The Domino Effect

by Andrew Cotto

  I walked from the doorway to the center of the room. Chester snarled and stepped toward me. I bashed him in the mouth with my right hand. His teeth stung my fist, but I had to admit, having been dumped twice by those guys and intimidated by them throughout the year, it felt good to see them both on the ground at my feet. I felt powerful. That good feeling disappeared as soon as Mr. Wright barreled out of the stairwell. He didn’t have to look too hard to figure out what had happened.

  “Oh, Daniel,” he moaned. “What have you done?”

  My knuckles began to bleed.

  Chapter 20

  During dinner, which I wasn’t allowed to attend, I went down to my old room to collect the rest of my things. The hearing with the headmaster had been scheduled for the next morning, but I didn’t need him to tell me to pack. Out the window, over campus, the fading sky was purple as a bruise.

  I made steady trips back down to Sammie’s room, and only had the trunk left to drag when Terence walked in. He looked at me as curiously, as if he didn’t know what to make of me, like he had on the first day of school when he and Mr. Wright caught me dancing in my undies. So much had happened between then and now.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked.

  “Getting my things,” I said. I tugged the trunk to the middle of the room until Terence blocked my progress. I dropped the trunk.

  “You stole them shoes?” he asked.

  “No, no,” I said. “I found them, sort of, and figured they might come in handy at some point.”

  “The hell you do that for?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s kind of how I was brought up.”

  “Oh man, you trippin’. You know that?”

  He walked around me to the back of the room and faced me from the window. “Everyone at dinner saying how they going to throw you out of here for this!”

  “I know.”

  Terence fell onto his chair and rubbed his hands over his face and hair. I began to drag the trunk again.

  “What’d you do that for?” he asked me again. “That was on me, not you.”

  “It was on all of us,” I said.

  “What?”

  “All of us should have done something about them guys, not just you. You think you’re the only person they got a problem with? The only person they gave a hard time?”

  “I don’t know about nobody else. All I know is they got a problem with me ’cause of the color of my skin.”

  “Maybe they do, and maybe they don’t,” I said. “I don’t know and you don’t know. What I do know is that you’re the one who’s got a problem with the color of your skin, more than anybody else, at least.”

  He called a horse and rolled his eyes. Then he tried to laugh. “Come on, man,” he said. “You can’t be serious with that. Ain’t you read your history? Ain’t you ever opened your eyes?”

  “Yeah, my eyes are open and and what I see is a boulder on your shoulder.”

  “Awwww, shit,” he said smiling, though he wasn’t all that happy. “You too simple-minded to understand all this. Too simple and privileged. That’s all.”

  “Privileged?” I laughed. “That’s something from a scholarship guy who speaks French.”

  “Fuck you,” he said, standing up.

  “Tell me something,” I said, staying calm. “Anybody have a bigger problem with race than you?”

  Terence held out his hands and bugged out his eyes. “Man, those guys been on my shit all year, man. And you saw what went down at the gym. They was picking on my moms. Picking on me for being black.”

  “No, they were picking on all that ‘my moms is lightskinned’ bullshit they must of overheard in the Can that day. They must have been there. You think them guys could have come up with that on their own? Who cares if she was white? Who gives a crap about that besides you?”

  “Come on, man,” Terence said. “You were sitting right next to me at that meeting. Those guys was on me from Day 1.”

  “They were pissed off because someone took something from them on Day 1, something valuable, and they wanted it back. And those guys ain’t too bright, no doubt, but still, it wasn’t all them. You were pissed off, too, about being here or whatever, before anyone started with you, and I know that because I was sitting right next to you, remember? And when they did look at you, if you didn’t freak out about it, then maybe none of this would have happened. And even before that, if someone hadn’t stolen their shoes in the first place, maybe none of this would have happened, and had that retard Rice not been so desperate to make things worse, and had everyone else not been so ready to go to all your games and support something besides wrestling, maybe none of this would have happened. And if I hadn’t started messing with them, then, yeah, maybe we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. But like I said before, and there ain’t no maybe about it, the problem wasn’t only theirs or yours or mine. It was all of ours, though the problem with race is mostly with you. Remember all that crap you had with the dorm master and the overseeing? About Denzel Washington. About your mother not being white. I do. It’s been that way all year with you.”

  Terence sat back down and rubbed his head. Maybe he was starting to figure some things out.

  “Were those guys at dinner?” I asked him.

  “Who?”

  “The wrestlers.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “The big one was walking kind of funny, and the other guy got himself a nice fat lip.”

  “But they didn’t get in any trouble?”

  “Naw,” he said. “Well, they say the little one going home soon, for what happened before, you know, but nobody in any new trouble, besides you, that is.”

  That’s what I figured.

  “People gave them a lot of lip in there, too,” Terence added.

  “How?”

  “They was sort of hissing and booing every time any one of them walked by.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “No, no, it was getting rough!” he insisted. “And they were passing out Sunrises like crazy, but that didn’t stop ‘em.”

  I would have liked to have been there for that.

  “And then Sammie knocked a milk pitcher over the little one when he was walking back from the kitchen.”

  “Sammie!” I cried. “That’s my boy right there.”

  “Yeah,” Terence nodded. “He’s gonna see sunrise the rest of the year.”

  “Ohhh!”

  “It’s still better than getting the boot.”

  “Isn’t it?” I asked. “Isn’t it better than going home? Having to walk out of here without finishing, giving up everything that could be coming next year.”

  He held my gaze for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

  I went to the back of the room and stuck out my hand.

  “Just think about what I said, alright?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Bet.”

  We shook hands, like real friends, and I was kind of OK with what had happened, though I still tasted regret, and it tasted like dirty pennies. Maybe someday, I thought, I’d figure out a way to avoid that taste.

  In the morning, Mr. Wright walked me over to the headmaster’s office. We didn’t talk on the way. He spent a few minutes inside alone with the headmaster, then sat with me outside the office waiting for Pop. We’d spoken on the phone the night before, and I told Pop everything that had happened, just like I used to. He listened quietly, then said he’d see me tomorrow.

  When Pop showed up, he shook Mr. Wright’s hand like they knew each other already. Right away, the secretary said Headmaster Hurley would see us now. Pop and I were shown right in. Headmaster Hurley was kind of a young guy, tall and lanky, perfect hair and teeth, always smiling and slapping people on the back, cracking up at his own jokes. They said he used to be a Wall Street big shot who retired in his 40s and came out to Hamden Academy to keep busy. I didn’t think much of him, either way, and he’d never said a word to me until the morning Pop and I walked into his light-filled offi
ce.

  “Good morning, Daniel,” he said like he knew me. He shook my hand from over a large desk. “And how are you, Mr. Rorro?”

  Pop said he was good and sat down in the cushy leather chair next to mine. Hurley there made a temple out of his fingers and stared at us for a minute before talking.

  “This is your second year here at Hamden Academy, right Daniel?”

  I nodded and he kept talking.

  “This marks the end of my third, so I’ve got you beat by a year.” He laughed, alone. Then he went on this long blab-fest about himself. I can’t remember the exact words, because it was boring and I was busy trying to figure out, the whole time, what the hell it had to do with me. Then he went on about how the school needed him and his business acumen to be competitive and, in order to be competitive, you had to play the game. That was the best part, about “playing the game.” He went on and on about how Wall Street works and how those who make it know how the game works and all that. What a tool. I covered my mouth as I yawned. I’d been out late, sneaking from the dorm for one last mission. I kept yawning into my hand. Pop drummed his thighs while his mouth twitched. Hurley kept on until Pop held up his hand.

  “What does this have to do with my son?”

  “Well, sir,” he said, sitting up and tilting his head. “I’m getting to that.”

  According to this guy, his biggest challenge was playing the game in a way that made Hamden more prestigious and whatnot without giving up what got us to where we were. He told us all this secret information about a football team coming and a new dorm being built and teachers from “top-notch” programs being added to the faculty so as to help raise academic standards.

  Then he talked, without that same twinkle, about how important wrestling was to the school, to our reputation and everything, but that he didn’t see a “symbiotic” relationship between wrestling and Hamden’s future as one of those “elite” schools. His eyes got all bright again when he said that he had redirected scholarship funds and raised academic standards for student-athletes, and that he was doing all this other rigamarole to make wrestling less and less “influential.” He said that fund-raising was the key to it all. I thought about the meeting Headmaster Hurley had had with Todd Brooks’ father.

  Pop held up his hand again and Headmaster Hurley finally, got right to it. This part I remember good enough to quote, because it had to do with me.

  “So the reason I tell you all of this is that, even with recent events, Daniel can be of service to Hamden Academy and Hamden Academy can be of service to Daniel. Now there’s absolutely no way to keep him at school. The stunts were problematic, but not terminal. I even admired their ingenuity and effect. But he assaulted two students, in public, and for that, he must leave. That being said, there is a way for us to arrange his graduation through a prolonged suspension, as opposed to an expulsion.”

  “And why would you do that?” Pop asked, a wave of skepticism carrying his words.

  “Because of Stonington, of course,” he said. “And the interest they’ve had in Daniel since his perfect game.”

  And that’s when Pop put his hot eyes on me. They bore into the side of my face as I tried to keep focused on Headmaster Hurley and all the noise he spouted, noise that buried me. According to him, if I somehow managed to graduate, I still might be the first Hamden student to get a scholarship to Stonington and the school could tout this as an accomplishment. A “win-win.” I guess that’s how the game is played in his world. But not in mine.

  “Scholarship?” Pop asked me. “Perfect game?”

  I must have forgotten to mention any of that. I tried to explain right there and then, but he gave me the hand. He turned to Headmaster Hurley, ready to share some of his wisdom, but I cut him off.

  “It’s OK, Pop,” said. “I got this.”

  His face said he’d give me a chance.

  “Thanks, Mr. Hurley, I guess, for the offer and everything, but I’m not going to Stonington College. I’m going home.”

  “Home?” he asked, like he’d never heard of the place. “What will you do there?”

  “Go to school, get a job. There’s lots to do,” I said. “This is America.”

  Pop grabbed my forearm. “Sounds like you thought this through, Pal.”

  “Yeah,” I kind of laughed. “Imagine that.”

  Before the ridiculous offer from the headmaster, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about my future. I’d go home to Queens, to our new house. I’d enroll in the local public school and graduate. Then I’d go to St. John’s or somewhere else in the city. Or maybe I’d work a year or two and go away to college in a couple of years. Either way, I’d be home for awhile, a survivor of childhood. A survivor with a story to tell, and I’d get started telling it right away.

  Headmaster Hurley sat there smirking, like we didn’t get how the game was played. Pop sat up, with his forearms on Hurley’s desk, and wiped the smirk off the headmaster’s face by telling him he was a failure for teaching kids about privilege instead of fairness. He told him, calmly, about how he thought the game was played, with equality and compassion for everybody, no matter what. It was a speech I knew well, as I’d heard it a hundred times, but the truth of it hit me right then for the first time in a long time. And I remembered right then why Pop was my hero. And I wanted to be like him again, just like when I was a kid.

  He put a hand on my shoulder and led me out the door. We picked up Mr. Wright and kept on walking. The only sound in the cool, dark corridor was of our six heels clacking the marble floor. As we walked toward the exit, Mr. Wright explained how he and Pop knew each other.

  “Your father came up to see me on the day you moved in, and we spoke a lot about you. He asked me to keep an eye on you, and to challenge you, as well. That was why, on that very same day when the situation arose, I thought to move Mr. King to your room. I feel now like I put you in the wrong situation, and that I’ve somehow contributed to your fate.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Wright. You were right to bring him to me. I just blew it, that’s all. All on my own.” I faced them in the hallway. “Sorry I let you guys down and everything. I know you’ve been looking out for me and, you know, I’m a moron, but I was trying to do the right thing. I was.”

  “We know, Pal,” Pop said with a tight smile. “I’m at least proud of you for trying, but I’d be singing Sinatra right now if you would have used your head, not your neck, to work this out — understand what I’m saying?”

  “Capisco, Pop,” I said. “Capisco.”

  “Good,” he said, stepping toward the door. “Let’s go home. You can tell me about the perfect game on the way.” He gave me a wink.

  I pushed open the exit bar and motioned for them to go first. I followed, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the bright sun that shined on what seemed like every kid in the whole school.

  “What do we have here?” Pop asked as we entered the swarm. My small group of friends met us first, Terence and Sammie in front of Meeks and Grohl, but I also knew the names and faces of many others who had come to say goodbye. I walked through the crowd feeling the touches of those who reached for my arm or shook my hand.

  I felt like a rock star and a superhero and a real kid all at the same time. Sadness sort of came over me, too. Not a hard-won sadness about what was, but a more hollow sadness about what could have been. I could have been friends with so many of those people. We could have had memories to take with us when we left Hamden Academy. Not making the most of those years, I guess, was my real punishment… that and the potatoes.

  The people parted as Pop and I moved slowly under the Arch toward the visitor’s parking lot. The mob scene extended across the meadow and toward the women’s dorm. I could see the spray painted message I’d left for Brenda on their door — my last stunt, written the night before:

  Bella Faccia!

  I Love You (10 X)

  DOMINO

  Brenda stood on the porch, in front of the door decorated just for her. S
he leaned way over the railing and waved to me. I figured she was saying goodbye. I waved back and turned away, feeling for a moment like I was going to cry. I passed Pop on my way to the car.

  “Look out,” he said before I reached the door. “This kid’s got wheels.”

  When I turned, Brenda was halfway across the meadow, a jackrabbit heading through the crowd in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair bouncing and a smile as bright as her eyes. She never looked better.

  She ran right at me, and I caught her under the arms and spun her around in the air. It felt like she had wings. Everybody cheered and kept on cheering and hollering after Brenda locked her legs around my waist and her hands around the back of my neck and kissed me like crazy. I didn’t even close my eyes.

  “Thanks for the note,” she separated our lips to say.

  “I was going to write the words to ‘Thunder Road,’” I shrugged, “but it’s too long and, you know...”

  “I like your words better,” she said, pulling me back in.

  With my eyes closed, I remembered the first time we kissed on the bridge. I could hear the sound of the circling water, full of pain, being whisked away.

  “You guys know each other?” Pop interrupted.

  I staggered when we parted. Brenda stepped forward.

  “Hello,” she said, offering her hand to my father. “I’m Brenda Divine.”

  “Nice to meet you, Brenda Divine,” Pop said.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she answered, with a sweet tilt of her head. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Me?” Pop asked. “Get out of here.”

  “No, I have,” she said with a gesture toward me. “And I can see the resemblance between you and little Dom.”

  Pop stood still, no wheels turning for something clever to say, his strong hands clenched at his sides, his face flushed from olive to almond. He looked proud to be my father. He shifted his eyes to me, holding them there for a moment before going back to Brenda.

  “NYU,” he said, noticing her sweatshirt. “That’s some school.”