“Underhanded. My middle name.”
“Stop,” Dad says, all mad. “That’s not you and you know it.” And then he smiles. “You’re better now. Much better, Charlie.”
I’m not so sure.
He comes over to me and squeezes my shoulder. “Marta won. You need to be a good sport about it, because you deserve what you got.”
“It’s karma.” Mom drops it like a flower.
I wanted to stick karma right up her—
“I also think we need to move on.” Dad gets up and claps. “What do you say we have that Halloween party after all?” Dad says like it’s going to erase my loss.
I roll my eyes.
“The place looks great. We could do it to raise money for the wildlife corridor—how’s that, Pen?”
Pen thinks about it for a while, mulls it over. “You know, that’s a fine idea, Dad.”
Traitor. I glare at her.
“And Charlie, you could invite all your friends,” he says.
“I told you. I have no friends, and I’m not just saying that. I mean I have zero friends.” It’s really quite an accomplishment to go from being on the news, about to have a hit TV show and possibly even a hot boyfriend, to zero. All in one week.
“Oh, come on. Of course you have friends.” Dad rubs my shoulders.
TRUE FACT: Parents never believe you when you say you have no friends.
“Marta will forgive you,” Mom says. “Call her at home. Talk to her. Talk to Greta. After all you’ve done for them, how can they not?”
I shake my head in despair. Do grown-ups ever learn? Do they ever listen?
And at school, forget it. They’ve tasted blood. My blood. They’ve turned into a pack of wolves. When I pass, they huddle and laugh. Or stick out a foot and trip me. There’s no way around them. Even Bobby thinks whatever comes out of my mouth is a lie.
She rubs my shoulders. “You can always talk to Dr. Scales.”
Dr. Scales? The last thing I want is to go backward. Plus, what can he do for me? Nothing. I look down and focus all my energy on trying to calm my exploding heart. This, by the way, is a technique I’d read about from Mandela. He said that when the dogs were put on him, he would close his eyes and still his heart. So that’s what I do.
Life Stinks and Then You Die
I decide to take a walk. It’s after school gets out, so the coast should be way clear. Just in case, I put on my trusty black-frame glasses and pull on one of Mom’s huge scary garden hats. That way, even if anyone recognizes me, they’ll pretend they don’t. I pass by the old log house on the corner that sits on stilts over the hot springs. Next to it is the open field with those huge boulders, rock walls, and green moss. The fence is locked. There’s no car in the garage. No trespassing signs are all over the place. I stop and stare. I peek over the fence. And then I jump.
And land in another world.
I stand on a ledge, surrounded by water. Not the clear blue water of swimming pools, but the thick green water of underground springs. Koi fish jump to greet me. I walk along the railing and go around the side of the house where I can see the field. Somewhere, hidden in the rocks and hills and the thick grass, or maybe tucked into the abandoned chimney, is another door to the Houdini tunnels. I’d bet my life on it. Not that it’s worth much anymore.
I walk down to the bottom of the property, past the pool and the Jacuzzi covered with leaves, and stand at the fence, which lines busy Laurel Canyon Boulevard. I peek through the slats and see our house across the way. I wish I could hide here forever.
Suddenly a car pulls over and blocks my view. The door opens. It’s Bobby. He practically jumps out of a shiny new car and slams the door. His dad’s still talking, but Bobby’s not listening. He’s walking with his head down, like he just wants to be left alone. I catch a glimpse of them. His dad has his hand on the lady’s knee, and she has her hand on top of his. She’s giggling like life’s a ball. Lucky them—at least someone’s happy. I watch them drive off, thinking how great it would be to be old—not the veiny wrinkle part, but the driver’s license part—when suddenly a rock goes whizzing past me.
“Yo! You’re trespassing.”
I turn around, and there’s Bobby.
I’m so impressed by his ninja-like entry that I totally forget how much he hates me, how he dropped me like a rotten piece of stinky cheese when the whole school was chanting “Scorpion.”
He shifts the backpack. The contents clink. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to get away.” I wonder what he’s got in there. More paint?
His eyes are red and mad. He’s not letting me in. “Can you go now, please?”
“Why? You own it?” I’m sick and tired of everyone out there thinking they have more of a right to be mad than I do.
“Get off my back.” Bobby pulls his hoodie over his head, grabs his skateboard, and climbs the old rock steps that look like they’ve been here since the Native Americans. Sharp oak leaves crunch under his sneakers.
And I thought I was in a bad mood. “What’s up with you, Bobby Brown?” I chase after him. The rock trail is steep and covered with leaves, trash, and weird objects like stuffed animals and Mexican candles. “I get that your dad has some trouble.”
Bobby stomps his feet and gives me one of his famous glares.
“But do you really want to enter a whose-life-sucks-more competition?” I’m so out of breath that I stop halfway. “Because I will so beat you.” The words echo through the rocks and still sound empty. “Your life compared to mine is like a trip to Six Flags.” Still, he doesn’t respond. I keep going. “Your parents are giggling, you made it onto the basketball team, and everyone loves you. I mean, seriously! Do you know how lucky you are compared to me?”
Bobby bends down to examine something in the leaves. He’s totally ignoring me, of course, like I am making no sense. But the fact is, he should be paying me for my words of wisdom. After all, I have been under psychiatric care. I have insight.
He walks off up the hill, crossing paths like he’s been here a thousand times. I wonder if there are snakes. There have to be snakes.
“From where I stand,” I add, “you have no reason to act like such a jerk to me.”
Bobby whips around and comes running down the path straight at me. He’s snorting, he’s so mad. “For your information, that ‘lady’ in the car”—his eyes are tormented, his hands are in my face—“is not my mom, so quit telling me how lucky I am. Damn it.” He turns and runs back up the hill.
“Your aunt?”
“No.” His loose caramel-colored afro is so blond at the tips it looks like he dyed it. Lucky. I wish my hair bounced when I walked.
I catch up to him just as he jumps into one of the rock caves that line the mountain. He looks at me like I’m an intruder. “It’s his new girlfriend, all right?”
“Your mom is letting your dad have a girlfriend?” I lift off my hat. “That’s what I call progressive.”
“No, dumb butt.” He drops his bag. It makes a huge clang. “Just found out my dad left me and my mom for the new girlfriend. All this time they’ve been lying to me, saying everything was fine, couples fight, blah, blah, blah. Liars.” He cocks his head. “Just like you.”
So I’m mixed in there too. In that big bag of misery. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, well.” Suddenly he doesn’t sound like he wants to kill me anymore. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out.” He puts out his hand and pulls me into the cave.
I look around and can’t believe it. There are gems glued to the rock walls, and they twinkle like stars. There are drawings, books, magazines too. In the corner is a sleeping bag and pillow. “Is this all yours?”
He nods.
It feels like a mountain retreat, a place to be totally away from it all. “I love it.”
“Me too.” He looks around, proud and slightly in awe of the place that no one knows about but him.
And then I realize that we�
��re holding hands, which feels pretty great and pretty awkward, because hours ago he wanted to slice my head off.
“You know your sad audition is all over YouTube?” He drops my hand, picks up a leaf, and smells it. “Life is pretty much gonna suck for you from now on.”
I think about Jai’s description of the untouchables. “I’ve accepted my fate, Bobby.” I look out over the hills and the street. “Everything I touch turns to poo. So I’m not gonna touch anything anymore. I am going to be an untouchable.”
“And what’s that, Cooper?” Bobby’s laughing at me already.
“Someone who can’t be touched. My friend in India told me all about them.” Funny how things have changed. Up until a few weeks ago, I was going for Mother Teresa and Gandhi, and now I’m at the other end of the line. The person who can’t be touched. Me. In the end, it’s easier.
Bobby elbows me. “Ah, come on. You’re tougher than that.”
I shake my head. “I’m not. I don’t have it in me anymore, Bobby. Because whatever I do, it always comes back to bite me on the butt.”
But Bobby’s not feeling all that sympathetic. “You threw Marta under the bus. You lied to her, to me, to everyone—”
I can feel myself getting riled up. I’m about to launch into it again when I stop myself. I just stop arguing. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“All of it just to get some dumb TV show.” He keeps going, needing to have his say. “What did you expect? People to love you?”
TRUE FACT: Sometimes people can’t handle the truth.
We lean back against the cool walls with a clear view of my house on the other side. Both of us silent, lost in our own troubles. When the silence gets too much for me, I ask, “You know who owns this place?”
“Tarzan.” Bobby picks up a stick and writes his name in the dirt. “He was so famous back in the old days. Now he’s all alone and walks around naked most of the time. Doesn’t leave the house much. I’ve been coming through here for years, to get to the caves. He’s cool as long as you don’t mess with his house.” He drops the stick and rubs his eyes.
I crawl out and look around. “Legend is there’s a tunnel entrance on this side.” The back of the mountain is laced with rock caves, caves big enough for a lion to rest in. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“That’s right—you’re the tunnel hunter.” Bobby smiles like a kid again. “Mr. L’s sure there’s gold in the caves here too. Something about a Mexican bandit who hid his treasure when the Americans took California.”
Bobby watches the men working on our house across the way. “I want to find it. And then I want to run away. Wanna run with me?”
I’m melting. Words can’t form in my brain. I see the two of us on the run. Holding hands. Sharing Hostess fruit pies. Blueberry.
Then it’s over. He jumps from the cave. The bag moves. Sounds like glass.
I eye the bag. “What’s in there?”
“Something that feels good.” He jumps.
I follow him down the rock steps that crisscross the hill. When we get to the property line on the far left, he points to a boulder with a red target chalked on it. “See that?”
“Yep.”
“Pretend it’s, oh, I don’t know. Lillian.” He takes a shiny glass bottle from his bag and hurls it at the target. Glass shatters. He turns to see my face, my reaction.
“Or my dad’s new girlfriend.” He takes another and another, hurling each one with more force than the last. His face gets redder and redder, his screams get louder and louder with each shatter. Finally he turns, wipes his forehead, and asks me, “You wanna try?”
“Breaking bottles? Really?” How childish. How like a boy. “How pointless.”
He comes toward me, holding a bottle, with a grin on his face that can’t be good. “Just try. Just once.”
I reach out and take the clear glass Coke bottle by the neck.
“Okay. Stand here.” He draws a line in the packed leaves. “Now, take it over your shoulders, hold the top of the bottle, and flick it like hell.” He watches me lift it. “Like that, that’s right.”
I pull back my arm, bend my knees, and throw it with all my might. It lands with a thud—straight into the leaves. Quite frankly I am shocked. I have a good arm. “What happened?”
Bobby cracks up. “You really suck.” He gets the bottle and puts it in my hand and shows me how to hurl it.
“All right, I got it.” I push him away. “This is gonna be a bull’s-eye.” And I throw the bottle with all my might. I hit the target, but again the bottle lands with a thud.
He laughs. “Man, Cooper, you’re seriously hopeless. I had no idea you were such a girl.”
A girl? Did he really just say that?
Suddenly all I can think about is getting that unbreakable bottle and smashing it to smithereens. “A girl, huh?” I run and grab the bottle. The skin of my finger snags on a crack. Blood lifts from the cut and dribbles down my hand like chocolate syrup. “Dang it!” I drop the bottle.
“Hey, Coop? You okay?” Bobby rips a piece of his shirt and comes down to wrap it around my bleeding finger. “Does it hurt?”
I wait for the pain to start, for the gash to throb, but you know what? It’s not half as bad as all the stuff I’ve been going through at school.
Bobby’s warm chocolate eyes and caterpillar lashes are locked on mine. “I’m . . .” He pauses, trips over his words, looks away.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I push him. “What nothing?”
He shrugs, slouching his shoulders. “Sorry, all right?”
I bend my finger. I didn’t want to think about it anymore.
Bobby digs his hands into his pockets. “I should have stuck around, stood by you.”
“Yeah, well, whatever.” I don’t want to go backward. Plus, my finger throbs.
“If you stop lying to me, I promise not to run.” He puts his hand out. “Deal?”
Really? Will he? I don’t know, but I shake it anyway.
Bobby grins like the good old days. He hands me another bottle. “Try again.”
“Okay.” I take it, cock it back behind my head, and take aim.
I see Lillian.
I see Chad.
I see Erica.
I see Marta.
I see me.
It shatters against the target. “Yes!” I jump in the air. Bobby gives me a high five on my noninjured hand. He hands me another. He’s right. With each shattering explosion of glass, I feel better.
When there were no more bottles and the sun was gone, Bobby and I crawled back over the fence into the real world.
Bobby stops halfway over the fence. “You still doing Halloween at your place?”
“Me?” I pull a branch out of my hair. “No.” I laugh. “I’m hiding. In my room. Until day breaks. That’s my Halloween.”
Bobby nods like he gets it. “Just hang tight, Coop.” He drops his board. He looks so hot I can barely stand it. “All this will blow over.”
How? I wonder.
“It’s gonna be good—you’ll see.” And he skates away, all happy and relaxed. I wish I felt the same. I glance down at my finger. The blood has turned a dark brown. If only everything healed this fast.
My Metaphorical Stoning
By five o’clock on Halloween, the place looks like the scariest set of a horror movie you’ve ever seen. Spiders and rats hang from the trees. Felix has thrown toilet paper all over our house, then sprayed it with red “blood.” Jumbo black crows squawk from every tree. Fog spews out from one of the fifty or so fog machines they’ve hidden all over the property. Red guts are pouring out of dead rats and crows made of fake fur. The tunnel door is wide-open, the dirt about one-quarter of the way removed. Mom put a skeleton in it, making it look like he was climbing out.
If I wasn’t so depressed, I’d invite the world and tell them I did it all. Pen’s been working on her costume all day long, sitting over the sewing machine. She’s going as a dead Laurel
Canyon squirrel, so she put on a squirrel’s tail and poured fake blood all over herself. She took a family poll, and no one knew what she was, so she wrote SAVE THE CANYON’S SQUIRRELS on her T-shirt.
Whatever.
And Felix, the poor kid, is getting totally used by Mom and Dad. They’re making him wear this huge bunny costume. “I look so dumb,” he says as he tries to sit on his bed but falls onto the floor.
“Kids, kids! Are you ready? Come on, it’s Halloween!” Mom runs into our room. Her boobs are totally hanging out.
Pen’s horrified. “You should really cover those up.”
I personally think she looks decades younger. “You look awesome.”
“And you, what’s your costume?” Mom walks around me, studies my pj’s. “Depressed teen?”
I throw her a high five.
“Baby, it can’t be that bad.” Mom sits next to me, rubs my arm. “You still have friends.”
“She really doesn’t, Mom,” Pen cuts in. “Marta’s joined forces with the populars. There’s no one left.”
Mom holds out a black mask. “Here—no one will know it’s you.”
Mask and pj’s—my costume this year. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Pen can’t take her eyes off Mom’s costume. “Moms shouldn’t show their boobs unless they’re feeding someone.”
“I’m a magician’s assistant. Have you ever not seen them show their boobs?” Mom tries to get a better look at Pen’s costume.
“I’m a dead squirrel, remember?” Pen says. “And we’re charging five bucks for admission.”
Felix’s hitting his bunny ears against his bed. Mom bends down and takes his face in her hands. “You don’t have to be a bunny if you don’t want to be.”
He looks hopeful. “I don’t?”
“Nope.” She rubs his shoulder. “You can be a dead bunny.”
“Dead bunny?” He thinks about it. “Can I have a huge bullet hole between my ears?”
Mom looks at me. I am the bullet-hole expert. “Can you do it for him, Charlie?”
“Sure, kid.” I go into my secret Halloween stash, get my bullet-hole kit, wax, and blood, and start making a massive, bloody, goopy hole right in between his ears.
Watch Out, Hollywood!: More Confessions of a So-called Middle Child Page 10