by Tom Twitchel
Awesome.
After school, I got on the bus without seeing them but I thought I saw Witkowski’s car, a dark blue Barracuda, following behind for a couple of blocks. When I got dropped off at my stop, I didn’t see it. Baffle’s behavior after the dance had been ridiculous, but if he helped Witkowski and Munger ambush me, I was going to have to do more than just stew over it.
Baffle had essentially torched our friendship and I wasn’t feeling all that great as I walked into my building and trudged up the stairs.
Moments and times like this were when my thoughts drifted to Billy and my mom. Anger, wistfulness and just plain old “wanting” went to war in my heart. I wondered what she was doing right now. Did she have a new family that she loved better? Did she think about Billy and me? Did she regret leaving us? Not for the first time, I wondered how she could have done it. And Billy, was he safe? Was he living with my aunt, Barbara? I hoped so. He would be six or seven now. Too small to protect himself, but hopefully also too small to attract much of Dennis’ anger. I tried not to spend too much time thinking about Dennis.
Finally arriving at my door, I unlocked it, dropped my pack inside and headed for the kitchen. Nuking a burrito first, I grabbed a soda from the fridge and sat on a barstool at the counter trying to get motivated to do homework. Looking out the windows at the train tracks, I glanced at the cheap dinette set Maddy had made me buy right before school started. It had been a steal on Craigslist. Fifty bucks and it had managed to make my place look more like a home with a mom and a kid. I rarely used it, but it looked homey.
I was almost able to push the wistful thoughts of Billy and my mom out of my head but not quite.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
High school always slips in a little curve ball when life gets boring. All of the drama surrounding Homecoming had kind of soured me on dances, but within just a few weeks, there was something new for me to worry about, another dance. Kids at school were busy getting wound up about Morp and the weekend football game. I’d just survived one dance and wasn’t interested in signing up for another go at something that I obviously sucked at. History class had been covering tribal behavior and it seemed very similar to the estrogen and testosterone-fueled activity going on around me.
Nights at Mr. Goodturn’s were my only relief. Working on my knacks and exploring the culinary delights of German cooking made the weeks bearable, that and weekends with Maddy at the park.
As the dance drew nearer, it slowly dawned on me that since Justine had asked me to Homecoming, it was almost a given that she was going to ask me to Morp. We weren’t actually dating and I didn’t want to go. You would think that would be all there was to it. You, and I, would be wrong.
She asked me at lunch the Monday of the dance and I clumsily avoided answering her. Her friends got up in my business about it, some nice and some really pushy. I was feeling pressed from all sides.
So, by Thursday, Justine was looking hurt and confused, which made me feel like a jerk. When I walked into homeroom, she wouldn’t look at me.
“Hey,” I said, hoping we could get past this and still be friends.
“Hey,” She responded without turning to look at me.
Sighing, I said, “Justine, I can’t go to Morp. I’m grounded.” Now, obviously that wasn’t true, but my mom certainly wasn’t ever going to find out and I thought that it would spare Justine’s feelings.
Turning to me, she frowned slightly, her eyes flashing. “Really? Are you sure it isn’t your friend Maddy?”
Uh oh. I instantly found myself on very thin ice. Dealing with Maddy’s moodiness was part of why I didn’t want to go.
“No. I’m grounded. I should have said something before, but I thought she might change her mind. Besides, I think Baffle’s going and that would be a drag.”
“I waited for you, Benny. Now I might not have a date. How is that fair to me?” she said, the hurt in her voice was easy to hear.
“Look, I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you somehow?” Careful moron, I told myself. That’s how you get into situations that create more problems.
She shook her head and turned away from me. I thought I saw a tear splash on her desk. “No. I should have seen this coming. I knew she wanted to be there with you. That’s why I kept throwing myself at you. It didn’t seem like she got the message though. Every time I turned around, she was looking at us, at you.”
“Justine, I’m grounded. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” And I was sorry. Seeing her hurt and upset made me feel terrible.
I heard her sniff, but she still wouldn’t look at me.
“I’m going to ask Russell Chu.”
A little pain stabbed at my heart. I didn’t want her to go with someone else, but I knew it wasn’t fair to her. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” she whispered.
Homeroom couldn’t get over fast enough.
Lunch was no better.
Sitting at my usual spot, Justine and her friends made a point of not eating with me. My tenuous relationship with her friends was totally dependent on my relationship with her. I was “persona non grata,” which our Spanish teacher, who loved quoting Latin, explained meant being cast out or shunned by your social group. Yep. That was the island I was on.
Not to worry. Munger and his entire crew joined me. My only consolation was that Baffle wasn’t there too.
“Hey bitch, what’s up?” said Coby as he sat down next to me and helped himself to a French fry off my plate.
Now, here’s a thought: where was this going to go? Trade insults? Maybe toss some food at each other? He would threaten me. I would tell him where he could go and then what? His friends were there for moral support, but there wasn’t going to be a beat down. The caf monitor wasn’t going to let it get that far, and I could see her tuning in to our unfamiliar grouping. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Justine looking in our direction too. I was so tired of getting harassed by the school punks. I mean, seriously? Let’s mess with the cripple? The beating I’d received from Dennis, Mike trying to kill me, the druggie trying to mug me, and Miss Lapham and her crap all spun through my mind.
“Coby, is there any way we can just forget this?” I asked, already confident in what his answer was going to be.
“Not a chance crip. Guess what’s going to happen after school today?” He grinned, his sour breath right in my face.
So, what to do? He was sitting on my right leaning in, waiting for my response.
I gave him one.
Turning slightly to my left, giving the appearance that I was trying to shy away from him, he leaned even closer. I cocked my right elbow and then brought it backward using my knack to drive it as hard as I could right into his nose. My whole arm went numb from the impact.
The result was devastating.
He flew back, but his legs were trapped between the bench and the table so he landed on his shoulders with half his body still on the bench, out cold. His friend on my left tried to grab my shirt but I reached out with my knack, using it to increase the force behind my arm, which I threw into his chest throwing him off balance so that he fell sideways off the bench into another member of their posse. Coby laid with his head dangling back, blood gushing from his nose. I stood up and yelled at the monitor who was running toward us.
“How about a little help?!” I snapped at her. I mean, where had she been a minute ago?
Just a few minutes later, I was walking the now familiar route to the vice-principal’s office.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was a long line waiting to be interviewed and I didn’t get to go until last. Justine and a couple of her girlfriends went in first, then some random kids I didn’t know well, followed by members of Munger’s group. Most of them looked at me on the way out. Justine wouldn’t meet my eyes; what had she said? Had she thrown me under the bus? Coby was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the nurse’s office getting his bloody nose worked on. He was probably going to sport a pair of shiners from what I was sure was
a broken nose.
By the time I was sent to Mr. Conroy’s office, I was worried. I’d been stupid. I had allowed Coby and all my ugliest memories to lead me to do something that was going to get me into really big trouble. It was probably going to result in a parent-teacher conference. My nervousness wasn’t an act.
Mr. Conroy was in his black chair, haircut standing ramrod straight but looking grayer than the last time I’d seen him. He looked very unhappy and tired; the lines in his face were very pronounced. There was a yellow legal pad in front of him with a lot of notes on it.
He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “I’ve just heard the most ridiculously contradictory versions of the events that took place in the cafeteria. Care to enlighten me? Am I going to get another stunningly honest report from you?”
Misery flooded through every fiber of my body. “Yes, sir.” The jokey nature of our last talk was completely absent.
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Let’s hear it.” Leaning back but keeping his hands on the desk, he gave me a hard stare.
“I was sitting by myself. Coby and his gang crowded around me. He grabbed food off my plate and called me a name.” Did that sound weak and pathetic?
He looked down at his notes, lifted a page to look at something he had written there, wrote something down. Lips pursed, he said, “And then?”
“I asked him if we could just let it go. Stop,” I said. I was having a little trouble remembering the sequence of events.
“You said that? You essentially attempted to diffuse the situation?” he scribbled another short note, and then stared at me waiting for me to continue.
“Yeah. He blew it off.”
“So then what?” He was really giving me “the hairy eyeball.”
“He said ‘No.’ Then he made fun of my disability, called me a ‘crip,’ and threatened me. He asked me if I knew what was going to happen to me after school.”
He flipped through a few pages and then scribbled something else. He looked back up at me.
“Then I hit him in the nose. He fell off the bench. His friend did too, after I shoved him. Then I got sent here.”
Pushing the legal pad aside, he leaned forward, frowning slightly. “I thought we had an agreement, Benjamin.”
“Yes, sir. But I didn’t start it. He…” I began.
Raising a hand and waving it at me, he interrupted. “Stop. You don’t have to tell me about Coby Munger and his cronies. The students who aren’t part of his…group gave a version that’s close to yours. We’re probably going to expel Coby for bullying and using slurs related to your handicap. That’s a hate crime. And I’ll hand out some discipline to the other boys too. I’m not stupid, Benjamin. I know what’s going on here. But what I don’t understand is why you responded the way you did. You threw the first punch and you broke his nose. Thank God, there’s no video this time. But this is the second time you’ve used physical force on him.”
My face felt warm and a huge lump formed in my throat. I didn’t respond. I was afraid if I said something that I would lose it.
His eyes narrowed. I guess he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head. Good luck with that, I thought.
“Do you understand what I’m saying Benny?” he said. “You’ve hurt this boy, regardless of what kind of human being he is, twice. What do you have to say about that?”
Against my will, I felt my eyes brimming but I refused to cry. I paused to get my voice under control.
“Do you know why I limp Mr. Conroy?”
“No, I…”
“My dad got drunk one night and threw me down the stairs. Then he kicked me and broke my leg.”
Mr. Conroy swallowed but didn’t say anything. His eyes glistened.
“I never did anything to Coby and his friends. He tripped me in the hall for no reason except that he felt like it. I never did anything to Rusty either. But he picked on me anyway. Last year, I was out in a park too late in the evening and some guy mugged me and almost killed me.” My voice was shaking and although I wasn’t sniveling, the tears kept leaking out of my eyes and dripping down my chin.
“After Homecoming, one of my best friends got jealous and kicked me out of his car and left me stranded up in Queen Anne. On my way home some tweaker gave me this.” I pointed to the faint scars on my face.
Mr. Conroy rubbed at his eyes. “Benjamin…”
“Mr. Conroy, I’m tired of getting beat up. I’m tired of being scared. And I’m really, really sorry if I let you down but I just couldn’t take it today. He just wanted to take everything I have left away from me, make me afraid. And I couldn’t let him do it. I know it wasn’t right, but I can’t say that I’m all that sorry.” What I said hadn’t been planned. It had all just tumbled out of my mouth. I felt vulnerable.
He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a box of tissue. He pulled one and blew his nose. Then he pushed the box over to me.
Looking at me with red-rimmed eyes, he took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do here, Benjamin. But after that story, I am not going to turn my back on you. But I want you to think about this quote: The first man to raise his fists is the first man to run out of ideas.”
Then it hit me: Justine’s not being willing to look at me wasn’t because she’d sold me out. She was too decent a person to do that, no matter how mad she was at me. She hadn’t looked at me because she was embarrassed, for me. When I’d slammed my elbow into Coby Munger’s face, I’d lowered myself to his level. I’d gotten right down in the dirt and acted just like him.
If I was going to use my knacks in my everyday life, I was going to have to develop a code so that I didn’t end up being just a different version of Coby and his goons.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My reward for getting into it with Munger was detention, all month long; a week of in-school suspension; and a parent-teacher conference, or more accurately, a parent-vice-principal conference.
Perfect.
Mr. Goodturn didn’t know it yet, but he had been promoted to next of kin and had an appointment with Mr. Conroy.
On the way home, my phone blew up with a bunch of texts, which I didn’t bother to look at. I just wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep.
There was a moving van parked at the curb with a loading ramp leading from the rear bumper to the sidewalk. As I approached the door to my apartment building, a guy opened it, carrying a stack of boxes. I reached out to hold the door open for him.
He nodded at me. “Thanks, kid.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Moving one of your neighbors out,” he said as he walked up the ramp into the back of the open truck.
I climbed the stairs slowly. I was really wrung out. When I passed the landing on the third floor, I saw Miss Lapham’s door open and several boxes stacked on either side of her door. Even a bad day has a little good news in it I guess.
Once I got home, I left a trail of stuff behind me as I went to the bathroom to strip and take a shower. Half an hour later, I felt better, but far from great. Sitting on the couch, I stared at my backpack with absolutely zero desire to unzip it and pull out my books.
Some noise kept rattling over by the kitchen and I finally realized it was my phone.
Padding over to it in my socks, I scrolled through the screen and looked at the texts I’d missed. Three were from phone numbers I didn’t recognize, each predicting pain in my future. One was from Justine, who just wanted to see if I was okay. One was from Russell Chu asking if it was okay if he took Justine to Morp. The last one had been from Maddy.
Coming over. U better B there.
Well, that certainly sounded a little intimidating. What had I done? Honestly, I usually looked forward to hanging out with her, but I was still kind of stressed. I really wanted to be left alone. Groaning, I limped to my bedroom and put on some clean clothes. As I pulled a sweatshirt down over my head, I heard pounding on the door.
I needed to get my head straight. She was my
friend and she rarely came over on a school night and never this late. Maybe she needed me for a change.
I saw green through the peephole so I opened the door with my knack.
She stood there as the door opened slowly and watched it with one eyebrow arched.
“Really?” she said. “That’s not creepy at all.”
She made a show of reluctantly stepping into the apartment and I closed the door the same way I had opened it. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her wardrobe was classic Maddy: black jeans, brown tennis shoes that matched the color of her hoodie and a dark shirt. No makeup but the same emerald eyes, that weren’t smiling, just like her lips weren’t.
I walked up to her to give her a hug, but she breezed by me and walked into the kitchen. It felt like being left hanging when you raise your hand for a high five and the other person doesn’t respond. Her normal cheerful disposition wasn’t present either. A knot of worry twisted in my gut.
She grabbed one of the stools at the counter and I took the other.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Folding her arms over her chest, she arched that eyebrow again. “What’s going on at your school this week?”
Where did that come from? “What are you talking about? Did you hear about today?”
“No, what happened today?” She leaned back a little. It felt like I was on trial or something.
“Um, I got into a fight with Coby Munger again. He’s probably getting expelled and I’m getting in-school suspension this week and detention for a month.”
That got her attention. “You what? Why? Are you hurt? Why are you getting punished?”
“Because I broke his nose and I threw the first punch—the only punch.”
“Benny! What the hell? What happened?” She brushed her hood off her head and leaned forward, concern in her eyes.
It took just a few minutes to lay it out for her. She knew all the backstory on Munger.