cole’s street and out of our neighborhood into the woods that surrounded Galilee Lake. Lots of people fished and swam at the lake, and there were plenty of walking trails winding through the forest. Mom didn’t say much at first, and I sure didn’t feel up to talking with her, so I brought out my cell phone and started checking messages.

  Mom groaned at me. “You and that phone. Sheesh! Can’t you just enjoy this beautiful morning in the woods with me?”

  “I haven’t turned my phone on in hours,” I griped back at her. “There’s a ton of messages on here. Cole’s been texting me since last night. If I don’t text him back, he’ll think I’m in jail or something.”

  “Good. Then maybe he’ll stop texting.” She reached over and plucked the phone out of my hand. “You’ll get this back when we finish our walk.”

  “Whatever.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and put my head down.

  Dry, brown pine needles crunched beneath our feet. We were getting close to the lake; I could smell the muddy scent of the water. Mom reached out and lifted my chin. “You haven’t asked about your dad this morning,” Mom pointed out.

  “He’s at work.”

  “No, he’s actually meeting with the attorney we just hired about your adoption.”

  I sighed. “Oh, Mom, I don’t want to talk about that stuff.”

  “I’m afraid we have to talk about ‘that stuff.’ Honey, whether you like it or not, your birth parents want you back. Agent Henley made it very clear that they are going to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  “Well, that’s not what I want. I don’t care what those people do. I’m not going with them.”

  “It may not be up to you, Zavier. Or to me and your dad either.”

  The bolt of fear that went through me was so strong it stopped me in my tracks. “Mom, don’t say that!”

  Mom came back and put her arm around my shoulders. “I know it’s frightening and painful, but the possibility that you’ll go back to your birth parents is very real. We have to face that, honey.”

  “But it’s not fair. It’s not right. I don’t care about any stupid… fake adoption papers. You’re my mom. And Dad’s my dad.”

  “Of course we are, but you can’t just ignore your birth parents—”

  “I don’t even know them!”

  “Well, it’s time you start getting to know them.” She tucked my phone under her arm and pulled a photograph from her pocket, the same one she’d tried to show me yesterday. She held it out. “Go ahead. Look at it.”

  I reluctantly took the picture from her. The sight of it froze something inside me. The man and woman in the photo were maybe a few years older than Mom and Dad, with skin a few shades lighter, but they looked bright and happy as they sat smiling side by side on a fancy-looking green sofa with only half a back. Standing behind them was a boy who was a bit older than me, maybe fifteen or sixteen. You could tell he’d tried to come off all cool in the way he posed and smiled. The boy looked a lot like the man in the picture, who was obviously his father.

  And I looked a lot like both of them.

  “Who…?” I couldn’t get the rest of the question out. It stuck in my throat.

  “That’s Blake and Oberta Copeland,” Mom said, pointing, “and this is their son, Blake Jr.”

  “My parents… and my brother?”

  “Yes.”

  Weird. I brought the picture closer to my face, as if that would help me to see the people in it even better. As if that would stop my nerves from jangling like plucked guitar strings.

  “I can see the resemblance,” Mom said.

  Anger rippled through me again. I handed the picture back to Mom. “I still don’t think it’s right for them to take me away from you and Dad.”

  “It’s not wrong of them to want you back, Zavier. Your dad and I think you’re a pretty terrific kid, and you’ve brought nothing but joy into our lives. You’re our son in every way that matters. We certainly don’t want to lose you. But I can also understand how the Copelands feel.”

  Who cares how they feel? I wanted to shout. “You sound like you’re ready to turn me over to those people.” Just as quickly as it had come, the anger got washed away by a wave of hurt. My eyes burned and my vision blurred with rising tears. “How can you do that? Don’t you care about me?”

  Mom gave me a quick hug. “You know how much I love you. Of course we’re going to fight to keep you. Why do you think your dad’s talking to a lawyer this very minute? But the Copelands aren’t evil, honey. Try to see this from their perspective. Imagine that after you grow up, you get married and have a son, and then your baby gets stolen from you. Wouldn’t you move heaven and earth to find your boy? And if you find him years later, living with another family, wouldn’t you still want him back?”

  “I wouldn’t take him away from the people he loves.”

  “Are you sure? Because I can tell you now that if I were Mrs. Copeland, I’d do everything in my power to bring you home. Your birth parents never stopped loving you. They care about you every bit as much as your dad and I do.”

  The tears spilled over. I rubbed a hand against my eyes.

  “Oh, Zavier. My sweet boy. Don’t cry.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Mom? Tell me what to do.”

  “We have to take this one step at a time. For now I think you should get ready to meet your birth family. Mr. and Mrs. Copeland are going to fly into town with their son. They’ll be here tomorrow. They’re anxious to see you. It would be very kind and very mature of you to spend some time with them.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “They live in Chicago.”

  “Chicago? That’s a long way from here.” I got a chill all the way down to my bones just thinking about that distance.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How am I supposed to spend time with these people?”

  “Well, you could go to lunch with them—”

  “No, I don’t want to go out to lunch with them. What if they kidnap me?”

  “They won’t. Believe me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with them.”

  Mom shook her head and gave me this sarcastic-looking smile. “Well, if nothing else, you certainly picked up my stubbornness.”

  “I’m not stubborn, Mom, I’m scared.”

  “Of course you’re scared. But you’re stubborn too.” She flicked my ear with her finger, still smiling. “Tell you what. Why don’t we have them come over to the house? You can show them your room, maybe watch a movie with them or play a video game with your brother.”

  “Will you be there?”

  “I think the Copelands need time alone with you, so I’ll stay out of the way as much as possible. But yes, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be close by.”

  My nerves were still jangling. Some part of me wanted to go home,
lock myself in my room, and never come out again. “You really want me to do this?”

  Mom smiled again. “It would mean a lot to me if you did. And I think it would be good for you and for the Copelands.”

  “Okay.” That settled it. “I’ll do it for you.”

  Mom hugged me once more, tighter than ever, and then she planted a kiss on my forehead. “Wonderful. Now let’s finish our walk.”

  We started walking again through the woods, following the meandering trail. Bits and pieces of last night’s dreams came back to me. In one of those flashes, Marquis was in his driveway, washing somebody’s car with his shirt off. That image made me feel weird, tingly, and embarrassed at the same time. No thanks, don’t want to think about that.

  Some minutes later, walking slightly behind Mom, I could see the lake through the trees. The morning air was already hot and getting hotter by the minute. The breeze coming off the sun-sparkled lake was cool, however, and it felt good against my face, arms, and legs. Out on the water, a couple of middle-aged men were rowing a boat in search of a prime fishing spot. On the shore, a bunch of small kids were wading in and out of the lapping waves under the watchful eyes of a gawky-looking teenaged girl.

  Mom and I veered with the trail as it led us along the shoreline. Loud whoops and the sound of running feet abruptly filled the air. I was surprised to see a playground come into view off to the side of the trail ahead. There was a swing set where more little kids were flying back and forth, a jungle gym where still more kids were climbing and chasing each other around, a volleyball court, and a basketball court. Three guys and a girl who looked college-age were playing a lazy game on the volleyball court, while the basketball court was empty.

  I could feel my eyes go wide. “Whoa. When did this playground get put in?”

  Mom gave me this look like she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes. Wow. First thing in the morning, and I’d already frustrated her. “Zavier, that playground has been there for almost a year now.”

  “But… I walked this trail with you lots of times before, and I never saw all of this stuff.”