The Ethan I Was Before

by Ali Standish

  Grandpa Ike sits in his chair reading the newspaper, and Roddie is slumped on one of the couches, typing away at his laptop. I wonder why he isn’t at school either.

  They both look up when we walk into the room. Roddie straightens, and I think I see him let out a sigh of relief. Or maybe it’s disappointment.

  “Sit,” Mom says, pointing to the couch across from Roddie. I wonder if she’s only going to talk in one-word sentences. She brings me a blob of wet paper towels to place on my still-bleeding knee.

  Mom and Dad both start at once.

  “Don’t know what you—”

  “—worried about your behavior—”

  “—could you leave school?”

  They glare at each other hotly. “You go first,” Mom snaps.

  Dad clears his throat and starts pacing up and down the carpet between Roddie and me. “Ethan, you ditched school.”

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “To see Coralee.”

  “Yes, because I thought—”

  “You ditched school,” Dad says again. “And that is unacceptable. You’re grounded for a month, and that includes seeing Coralee.”

  “Coralee isn’t the issue here,” Mom interjects. “Ethan has to take responsibility for his actions.”

  “Yes, but—” Dad starts.

  “How could you do this to us, Ethan?” Mom cries suddenly. “We get a call from school saying you took off on your bike. We pulled Roddie out of class. Your father was already on the phone with the sheriff’s department when Adina Jessup called.”

  I wasn’t thinking about my parents when I took off from school. Of course they would think—

  “We thought it had started again. That we would find you at some godforsaken bus stop somewhere between here and—and—or not even find you at all until it was too late—”

  “Oh, come on.”

  Mom and Dad, both openmouthed, pivot slowly to look at Grandpa Ike.

  “Did you want to add something, Ike?” Dad says, his voice razor-sharp.

  “The boy was obviously worried about his friend. He wasn’t trying to run away. He did what he did out of loyalty, and now we should all just leave him alone.”

  Mom’s cheeks go from white to red in the blink of an eye. “Excuse me?” she says, quietly at first. Then she says it again, her voice high and almost giddy, and her body jerks sharply, like she’s a possessed puppet. “You are giving me parenting lessons? You are trying to tell me how to raise my child? That’s rich, Dad.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her call him that, and somehow it comes out sounding like an insult.

  “I appreciate your advice, I really do,” she says sarcastically. “But I’ve got the parenting thing under control. Maybe if you had had some words of fatherly advice thirty years ago, I would be a little more willing to take them now.”

  Grandpa Ike’s face twists into a snarl. Dad raises a hand and lowers it between him and Mom as if to stop them from physically attacking each other. Then everyone starts shouting at once.

  “—have no idea what’s best for my son—”

  “—keeping secrets from your own boy—”

  “—never should have let him get attached to this girl—”

  No one seems to be paying the slightest bit of attention to me anymore. My eyes swing back and forth between my parents and my grandfather and finally settle on my shoes. In my head I collect all the words I can make out, so that later I can try to piece them together. What’s best. Secrets. Attached. I glance toward Roddie, but he’s gone. Somehow he slipped out of the room without anyone even knowing. I wonder if I could do the same.

  Mom’s voice bellows out above the others. “The only reason we agreed to come here is because we thought it would be best to give Ethan a new start,” she yells, finally saying aloud what I’ve known all along. “But if he can’t get that here, then we might as well go back to Boston.”

  “Fine,” Grandpa Ike spits. “Fine! The only reason you agreed to come here? How about the only reason I let you come here. No one asked you to be here. No one is making you stay. I certainly don’t want you here. Any of you.”

  The words any of you sting like salt water on my scraped knee. I knew Grandpa Ike didn’t get along with Mom, but I actually thought he liked taking me for driving lessons.

  Mom is about to argue back. Grandpa Ike is getting up from his chair. Dad is pacing and running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. And that’s when I hear Roddie.

  “Mom?”

  He stands in the doorway to the kitchen, holding his hand over the receiver of the phone.

  “What do you want, Roddie?” Mom says. Her eyes dart around the room, skipping over Grandpa Ike and Dad and landing on me before spotting the phone in Roddie’s hand.

  “It’s just—” Roddie glances at me, and again, I get the weird feeling that he’s pitying me. “It’s Mr. Reid. He’s on the phone for you. He says it’s important.”

  And then, before I can stop them, his words ring out in my head, silencing everything else.

  You killed her, Ethan Truitt.

  Defiance

  EVERYONE IS FROZEN IN place, except for Mom, who whisks the phone away from Roddie and stomps out onto the front porch.

  “Why is Kacey’s dad on the phone?” I ask finally.

  Dad looks from Roddie to Grandpa Ike to me as if waiting for someone else to answer. “Mr. Reid is having a hard time, Ethan. It makes him feel better to talk to us.”

  Grandpa Ike, still only half out of his chair, mutters something under his breath that sounds like “disgrace.” Then he pulls on his baseball cap and lurches out of the room and through the kitchen. We all listen as the engine of his truck coughs to life and his tires fly through the gravel.

  “Why would talking to you make Mr. Reid feel better?” I ask. “Last time I checked, he never wanted to see any of us again.”

  “Go to your room, Ethan. Your mom and I will be up later to talk about this more.”

  A few weeks ago, I would have accepted Dad’s orders unquestioningly. I would have been too tired to put up a fight. But I’m not tired now.

  I am angry.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.” I force myself to shift my gaze from my bloody shoes to Dad’s face. I look him squarely in the eye. I’m not going anywhere until he answers my questions. His mouth is open in surprise.

  “What is it that you’re not telling me? Why does Mr. Reid keep calling?”

  “I want you to go to your room,” Dad says again, “and think about how your actions have affected this family. I’ve already told you why Mr. Reid keeps calling.”

  “Dad,” says Roddie. “Don’t you think it’s—”

  “Room! Now!” Dad yells. Dad almost never yells. I glare at him. That’s when I notice his hands are shaking.

  It’s this, and not his raised voice, that finally makes me stride across the room, pound up the stairs, and slam my door behind me, twisting the lock. If they’re not going to tell me the truth, I don’t want them talking to me at all.

  I pick up the phone and click it on, thinking I might as well find out for myself what’s really happening. But all I get is a dial tone. Mom has already hung up.

  Words

  MOM AND DAD KNOCK several times that afternoon. They alternate between anger (“Open this door right now, young man!”) and regret (“I’m sorry things got so heated, but we still have to discuss this.”)

  I don’t open the door for them. I don’t respond. I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling and turn everyone’s words over, trying to use them to answer the questions whirling around in my head.

  It makes me think of last year, when we had a fair at school, and Kacey made me get in one of those booths with wind machines that make dollar bills fly around your head. No matter how I reached and clutched for them, the bills kept slipping through my hands.

  Kacey did impressions of me for weeks after.

  When the insect chorus gears up on the
marsh, and I know evening is approaching, I hear a tentative knock on my door, but no voice. I ignore it.

  Later, when the sky is dark, I finally come out of my room. I have to go to the bathroom sometime. There’s a plate of food sitting on the floor in the hall. I pick it up and look it over. Ham sandwich and salt-and-vinegar chips.

  I hear Grandpa Ike’s words again.

  I certainly don’t want you here. Any of you.

  Even though I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I toss the food back to the floor and step over it. It’s going to take more than a ham sandwich to make me forget those words.

  Breaking the Silence

  MOM KNOCKS SOFTLY ON my door the next morning.

  “Ethan? It’s time to get up for school, honey.”

  Her voice is shredded with worry, and I almost feel guilty for giving her the silent treatment.

  After I get dressed and brush my teeth, I go downstairs to find something to eat. My stomach growls like a rabid animal when I open the refrigerator.

  “Can I fix you something?” Dad says behind me. Which is pretty funny, since Dad couldn’t break an egg to save his life.

  Ignoring him, I pull out some leftover pasta bake and spoon it onto a plate, which I thrust into the microwave.

  Dad watches me scarf my food and gulp down two glasses of milk while I’m standing at the counter. When I’m done, he says, “Your mom and I agreed that it’s best if we drive you to school today.”

  So I don’t have my bike. So I can’t get to Coralee’s.

  I wasn’t planning to go again anyway. I thought she might call me yesterday to explain what was going on, or at least thank me for risking being grounded for life just to check on her. But she obviously didn’t feel the need to talk to me. Which makes her just one more name on the list of people who I can’t trust anymore.

  “I’m not going with you,” I say.

  Dad looks at the ground and shuffles his feet. Like he’s ashamed of himself. “I’ll get Ike to take you.”

  “No,” I say sharply. “Not him, either.”

  “I’ll take him,” Roddie says, appearing in the doorway.

  I nearly choke on my last bite of pasta.

  Why would Roddie volunteer to take me to school?

  Dad lifts an eyebrow. He looks at me questioningly, and I nod slowly.

  A few minutes later, I brush a few stray sunflower seeds off the seat and climb into Roddie’s truck.

  He starts the engine and turns around in the driveway. “Listen, Ethan,” he says as he presses hard on the accelerator and shoots us forward. “I know things have been, you know, hard for us since Boston. But if you need to talk . . .”

  The rest of his sentence trails off. An unspoken offer. I let the silence hang for a minute before shaking my head. Roddie may have had a shift of heart, but that can’t make me forget what he said to me in Boston. It doesn’t erase the fact that he’s ignored me for months.

  “So anyway,” he says, “I looked online this morning and it seems like Anastasia is on track to hit us.”

  “Anastasia?”

  “The hurricane,” says Roddie.

  “Oh.” I’ve barely even thought about the brewing storm. “Will it be bad?”

  “Nah. Grandpa Ike says we’ll be fine. But we might get a day or two off from school. A hurricane day. Like we used to get snow days back in Boston. That’s cool, right?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  It’s weird to hear Roddie talk to me about Boston. It’s weird to hear Roddie talk to me at all.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you hi from Grace. She always asks me how you are.”

  I wonder what he tells her.

  “Tell her hi back,” I say.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

  Roddie clears his throat and finally punches on the ancient truck radio. He spends the rest of the drive trying to find a station that comes in clear enough to listen to, but all he gets is a lot of noise.

  It’s still better than silence.

  People I Can’t Trust

  1. Mom

  2. Dad

  3. Coralee

  4. Adina

  5. Ms. Silva

  6. Mack

  7. Grandpa Ike

  8. Roddie (?)

  Lies

  I’M NOT SURPRISED WHEN there’s no sign of Coralee in the cafeteria that morning. I knew somehow she wouldn’t be here today. When Ms. Silva sees me, she glides over and kneels down next to me. “It’s nice to see you this morning, Ethan,” she says. “After the test we’ll talk with Mr. Beasley about what happened yesterday. Okay?”

  She keeps a close eye on me during the test session, circling around my desk more often than anyone else’s and glancing at my answer sheet. I think I do surprisingly well on the test, considering I’m so distracted that I have to read every word three times to work out its meaning. I get answers bubbled in for almost all the questions anyway.

  When we get dismissed for lunch, Herman tags along with me in the hall. “Are you feeling better?” he asks.

  “Huh?”

  “They said you got sick yesterday and had to go home,” Herman explains. “Are you better today?”

  “I wasn’t sick.”

  “Oh.”

  I want to sit by myself in the cafeteria, but Herman follows me from the pizza buffet to the lunch table. I notice the same monitor I tricked yesterday guarding the door again today. She keeps her beady eyes trained on me.

  “How do you think you did on the test?” Herman asks. “That passage about—”

  “I don’t think we’re allowed to talk about it,” I say shortly.

  Herman slumps forward in his seat with a shrug. “Yeah,” he says, taking a huge bite out of his first slice of pizza. “I guess not.”

  The test proctors announce that once we’re done eating, we can go to the gym for games. I guess they want us to blow off some steam. But I stay put while everyone else piles out of the cafeteria doors. Herman stays too.

  We’re sitting in silence when someone flops down in the chair next to me.

  Suzanne.

  “Hi, Suzanne,” Herman says hopefully.

  She ignores him.

  “Girlfriend absent again today?” she asks me, flipping her yellow hair over her shoulders. As she does, I see her glance around the cafeteria, like she’s making sure no one will see her sitting with us.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I say wearily. “Just go away, Suzanne.”

  “Oh, so you’re not together anymore. I guess that means you found out, huh?”

  She stares at me, studying me for a reaction.

  “Found out what?”

  “That’s why I came to talk to you. I thought you’d figure it out eventually, but in case you didn’t, I just wanted to make sure you knew not to believe anything she told you about me. It’s all lies.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh,” she says with a smirk. “I guess that means you haven’t figured it out. I mean she lies about everything. Like, all the time. I heard she told you that she was at some boarding school for music. Yeah, right. She went to live with her daddy in Atlanta because her aunt didn’t want her anymore. But obviously her daddy didn’t want her either, because he sent her back.”

  Suzanne sits in smug silence, waiting for me to respond. But I don’t. I can’t.

  “What else has she told you?” she continues. “That she almost died of malaria? That she’s descended from royalty? That she has a brother who’s going to be a doctor?”

  “No,” I reply uncertainly, ignoring the thing Suzanne says about Coralee’s brother. But I think about what I overheard Mom saying, about Coralee telling stories. I think about the times I asked Coralee to play me a song on the violin and she refused. I think about her blue-ribbon-winning saltwater taffy and her pet alligator and her copperhead bite and her near miss on the ice in Ohio.

  “Really? Because that’s what she told me, back when we were friends. Before I figured it out.”
>
  I scramble to keep up with what Suzanne is saying. “You’re wrong,” I say. “Coralee doesn’t even live with her aunt.”

  It’s weak, but it’s the best defense I can come up with.

  Suzanne stares at me sympathetically. “Oh, Ethan, honey, who did she tell you that was? Beyoncé? That woman Adina is her aunt. Herman can tell you.”

  Herman drops his gaze from Suzanne back to his plate.

  “Herman?” she chides. “Tell him. It’s for his own good. Is Coralee a liar, or not?”

  Herman looks at me, his eyes full of regret. “She exaggerates sometimes, I guess,” he mutters.

  “Stop it, Suzanne,” I command. “Leave Herman out of it. Even if what you’re saying is true, who cares? I don’t.”

  “I know,” Suzanne says. “That’s because you’re a nice person. But Coralee is not a nice person, Ethan. She tells lies about you, too, just like she’s probably told you lies about me.”

  “She never tells me anything about you,” I say. “And she wouldn’t tell lies about me, either.”

  “Oh yeah? Then how come she told me that you moved here because you killed some girl in Boston?”

  My heart slams into my chest like a fist pounding on a locked door.

  “Wh-what?” I stutter. “When did she say that?”

  “When you were at the dentist last week.”

  Suzanne drums one of her neatly manicured hands on the table. “Of course, I didn’t believe her, Ethan. She doesn’t want you to have other friends. She just said it so no one else would like you.”

  “You’re lying,” I say feebly.

  “I’ve never heard Coralee say that,” Herman squeaks.

  “No one is talking to you, Herman,” snaps Suzanne.

  Did Coralee really say those things? Why would she say them? But how else could Suzanne know anything about Kacey?

  The bell rings.

  “Look,” Suzanne says, narrowing her eyes. “All I’m saying is that I’ll keep that to myself, as long as you keep whatever she’s told you about me to yourself, too. ’Kay?”

  I stare down at the table. Suzanne’s chair scrapes against the floor as she gets up.