Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand

by E. M. Tippetts

  “What? No.”

  “You should think about it.”

  “Sure. I'll think about it.” There's no way I'm reporting my best friend to the police. I look past Carson to the street.

  He glances over his shoulder. “Hmm?”

  “Did you walk here?”

  “Yeah. I thought, you know, bringing the MAV woulda been kinda excessive.”

  “You call it the MAV?”

  “Yeah. Doesn't everyone?”

  “You live clear down at the other end of town.”

  “My family all go to bed at eight.” At my baffled stare, he adds, “Because, you know, we have Seminary in the mornings.”

  “Seminary?”

  “Yeah, religion class before school. That's why all of us LDS students arrive in the MAV... what, did you think we just did that to be... um...” He stares at me.

  “Weird?”

  “Yeah, which we are. But not in a hive mind, we go everywhere together kind of way.”

  “How does your family run a restaurant if you go to bed at eight?”

  “Well, okay, our parents manage the restaurant and get home at about one and our grandmother watches us but she's deaf as a post.” He shrugs. “So I have until one before I get caught. Anyway... what are you doing?”

  I'm across the room now and turn to look at him again, a pair of jeans and a clean shirt draped over my arm. “Just let me change. I'll come out.”

  “You don't have to do that.”

  “Please. You walked, like, three miles to get here.” And, I think, I'm not inviting you in. That would be extra weird. I go into the bathroom, switch clothes and then return to my room to put on my jacket and climb out the window.

  He looks at me, then down at himself. “So... what do people normally do when they sneak out?”

  “Usually they wait until later.”

  “Right.”

  “And then we get deep fried burritos at The Shack.”

  “Is that, like, a ritual? It has to be later?”

  “Well, midnight is when Hernan takes over.”

  “So? They run the deep fryer all day. That's how they do their chimichangas. Let's go.”

  “I'm pretty sure Beatriz and Ernesto aren't gonna let us deep fry EVOL Burritos in their fryer,” I say as I tag along after him.

  “You ever asked them?”

  “Okay, you can ask them. I'm not gonna risk the wrath of Beatriz. She's got that powdered habanero or whatever it is that can sting your eyes across the room.”

  He looks sidelong at me, not the least bit convinced. “You want me to get the burritos from Jacksons or-”

  “Yeah, that's where I go.”

  “But, do you want to be seen there? If your mom finds out-”

  “I do this all the time. My mom doesn't care. Your parents might, so you stay outside.” We're nearing the corner of Wilkstone Road now.

  “No, I'll go.” He seems determined, which is odd to me. Not sure why he cares so much about burritos, but we make our way past the gas pumps and into Jacksons together. Carson knows which freezer case to go to and insists on paying.

  Our next stop is The Shack, where I hang back because I really don't want Beatriz to throw habanero powder in my face. Much to my shock, Carson returns several minutes later with a greasy paper bag and a triumphant grin.

  “How?”

  “You just ask,” he says.

  “Maybe you do.” I follow him across Wilkstone and out onto the Ridge Road. He makes straight for the bluffs and seems to know where he's going. We end up on a rocky outcropping that overlooks the sea, three lights along the horizon are a fishing fleet coming straight towards shore. I sit down on a boulder beside him and he hands me my burrito. The air has a salty tang and the breeze is light.

  “So, anyway,” he says, “I just wanted to see how you are.”

  With a gesture at my swollen nose, I say, “And now you've seen.” I bite into my burrito and pain shoots across my face. I can't jar my nose at all without feeling it, and the tortilla is so crunchy that I feel jabs every time I chew. It's bearable, though.

  “Totally none of my business, but you and Jean-Pierre? Is that real or was it just part of Kailie's prank?”

  “What's wrong with Jean-Pierre?”

  “I don't like him. He's arrogant.”

  I remind myself that Carson is also in chess club and is not a nationally ranked superstar. It makes sense that he'd be jealous. “He was always nice to me.”

  Carson stares out at the pitch black sea. The breeze picks up a little, bringing with it the scent of salt, rotting seaweed, and wet stone. “I've got this nightmare about you.”

  “A nightmare?”

  “Four years from now, I get home from my mission and you're living in a trailer park somewhere with a couple of kids.”

  How to answer such a strange comment? I stall by taking another bite of burrito and chewing, slowly.

  “I just imagine everyone in your life taking and taking because you've got it to give,” he adds.

  “Jean-Pierre doesn't have a whole lot of trailer parks in his future. He'll probably be a junior at Harvard in four years.”

  “Sure.”

  “And as for me, I'm not sure I'll even get asked out on a date in the next four years.” I pause so he can laugh.

  He doesn't. Instead he says, “You have got the lowest self confidence, you know that? That's why I worry about you.”

  That sounds an awful lot like condescension. “You don't have to worry about me.”

  “You're pretty. And you're nice. Lots of guys like you.”

  Sitting on a boulder with no makeup on and wearing my most comfortable jeans, I feel pudgy and frumpy.

  “But you have the worst taste in friends. Are you finally going to stop hanging around with Kailie?”

  “No.”

  “What's it gonna take, then?”

  “You don't know her or her situation, and I really don't need your advice. I can take care of myself.”

  “What could possibly justify you getting kicked in the face?”

  The truth is, I know Kailie's felt this banged up and worse, emotionally, but she bottles it up inside. People only see the carefree front she puts up. They don't see how every chance she takes in her life backfires, whether it's her relationships with guys or her attempts to win more freedom from her parents. They don't see the constant cloud of disappointment that hangs over her head. This isn't something I'm going to share with Carson, though. “If I want to be nice to someone who's having a rough time, that's my prerogative. I don't need your permission.”

  “Normally I'm all for turning the other cheek, but when it gives you two black eyes, maybe its time for a new strategy?”

  “Did you really drag me out here to tell me what to do?”

  He looks down at me. “I don't get you. I'm trying to be nice. You let Kailie push you around without complaint, but when I just offer a little advice-”

  “I barely know you.”

  “Sorry you feel that way.” His tone is defensive. Wounded.

  Which tells me I'm missing something.

  He looks down at his hands, clasping his half eaten burrito. “I really, really like you.”

  When I don't say anything, he picks a flake of tortilla off his khakis and says. “I have forever, all right? I'd treat you a whole lot better than Jean-Pierre ever would. How did you even get into a situation where you'd get to know him? I mean, you two aren't exactly in the same social circle.”

  “It's a small town.”

  “Yeah, that's true. I guess I just feel like I'm a million miles away from getting to know you.”

  “Do you even date people outside your religion?”

  “What makes you think I date at all?”

  “Well, you go to all the school dances.”

  “With Wendy, LaDell, or Rachel, sure. They're friends. Wendy and Rachel's mom doesn't even want her daughters to steady date while in high school. I mean, thank you, for thinking I have a
love life, but I don't.” He shifts his weight, his khakis scraping softly against the rough surface of the boulder.

  I look at his profile as he eats more burrito. Kailie calls him hot, and she's not wrong. He is very attractive with a chiseled jaw and those eyes that catch your attention whenever they turn your direction, even across a crowded room. I've never thought about him in a romantic way. Now I wonder if that's because I'm not interested or I always thought he was off limits and never even considered it.

  “I sense I have not made you swoon,” he says.

  “Well... I'm not big on being bossed around.”

  “Noted. Sorry.”

  “And you're right. We barely know each other.”

  “Yeah, how is that? I remember when you lost your first tooth.”

  “On the playground.”

  “And you cried because you couldn't find it for the tooth fairy.”

  “Sure, and I remember when you accidentally dented Mr. Kim's car, when you were swinging your backpack around as fast as you could and you let go of it-”

  “I'd forgotten that.”

  “Oh. Sorry to remind you.”

  He laughs. “It's all right. We know all about each other, I'd bet, but you're right. We don't actually know each other. How do we change that?”

  “Talk, I guess. Have conversations.”

  “I'd like to do that more often. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd totally be fine to kiss you right now, but if you want to get to know each other, I'm cool with that.”

  “Yeah...” I try to think of a diplomatic way to tell him that I'm not sure the kissing thing will ever happen, but already, it's too late. My awkward silence tells him everything.

  “Eh, it's all right,” he says. “I know what's really going on here.”

  “What's that?”

  “You'd have so much trouble controlling your physical attraction to me that you'd put my covenants in danger, and it's sweet of you to not just think of yourself and how badly you want my body.”

  “Right. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble. And I wouldn't want to damage your clothes by tearing them.”

  That catches him off guard and he laughs out loud, then bites his fist, his ribs shaking with mirth. “You are too kind.”

  “I know.”

  “Wow, Madison Lukas joked about ripping my clothes off... just... wow.”

  When put like that, I'm reminded of all the disgusting stuff in my Facebook profile and I take another big bite of burrito to hide my wince.

  He sees it, though. “Everyone knows the Facebook stuff wasn't you, okay? And Ryan and his group blabbing about seeing Jean-Pierre climb in your window, nobody's gonna listen to them. It's not like they've got any credibility.”

  Except that they're right, I think. That would explain why Tatiana didn't just mock me, but instead elected to kick me in the face.

  I eat the rest of my burrito and then wonder if I'm going to have to trade a size up in my jeans. I've had two deep fried burritos in two days. Disgusting.

  Carson holds out a hand for my garbage, and stuffs it into the paper bag. We walk back to town, him kicking the occasional rock along the way to send it skipping ahead into the darkness. “Thanks for hanging out,” he says.

  “It was nice.”

  “Did it make your day any better?”

  “Actually, yeah.”

  “Cool.” He gives me a wistful smile, and I can't help but notice all over again, he is really good looking.

  When I get home and climb back in my window, I can hear my mom moving around in the kitchen. “That you, Madison?”

  “No, it's a burglar.”

  “Well, you picked the wrong house. There's nothing to steal.”

  I go join her. “Carson came by and-“

  “Make sure you close your window. The heating bill is high enough.”

  “Okay. So-“

  “You have a good night.” She brushes past me and goes to her room.

  The next day, JP gives me a surreptitious wink and smile during lunch, but I don't dare return it. A note in my locker promises he'll be by tonight, but I don't know how I feel about that.

  That afternoon at work, I have an email from John.

  Hi Madison,

  I'm home now, and just dropping you a note to say hi. Sorry I didn't get to spend much time with you, but here's my phone number. Contact me any time.

  I love you,

  John

  I stare at the “I love you.” That, I have to admit, is weird.

  The library is quiet this afternoon, as always. I start scanning in books that have been returned while two people talk in hushed voices at one of the tables. Siraj is humming to himself back in the office. Some younger kids come in and grab novels, which they sit and read over by the window.

  And then there's the sound of tires screeching and glass breaking outside. I jump to my feet and run over to the front doors to see what's going on. There, in the middle of Wilkstone, is Officer Li's car, with its lights flashing, and in front of it is Alex with a fist-sized rock in one hand. I watch as he bashes the headlight again.

  Cold fear grasps my stomach and I feel like I should run and hide, but I can't look away.

  Officer Li gets out to stand by his car, waving his hands in a gesture for Alex to calm down. Alex responds by smashing the car's other headlight into a thousand little shards that sprinkle across the asphalt.

  Voices on the cop's radio blare in an incomprehensible stream of syllables. I can't hear what the dispatcher is saying, but I can only assume that more cops are on their way. There's an officer in Sequoia Ridge which is only ten minutes' drive.

  Alex bashes the rock into the cruiser's hood with a bang like a gunshot, creating a dent and some impressive scratches.

  Officer Li pulls his gun.

  I suck in a breath and don't exhale. I'm about to see one of my schoolmates shot to death.

  But Alex's shoulders sag in defeat. He leaves the rock on the cruiser's hood and puts his hands in the air.

  Officer Li orders him to take off his army jacket and throw it to one side, which Alex does. In just his shirt and jeans, it's clear he hasn't got any more weapons. He doesn't do baggy clothing like some of the guys in his clique.

  I stare in disbelief as he's made to get down on the ground, hands and feet apart, until Officer Li goes to pin him with a knee to the small of his back while he grabs each wrist to snap on handcuffs. At this point Alex's face is obscured by his long hair. He tosses it back as the officer hauls him to his feet and loads him into the back of the cruiser. He doesn't look to the right or the left as the car pulls away, just stares straight ahead.

  Siraj steps up behind me and watches the cruiser drive off. Everyone else who was in the library is now on their way out, whether to rubberneck or to tell their friends, I don't know.

  “So how was your day?” I quip.

  “Fine – oh I see. It does just roll off the tongue automatically, doesn't it?”

  “I always knew he was a psycho. The way he just hangs around town, totally silent.”

  “It's called selective mutism, I believe. Or is it voluntary mutism?”

  “What?”

  “A person who can't talk for psychological reasons. Someone who can only talk to certain people or in certain situations. You usually don't see it in someone that old.”

  “What, you're saying Alex is like the lady in The Piano?”

  “Well... yes, that's what she had.”

  I consider that a moment. “He talked to me. Threatened to chase me with a switchblade.”

  “Ah, well, apparently threatening unarmed girls is not a situation that intimidates him. Assuming you were unarmed?”

  “Yeah, and it was the middle of the night.”

  “Even better then. Did you tell the police?”

  I shake my head.

  “Even that? Not noteworthy enough to mention? Not even to me when I ask how your day was?”

  “My life is just so exciting. You really mean
to tell me that Alex is too intimidated by people to talk? He just vandalized a police car. I'm not seeing a shy person there.”

  “Well, I'm no expert. I think what I read – and its been a while – is that it's often a kind of social anxiety. People who are nervous in large crowds or with people they don't know very well. But different things can cause it. I read about one case of a girl who was like that all through school because she was from a small town and everyone labeled her as the girl who never talked, so she went along with it. I remember wondering if that were Alex's situation. I get teachers in here every now and then who want to look up the condition so they can understand him a little better.”

  I touch my nose gingerly and stare at the shattered glass in the road. “And does being a selective mute make you insane? Like, take on a cop car with a rock kind of insane?”

  “I suspect that had to do with his mother. He's very protective of her and Officer Li is not always very understanding about her condition.”

  “Still.”

  “I wonder if Grace is being involuntarily committed.”

  “What, you mean like carted off to an asylum?”

  “It'd be the psychiatric hospital, but yes.”

  “So that was what? Alex finding out he has to go into foster care?”

  “I believe he's over eighteen, so he won't. After what he just did though, he may have to go to jail.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “I won't argue with you there. It's a very sad situation.”

  Kailie calls right before it's time for me to leave and I text her back that I'll call in a few minutes.

  She texts: Come 2 the Inn?

  My reply: OK

  So after Siraj and I close the library, I walk across Wilkstone, and motion in the gutter catches my eye. It's Alex's army jacket, still lying where he threw it before Officer Li took him away. I debate whether or not to leave it, but an image of Alex wearing it back when he was in fifth grade flashes in my mind. I can't just leave it there.

  When I pick it up, though, the first thing I notice is that it reeks of cigarette smoke. Gross. In the pockets are a pack of cigarettes, that stupid lighter of his, and a cellphone. Clearly he talks to someone, or maybe he just types texts.