OUTCAST: A Good Guys Novel

by Jamie Schlosser

  One was when she’d placed second in her elementary school art fair. The other was when she’d won a spelling bee. The child in the pictures seemed happy, but smiles could be deceiving.

  “It’s just so crazy to see someone so smart, with so much potential, with such a bright future ahead…” Kayla trailed off as her finger gently skimmed over the black-and-white photo of the little girl holding up the spelling bee trophy. “And then her life turned out the way it did.”

  Rubbing circles on her back, I made a sound of agreement. It didn’t seem fair, but for selfish reasons, I wouldn’t change any of the history being laid out in front of us. Every misstep and mistake Melanie made led to Kayla’s existence. The tragic circumstances of her life created something beautiful and priceless.

  I just wished the outcome could’ve been better for them both.

  Among the papers, we’d also found out Melanie’s parents had died in the past several years, and she’d been an only child. There was no other family for Kayla to seek out. Seemed like everywhere she looked, there were dead ends.

  “What about your father?” I asked, stroking her hair. “We can keep looking. I’ll help you.”

  Turning her head my way, she gave a tiny smile. “I really appreciate that, but I don’t want to. Maybe it’s because I already have two great dads. Or maybe it’s because I’m better off not knowing.”

  I understood what she meant. “How do you feel about everything now that you’ve seen it?”

  She took several seconds to think about her reply.

  “I’m okay. I feel like it’s changed me, though.” Frowning, she anxiously picked at her thumbnail. “The worst part is, she was there the whole time, right under my nose. Shauna’s shelter is ten blocks away from my parents’ law office. The alley where Melanie died? Just two miles away. Ezra, I lived in Cleveland for fourteen years. How many homeless people have I seen on the street there? How many have I ignored? I could’ve walked right past her and never even realized it.”

  Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her against my chest and twined one of her curls around my finger. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. You had nothing to do with any of it, just like I didn’t cause the stuff that happened to me. I wish it’d turned out differently for you, but I think we should make a vow to move forward. Just do the best we can with what we’ve learned.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “So what do you want to do tonight?” I asked, changing the subject. “As long as we don’t have to leave the apartment, we can do whatever we want.”

  “Staying in sounds amazing to me, but you know we can’t hide away forever.”

  Letting out a grunt, I closed my eyes when Kayla began absentmindedly running her fingers through my hair. “I’m not looking forward to class on Monday. I hate being the center of attention.”

  Needing to touch her too, my hand found her thigh and my thumb grazed over the thin material of her pants.

  “I know,” she said. “And unfortunately, most of the information people will be going off of will be rumors. But like Rob told you earlier, it’s best to keep quiet for now. I just wish there was a way to show people what you went through and how wrong it is. To somehow make them feel what you felt.”

  At her words, an idea sparked in my mind. My heart hammered in my chest because it was crazy, disturbing, and unconventional.

  But it just might work.

  Excited, I locked eyes with her and said, “Maybe there is.”

  Apparently, my worry about making enemies was all for nothing. People were more likely to hug me than hit me.

  Other than a few minor grumblings about missing the out-of-control parties, the overall opinion on campus was unanimous: Hazing sucks, and you absolutely do not fuck with someone’s dog.

  All week long I’d been attending my classes, using my cane, riding the bus, and accepting rides from Kayla whenever she could drive me. I tried to keep my head down, but I couldn’t avoid the concerned questions people kept bombarding me with.

  Are you okay? Where is your service dog? Did you really get beat up by a dozen Pi Kaps at the same time?

  Obviously, that last one was pure fabrication. The rumors had taken on a life of their own, and I’d done my best not to feed into any of it. If anyone was particularly persistent, then I simply told them to come by Drawing 101 on Thursday at 9 a.m.

  I didn’t give them a reason. Didn’t warn them about what they would see. I just tossed out the invite and waited to see if their curiosity would get the best of them.

  I just had no idea so many of them would show up.

  There were literally hundreds of students here.

  Heat crept up my neck as I took in the packed room. All the seats were taken, and people bunched together wherever they could find a place to stand.

  The large audience had left several art students shaken as they’d made their presentations, confusion evident on their faces. They didn’t understand why so many people were here.

  But I did.

  Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I shot Kayla a nervous glance and she returned with a confident nod. Rob was next to her, here as my lawyer and for emotional support. He gave me a thumbs up.

  I could do this.

  Using my passion, I could grant Kayla’s wish to show people what I went through. I could tell my story with nameless, faceless drawings. I could make people react, feel, and experience.

  For as long as I could remember, art had been my sanctuary, my happy place, and now it was going to be my weapon. There was a freedom in it. I could express whatever I wanted, without compromising the case.

  I was used to drawing beautiful things. Things that made me happy. Things I loved.

  But that wasn’t going to change anyone. Pleasant things made people comfortable, and comfortable wasn’t always memorable. If I wanted to make a difference, I was going to have to make people squirm.

  And that was why I was sure my presentation would make an impact.

  Now I had a new understanding for Ed. Maybe he wasn’t a psycho. Sure, his slideshow had been gross, but I would never forget that shit. That was the kind of stuff students would be talking about for years.

  As soon as I’d decided what to do for my presentation, I got to work. When I wasn’t at class, I was feverishly drawing the scenes from memory.

  I’d spent the last several days drowning in it. Every now and then, I was somewhat aware of Kayla pushing food under my nose. She and Pierre hung out with me, patiently waiting for me to come up for air, then let me go back under when I was ready.

  And when it became too overwhelming, too difficult to relive, Kayla was there to pull me back from that dark place with her kisses, her words, her touch, her body.

  On Monday, I’d emailed Ed, telling him of my plan and requesting to go last. I also invited the dean, and he was front row and center, right next to Kayla.

  Nodding at me, her face was serious when she mouthed, “You can do it.”

  Her confidence gave me the strength I needed to follow through with this. The issue at hand was too important to ignore.

  So far, the investigation had led to all kinds of allegations. Former—and current—members were coming forward with accusations of hazing, their own stories as bad as my own, if not worse. And other more sinister things had come to light. Things like date rape, drugs, and a member’s near-death from alcohol poisoning.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed the button that projected the first drawing onto the large screen.

  We weren’t supposed to give explanations before our presentations, letting the art speak for itself. And my art had a lot to say.

  When it came to the events that occurred, I showed the unfiltered truth. The sheer ugliness of it. I didn’t spare any detail, except for the faces. Those were just shapes and shadows of contorted features. It made the scenes even more haunting and disturbing.

  Reactions came in the form of sounds as I flipped from one slide to the next.


  Silence when Patrick was forced to drink The Mindfuck. Some shocked laughs when Aaron gave his strip show. A few sympathetic groans when I switched to the picture of Patrick getting puked on at that party.

  These could all be interpreted as harmless fun. My guess was, most people had been to parties where things like that happened.

  I hit the ‘next’ button.

  Gasps filled the room at the image of guys being sprayed with the hose in the dark basement. Four figures sat on the floor with slumped shoulders. I’d drawn a timer on the wall with an eight-hour countdown.

  I heard a couple gags at the scene with the onions, vomit buckets, and the aftermath. One student uttered a horrified, “What the fuck?”

  On Sunday, I’d had Jeff come over to describe what it was like so I could be as accurate as possible. According to him, Aaron had cried like a baby when puke came out his nose.

  Then I made it to the last picture.

  Several girls in the class started crying at the image of hands trying to force a beer bong into Pierre’s mouth, his brown eyes wide and full of fear as he resisted. One girl ran from the room with her hand clamped over her mouth.

  I left it up, letting people study it. That one had been particularly hard to draw. Putting it to life on paper, being able to visualize it… It was painful and emotionally taxing.

  But at least I’d done it justice.

  Minutes passed as tense faces stared at the screen. I looked out at the crowd and saw clenched jaws, red-rimmed eyes, and gaping mouths.

  And I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d stood up for myself and many others using the tool that had always gotten me through hard times in life.

  “Thank you,” I said, ending my presentation, but I deliberately left the picture of Pierre on.

  Several hands shot up, and Ed stood from his chair. “No questions, please.”

  Nodding at him, I began stepping back to my chair, still needing to lean on the cane for support.

  “Is your dog okay?” The voice came from a tearful blonde in the second row, wiping at her eyes underneath her glasses as she tried to compose herself.

  My heart warmed at how much everyone seemed to care about Pierre. He was the real hero here. After decades of abuse and illegal activity within an organization, it was a dog-knapping that was the catalyst for their downfall.

  “He’s on the mend,” I assured her, keeping my answer vague. Everyone was still watching me, but it didn’t feel like they were judging me. It was admiration. I had their respect. And while I had their undivided attention, I wanted to ask a question of my own. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about…” I pointed at the screen. “Why is it so upsetting when this happens to a dog?”

  The girl who asked the question quickly answered, “Because pets are gentle, innocent creatures. They’re unable to consent or defend themselves.”

  I saw many heads bob in agreement.

  “I feel the same way,” I told the class. “What about a girl who’s too intoxicated to speak up? What about a guy who just wants friends so desperately, he’ll compromise his beliefs and go against his instincts to get it?”

  Silence. I didn’t expect to get answers. I just wanted everyone to be left with something to think about.

  Ed cut in with a dramatic slow clap, but everyone was too lost in thought to join him. “That concludes today’s class.”

  Quiet murmurs and hushed whispers filled the room as everyone shuffled toward the door.

  Blowing out a breath, I walked over to Kayla and Rob while trying to slow my heart. Now that it was over, adrenaline was hitting me like a wrecking ball.

  I felt alive—dizzy and close to passing out—but alive nonetheless.

  My lips tipped up. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  Kayla engulfed me in a hug. “You totally kicked ass.”

  “Yes, you did.” Rob clapped me on the back.

  Dean Campbell cleared his throat and straightened his gray suit. “Mr. Johnson, that was really something. Thank you for inviting me.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it. “I’ve got some work cut out for me around here, but you have my word that nothing like this will happen at McAdams again.”

  “I appreciate that.” I watched him go, and as the last of the lingering students left, Ed came over with a goofy grin on his face.

  “Ezra, this was the most successful turnout I’ve ever had for this project. I’m not just talking about attendance, but the reactions. Truly moving material.”

  “Thanks. I just wanted to provide an eye-opening experience.”

  “You certainly succeeded. Do you have any other material like this?”

  “Not like this, no.” I thought about all the other subjects I’d wanted to draw, but hadn’t yet. Childhood bullying. Discrimination. Homelessness. If he wanted moving material of social injustice, I could provide it.

  “I’d have to talk to the head of the department, but I bet I could get you an opening at the gallery next year.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Really? The college gallery isn’t usually available to undergrad students.”

  He nodded. “That’s correct. I think we could make an exception though.”

  I grinned, because even though art wasn’t something I wanted as a career, I could still make it useful.

  After a celebratory lunch at Rocky’s, Rob and Kayla drove me back to campus for my pottery class. I was still coming down from the high of this morning when I got out of the car and Kayla stepped out with me.

  “I’m so proud of you.” She jumped up on her tiptoes to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at home.”

  Happiness filled my chest as I watched them drive away. It was a slip of the tongue, her calling my apartment home. But it told me what I loved to hear.

  I was her home.

  Me: Are you out of pottery class yet? I’ve got a major SOS going on in your kitchen right now. Send reinforcements stat.

  Ezra: What’s wrong?

  I didn’t want him to worry, because it wasn’t a life-or-death situation. Just another Pinterest fail waiting to happen.

  Cringing, I surveyed the mess I’d made while trying to mass produce pet rocks. Several cookie trays of sparkling lumps were littered around the countertops and on the table. It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if the glitter had stayed inside the trays.

  It looked like a Troll had eaten a bunch of rainbows and had explosive diarrhea everywhere. The floor. The sink. Even on the cabinets.

  Using six different colors might’ve been a bit overkill.

  I sighed, resigned to this inevitable outcome.

  Me: I just shouldn’t do crafts ever.

  Ezra: Haha. Another creation gone wrong?

  Me: You’ll see. I’m apologizing in advance for what I did to your kitchen.

  Ezra: I’ll be sure to have my camera ready.

  Rolling my eyes, I tried to find a surface that wasn’t covered in glitter to set the phone down on, but there was none.

  The screen was already spattered in the stuff anyway, so it didn’t really matter. I shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans, which were also smudged with an array of multi-colored sparkles. And so was my yellow tank top. And my fingers and arms.

  I was afraid to look in the mirror.

  Sensing my distress, Pierre hobbled over and huffed at me. His bandages were off now, but he was getting restless. Obviously, he was anxious to get back to work, but his injuries weren’t healed all the way yet. Soon he’d be good as new.

  “Everything’s fine,” I told him with a wave of my glitter-covered hand. “And unless you want to get bedazzled, too, you better go lie down.”

  He heeded my warning and went to his bed.

  Ten minutes later, I heard the door open behind me, followed by Ezra’s sexy voice. “Hey, baby.”

  I pivoted—hands up—ready to show him what he was walking into, when a bright flash went off. He hadn’t been kidding about having the camera ready.

  “H
oly shit, you look like a human disco ball. That’s photo-album gold.” He laughed, pointing at my face. “Speaking of gold, so is your nose. Or is that yellow?”

  I wiped at my face with my forearm, but probably only resulted in smearing it around more. “Ten years from now, the new residents in this apartment will probably still be finding glitter in the crevices, wondering what the hell happened in here.”

  Grinning, Ezra picked up a purple rock and admired my work. “I think they look awesome.”

  “Thanks.” I turned back to the rocks. “I got 200 of them done. Now they just have to dry, then I can glue on the eyes tomorrow night.”

  Despite how messy I was, Ezra’s arms came around me from behind like he didn’t even care if it got on him, as long as he could touch me. “I can help you finish them.”

  “You’d do that? You’ll be picking glitter out from under your fingernails for weeks.”

  Chuckling, he nuzzled my neck. “I don’t care. I can’t guarantee they’ll look right, but I think what you’re doing for the shelter is amazing and I want to help.”

  “It’s a date.” I turned my head to kiss his temple.

  First thing Monday morning, I’d called Shauna to ask her about the fundraiser she’d mentioned. She thought selling the pet rocks at their annual Thanksgiving event would be successful, because people from all over participated in the homeless-awareness overnight campout on the streets. The rocks would make great stocking stuffers, she’d said. We were going to call it ‘Rocking around the Christmas Tree.’

  It shouldn’t have surprised me that Ezra would want to be included. Since last weekend, we’d basically been attached at the hip.

  I was working less because Rocky had hired two new servers who seemed to know what they’re doing, and Paul turned out to be a machine. Not only had he been washing the dishes, but he was busing tables and cleaning like a madman. Being given a chance had led to a wonderful transformation, inside and out. I’d barely recognized him the first time I saw him clean-shaven.

  With Ezra’s arms still around me, I snagged a paper towel and began attempting to wipe down the stove top.