Rotten (9780545495899)

by Northrop, Michael

  I don’t mind her taking a few shots at me like that. I deserve it, and if I could fix this just by taking enough abuse, it’d be no problem. I’m good at that. But I can’t fix things that way. I’ve got to talk, like she said, really talk.

  That’s the problem. I’m not as good at that. I’m not good at it at all. But I have to try. I know that. I just don’t know how.

  I’m standing in the grass at the edge of my lawn, waiting for Rudy to pick me up for the first day of school. The bus has already come and gone, and I’m starting to think that maybe Rudy has forgotten about me. The only thing that’s keeping me from being more upset about this is the fact that I’m half-asleep.

  I stand perfectly still and listen. Rudy drives one of those cars that you can hear long before you can see it. It’s a complete beater, an ancient hand-me-down Ford Fiesta that is somehow still on the road, an automotive zombie, the rolling dead.

  A minute later, I hear it coming. It makes an irregular chugging sound, like one or more of its cylinders just isn’t trying anymore. We tried to get it up to eighty on a flat, wide-open stretch outside town once and I thought it was literally going to explode. I turn and watch it round the corner and come into view. This is the official start of my junior year. Shoot me now.

  Rudy is wearing his MUSTACHE RIDES 5 CENTS T-shirt. He doesn’t have a mustache, and may not be capable of one, but it’s one of the few T-shirts he has that won’t automatically land him in detention. A button-up shirt that probably covered it when he left his house is crumpled up next to him. We exchange greetings in a slurry of mumbles, but by the time we reach the parking lot, we’re both wide awake. It’s like a fight-or-flight thing, and our adrenaline has kicked in. He finds a spot and we climb out. Two rows up, I see Aaron’s Malibu. We hustle in, already borderline late.

  Solomon T. Dahlimer High School. I recognize it by the smell. We mostly call it Dahlimer, but the thing to do at football games is chant, “S-T-D! S-T-D!” Anyway, the first few periods are a blur of little adjustments: new schedules and classes, repainted hallways, and students who are either new or significantly changed.

  I see Mars a few times but it’s at a distance each time, and neither of us makes any effort to close it. He’s a level down and not in any of my classes. He’s not wearing his sling, but his hand is wrapped in so many layers of gauze and white tape, it looks like a polar bear paw. I see Aaron up close, but we don’t say more than a few words to each other the first time and mostly just nod after that. It’s early, and we’ve all got other things to think about.

  It’s not until lunch that the day really slows down and comes into focus.

  “I am not sitting with frickin’ Mars,” I say to Rudy as we head down the long back hallway that leads to the cafeteria.

  “Aw, you’re kidding me,” he says.

  “Dude, he’s suing my mom.”

  “OK, OK,” he says.

  We both start scoping out the hallway, because now we have to avoid sitting alone, or worse. We both know who we’re looking for, and we see a group of them in a side hallway outside the caf.

  We call them the Goonies. They’re not exactly our friends but sometimes we hang out with them at school, sit with them at lunch, that sort of thing. It’s not that we don’t get along with them; it’s just that we don’t feel the need to do more than that. I’m pretty sure they feel the same way about us. It’s more like an alliance, I guess.

  Randall, Jesse, and Tal — all Goonies — are talking to a kid I don’t know. He’s new and clearly a prospective Goonie. We head over to them.

  “S’up, losers,” says Rudy.

  “Ladies,” I say, gesturing toward the group.

  I say it like I mean it, because our number one job is to keep the stink of desperation from settling on us. If they realize we need to sit with them, they’ll lord it over us and piss on us the whole time.

  “Hey, what a coincidence,” says Jesse. “We were just telling Evan here that this school has a top-notch special ed program.”

  Rudy and I flip him off with a synchronized precision that impresses even us. Then we settle in and listen as they return to their regularly scheduled conversation. When it’s over, we all head to the caf together. The conversation is easy after that. All we have to do is complain about the food and express profound disbelief that we’re back here again.

  I scan the room as we find a spot. Mars is sitting with Aaron at a packed table near the windows. Mars sees me look over, checks who I’m with, and smirks. He raises his “injured” hand and waves. I raise my healthy one and flip him off. That particular muscle gets a lot of work on the first day of school. Really, you should start conditioning it the week before. Aaron watches us. I see the flash of blue as he flicks his eyes in this direction. You can always tell when he’s looking; you just can’t tell what he’s thinking. The Goonies watch, too.

  “Heard your dog bit Mars,” says Tal.

  “He’s full of crap,” I say.

  “I didn’t say he tasted good,” says Tal. “But is it true?”

  “Kind of,” I say, shrugging.

  I can see them all processing the information, trying to figure out what it means for the social landscape of our class. Is this just a feud between Mars and me, or is it more than that? All except for the new kid, Evan, who doesn’t know any of the people involved and knows better than to try to play catch-up. That’s smart. It’s pretty clear that if he doesn’t end up a Goonie, it’ll be because he turns them down, not vice versa.

  I keep tabs on Mars the whole time. I need to come up with some sort of strategy, something more productive than this low-boil hostility. Toward the end of lunch, I see him reach into his backpack and take out his sling. It’s still by far the cleanest, whitest thing he owns, and he starts putting it on right there. Why? I try to think along with him. It’s not that hard; he’s not that complicated. He must have gym next.

  I ask myself, What will he do now? And then I know that, too. At the end of lunch, Rudy and I are dumping out our trays and I say, “Catch you later.”

  “Sure,” he says, and I think he’s relieved to get a break from feud duty.

  Then I head to the men’s room in between the caf and the gym and wait. It requires some pretend hand washing and pawing through my backpack, just to avoid any suspicion that I’m in there to check out the dudes. I don’t have to wait long, though. Even better, the place is empty when Mars arrives.

  Mars probably registers that someone else is in the room, but he doesn’t look over, so he doesn’t realize it’s me. He stands in front of the metal mirror, adjusting his sling, getting it ready for show-time. I step in front of the door and lean back against it. Mars is crazier than me, but I’m bigger.

  “Take that stupid thing off,” I say, and he jumps about three feet straight up.

  “Oh, hey, man,” he says once he lands. He’s trying to look calm, and he actually gives the mirror a quick sideways glance to see how he’s doing.

  “Take it off, man,” I say.

  “You say that in here a lot?” he says.

  I take a step forward.

  “I need it!” he says, taking a step back.

  “For what?” I say.

  A small smile flashes across his face. He licks his lips and it’s gone. “To get out of gym,” he says.

  “Yeah, and for court,” I say. “This isn’t some joke, man. This is serious. This could be really bad.”

  “Should’ve thought of that before,” he says. “I’ve got nerve damage.”

  “You’ve got brain damage.”

  Someone starts to push the door. I wait for it to get about a foot open, then mule-kick it closed.

  “Ow!” I hear as it slams behind me. “What the —”

  “Occupied!” I shout without turning around.

  I wait a few beats, but the door stays closed. The timing is actually pretty good; Mars looks a little freaked. I’ve got his attention now. For a few seconds, we just stare at each other. He has a red sca
b under his left eye from a pimple he must’ve tried to pop too soon. I wonder which hand he used. Then, kind of pathetically, he says, “I’ve gotta get to gym.”

  “Not with that —” I start, but I reconsider. I’d dearly love to pound some sense into Mars right now, but it wouldn’t solve anything: He’s sense-proof and would just show up tomorrow in a fake body cast. I take a breath and my nose fills with the rank smell of the boys’ room. I remind myself: strategy, not hostility. I start again.

  “Listen, man,” I say.

  This is the second time I’ve tried this sort of changeup on Mars and he recognizes it immediately. His shoulders relax and his mouth turns up in half a smirk. He remembers that, cornered or not, he’s in the driver’s seat here.

  “Yeah?” he says.

  “You gotta let this drop,” I say.

  “Not my call,” he says. “They haven’t asked me once.”

  An honest answer is the last thing I expect from Mars right now, and I have no idea how to respond. He goes on.

  “My whole thing is just to be injured,” he says. “It’s, like, my job. Mom’s job is doing the law stuff, the lawyer.”

  It’s funny how, no matter what is going on, your brain can’t help identifying a potential joke. Seriously, you could be at a funeral and the priest could set one up, and everyone would be standing there, dressed in black and thinking it. I go ahead and say it.

  “Your mom is doing the lawyer?”

  “Phhh,” he says.

  “I’m serious, man,” I say. “My mom doesn’t make that much money. Just keeping the house is killing her. And the judge, he could have JR put to sleep. Which is lame.”

  “Yeah, what has he ever done for me except bite me?” he says. “Maybe he is dangerous?”

  It comes out as a question. He’s hoping it’s true.

  “He’s not. He just doesn’t like to be cornered.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t, either,” says Mars. He has a point.

  The door starts to open behind me again. I think Mars will use the opportunity to push past me, but he just stands there. We both turn to see who it is. I don’t recognize him, and he’s really scrawny. Put those two things together and he’s a freshman, a nobody. He stands there, just inside the door. He can tell something’s going on.

  “Hey,” he says.

  Neither of us answers. He turns around and leaves. It’s the first day of school, and we’re the guys his mother warned him about.

  I turn back toward Mars. We’re both going to be late now. We’ll both end up using the same excuse: new schedule, got confused.

  “But you can talk to your mom,” I say. “Or talk to your dad.”

  “Yeah, right,” he says.

  “You don’t have to go along with, you know, the ‘nerve damage,’” I say.

  I stop there. I saw him put on the sling at lunch; I saw him without it all day. I know he’s lying, just like I know he’s lying about how it happened. I’m just not sure it’ll help to say so. We’re alone here in this little room that smells like piss, but Mars is being way more honest than I expected.

  “I suppose I could make a dramatic recovery,” he says.

  “Yeah!” I say, a little too fast.

  Mars looks to both sides, as if he has to double-check that no one else is in here.

  “But why should I?” he says.

  “Because,” I start. I really should’ve had an answer ready for that one. “Because you should. It’s, you know.”

  I can’t stand here and say, “It’s the right thing to do,” to Mars. Who am I, Captain America?

  “If we get all that money, I’ll get at least some,” he says. “Which is more than I’ve got now.”

  “All what money?” I say. “We don’t have —”

  “You give me something,” he says, cutting me off.

  “What?”

  “Something.”

  “I don’t have,” I say. “I have, like, nothing. Basically.”

  Out in the hall, the bell goes off.

  “You have information,” he says.

  “About what?” I say. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “You’re finally going to tell me.”

  I don’t bother with any of my standard denials, just like he didn’t bother with any of his. I breathe in. The truth — it really does smell like crap sometimes.

  “You really want to know that bad?”

  “Sure,” he says. “I mean, we’ve known each other for forever, man. This is, like, the first thing I don’t really know about you, and that kind of bothers me. And we’re friends, right? We’re supposed to be, and so maybe I don’t feel too good about this, either. But you’ve got to give me something. Even if I don’t really want to go through with all this anyway, I still need something for it.”

  It sounds almost reasonable when he puts it that way, like a favor between friends or, what do they call that, a good-faith gesture? I want to believe him.

  “But you can’t tell anyone,” I say.

  “Aaron,” he says.

  “Other than that,” I say. “And then you’ll, like, drop it?”

  “Then I’ll see what I can do,” he says, spreading his hands in front of him like a movie mobster, cutting a deal.

  Dammit. I might have to do this.

  “But no more bull,” he says. “The truth, all of it, for real.”

  “Course,” I say.

  “So?” he says.

  “Not now,” I say, just stalling. “You’ve got to get to gym.”

  “Yeah, right,” he says. “When, then?”

  I look at him. I have to do this. But there’s something else I have to do first.

  “Tomorrow morning, before homeroom.”

  I’m in kind of a daze by the last class of the day, even more than usual. It’s English. I look around for familiar faces and get a seat next to Rudy, on the far side of Aaron. Janie’s in the front, not looking at me. I have a good view of the back of her head and her neck. If we keep these seats all year, it’s going to end up driving me insane. I try to think of something else.

  “You read any of the books?” I ask Rudy.

  He sits up straight, pushes a finger along the bridge of his nose like he’s adjusting a pair of glasses, and says, “I did extensive research online.”

  He read the summaries on Wikipedia. I let out a quick laugh.

  Aaron looks over. “What?”

  I let Rudy answer. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s stupid.”

  “Yeah, speaking of stupid,” says Aaron. “What were you doing with the Goonies today?”

  Rudy points to me, as if that explains everything. Aaron looks me in the eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “You two need to get that fixed.”

  “What?” I say. As if this was just some misunderstanding or something. It’s just like him to grade Mars on a curve like that. Still, getting it fixed is exactly what I’m trying to do. Maybe he already knows.

  “You heard me,” says Aaron.

  I let it drop. Getting into it with him is a bad idea. If I tell Mars, it’s the same as telling Aaron. At least Mars was upfront about that, but how do I know that’s as far as it would go?

  Class starts and Mr. Kibbee writes the name of our first book on the dry-erase board with a bright red marker. It’s from our reading list: Guess which one. If you bet one hundred dollars that it isn’t the one I’d read and then doubled down that it isn’t the one whose miniseries I just started, then congratulations. You are now rich.

  This book is called Things Fall Apart. … Tell me about it. People start going through their bags for their copies. Not me, I wasn’t going to bring all three just to see which one he picked first.

  All around me, my classmates are getting a head start on what promises to be a full year’s worth of diligent brownnosing. “This was intense!” says Edgar, dropping the book on his desk. “Seriously!” says Jason, pulling his copy out of his backpack like he’s producing a rabbit out of a hat.

  Janie turns and lo
oks at me. She knows I didn’t read this one, and since it was on the list, we won’t be given any time to now. We’ll just go straight into discussing it, and I’ll go straight into keeping my hand down and avoiding Kibbee’s eyes. She makes her eyes wide with fake surprise, like: Wow, a book from our summer reading list. Who would’ve thought?

  She’s kind of being a jerk, but all I can think is how good she looks. Her eyes look lighter against her summer tan. I nod, conceding defeat, and she turns back around.

  The rest of class goes as slowly as you’d expect, but eventually it crawls across the finish line. The first day of school is in the books, even if I haven’t read them, and Rudy and I are heading toward the student parking lot. He’s talking rapid fire about which girls are in which of his classes. Amanda Lehane is in two of them and may or may not have gotten breast implants.

  “I say yes,” he says. “What do you think?”

  “Yeah, probably,” I say. “I mean, the change is pretty noticeable.”

  “I guess it could just be, like, some very strategic growth.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a little too strategic. What did she do, make a wish when she blew out her birthday candles?”

  “Wish she’d blow out my birthday candle,” he says.

  As we push through the double doors, I see Aaron’s car roll through the stop sign at the edge of the lot and accelerate smoothly up the hill toward the traffic light.

  “— cost?” says Rudy.

  “What?” I say. I missed the question.

  “Are they expensive?” he says. “Boob jobs?”

  “I think it depends,” I say.

  It’s not much of an answer, but I’m about 100 percent distracted. If I’m going to tell Mars (maybe) and he’ll tell Aaron (obviously) and neither of them can be completely trusted (probably), then I’ve got to tell Rudy first.

  This all sucks. I don’t like being backed into a corner any more than JR does. But Rudy can’t hear it secondhand. I owe him that. Well, more than that, but that’ll have to do. “Hey, man,” I say. “Can we, like, take the long way back, like Mill Pond maybe?”