by Dan Cummings
With a sigh he switched off his lamp and returned to his breathing exercises, needing them to guide him to a peaceful, untroubled sleep.
Chapter 6
Sam rolled his van to a stop in the nearest available space in the school lot, facing the brick rectangular science building. Killing the Dodge Ram’s engine, he spied Mr Brazier, his biology teacher ambling over to the entrance. Sam was scheduled to be in the lab for third period but whether he could even bring himself to enter Ms Cameron’s first period history remained to be seen. He left the radio playing, the dreamy tranquillity of Black Sabbath’s Planet Caravan helping ease the transition as he lit the first joint of the day. He was going to need it. It quelled the typical daily morning anger which threatened to ambush his imposed calm, shaking him out of the insular shell of his weed and his van.
He mulled over Neil’s words from last night and knew, albeit reluctantly, that his friend might be right. He was jeopardising his future here. Taking another lungful, he held it in until every stressed-out nerve and fibre seemed to be appeased. Exhaling through his rolled down window, he reasoned with his internal tormentor. Not my fault the whole school system is unengaging shit. But he knew he should probably do something. Being an angst-ridden dropout wasn’t necessarily the end of the world, after all there was night school, but did he want to squander several years earning shit pay in some dead end job before he hit bottom? With a sullen gaze he examined the smoking joint before him. Weed, a perfect antidote for the disenfranchised and such an easy scapegoat. Dissatisfaction stemmed from a lack of prospects and purpose in life, not a dumb plant. But what could he do, try to pursue a career in the gaming industry? His own dubious expression answered that wild tangent. Maybe it was time to follow Neil’s cue and start taking his education seriously, try to pick his grades up which he knew was easily within the realms of possibility. Enough teachers had tried speaking sense to him over the years, baffled by his lack of interest in college despite his unapplied yet strong IQ, but he found himself in an awkward situation. Although very intelligent, he was no prodigy. He had the capability to go far but it would require some work and therein lay the problem; effort.
As he put the joint to his lips again, his half-lidded eyes spotted Matt on the outskirts of the parking lot, walking with his head down and shoulders up like he was waiting for the world to start beating on him. With a cautious eye, scoping out the area for Staubach or Noakes, Sam lightly beeped his horn. Startled by the honk, Matt spotted the van, stopped and started over to Sam’s pot den on wheels.
‘Hey man.’ Matt leaned in through the passenger window, his voice still fighting off sleep. Glancing at the jay in his friend’s mouth, he asked, ‘I’m guessin’ you’re not going to make it to first period?’
Sam took a moment to ponder this. ‘I’m still wondering that myself.’ Matt opened the passenger door and climbed in. Looking behind their seats he expected to see Neil dozing in the back, but only found the usual wall-to-wall classic rock posters keeping vigil upon an unoccupied mattress. Hearing Ozzy’s trippy, reverberating vocals and the Sabbath’s uncharacteristically mellow jam, Matt immediately turned up the volume dial. ‘This seems a lot better than chemistry.’
Sam passed the half-burned joint to his right. Matt hesitated, tucked a shaggy curl of dark hair behind his ear then accepted his fate.
‘You wanna get out of here?’ Sam asked, his head lolling against the head rest.
Matt couldn’t answer through a lungful of smoke but the question played behind his eyes, facing no shortage of debate. Expelling the breath, he shrugged. ‘Call Neil, the three of us could go the park.’
Sam looked doubtful. ‘Neil? Mr I-Suddenly-Really-Give-A-Shit-About-School? He’ll just shoot it down.’
‘So he wants to go to college, good for him,’ Matt advocated. ‘I wish I had some type of plan. I already know my limits. I’m just going to end up in that fucking warehouse with my brother-in-law.’ Talk of the future wasn’t gelling with Sam’s mood. ‘You should be doing the same as him, though. Look at your parents, doctors and lawyers. Look at mine, forklift drivers and grocery baggers. You’re smart, maybe it’s time you took a break from this too.’ He indicated the reef between his fingers.
Pushy lifestyle advice really wasn’t going to help Sam, rather it would serve only to make him dig his heels in. ‘Jesus, you sound like Mr Braun,’ Sam said as he snatched the joint back and calmed his nerves.
‘He is a guidance counsellor, he can’t be full of shit all the time. You’re college material, same as Neil. In a way, I suppose that’s one advantage I have over your superior intellect, at least I know what I am.’
Sam pondered on this, imagining another several years of rigid education. Crushing the joint in the ashtray, he reached for the eye drops in his glove box and opened the door.
‘We not going to the park?’ Matt asked, obsessively tugging at his baseball cap’s peak.
‘It would be such a shame to deprive the faculty of my superior brain.’
Matt smirked and jumped out of his side. ‘I feel like Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting.’
*****
Neil wandered through the crowded halls with a sense of gnawing trepidation. He could practically feel Shit Storm breathing down his neck, but the worry was partially subdued by the peculiar funk which had followed him from last night’s dream, making him feel like a deep sea diver, slowly pushing his way through the press of bodies.
Blue lights. Something to do with blue lights, like a hundred blue-burning fireflies tracing across…water?
At his deepest level, buried under all of his warm and inviting mannerisms and facets of personality, Neil knew full well what those lights represented and was absolutely terrified. He tried burying the memory again and breathed deeply. The corridor was a festival of cultural cohesion, the jocks had their lettered jackets and supreme confidence, the cheer leaders their lip gloss and padded bras, the hip-hop crowd had their baggy, gang-style clothing, the punks and rockers their denim, leather, spikes and ink, the neat and conservative dress of the unaffiliated and the mousey academics scurrying through the cracks of the various mobs; though for many of them the lines blurred between the social classes, hybrids trying to find their own niche. Skirting the conscientious conformities was Neil and the select but proud few who remained disconnected from the masses, maintaining their retro grunge-styled intolerance of the herd. He now accepted how thoroughly foolish his attitude had been since puberty kicked in. Unless he intended to become a desert island hermit, clustered groups of opinions and tastes were nigh on impossible to avoid so why expend the effort, especially when his coolness had cost him so many good grades. The aloof stoners were just as part of the school tapestry as the alcoholic teachers.
The sudden clamour of the bell shook him from the intertwining branches of his messy thoughts, dropping him smack bang in the middle of the migration which slowly started to rumble towards the classrooms and stairwells, the tinny squeak of locker doors and a hundred soles on linoleum added a sense of urgency to Neil’s zombie shuffle. Moving against the current and squeezing through a passing cluster, he caught sight of something through the fleeting gap of students, a tweed coating of a slender arm much too long to be human, ending past the buttoned cuff in a green webbed flipper. Neil’s stomach seemed to fill with wet cement.
It can’t be. Please, don’t let it be.
A passing junior obscured his view briefly, and in the next instant the apparition was gone. A student bumped into his back, the nudge helping him reassert control of his leaden legs. Shaken, he hurried around the corner, and at once his heart skipped a beat for an entirely different reason. Not twenty feet away, offloading a few text books into her locker, her violin case parked at her feet, was Lindsey. With a primal sense of fascination, he drank her in like he was witnessing some rare, wonderful creature in the wild, delighted to have her to temporarily focus on instead of who he thought he had just witnessed back there. The urge to go and talk to her was
overpowering but he began to fuss over trifling details, his head still scattered from that visual trickery.
Christ, what if I see him again whilst I’m talking to her? I’d freak out. I’d freak her out. Inhale…exhale. The quandary cost him his opportunity as Lindsey’s friend Debbie Sinclair appeared, saying something amusing as the pair of them burst out laughing. Debbie was tall, with long auburn hair and pretty in a mean, tough kind of way, completely at odds with her bookish characteristics.
Neil was about to feign some deep interest in his phone should either of them catch him standing there stupidly, watching them and caught between indecision, but Debbie practically pulled Lindsey away giggling at something or other, allowing Lindsey a small window to reach out and snatch up her violin case. Sensing his sudden isolation in the empty corridor, he quickly glanced around to make sure none of his new enemies were closing in to capitalise on his vulnerability, then hurried off towards English class. He was too engaged with thoughts of Lindsey, a possible savage beating and the resurgent madness of his buried childhood to hear the soft, toad croak echoing from beneath the dark stairwell behind him.
Chapter 7
It was perhaps down to some divine miracle that the clock edged towards two-thirty pm without incident, but before Neil and Sam could count their chickens they had a dangerous mission to undertake. It took some doing, but Neil and Sam had finally pumped themselves up enough to encroach on possible hostile territory, the big grey building of the school gymnasium. Leaning on the empty bike racks tucked against the side of the building, neither could stand still for longer than a couple of seconds, their necks on swivels and their stances on the balls of their feet, not that the chubby Sam had much hope of outpacing Staubach or, far less likely, Lloyd Hagan, should he or Neil fall foul of them here in jock central. The only chance Sam would have would be to trip Neil up in a cruel act of betrayal, but he felt guilty even thinking that.
‘What the fuck is taking him so long?’ Sam whined.
‘Just give him another minute.’ Neil wished his voice had carried more bravado, but they were both present yesterday and under no illusions about their ranking on the machismo gradient.
‘They won’t even care about Matt. They didn’t even lay a finger on him yesterday.’ Sam’s cheeks suddenly burned with shame from his cowardice, the glow seeming all the more radiant in contrast to his wiry, tight and light white-boy afro.
‘Doesn’t mean he isn’t fair game. He’s our friend so he’s their potential punch bag too.’ Sam tapped the metal inverted U he was resting on, the drumming demonstrating his stress. Neil listened to the light ringing sound Sam’s fingers made on the bike stand. He tried to keep Sam’s mind off the possible consequences. ‘You skip any classes today?’
Sam measured him, analysing the comment for any criticisms. It got the green light. He shook his head and turned the motion into another sweep of the grounds, his eyes uncontrollably drawn to the safety of his Ram over in the quickly emptying parking lot. ‘I wanted to, believe me. But I guess I’m turning what happened with Shit Storm into my moment of clarity.’ His voice dropped, only just audible over the scrape and rustle of crunchy leaves cartwheeling along the macadam. ‘Why can’t Matt just meet us in the van?’
Neil appeared to be squinting at something in the window of an empty classroom across the grounds but the distance made it impossible for Sam to discern. Neil shivered like a feather just ran down his spine and shook off his fugue. ‘What?’
Sam repeated his question.
‘Strength in numbers.’
Sam mocked the answer with a faithless mirth ‘Strength?’
This annoyed Neil. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you go hide in the van and I’ll just wait for Matt by myself?’
Sam thought that was a great idea but decided to sulk for his sins. ‘Sorry. I just can’t deal with this type of stuff, I fall apart.’
Neil eased up on his scowl. ‘Join the club.’
Matt rounded the corner like a skinny P.O.W. making a daring escape, his black curls shower-damp beneath his baseball cap. ‘Thanks, dudes. We need to go now, I just saw Lloyd shooting hoops in there. Staubach is with him too, slinging to some of the team.’
Some extra coal was suddenly heaved into their collective furnaces, ready to sprint full-steam to the van. Trying their best to make a hasty retreat look casual, they speed-walked past some lackadaisical students and Hank, the sour-tempered caretaker, who was still raking piles of autumn’s cull from the few bare trees opposite the science building. They made it to the grass verge of the students’ parking lot.
Neil’s hand flinched upwards in what looked like an unexpected spasm, slapping into Sam’s chest. ‘Fuck.’
They all noticed it, it was impossible to miss. Lurking amongst the aisles of cars was the Firebird. The black monster idled in a space several rows away from the van, the phoenix slumbering atop the cooling engine and hood scoop.
‘When did he get here?’ Matt asked. He didn’t get a reply.
As usual, Noakes had no legal business on the premises. Unlike his mob, he was nineteen years old and barely a regular fixture in this institute’s hallowed halls even when he was an official member of the student body. It was difficult to tell if Noakes or one of the town’s other shady fringe characters were inside the car from their crouched position behind a stationary Ford, but then they heard music on the breeze, filtering out through the Firebird’s window.
‘Now what? Just fucking hang around here until they go?’ Sam fretted, mainlining adrenaline. Matt was keeping watch on the distant gymnasium, confused as to whether he should be glad or disappointed that Staubach and Lloyd were still inside.
Shallow breaths practically whistled through Neil’s rigid lips, a bad idea seeming to flutter behind his eyes. ‘You think we could make it to the van?’
Sam’s eyes became saucers, ‘You fucking nuts? Noakes is right there.’
‘We could sneak in through the left side. It’s better than snooping around here looking suspicious as fuck,’ Neil defended.
‘I don’t think I have another car chase in me,’ Sam cringed.
Matt threw another antsy look at the gym. ‘Maybe we could head back. Wait near the cafeteria?’
‘What if Shit Storm walks out when we’re crossing over?’ Sam might have been on the front line of a fire fight for all his mania.
‘What if-what if? These cars aren’t going to be here for long, so make a damn move,’ Matt returned.
The click of an opening door turned them statuesque. It could have been from any number of vacating students but they all knew, like a sixth sense tuned to the frequency of impending fists, that it was someone stepping out of the Firebird to stretch their legs. They felt like hares being boxed in by foxes. Holding his breath, Neil inched his eye out from behind the rear bumper of the blue Ford. Sure enough, Noakes stood beside his car, tight black tee clinging to his sculpted torso, instantly making Neil think of how easily Noakes could break him in two. Noakes turned his back to their position, seemingly uninterested by the close proximity of Sam’s van several spaces over, and stepped aside so Dodd could slink out of the backseat like a yappy dog needing to be let out. Dodd’s runty frame stretched his arms out looking like a scarecrow in Salvation Army threads, frayed jeans and a faded yellow cotton shirt. Dodd flicked Noakes’s shoulder, gesturing over to a few of the cheerleaders milling about before heading off to practise their routine.
Neil took the lead, quashing his hesitation for a heart-stopping minute. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, tugging his two refugees and they crab-ran with expressions of imminent doom from the Ford to another spot of cover across the aisle, keeping the van between themselves and the Firebird. Any sense of relief was quickly diminished as Noakes took it upon himself to slowly pace back and forth between the aisles of cars, cupping his hands against the gentle wind to light a cigarette.
‘Perfect,’ Sam grumbled, ‘give us a break.’
‘We just need to time this,’ Neil a
dvised, talking to himself mainly.
Noakes idled back to the Firebird’s hood, his sleazy gaze lingering on the passing cheerleader squad and muttering something which elicited a high-pitched, almost imbecilic giggle from Dodd. The next bay ahead was unoccupied, just empty space and beyond that dangerous open ground was one more car, then their ticket out of there. Wasting no time, Neil motioned them forth. Two squat-steps clear of their huddled position, the car ahead beeped to life, the owner jogging over to slide behind the wheel. The driver, one of the school’s resident mathletes affectionately nicknamed NASA, looked at the three potheads practically crawling across the lot like they had smoked one joint too many, then dismissed them with a reproachful shake of the head and started his engine. Icy whisks whipped up Neil’s intestines and with hanging jaws the three of them tensed as NASA pulled away, exposing a portion of Noakes’s swinging arm, the cigarette burning away in his tattooed hand. After a couple of seconds Noakes turned back towards his own wheels.
Safe.
Some half-heard crude innuendo carried on the wind and Neil knew the attractive distraction would be out of sight any second now. Creeping the last ten feet to the van, Matt’s dashing form cleared the open ground just as Noakes wandered out into the aisle again, dragging on his smoke. With trembling fingers Sam tried to quietly unlock the driver’s door, aware that the clunking sound might be heard by Noakes or that little jackal, Dodd. As he slipped the key inside, a bead of panicked sweat trickled down from Sam’s hairline as he debated on whether he should risk turning the key. Matt was emphatically nodding his head, his bulging eyes coercing him to just get it over with.