by Laurent Linn
He scrunches his forehead. “Who else?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I wasn’t sure.” I swallow.
He steps back a little. “Why are you acting so weird? I thought you’d laugh.”
“It was a joke?”
“Of course!”
“This note you slipped in my locker?” I rest my hand on my pocket.
“Huh? What do you mean?” he says.
“You didn’t put that note in my locker?”
“Locker? I’m talking about the note I just put in your book!” He points to my French book on the desk. I flip open the cover and see an orange Halloween Hoedown flyer folded in half with Monsieur Adrian Piper written on it.
“Oh,” I say, wiping sweat from my palms. “No . . . I didn’t see this.”
“What did you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing. There was this other note. Sorry. Got confused.”
His face is bright red. “Well, I meant this one.” He turns. “You can look at it later. I, uh, gotta talk French Club stuff with Madame Pauline.”
Instead of walking past me, he goes around the next row of desks.
I open his note, written on the back of the flyer. It’s a drawing of a Paris street corner with a big road sign that says INTERDIT DE RIRE, which means NO LAUGHING ALLOWED. And is that a stick-figure Madame Pauline in a French police uniform? It is—Lev’s labeled everything. Oh, my god, she’s shaking a baguette in the air and chasing after a stick-figure me. Why would he do this?
Lev finally takes off while the next class starts coming in, so I put the note back in my book and approach Madame Pauline at her desk. She turns to me and puts her papers down.
I can’t look her in the eyes. “Um, sorry about my meltdown earlier. I don’t know what happened.”
“Don’t wanna pry, so I won’t,” she says. “But you look like you’re feelin’ so low your feet would dangle off a dime.”
Makes me grin.
She winks. “Listen, everybody has days that suck.”
“Guess so.” Did she just say suck?
“Hope your day gets better.” She smiles and gives me a look that’s more mom than teacher. “Anything I can do to help?”
I shake my head.
“You sure?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“All right, then. You can turn in the homework on vown-dr-dee.” That’s her way of saying Friday in French.
“Merci,” I say, and move on. Only one class down but I swear this backpack is heavier, even though it’s got the same crap in it.
I take a deep breath and step into the hall. I can do this. But I keep my eyes on everyone zipping around, ready for any sudden movement . . . especially Doug. I try strutting like some macho straight guy, moving my shoulders but not my hips. Almost topple back with my two-ton bag and it only makes people shoot weirder looks at me.
Picking up my pace, I barely make it to algebra in time but can’t focus at all. It seems people watch every move I make. But I’m not gonna have a repeat of what happened in French. What the hell was that? I was laughing like a maniac and then weeping like a freakin’ baby?
I really need to get a grip. Really.
For the next two periods I stuff all emotion deep inside, keep my head down, and stay out of the way. Between periods I ready myself to run into a classroom, any classroom, at the first sign of trouble. That’s the best plan I can think of.
But I’ve had no more bubba sightings—so far.
In my classes, I take secret peeks at the locker note when I can, and Lev’s cartoon, but that just screws with my head even more. Plus, it reminds me of my big mouth and what a certifiable psycho Lev thinks I am.
Lunch period finally arrives. As my shoulders relax a bit at the sight of Audrey and Trent, my muscles scream from the backpack and, well, everything. When I relax is when I feel the pain.
I’m shaky telling Audrey and Trent about my freak-out in French. It’s mortifying to go through it again, even if it’s just words. I’m so dazed it sounds like I’m describing someone else. I don’t mention Lev touching my shoulder, though.
“I still get flashes in my head, too, of Kobe on that car,” Audrey says. “But you’ve got to keep it together.”
Trent nods. “I’m gettin’ all sorts of new attention myself this week.” He checks over his shoulder, then looks at me. “Especially since you’re back today. No offense. We got six hundred and four days on the Countdown Clock, so we just gotta suck it up.”
Suck seems to be the word of the day.
Now that they’re with me and I can actually calm down a bit, I pull out Lev’s cartoon.
“Funny!” Trent holds Lev’s note. “Even though it’s cartoony, it does look like you.”
“This is sweet,” Audrey says. “Though unintentionally cruel.”
“Huh?” I say.
“Clearly he has no idea you have a crush on him.”
I grit my teeth and whisper, “Not so loud!” We’re spaced apart from other tables, but her voice carries, even with the high-decibel chatter bouncing around. I don’t think anyone heard.
“Sorry.” She lowers her voice. “Anyway, straight guys are clueless about crushes.” She frowns at a chipped fingernail. “If he knew how you feel, well, I’m sure he wouldn’t have given you that note. It could create false hope.”
“Thanks, Audrey,” I say. “Just made my day worse.”
“Not trying to. Just sayin’ it like it is.”
“So why’d he draw this, then?” Trent says.
“He must’ve just felt sorry for me.” That makes sense after the ass I made of myself in front of him and Kathleen Friday night. Well, in front of everyone.
Though I’ll take pity over getting slammed into the wall.
“Okay okay,” Audrey says, pushing her tray aside to make room. “Where’s that note from your locker?”
I put away Lev’s cartoon and take a deep breath. Having no clue who wrote this, I don’t want to draw attention, so I casually pull the mysterious paper from my pocket. I explain to Trent how it fell from my locker as we study the intentionally bad handwriting.
You know me but you dont know me.
Is your friend ok? I saw what happened. I was there.
He ok?
“It’s obvious.” Trent starts in on his second chili dog. “Someone’s screwing with you.”
“I’m not so sure.” Audrey untangles a few strands of hair caught in one of her dangly silver earrings. “That second line about ‘is your friend okay’ sounds genuine.”
“My friend,” I say. “Great. So everyone thinks Kobe and I are friends and, thanks to freakin’ Buddy, maybe even boyfriends.”
Of course, I know all the stares and locker slams aren’t just about me being gay. Even more, it’s that I stood up to Doug, and no one ever does that.
Trent leans back and blows his bangs from his eyes, but they just fall back in his face. “You know, in times like this I ponder Gandhi’s immortal words: ‘When the shit storm hits, get yourself a big-ass umbrella.’ ”
“Huh?” I squint. “Did he really say that?”
Audrey snorts and rolls her eyes.
He grins. “Made it up. Just tryin’ to inject some”—he checks his forearm—“sagacity.”
“Thanks, Willow.” I smirk.
He tilts his head, blinks at me, then gets it. “Oh, right. Superhero me.” Shakes his head. “Don’t think so, muchacho.”
“Anyhoo . . . ,” Audrey says, “back to the note?”
Trent licks chili off his fingers. “Any clues who wrote it?”
“No,” I say. “Well, almost no. I thought it was from Lev for a minute, but it’s not.”
“Huh?” Audrey listens but keeps studying the piece of paper. “Let me see his drawing again.”
“Long story,” I say, handing her Lev’s cartoon. “Main point is he didn’t know about this locker note. Unless he was faking it really well.”
“Hard to tell.” A
udrey compares the notes. “We know he was at Boo that night with Kathleen.”
“So were a million other people,” I say. All day I’ve tried to picture everyone from school who was there, but the place was packed.
“It’s like I’m being stalked,” I say. “That line, ‘You know me but you don’t know me’? Scary, right?”
“Definitely has to be a sick joke,” Trent says. “What guy would ask a question without any way for you to answer?” He wipes his mouth, then balls up the napkin.
Audrey grunts. “This could be from a girl, you know.” She points to the paper. “Nothing here is specific to boys.”
“Great. So it really could be anyone.”
“You’re way overanalyzing it, guys.” Trent makes a little trash sculpture on his plate. “It’s just a little note. Think about it. If someone were really wondering if Kobe was dead or alive, why wouldn’t they just say who they are? Ignore it.”
Good point.
A pack of skater guys get up from a nearby table and head our way.
“Quick, Audrey, give ’em to me.” I grab both notes and cover them with her tray.
As they pass, I jump as one of the guys throws up his hands and squeals, “Leave him alone! Don’t hurt him! Stop it! Stop it!” They crack up and bump into each other, turning back to smirk at me as they go.
“Oh, my god.” My insides turn cold. “Does this . . . Has everyone seen that video of Adrian the asshole?”
Trent sits up straight and glares at them. “You’re not the asshole.”
People at other tables laugh or whisper or look annoyed.
Audrey turns to me. “I know how you feel, Adrian, but you should definitely report this. Don’t let them get away with it.”
“They just did,” Trent says.
“And when those ‘dudes’ find out I reported them?” I stand and pack up my stuff. “It won’t be just Doug out to kill me.”
She exhales. “I don’t get you, Adrian.”
Join the club.
We go to dump our trash. Audrey and Trent move toward the doors, but, spotting the drama table, I hang back. They’re a whole lot quieter than usual over there. No wonder. But they must know the latest about Kobe. My legs move before my brain kicks in and I walk right toward them.
I pause, but I’m only a table away from them. Their conversation stops dead. I can’t just spin and leave at this point with heads all around turning my way, so I go up to them.
“Hey,” I mumble, pulse speeding up.
The drama kids look at each other, then me.
“Uh, how’s Kobe?” I say.
“Home,” a girl with big neon-orange glasses says. “Like, he’s home now. Well, Sunday, actually.”
“Have you seen him?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t want to see anyone.” Another girl puts her arm around her and squeezes her shoulder.
A short blond guy at the table shrugs. “Guess I don’t blame him.”
No one says anything else. They just kinda look at me.
My face gets hot. “Well, see ya.”
As I turn, the girl in the orange glasses says softly, “Adrian, thank you.”
The staring faces from nearby tables blur away for a second.
I look back at her and clear my throat. “What’s your name?”
“Carmen.”
I blink, do a little wave at Carmen, then catch up to Audrey and Trent, who hang by the doors.
Audrey’s face might as well be a question mark and Trent’s an exclamation point.
“I dunno,” I say, heading into the hall. “Just had to find out, I guess.”
“What?” question mark Audrey asks.
“That Kobe’s home. Since Sunday.”
Audrey glances at Trent. “That’s good to know, at least. What else?”
I navigate to the courtyard doors, step outside into the glare of the pale-gray overcast sky, and breathe in damp, clammy air. Only small groups of non-bubbas are out here.
When we’re away from the crowds I say, “What possessed me to do that? So freakin’ stupid, exposing myself in front of everyone.”
“Slow down there, Graphite Boy—uh, Adrian,” Trent says, glancing around. “Oops, just slipped. Sorry.”
I flash him a look.
We stop next to a wall and I toss my damn backpack on the brittle grass.
Trent plops down cross-legged.
I rub my temples. “I wouldn’t have done that if I had my phone.”
“What do you mean?” Audrey tests a spot of grass with her palm, decides it won’t swallow her whole, then eases down on the ground.
“I would have used my phone to find out how Kobe is doing,” I say. “Just asked him myself. Not go and waltz over to the drama kids! In front of the whole cafeteria?” I kick the ground, sending a chunk of sod to disintegrate against the brick wall.
“Hey, now!” Audrey holds up her hands. “Don’t be sendin’ dirt all over the place!” She scowls and brushes bits of dirt and grass from her charcoal-gray skirt.
I breathe in deep and sink to the ground. “Sorry.” I almost call her Sultry.
“No matter what you do,” Trent says, “assholes will think what assholes will think.”
Audrey aims her camera phone at herself and checks her makeup. “So what else did they say about Kobe?”
“Just that he doesn’t want visitors.” But what does that mean? “Hey, Audrey, can I see your phone?”
“In a sec.”
“Here.” Trent hands me his and I log on to my account. I look twice to be sure, but it’s there: a message from Kobe. I tap the screen and read it.
Huh?
Holy crap. This isn’t good.
“HEY, GUYS?” I SAY TO Trent and Audrey. “I got a Scary message from Kobe.” I picture his bloody face. Eyes shut. Mouth hanging open.
“Meaning?” Trent says.
I scan the courtyard where we sit in our own little circle on the grass.
“This morning I messaged Kobe just to see if he was better,” I say. “And now listen to this: ‘better? better than? my life is screwed. face is screwed. brain is screwed. you have no idea. but no one will see. ever. i’ll be gone.’ What does that mean?”
Trent raises his eyebrows. “Dude is majorly medicated, I surmise.”
“It’s good you reached out,” Audrey says. “Sounds like he needs some positive reinforcement and response.”
“Is that your official opinion, Doctor?” Trent says, plucking the few healthy blades of grass from the ground around him, leaving the dead ones alone.
“Think we should worry?” I say. “I mean, that sounds suicidal, right?”
“I dunno, it’s probably the meds talking. Besides, Kobe never struck me as the type to feel sorry for himself,” Trent says, tossing shredded blades of grass into the wind.
Audrey takes the phone, reads the message, then hands it back to me.
She purses her lips. “Hmm . . . he could mean all sorts of things. Didn’t his other message talk about his mom being on top of it? I’m sure his family is taking care of him.”
“But he even told his friends not to visit,” I say. “This is freaking me out.”
I read his message again.
“He’s not your freak show, Adrian,” Trent says. “I don’t think you should get mixed up with him more than you already are. It could stoke the rumors.”
“I know, but still.” I can’t think of what to write back, so I log out and hand Trent his phone. “ ‘No one will see. Ever. I’ll be gone’? That doesn’t sound right.”
“Look,” Trent says, “I just want to protect you. And this is drama queen Kobe we’re talkin’ about, remember? He probably just wants more attention from you.”
“But he—”
“Why don’t you send him a message after school? He’s probably fine, but you could make sure.” Audrey rummages in her bag and pulls out a pink folder. “Besides, don’t you think you have enough to worry about? Speaking of whic
h, you ready for my plan?”
I sigh. Oh, yeah. Her “plan.”
I glance at Trent. He holds up his hands in a not-part-of-whatever-this-is way.
“I don’t want what happened to Kobe happening to you,” she says.
“Uh, yeah!” I say. “That makes two of us!”
“I’ve been doing all sorts of research, and, well, I have an idea for what you should do. Hear me out. First step, like I already said, is you should tell your side of the story.”
I look up at the sky. “We’ve already been through this, Audrey.”
“Just listen, okay?” She tugs at her skirt, smoothing the hem down over her knees. “Once you tell Assistant Principal McConnell what really happened—let me finish!—then ideally that’ll get the ball rolling so you can step out of it and they’ll start investigating.”
“You’re delusional,” Trent says. “If the cops could turn Doug kicking Kobe’s ass into ‘self-defense,’ no one here’s gonna do squat.”
“But,” she says, shooting Trent a look, “if they do nothing, then you’ve tried that route.” She places the folder in front of her on the grass. “Then you can go to the next step.”
She eyes me, but I watch her without speaking.
She continues. “I’ve looked into what other gay teens around the country have done in similar—”
“Oh, come on,” Trent says.
“—in similar situations, and it can help!”
The wind flips her folder, so she slaps it against the ground with her palm.
I cross my arms. “Like what?”
“You could contact the news, or spread the truth on social media, or start a petition calling for Doug’s father to be censured—”
“Wha—wha . . . ? Hold on!” I straighten up on my knees. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Uh, Audrey,” Trent says, “have you met my friend, here? His name is Adrian—you know, the guy who’d never freakin’ do anything like that?”
“These are just ideas, guys,” she says. “I’m trying to figure out how to keep you safe, Adrian.” She sticks the folder under her knee.
I glare at her. “More like the opposite. First, are you insane? Second, are you insane? Third, how could me threatening everyone else keep me safe?”
The wind gusts and kicks up dirt and leaves. I shut my eyes and turn my head until it calms down.