Nothing Special

by Geoff Herbach

  Then Gus said, “Hey Felton, can we talk?” His eyes were wide, his skin sort of gray.

  “You two stay in here. I’m going to take Andrew into the hall and beat the shit out of him,” Tovi said.

  “I’m not moving,” Andrew said.

  “Now, you little ass, or I’ll call your mother!” Tovi screamed.

  Andrew put down his book, stood, pushed past me, and followed Tovi into the hall.

  When the door slammed behind the two of them, Gus jumped off the bed, fast. He said, “Okay. Okay. Felton, man. We have trouble on many, many fronts. First of all, my dad called Hector Johns, that professor, who said he hadn’t heard from me. Then dad looked at his credit card statement on line and saw gas stops all the way from Iowa to Florida. Mom is out of her mind. They’re trying to get ahold of Jerri.”

  “Oh shit!”

  “Secondly, Andrew is a total lunatic. I don’t even recognize him, man. He almost took a swing at me in the lobby. I swear to God. That big, old dude singer with his band had to lift him up and carry him away from me. After he calmed down, he told me he’d take me out if I blew his plan. I don’t even know what his plan is, man, but I think I’m going to blow it.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, trying to get anchored. “What’s going on with your parents, first? Do they know where Jerri is?”

  “I don’t know where Jerri is,” Gus said.

  “She’s in Chicago until Tuesday. She’s with Aleah’s dad.”

  “Oh yeah. Why?”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Does anyone else know?” Gus asked.

  “Maybe Grandma Berba. Would your parents know how to get ahold of her?”

  “I don’t think so.” Gus shook his head. “They want us back in the car immediately, Felton. Mom said she’d call the cops if we’re not home tomorrow.”

  I thought about Andrew’s reaction to me being there. I thought about the possibility of Jerri finding out about my treachery. I thought about having to meet my grandfather who hated my dad (and me). I said, “Okay. Okay. Let’s go.”

  Gus squinted at me. His eyes watered. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “Seriously. Yes.”

  “You don’t have to go, Felton.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “But, you have some stuff going on.”

  “Yes. Some.”

  “Really, man,” Gus said. “I totally underestimated the shit you have going on. I sort of forgot about your dad this spring…”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “No,” Gus shook his head.

  “We can leave.”

  “You’re family is totally screwed,” Gus said.

  “Yes,” I agreed. I wanted to leave very badly.

  “Oh man.” Gus shook his head more. “I’m so sorry I punched you. I’m sorry I checked out on you this spring. I got pissed because you weren’t paying enough attention to me? That’s so weak…Why wouldn’t I be happy for you for finding your…destiny or whatever?”

  “We can leave, Gus. Let’s do it.”

  Gus shook his head a little. “You need to deal with this.”

  “No. No. This isn’t real. This isn’t mine, man. This is Andrew’s war. I don’t need to be here. I have a life of my…of my…”

  “Listen,” Gus spat. “This is the shit you’ll be running from forever if you don’t deal with it.”

  “Really?” I said. Was it true? Horror movie!

  “I’m going to get my ass grounded. I drove you all the way here. This is huge, man. The time is now. You need to stay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Gus breathed deep. “Okay. I’m going to help you.” Gus nodded.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  Gus and I stared at each other for a moment.

  Then Gus said, “Are we supposed to hug or something?”

  At that moment, Tovi came crashing through the door. Andrew crept in behind her, his head hung low. “Here’s the deal. Listen. Right now, Felton, you and Andrew are going to get a hot dog. You’re going to talk. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to Papa’s house. Felton, you’ll wear a disguise. We’re going to do this. Do you understand?”

  I looked at Tovi. I looked at Gus. Gus nodded at me.

  I said, “Okay.”

  Andrew grimaced.

  Tovi said, “And you. Whoever the hell you are.”

  Gus said, “Me?”

  “We’re going swimming. Right now. I’ve totally had it.”

  “I don’t know,” Gus said.

  “Come on,” Tovi shouted.

  Gus shrugged and looked at me. I shrugged.

  He went swimming, Aleah.

  August 17th, 12:23 p.m.

  Near Bradenton

  Here’s something I started thinking about that day, something I’ve been thinking about all summer, Aleah: my actions have an effect on crap. For my whole life, they really haven’t, but now they do.

  When I was a little kid, I couldn’t really do anything. I had no power to change anything. Gus and I were always there for each other because there weren’t any other choices. I had no other friends. He didn’t either. He didn’t have a girlfriend. We just were together. I didn’t know much and I couldn’t do much and whatever I did didn’t matter much. (Nobody got hurt; nobody got better.)

  Now I know about my dad and I have a weird brother who depends on me and I have teammates and I know that Jerri isn’t remotely perfect, and all the stuff I choose to do—like miss a camp at Michigan or go to Florida with Gus or miss my brother’s concert—makes all this other stuff happen or not happen.

  I have all this responsibility. Seriously. It makes me want to throw up sometimes. And it isn’t going away, I don’t think. I’m not ever going to brainlessly ride my Schwinn Varsity over to Gus’s house to watch a Muppet movie again, you know? That’s all gone.

  I want my family to be okay. I need them to be okay.

  Action, reaction. Whatever I do makes it better or worse. It took me many weeks to figure this out. I wasn’t ready last time I was in Florida.

  Just like Tovi told us to, Andrew and I walked to the DQ near the pier to talk. We walked in silence.

  We ordered our hot dogs (what Tovi ordered us to order) in silence.

  We sat and ate our hot dogs in silence.

  Finally, as Andrew was finishing his, while staring at the table in front of me, I said, “How can I help you?”

  “Fail to be born,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Disappear,” Andrew said.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “Go home,” he said.

  “I might. I really might. But I want to know why you’re so pissed. Then maybe I’ll make a decision.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Felton. I can’t get my old life back.”

  “What old life?”

  “The one where I don’t feel like a failure just for existing,” Andrew said.

  I didn’t know how to respond. Nothing like that had ever come from Andrew’s mouth. “Why would you say that?” I asked, after staring at him for like ten years.

  “Because,” Andrew said.

  “That’s a lame answer.”

  “You’re a lame answer.”

  “That’s not nice.”

  “You’re not…”

  “Don’t do that,” I spat.

  “Go home.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You should. You’re not wanted here,” Andrew said.

  “You’re not wanted here either. Tovi told me that our grandpa doesn’t even know you’re you.”

  “I have a better chance with him tha
n I do in Bluffton.”

  “Everybody loves you in Bluffton,” I said.

  “No they don’t,” Andrew said. “They hate me to my core.”

  “Jesus. What’s wrong with you, Andrew? Not true.”

  “Yes. That’s what I feel. I’m claiming my emotions,” he said. “I have a right to my emotions. Big Rod said I don’t have to hide behind you or Jerri or…or…

  “A child detective?”

  “Right. I can just be as mad as I am. And I’m very mad about how you’ve treated me, and I’m not just going to roll over and be happy to see you, okay? Because you’re terrible to me and just being related to me isn’t good enough anymore.”

  “How am I terrible to you?” I shouted. (What a dumb thing to ask, Aleah.)

  “Concert. Pharmacist. Tell me to get lost when I need you. Say ‘shake it off ’ when I’m very worried. Don’t listen when I talk. Don’t thank me for working all night on your website. Run fast…”

  “Run fast?”

  “Run! Fast!” Andrew shouted so loud everybody in the DQ stopped eating and started staring.

  “I can understand how it might make you feel pretty freaking crappy when I don’t show at your concert or when I call you a pharmacist or am ungrateful and mean, but I can’t really help it that I run fast.”

  “Are you going to apologize?”

  “For running fast?”

  “For everything else!” Andrew shouted.

  “Everything?”

  “You’re a big, fat, stupid jerk all the time!” Andrew screamed.

  Then came another voice. “You two. Get out. Now. Door. Go.” It was a man in a DQ hat and apron. He also had a mustache. He walked toward us fast, shaking his finger at us. “Door! Door! Now!”

  I jumped out of my chair and was out the door in a blink.

  I waited for like a minute. Andrew didn’t come out. I pressed my face to the glass. Andrew sat inside and shook his head at me. I opened the door and poked my head in. The mustache man was back behind the counter. He yelled, “Get out!”

  “What the hell?” I yelled at Andrew.

  “You just abandoned me again, Felton. Ran away without me. Left me to the dogs. But this isn’t Bluffton. This gentleman is making me a Heath Blizzard.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I shouted. All the people stared at me and shook their heads. “Did you tell him our business?”

  “Get out,” Andrew said.

  So I left. In retrospect, I failed my test by not getting Andrew out of the DQ with me.

  I have no idea what he told the mustache man to get a Heath Blizzard. But I was pissed. I vowed never to go to a DQ again (a vow I have since broken sixteen times).

  Then I sort of realized what I’d done by bolting so fast.

  Oh yes, it was a long, sad walk back down the beach to the White Shells. Here’s what I thought: I’m not only too fast, I’m a really terrible person and Andrew has finally figured it out. Now he’s gone completely apeshit in Florida, and it’s my fault.

  See how my actions create reactions? (A boy calls his brother a pharmacist; the brother turns Super Crazy-Ass.)

  I have responsibilities, Aleah. I do.

  Andrew didn’t come back to the room that night.

  “He’s started staying at Big Rod’s when I’m at Papa’s,” Tovi said. “He’s there, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”

  Gus looked worried.

  August 17th, 1:00 p.m.

  Just Left Bradenton

  Just a little more than two hours to go. I’m dreaming, Aleah. That’s what it feels like. The Florida ditches are dark green pools (water is everywhere) and the palm trees are bent and the clouds are blowing up and turning and look like crazy cartoons, and the stringy-haired woman in front of me is eating a whole bag of Utz potato chips—crunch, crackle bag, smack lips—which would normally make me hungry, but now makes me want to totally barf. Whoa.

  Andrew just texted that he’s coming with Tovi to the bus station. Nice.

  • • •

  More reaction: Boy misses brother’s spring concert; brother throws boy’s shoes in the ocean.

  Sound crazy? Yes. Crazy.

  Even though Andrew didn’t spend that night in the White Shells, he was there briefly, very early in the morning. I have a vague memory of him coming into the room at the cracker of dawn. I was on the floor, half asleep. Gus slept on a foldout cot Tovi ordered. Tovi slept in the bed. The door opened. Andrew tiptoed past me. He dug around for a moment, then was gone. I shut my eyes.

  About an hour later, Tovi woke Gus and me up, and we went for a swim in the gulf. It was amazing in there—warm like a bath and rolling and perfect, except Tovi told us we had to shuffle our feet going in so we wouldn’t step on any hidden stingrays. I asked her if she was kidding. She said, “Why would I kid about stingrays?”

  Scary.

  Out in the water, I told Gus that he was right. I had to deal with this crazy shit. I had to stay in Florida. “But you should go,” I told him.

  He didn’t really respond. He kept his eyeballs on Tovi the whole time, which sort of grossed me out because Tovi’s my cousin. (Of course she looks like a tennis player in a bikini, and I look like a freaking lumberjack or something.)

  The three of us didn’t talk much, just floated around in the warm water.

  I tried to relax but knew what was coming…a trip to Papa Stan’s.

  Gus is right. You have to deal with this shit…

  Not relaxing.

  When we got back to the room from swimming, Andrew was in there. He was dressed in tennis whites like for Wimbledon, except in the 1970s. He had on a collared shirt and short shorts and a red headband and red wristbands.

  “I was worried about you. Why didn’t you come back?” I asked him, my throat tense.

  Andrew didn’t respond.

  “Nice outfit,” I whispered. He looked up briefly, then went back to tying his white tennis shoes.

  “I wear this because Papa Stan would like me to play a classical game, like John McEnroe,” Andrew said.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Those are Papa’s old clothes,” Tovi said.

  “He’s as small as Andrew?” I asked, not believing a grown man could be so small.

  “I threw your running shoes in the ocean,” Andrew said, still not looking up.

  We all paused for a moment and stared at Andrew.

  “Mine?” Tovi asked. “I don’t have running shoes here.”

  “No,” Andrew said. “Felton’s.”

  “What?” I stood there staring at him, mouth dropped open. I’d worn flip-flops out to the beach, so I hadn’t looked for my shoes. That’s apparently why he’d come back to the room briefly. To get my shoes. “What?”

  “Oh crap, Andrew,” Tovi said. “Why?”

  Andrew sat up. “They floated for a long time. I thought they might wash back onto the beach, but then they went out to sea. I don’t really understand how the ocean works.”

  “It’s the gulf,” Tovi said. “You know that.”

  “Whatever.”

  “My shoes?” I shouted. “Why would you?” Adrenaline pulsed through my veins.

  “You still have your flip-flops,” Andrew said. “You don’t have to go barefoot.”

  “I can’t run in flip-flops, you jerk!”

  “I know. You can’t run and you can’t play tennis either.”

  “Andrew,” Tovi said, “you know Papa is going to want to hit.”

  “Yes,” Andrew nodded. “This will keep Felton from looking like our dad on the tennis court.”

  “Goddamn it, I love those shoes,” I said.

  “They’re on their way to Cuba,” Andrew said.

  “You didn’t have to throw his shoes,” Tovi said.
“Felton wouldn’t have to play.”

  “If there are balls around, Felton is going to chase them,” Andrew told her.

  “What are you talking about?” I shouted.

  “Lots of things,” Andrew said.

  “Papa should see him play sometime,” Tovi said. “Maybe not today, though, huh? Better ease in.”

  “My shoes.” I walked to the door to leave, to what? Go swim around in the Gulf of Mexico to find them?

  I stopped. I turned around and pointed at Andrew. “I should throw your big book in the ocean!” I shouted. Action, reaction. Bad reaction.

  “Poop flinger,” Andrew said.

  “You guys are so nuts,” Gus said.

  “We should go soon,” Andrew said. “I can’t stay for very long today. I have to be at sound check at six.”

  Yes, Andrew and the Golden Rods had a gig that night on the White Shells’ pool deck. (Wasn’t looking forward to that, Aleah.) I exhaled and shook my head. Very confused. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I can’t believe this.” I sat down on the bed and put my head in my hands.

  “Ridiculous, Andrew,” Tovi said.

  “No, not,” Andrew replied.

  I have to shower,” Tovi said. “The gulf is gross.” Then she dropped the towel she was wrapped in, and Gus almost fell on the floor. Tovi blushed because of Gus’s reaction. “What’s wrong with you?” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Gus said.

  Then she went into the bathroom.

  I almost cried about my shoes. I said, “I feel shackled.”

  Andrew whispered, “Join the club.”

  August 17th, 1:16 p.m.

  A Little Farther from Bradenton

  It just occurred to me that “shackled” is a good word for how I’ve been feeling ever since you stopped talking to me, Aleah. Recruiters watching me. Hamstring hampering me so I couldn’t race for State or run to feel good. Worried about football camp. Worried about Andrew. Even when football practice started a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t feel right.

  Everything seems like it’s moving faster than it’s supposed to because so much crap is crammed into every moment. At practice, the ball flies out of Cody’s hand, which is one thing, but at the same time I’m thinking about college and Andrew and you and Gus, and I can’t just catch the ball Cody throws. I have to catch it and think about all this other stuff, and that makes everything hard.