Neanderthal Opens the Door to the Universe

by Preston Norton

  “Uhhh…” said Spinelli. “You can. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. It doesn’t exactly make your side of the debate look good.”

  But I was already nodding vehemently at the can part. All the words that followed didn’t matter, because if I even tried to speak into that microphone, I was going to be sick.

  “Yes,” I said, still nodding. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

  Spinelli gave a frustrated snort. He turned to Esther, who was clearly in hearing range and eavesdropping like it was one of the Ten Commandments. “You hear that, Poulson? You ready?”

  Esther smiled. “Of course, Mr. Spinelli.”

  She rose from her seat like a flower blossoming in fast-motion time lapse. Approached the podium with elegance and grace. Cleared her throat into the microphone—even that sounded angelic.

  The whole display was rather disgusting.

  “So apparently Aaron thinks he received a List from…God?” said Esther, impressively deadpan. “And it’s my job to convince you that he’s…crazy?”

  The bleachers erupted with laughter.

  I mean, it was funny. I might’ve laughed, too—if I wasn’t in the process of realizing how extraordinarily fucked we were. Myself and Aaron and the List.

  “There are just so many places I could start,” Esther continued. “Logic, perhaps? Maybe we could get crazy with some common sense?”

  The laughs kept coming.

  “But I think there’s a really easy place to start. I’m sure you all know about Aaron and Clifford’s little home movie. I mean, they basically filmed all of you. But hey, congratulations on becoming movie stars!”

  Esther was killing it. Her audience—and it was definitely all hers—was dying from a terminal fit of laughter.

  “Well, my friends and I made a film, too. Except we didn’t actually film anything. Rather, we compiled some footage that’s existed for quite some time now. I like to call it W.W.A.D., or What Would Aaron Do? Zeke?”

  But Zeke was already on it—wiggling out of the bleachers, down the stairs, across the gym to the projector, flash drive in hand. Julian, Seth, Diego, and Becky parted awkwardly as he inserted himself, seized control of the projector and its adjoining laptop.

  The lights turned off—another JT.

  The projector screen lit up, displaying the title—just as Esther had introduced it:

  W.W.A.D.

  (What Would Aaron Do?)

  The opening scene is a close-up of Aaron’s face, shot from his own phone. But this is a different Aaron—flashing his trademark pre-List douchebag smirk.

  AARON: Let’s go f[bleep]k with some people.

  The sound track opens to “Sabotage,” by the Beastie Boys, and we are treated to a glorious montage of Aaron “f[bleep]k”-ing with a wide variety of people. Pantsing guys on the football team. Pantsing guys not on the football team. Ripping guys’ towels off in the locker room, only to whip their bare, black-bar-censored asses with it.

  AARON: What can I say? I just really like butts.

  Another montage—this time Aaron is smacking the ass of every girl he passes in the hallway.

  AARON: I feel like consent only applies to people who aren’t irresistible.

  Aaron is seen making out with just as many girls, and in every location fathomable—the boys’ locker room, the girls’ bathroom, the school kitchen, and the copy room in the main offices—to name a few.

  Several clips of Aaron’s inspiring feminist commentary are sewn together.

  AARON: Emma is such a slut.

  AARON: Olivia is a virgin bitch.

  AARON: Jennifer would totally be hot…if she laid off the pizza.

  (Cups hands over his mouth like a megaphone.)

  AARON: (cont’d) SOMEBODY CALL SEA WORLD. I’VE FOUND THEIR MISSING WHALE.

  AARON: There are anorexics. Then there are bulimics. And then there are Holocaust victims.

  (Meaningful pause.)

  AARON: (cont’d) I think Lacey Hildebrandt falls into the third category.

  Aaron decks some random dude in the jaw. Dude one-eighties and collapses on the floor.

  We’re thrown balls-deep in the epic fistfight between Aaron and myself—in all its locker-smashing, neck-strangling, titty-twisting glory.

  AARON: Wow…the Neanderthal knows…words and shit.

  And then, a new scene—Aaron and I, walking dramatically side by side. In slow motion, no less. This drastic change is complemented by Clint Mansell’s “Lux Aeterna”—aka, the Most Dramatic Piece of Music Ever Composed.

  Words fill a black screen, like some intense movie trailer:

  THEY HAVE A MISSION

  And then:

  A LIST FROM GOD

  And then a list:

  1. PUT AN END TO NIKO’S BULLYING

  Flash-forward to Aaron and I beating the ever-living shit outta Niko’s face. Naturally, this includes the part where I drag an aluminum baseball bat to finish the job. It was kind of terrifying.

  2. CALL THE JTs TO REPENTANCE

  Aaron is clearly drunk at somebody’s pool party, standing on top of a small rock waterfall, wearing a Sexy Nun costume. (Seriously, it was mostly a headdress, a bling-ish cross necklace, and lingerie.) It was censored around his crotch—probably because it was too little fabric and too much nether region.

  3. REMIND MR. SPINELLI WHY HE CHOSE TO TEACH

  A stealthy camera phone peeks around the entrance of the main offices. At first, all we hear is yelling. Then, we see Spinelli in front of McCaffrey’s open office door. Fuming. Screaming. Demanding that Aaron and I be expelled.

  Aaron and I stand off to the side, looking thoroughly defeated.

  4. SHOW FRANKIE’S GANG A BETTER WAY

  Again, some random party I’ve never been to. Aaron and a group of friends (including Kyle) are in someone’s suspiciously cloudy basement. Aaron takes a long drag of something that definitely isn’t tobacco.

  KYLE: Dude.

  AARON: (in agreement) Dude.

  5. FIND AND STOP HAL

  Aaron stares cluelessly at us, via his own phone camera. He glances at the walls. He glances at the ceiling.

  AARON: Uhhhhhhhhhh…

  And on that note, Esther’s video ended.

  Okay, so a few things:

  1. Aaron was so popular, he apparently had his own paparazzi. I mean, how else could you explain all this footage? It was like Aaron’s entire life was one big scandal waiting to be immortalized on film.

  2. Being a video-editing wizard and loving Jesus were evidently not mutually exclusive things. Either that, or the JTs hired a professional because hoooooooly shit.

  3. I mean, “Sabotage”? Classic! Now the real question was: Had Esther even listened to Beastie Boys once in her goddamn life before now?

  4. Lacey’s face. Yeah, Aaron was a new person now. But that didn’t make his past body-shaming remark hurt any less.

  5. Spinelli’s face. I didn’t know how much Spinelli knew about the List—or if he knew anything at all—but upon seeing his name in lights, his face contorted into a catacomb of emotions. It was impossible to tell whether they were good or bad.

  6. There wasn’t a moment when people weren’t laughing. If the video hadn’t made such a crippling case against Aaron and the List, even I would have thought it was hilarious. But as it was—and this leads us to Thing Number 7—

  7. —we were kind of fucked.

  The lights flickered on. At the podium, Esther interlocked her fingers and smiled.

  Seriously. That smile. It was so smug, she might as well have been cradling a trophy.

  “There’s so much I can say,” said Esther. “Sooooooo much. But since I have one more speech to give…I don’t know about you, but I’m rather eager to hear what Neanderthal—oh, I’m sorry—what Clifford has to say. He sure was scary, wasn’t he? Do you think he beat up Niko because he’s black?”

  Esther turned and winked at me. Then she curtsied to both sets of bleachers—yes, curtsied—and sat down.

&n
bsp; The audience roared with applause and cheers.

  That, in and of itself, was loud. Almost deafening. But it didn’t speak with near the volume as the single student who stood up, awkwardly navigated his way out of the bleachers, and veered to the west exit.

  It was Noah.

  Even from where I sat, I saw despondency carved in every line of his face. It wasn’t just sadness; it was the look of giving up. Apparently he wasn’t interested in seeing me make a fool of myself.

  To be fair, I wasn’t keen on it, either.

  As he exited, the west door closed slowly, eased by its hydraulic damper. Nevertheless, the sound it made was sharp and resounding and irreversible. An echo, rippling across the universe.

  Esther’s mouth curled with smugness.

  I glanced nervously at the projector—still occupied by only four nerds. Jack—the fifth and final nerd—was nowhere in sight. Julian offered a sympathetic shrug. And nothing else.

  And that’s when the east gymnasium doors—the ones opposite of where Noah exited—swung open. Jack came running in.

  Relief came roaring through the floodgates.

  I mean, it was sort of running. Actually, it was more of a ragged, breathless jog.

  Except Jack wasn’t running to the projector. He was running to me.

  He didn’t look happy.

  When Jack reached me, he collapsed with his hands on his knees. “It’s”—wheeze—“gone.”

  “The flash drive?”

  “The flash drive, the backup…everything. Someone hacked into our shit and deleted all of it.”

  My jaw was hanging by the sinews.

  “Please tell me you have something to say,” said Jack. He looked almost as distressed as me. “We can’t let Esther win this.”

  It meant a lot to me that Jack was concerned about our success in the Sermon Showdown. I could see it in his eyes—that he truly, deeply cared. But I didn’t know what to tell him. Because I literally had nothing to say. There was so much nothing, it was suffocating. Like I was trapped underwater, and the only thing I could accomplish by opening my mouth was letting water into my lungs.

  Jack seemed to sense that.

  So he walked past me and took the podium.

  “Um, hi,” said Jack. “My name is Jack Halbert. I was working with Aaron and Cliff to make a really cool, weird film-slash-documentary thingy. Unfortunately, someone”—Jack directed a brief, meaningful glance at Esther—“stole it.”

  “Excuse me?” said Esther—loud enough for most of the gym to hear.

  “But whatever,” said Jack, hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Because, as Esther already pointed out, you were there. You were in it. And I’d like to think that I’m not the only one who felt something. Look, I don’t want to get into a discussion about whether there is or isn’t a God. Really, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Cliff and Aaron have done more good for this school then anyone I’ve ever known. And the List—wherever it came from—is the source of that. If that’s crazy, then I hope this school gets all the crazy Aaron and Cliff can throw at it.”

  Jack left the podium. And as he did, the room became quieter. But it wasn’t a bad or awkward quiet.

  It was the sort of quiet that meant something.

  When Jack reached his friends at the projector, Julian was grinning and raised his hand for a high five. They slapped hands.

  Julian, however, interpreted this in the context of tag team wrestling, because he immediately veered to the podium. Waltzed up to the mic like he was about to host the Academy Awards.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” said Julian. “I’m Julian—Jack’s best friend. Aspiring CIA field agent. So here’s the thing: Jack’s the smartest guy I know. And if Jack believes the List is legit, than I do too.”

  Julian flashed a peace sign and strutted back to the projector.

  It was the start of a shock wave.

  Niko stood up in the bleachers. He didn’t walk to the podium, but he didn’t need to. He had everyone’s attention.

  “Niko,” he said. “And I’m not black.”

  This elicited possibly the largest explosion of audience laughter yet. Esther seemed to shrink in her chair a little bit.

  “I’m Polynesian. Also, Aaron and Cliff are all-right guys. And I believe in the List too.”

  Frankie stood up. “Hey. I’m Frankie fuckin’ Robertson.”

  “Language, Frankie,” said Spinelli.

  “Frankie freakin’ Robertson,” said Frankie without pause. “And Cliff Hubbard taught me that family is more important than anything. Even when your family is broken and messed up. And I just wanna let Tegan know—”

  His voice faltered. He sniffled and wiped his eyes.

  Holy shit sandwiches. Was Frankie crying?

  “—I want her to know that I’m sorry,” said Frankie. “And I believe in the List too.”

  Tegan stood up. “My name is Tegan fuckin’ Robertson—”

  “LANGUAGE!” Spinelli exclaimed. “FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.”

  “Freakin’—whatever,” said Tegan. “And I accept Frankie’s apology—but only because he cried like a baby in public. And I believe the shit outta the List. Also, I dunno about y’all, but I came here to hear Cliff speak. Anyone else with me?”

  She didn’t even wait for a response before she started chanting: “Cliff! Cliff! Cliff!”

  Tegan was a wildfire. Her manic chanting spread.

  “CLIFF. CLIFF. CLIFF.”

  Feet were stomping. Fists were pumping. It was like a rock concert, and the crowd was demanding an encore. Except they never got the show they paid for to begin with. So basically, the anticipation was through the roof. I thought I would be nervous. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t even explain it—this thing washing over me, breathing fresh air into my lungs, soothing my nerves.

  “CLIFF. CLIFF. CLIFF.”

  I stood up. The crowd cheered.

  There was this tingling sensation all across my skin as I made my way to the podium. (The entire five-foot commute.) I had no clue what I was going to say. But for reasons beyond my comprehension, I wasn’t too worried about it.

  Standing there, staring at so many faces, my only concern became this:

  What do I do with my hands?

  Like, do I move them while I talk? Do I let them just hang there? I did not even remotely comprehend the art of hand movement in public speaking. If I just winged it, I was worried I’d panic and start doing the Macarena or the YMCA. But if I did nothing—just let them hang there—they felt like a pair of fifteen-pound trout dangling from my shoulder blades. And that was just weird.

  I resolved to shove my hands in the pockets of my lucky hoodie and leave them there for the duration.

  That’s when I discovered the colossal hole Lacey had burrowed in the pocket of my hoodie. If my lucky hoodie was a planet, this would be the hole where all the Mole People dwelled. My fingers splayed inside, gauging just how big the hole really was.

  My middle finger brushed the corner of something thick and papery. What the…?

  It was wedged deep within the inner fabric of my hoodie—practically at the waist—but I managed to pin it between my index and middle fingers. Removed it slowly. It was a folded-up sheet of paper, slightly yellowed with age.

  There, in front of a captive audience of four hundred people, I opened it and read silently.

  I only had to read one paragraph—in Shane’s perplexingly neat handwriting—before realizing that life was indeed a door, and in this moment, it was wide open. All I had to do was step through.

  Dear Cliff,

  Happy Birthday! Also, congratulations on finding my secret note! Sorry your hoodie had a hole in it, by the way. I swear, it’s brand-new, and it was like that when I bought it. (But hey, secret notes, right?) This is the real present anyway. Because I’m about to bestow upon you all of the wisdom and knowledge of my sixteen years on this Earth. Remember the three rules to high school that I taught you? Well, this is like the opposite of that. You
should get McCaffrey to call an assembly and read it in front of the whole goddamn school. Are you ready?

  I was ready.

  “This is a letter from my brother, Shane,” I said. Somewhat timidly, I raised the creased, handwritten sheet of paper for all to see. My mouth opened, hesitating to preface this with something else. Then I decided against it.

  I turned my eyes to this message from the Other Side of the Door, and read aloud.

  “There are three rules to high school irrevocably inscribed within the interstellar fabric of the universe.

  “Rule number one: It’s hard, but it’s worth it.

  “I mean, it’s really hard. Sometimes, it’s so hard, I don’t even know if I’m going to make it. I can barely survive the self-loathing inside my own head. How the HELL am I supposed to survive in a world that gives me even MORE reasons to doubt and hate myself? High school practically pops those reasons out like Skittles from a candy dispenser—and hey, they’re color-coded for my convenience!

  Lucky me.

  “And yet, there are moments.

  “Moments between the giant dumps that life takes on your head. Moments between those fierce, plunging spirals into despair. Maybe they’re not even moments of happiness. They are, however, moments of peace. Moments of understanding. Moments where we realize that life is so much more than happiness and sadness and the labyrinth in between. It’s about the people who navigate that labyrinth with you.

  “Which leads me to the second rule of high school: People are good.

  “I know what you’re thinking: People AREN’T good. People are actually kind of evil sometimes. They’re narcissistic, hate-filled creatures whose only concern is themselves and their own shallow agendas. They’d sooner make a staircase of the corpses of their peers to get what they want than stop and give someone a helping hand, just because they can.

  “At least, that’s how I feel sometimes.

  “But then I stop. I look around, and I see all these people. Each and every one of them is experiencing this lucid and enigmatic thing we call life, but through their own eyes. To them, this is their story—complete with its own plot twists and heartbreaks, hopes and devastations. Maybe life is shitting on their heads, too. Maybe they hate themselves—and that, in and of itself, is a battle they’re scraping to survive. Maybe I’m just a secondary character—maybe even an extra—from that one scene when they needed help from someone. Anyone. But I didn’t help them because I didn’t know them, or maybe I didn’t even care.