Neanderthal Opens the Door to the Universe

by Preston Norton

  After a long, dramatic moment—the four of us hovering over this sad sheet of paper—Tegan broke the silence.

  “Dude. You have worse handwriting than Frankie.”

  “Really?” said Aaron. “A list from God, and that’s your first observation?”

  “I know, right?” said Lacey. “It’s worse than my little brother’s handwriting. He’s eight years old.”

  “Lacey!”

  Lacey shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “Dude!” Tegan exclaimed. “Frankie’s on the List?”

  Aaron seemed to get over himself quickly. “Cliff didn’t tell you that?”

  He looked at me. I pretended to become invisible.

  “Wait—Frankie’s gang?” said Tegan. “Holy shitballs. I’m on the List!”

  “Cliff!” said Aaron.

  “Hey, I was going to mention it!” I said. “You know…sometime.”

  “That’s awesome!” said Tegan, ignoring both of us.

  My and Aaron’s heads turned to her like a pair of double doors.

  “It is?” said Aaron.

  “I’m on a List that God made!” said Tegan. “That’s badass!”

  “Yeah…” I said. “Yeah! That is badass.”

  “That’s one item we can check off the List.”

  “Yea—wait, what?”

  “Show Frankie’s gang a better way,” said Tegan. “We can check that off the List.”

  Aaron and I exchanged looks of profound confusion.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Well, after you told me to express my feelings, and I beat the shit out of Frankie—”

  “WHAT?” said Aaron.

  Tegan gave me the exact same look Aaron had given me. “You didn’t tell him?”

  “Uh…” I said. “Was I supposed to do that?”

  Tegan’s eyeballs did a three-sixty. “Long story short: I stole Frankie’s heroin, I was gonna give it to my junkie mom, and maybe I was even gonna shoot up with her. Then I changed my mind. Cliff found me on the side of the road and told me to embrace my feelings. That’s when I realized I fucking hate heroin, ’cause it stole my mom from me. So I told Frankie that, punched him in the face, and now he doesn’t wanna deal heroin no more.”

  “Holy crap,” said Lacey.

  “Shit on a biscuit,” said Aaron.

  “Anyway, I’m out,” said Tegan. “I’m done dealing. I’m cleaning up. Now, I don’t know what the marijuana situation is—Frankie, Jed, and Carlos will prolly keep dealing that shit until recreational use is legalized, they get a seller’s permit for medical, or they’re busted—but at least they’re done with the dangerous stuff.” She paused before adding, “It’s not the best way…but it is a better way.”

  My and Aaron’s jaws dropped like an EDM bassline.

  “So we can check that one off,” said Tegan. “Right?”

  “Hell yeah!” said Aaron, fist-pumping. “And Niko’s not bullying anymore. That makes two items checked off the List.”

  “And Spinelli doesn’t hate us anymore,” I offered. “That’s like half the battle.”

  “Right! I’m going to give us the benefit of the doubt and say we’ve accomplished two-point-five items on the List. That’s exactly halfway, team!”

  Yes, we were being awful generous in regards to our supposed progress on the List. But I liked to think of it as positive reinforcement.

  “Not to poop on your party,” said Lacey, “but you two still need to figure out what you’re doing for the Sermon Showdown. It’s in three days.”

  So much for positive reinforcement.

  “Three days?” I said.

  “Three days?” said Aaron, channeling the volume of the voice that was currently screaming inside my head.

  “Um, yeah,” said Lacey. “Did you guys seriously forget? Don’t you have a calendar or something?”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I said consolingly (although I didn’t know who I was consoling—Aaron or myself). “We’ll just talk to Esther and tell her we need to reschedule. It’s that simple.”

  “Yeah…” said Aaron, nodding slowly as he processed the notion. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Actually, it’s not that simple,” said Lacey. “Everyone knows this thing is happening in three days. The JTs put up posters and everything. And—as a champion of the Happy Valley High gossip channels—I can tell you without a doubt the whole school is going to be there. Trust me.”

  Now that she mentioned it, I had noticed some extra posters cluttering the walls. Unfortunately, I tended to walk the halls with my blinders on. Life was too short to stop and read about the Rubik’s Cube Club or whatever.

  “She’s right, man,” said Tegan. “This Sermon Showdown’s gonna be the biggest thing since Ronda Rousey versus Holly Holm. If you try to postpone it now, it’ll look like you’re wussing out. Do y’all wanna look like wussies?”

  I, for one, was in favor of not looking like a wussy. Aaron and I exchanged looks that reciprocated the feeling.

  “Tell me you at least talked to Esther about having the entire audience judge,” said Tegan.

  “Uh…” I said.

  “Ah…” said Aaron.

  By some cosmic force of nature, my and Aaron’s vacant, horror-stricken gazes homed in on a single point. A cluster of tables in the corner of the cafeteria—JT feeding grounds. At the center of it all—like a gravitational singularity—was Esther.

  Aaron stood up. He dragged me up with him by my meaty elbow.

  “Excuse us, ladies,” said Aaron. “Cliff and I need to have a word with Esther.”

  The good news was that Esther consented to our first proposition—that the Sermon Showdown should be judged by the entire audience. We clarified that this would be gauged by audience reaction—clapping, cheering, stomping, etc. If the audience reaction was too close to call, then we’d resort to a paper vote and bring in the assistance of an unbiased teacher or faculty member to tally the numbers.

  The bad news was that in regards to our second proposition—that we postpone the Sermon Showdown—Esther laughed in our faces. This resulted in the entire JT corner of the cafeteria erupting in a shock wave of laughter.

  “Oh, boys,” said Esther, suddenly humorless. “What are you so scared of? You have God on your side, don’t you? How could I deprive you of the opportunity for Him to work His wonders? You’re Daniel in the lion’s den! Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, about to be cast into the fiery furnace! This is the moment when God intervenes with his mighty hand, saving his servants from complete and utter destruction—not to mention horribly embarrassing public humiliation. Provided you aren’t a couple of frauds, of course. Then he’ll probably let you burn.”

  “But—” said Aaron.

  “Butts are full of crap,” said Esther. “Are you full of crap, Aaron?”

  “What?”

  “Burn,” said Zeke, offering Esther a fist bump.

  Esther bumped his fist without even looking at it. “No, Aaron. No postponing. We’re going to let this play out in a natural-selection sort of way—pardon the Darwinism. Now if that’s quite all…”

  She shooed us with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  I had known all along that the Sermon Showdown was an exponentially bad idea. But apparently, it hadn’t sunk into Aaron’s skull until now. Between the two of us, we didn’t know shit about public speaking—let alone conveying some profound message of spiritual significance.

  “Maybe we can rip off Bill Pullman’s speech in Independence Day,” I suggested in the hallway.

  “Who’s Bill Pullman?” said Aaron.

  “Wha—? He’s the president of the United States!”

  “What?”

  “Well, in the movie, he is.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes.

  “Who’s Bill Pullman?” I said, mimicking Aaron’s voice but with an unsubtle dose of Bullwinkle. “Jesus. Kids these days.”

  “Whatever, assclown. You’re the one who wants to rip off the speech in a sci-fi
movie.”

  “Just the applicable parts. We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight!”

  “It’s about fighting aliens.”

  “Well, yeah, but…it gets you pumped, doesn’t it?”

  Aaron shook his head. “I worry about you sometimes.”

  According to Newton’s third law of motion, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. This rule is typically applied to physics. However, in tumultuous times, it can also apply to social change.

  Noah got approval to create a Gay-Straight Alliance.

  After all his efforts on the school level had failed, Noah took it to the district level. He wrote a moving letter to the superintendent, pleading his case. Not that much pleading was necessary. When the superintendent learned of HVHS’s ban of all extracurricular clubs—and yet allowing dozens upon dozens of questionable curriculum-related clubs to exist—the ban was overturned. It was an executive order, more or less. To emphasize the executiveness of the situation, the superintendent sent a scathing e-mail to every principal in the district, making sure no one else was instituting fringy rules that might be overstepping silly things like the Free Speech clause or the Equal Access Act.

  The whole school was talking about it. The icebreaker was plastered all over the walls. Noah didn’t waste a moment; he set up flyers everywhere—the cafeteria, the library, every square inch of the hallways. Even the bathrooms fell victim to Noah’s rabid flyerization. It read:

  WE HAVE A GAY-STRAIGHT ALLIANCE!

  WHEN: DIRECTLY AFTER SCHOOL.

  WHERE: ROOM 206

  WHY: BECAUSE WE CAN!

  This first meeting is more of an impromptu get-to-know-you. We can figure out what day/time works best for a regular meeting, and we can address what we want to accomplish. And this probably goes without saying, but this is a Gay-STRAIGHT Alliance, so even if you don’t identify with the LGBTQ+ crowd, please come to show your support, to increase your understanding, and to stand up for love and tolerance. This is a judgment-free zone, so leave that crap in your locker.

  This was obviously a big deal—a spark in the fires of revolution. So naturally, the fire spread. For the first time since Noah set foot in HVHS—almost three years ago now—someone new came out. A freshman girl named Robin Dunston.

  Kyle Dunston’s little sister.

  More on that later.

  So you’re probably asking yourself: What does this have to do with Newton’s third law of motion? Well now that you know about the “action,” let me tell you about the “reaction.”

  The JTs weren’t happy. What ensued was protesting at best. At worst, it was a full-scale riot.

  Room 206—where the first GSA meeting was set to take place—was Ms. Carmen’s art class. Ms. Carmen was apparently one of the few outspoken LGBT advocates on the HVHS payroll. She was more than happy to volunteer her classroom to host a Gay-Straight Alliance.

  The JTs skipped first period to raid her classroom. They completely pillaged it. There was an ulterior motive—they needed poster board and markers for their own revolution. So they pilfered what they needed and ransacked the rest. Scattered supplies across the floor. Turned over desks. One particular JT felt the need to open up a tube of purple acrylic paint and finger-paint on the outside of the door: Leviticus 20:13.

  And that was only the start. Because the JTs proceeded to march the halls, waving homemade signs that said things like HOMOSEXUALITY IS A MENTAL ILLNESS and NO TOLERANCE FOR EVIL.

  This went on for hours.

  Once it became abundantly clear that this was out of the school’s control, Principal McCaffrey called the police. The police came. Well, a single officer came—Sheriff Barton. He was a roly-poly dude with a gut that spilled over his belt, forearms like whole otters, and a salt-and-pepper mustache that hid the mouth-cleavage of his great, quivering jowls. The bell rang, dismissing third period, when I saw him. He waddled into HVHS with one hand on his belt, the other swinging like a pendulum made of bratwurst. The picketing came to a staggered halt. Esther, however, pushed her way through the crowds and met him like a crashing wave.

  There was a nearby water fountain. I decided that I was suddenly very dehydrated.

  “Now, Esther—” said Barton.

  “Sheriff Barton, we are completely within our rights,” said Esther. “This is our freedom of assembly. Our freedom of association. Our freedom of speech! And that’s to say nothing of our religious freedom, which nobody gives a shit about.”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,” said Barton. “I heard you guys trashed a classroom?”

  “Trashed?” said Esther. “That’s debatable. Personally, I think we made an improvement. Besides, Ms. Carmen is a socialist.”

  “Socialist or not, you can’t go defacing people’s classrooms. That’s called vandalism. It’s against the law.”

  “So what? Are you going to arrest us?” Esther placed her hands defiantly on her hips. “There are fifty-three of us, so I sure hope you have enough room in your car.”

  “Look, don’t worry about the classroom. I’ll take care of it. But I already called your father. Told him about the situation on the drive over. He said this needs to stop.”

  Esther’s mouth compacted, her eyes swelling with indignation.

  “I get where you’re coming from, Esther. But there are other ways to fight this.”

  “Such as…?”

  “I don’t know. Like, attending school board meetings. Signing petitions. Making shirts that state your stance. Literally anything that’s not against the law is within your God-given rights to protest. But right now, the law says you need to go to school and attend your classes. Otherwise, that’s called truancy.”

  I glanced up from the fountain. Esther seemed thoroughly unimpressed with Sheriff Barton’s suggestions, so he leaned forward and covered his mouth.

  “Look,” he said in a low voice, “They have their little club. But what if people are too…nervous to go to the meetings? That would be a shame, but it wouldn’t be your fault.”

  Esther smiled. Sheriff Barton winked. With that, they parted ways.

  Robin Dunston was a quiet, mousy bookworm who did everything in her power to not draw attention to herself. She wore glasses and cardigans, and she looked like she had the equivalent body mass of my left butt cheek. She was mostly invisible, but I sometimes saw her in the hall or the cafeteria, lost in the pages of a light read—Stephen King, or Haruki Murakami, or Fyodor Dostoyevsky. No kidding. She was like a miniature philosopher. Her blood relation to Kyle was baffling.

  By the end of sixth period, Robin’s locker was plastered in female porn.

  She took one look at her locker—and the laughing crowd it had accumulated—and took off.

  I found her around the corner, curled in a ball, sobbing.

  I wanted to say something. But what? My only connection to her was Kyle, and my connection to him was that I hated his guts and got suspended for punching his smug face out the back of his skull.

  I started to walk past her because this was what I was—a coward—but for some reason the image of the Star Child flashed in my brain.

  We are meant to become more than what we are.

  I stopped. Looked at her.

  “Hey,” I said. “You okay?”

  Robin jolted with a start—unfurling from her ball, limbs flailing. Her frantic gaze did a wide horizontal sweep. Locked onto my legs. From there, she vertically scanned the giant, concerned Neanderthal, hovering over her like a monument. When she realized I was a nonthreat, she sniffed, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and attempted to nod. However, the gravitational axis of her head seemed to rotate sideways. Her head bobbled for a moment, and then she shook it fiercely. She bit her lip, and a second wave of tears welled in her eyes.

  “Is it okay if I sit?” I said.

  Robin could barely control the movement of her head anymore, let alone speak. So instead, she pulled her knees in, stuffed her face in the crook o
f her arm, and gave me a thumbs-up.

  I sat down.

  “We’re going to stop this,” I said.

  Robin pulled her face out of her arm. Looked at me with red, swollen eyes.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said, “but I don’t believe in God.”

  “You don’t need to,” I said. “We don’t care what anyone believes in. That’s not why we’re doing this.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because Happy Valley High School sucks. It has to get better than this.”

  After school, Tegan and I found each other. In light of recent events, my mind was on a single track. I immediately proceeded to blurt out the contents of my brain.

  “Can I ask you a weird question?” I said.

  “Uh-oh,” said Tegan, in a state of low-key panic. “Sure?”

  “Are you bisexual?”

  Tegan laughed. “Oh god. Okay. Fair enough.”

  “Are you?”

  “I assume you’re talking about that thing with Crissy Cranston?”

  I mean, I wasn’t not talking about that thing with Crissy Cranston.

  “I guess I am,” said Tegan. “Although when I told you about that, I was totally just trying to get your attention.”

  “What? Seriously?”

  Tegan laughed again—even louder this time—rolling her head back and pressing her palms to her eyes. “Oh god! I’m not sure what’s at fault here: my flirting, or your inability to pick up on flirting. Or both. Prolly both, right?”

  “Wait. You were flirting with me?”

  “Oh my God, Cliff! Seriously? Of course I was flirting with you! I invited you to a hypothetical three-way with me and Crissy!”

  “Oh.”

  Tegan seemed to laugh and moan simultaneously. Her hands slid down her face, pulling her cheeks and bottom lip down. “Bluhhhhhhh.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Cliff, I’m fine. Look, I’m’a just come out and say it: I’ve had a crush on you for the past three years.”