“True. Wow. We actually agree.”
Tesla rolled her eyes and shoveled another mouthful of oatmeal in her mouth. “Magic,” she muffled.
Mama Kate walked into the room and froze.
“Monty, honestly! That shirt is stained. Go upstairs and put something else on. You look like you’re wearing the dirty hamper.”
I sniffed the sleeve. It smelled worn and comfortable, a little bit like toast. There was just a tiny stain on the sleeve. “This is fine,” I grumbled. It felt cozy. Also, I noted looking down, it was my Bigfoot shirt. You pretty much can’t go wrong with Bigfoot.
Maybe Mama Kate agreed. Maybe she was just too tired to argue. Staring at my shirt, she let out this big breath. “Okay, Monty. Just … have a good day.” She pulled what was clearly a strategically stashed pair of socks out of her pocket and motioned for Tesla. “Finish up. We don’t want to be late.”
Tesla had an appointment, so I walked to school that day, which meant it was a coffee-on-the-way-to-school day, which is like my little reward to myself. I get a double Dark Horse blend, and I put honey and cream in it, and it is delicious. Mary’s Grounds only has dark blends and all her pastries are full of gluten. And Mary, whose name is Phyllis, doesn’t take cards. And she doesn’t like talking to people.
So, of course, I am a loyal customer.
I was sipping and walking when I saw them. The latest flood of posters from the Reverend White. On every pole between coffee and school.
THE REVEREND WHITE WANTS YOU
TO SAVE THE AMERICAN FAMILY!
The night before, fueled by my masterful soccer game and fabulous day at school, I’d watched more Reverend White vs. Gay Wedding videos. Now when I looked at the posters, I could hear his voice ringing in my ears, calling out from a crackling megaphone. “It’s evil and it’s everywhere, brothers and sisters. Not a union of God. Evil.”
The posters had changed. No more posters with the happy family being coddled by a loving White. Now it was just him. Magnanimous. Arms wide. Not arms wide like “let me give you a hug.” Arms wide like “I am saving you.”
I could see him standing behind the pulpit.
Across the street, a woman pushing a stroller with a kid on her hip looked up at the poster. Down the road, a tall man shifted his ball cap as he leaned in to get a closer look. How many people were reading this and thinking, Yeah, that’s what this town needs, someone to take a stand against the freaks who think they can disobey the laws of Adam and Eve and all that biblical stuff that says there’s only one way to do the whole family thing? How many people would join up with the Reverend White?
A truck roared by, fast and loud, country music blaring. It made my heart pound a bit, in this nervous way, like my heart wanted me to be running.
THE REVEREND WHITE WANTS YOU
I reached up and grabbed the poster, crumpled it into my bag.
By the time I got to school, I was kind of sweaty. I tried to just switch my brain to autopilot, just get through the day. I ran my laps at gym. During lunch, I went to help Thomas paint a bunch of trees for the set. I could hear Matt and the boys rehearsing onstage.
“Okay, guys”—Coach Choreographer clapped his hands—“greasers on this side and the, uh, other guys over here. Matt! Eyes front! What’s your name? Yah, you too. Okay, now we’re going to fight with just some light slaps, okay? Nothing too hard.”
Matt chuckled. “Get Thomas out here to show us some light slaps.”
I hadn’t realized he could see backstage. I looked up, and there was Matt waving at us through the curtains.
What happened after that? Bio. Surrounded by the smell of bleach, I tried to think about something that didn’t make my head hurt, while, at the front of the class, Mr. Jenner cycled through endless PowerPoint presentations of hearts. Lungs.
After school, I was supposed to meet Thomas on the far side of the field, and we were going to walk to this hardware store to get some supplies for set building.
As I walked out, there were kids selling crafts and snacks for different charities and teams. Which I have always found kind of weird. Like, why do I have to pay fifty cents for a coconut square so the soccer team can have new uniforms? As I thought this, I nearly slammed into the CHEER TREATS FOR BREAST CANCER table, staffed by a bunch of girls in cheerleading uniforms.
They all had the same squeaky, high voices. “Um, can you even be careful?” One of them said, “This is for breast cancer.”
“Um. Okay,” I said. “How much for a treat?”
“Uh. The sign says two dollars.”
“Pfft,” another girl scoffed. “Obviously.”
I noticed all their nails were painted pink. Little pink claws, I thought.
“Fine,” I said, grabbing a treat and tossing two dollars on the table. “Thanks for the great customer service.”
There’s something about the way the girls at this school look at me, like I’m some sort of genetic experiment. Like a hairy monster.
I wish I felt like Naoki seems to feel. Like some sort of beautiful mythical creature.
Screw them.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in the field and eating my for-breast-cancer Rice Krispies treat when I spotted Thomas.
“Hey,” he called, trudging across the field. “We need to make an extra stop at the paint store.”
I was licking the remnants of my snack off my fingers when I heard the boys laughing on the other end of the field.
“Hey! Snow White! Here’s your apple!”
I stood up just in time to see a blurry red object zing toward Thomas’s head, whizzing past his hair.
Both Thomas and I screamed, equally high-pitched.
“Heads up! I mean, whoops!” Matt and his friends, in hysterics. They were wearing their Outsiders costumes. Which they weren’t supposed to be wearing. Jeans that I had distressed for these idiots. White tanks I’d aged with tea bags and charcoal.
Which they were wearing because they were just doing what they always did.
Whatever they wanted.
Thomas looked down at the ground. “Oh,” he said. “From yesterday. Right. Nice. I guess we—Monty? Montgomery!”
Thomas’s voice was an echo. A distant vibration in the air that was already thickening around me. I started across the field toward them, my feet like big dinosaur feet, pounding the grass.
“Oh shit, buddy,” some kid yukked. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Here she comes!”
They were prancing away. Not even away, just in wide circles. They moved in exaggerated strides, like a dance. Matt was at the center, walking, looking back, looking at me. He turned around. Put his hands up.
We were at a standoff. Five feet apart, our respective armies holding. Waiting.
“Chill out, Montgomery,” he laughed. “I didn’t hit him, okay? Don’t get your tampon in a knot.”
“Funny,” I growled. “You’re so funny, Matt! You’re so hilarious! What would this school do without you?”
“Monty,” Thomas called, his voice strained.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like one of those punching bags boxers practice on, but trapped in the cage of my chest. Punch, punch, punch.
I closed my eyes. What did the card say?
In sight
not see
black light
not be
“Hey,” Matt called.
I opened my eyes.
“You know what’s wrong with you? You dress like a dyke, and you can’t take a joke.”
“Why don’t you just shut up?” I seethed.
“What?” Matt cupped his ear as he started to jog backward. “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”
“Tell her you don’t speak lesbian,” someone yelled.
“Tell her to shave her legs!”
I stepped forward. I reached up and grabbed the Eye, curled my fingers around it, tight. And I yelled, “Shut your mouth! Don’t even breathe! I swear to God if you make one more noise I will destroy
you!”
Matt stopped. Like, he froze. Like a cartoon character. One foot still hovering over the ground.
Then he fell to his knees. His fist pushed into his chest.
“Montgomery!” Suddenly, Thomas’s hand was on my shoulder like an anvil.
Matt fell onto his side. My hand fell to my side.
His face was white against the green grass. His mouth opened wide. Like he was screaming. Like a fish out of water. Screaming with no sound coming out.
“Matt?” Thomas voice caught. “Matt!”
Matt’s friends came charging back. The grass squeaked under their shoes.
“Hey, Matt, man, you cool?”
“Matt?!”
“Oh my God.”
They clustered around him, their voices swirling around in the wind, which had picked up and pushed against us, like a crowd. Like a riot.
“Someone call an ambulance!”
“What’s going on?”
“Matt? What is it, man? Matt! Dude!”
“He can’t talk, dude!”
Thomas pulled out his phone. “Nine-one-one? Yes. I think a student has had some sort of attack. Yes, we need an ambulance.”
“Matt, just relax, man!”
“What’s wrong with his face?”
Something, somewhere must have been burning. The air was full of a bonfire char smell. That smell of trees and nature turning into something else.
I stumbled away, across the field, across the baseball diamond. I dodged through the dwindling crowds of kids standing outside in the parking lot.
There were sirens. Kids stood by their cars, craning to see.
“What happened?”
“Did you see what happened?”
“Oh my God, an ambulance! What’s going on?”
I walked up Main Street and through the suburban streets where parents still had their front doors wrapped in Day-Glo fake spiderwebs.
I wasn’t sure where I was walking to, or why I hadn’t waited for Thomas.
Or what had just happened.
I walked by Yoggy, but then I didn’t want to go in there, either, so I just kept going.
Finally I headed to the movie plex and paid six dollars to see a James Bond movie. Because I suddenly had this idea that I didn’t want to be found, and there is no way someone would look for me in a James Bond movie.
I could feel my phone buzzing as James Bond ran across the screen and got beat up and put on a tux and took off his tux.
By the time I got out, I had two missed calls from my moms and a zillion texts from Thomas, one from Naoki.
Thomas: Where are you? Where did you go?
Thomas: Are you OK?
Thomas: Matt off to hospital.
Thomas: Where are you?
Thomas: Seriously.
Thomas: MONTY.
Thomas: Ignoring your best friend is lame.
Thomas: Okay. When you are ready you should call me.
Thomas: Call me now.
Thomas: Montgomery!!!!
Thomas: Okay. Am peeved but will be patient for you to take your sweet time calling me back.
Thomas: Call me now.
Thomas: Montgomery, what happened?
Naoki’s text was from three hours ago.
Naoki: you ?
When I got home, Momma Jo was in the living room, watching TV.
“Where were you?” Momma Jo asked, standing up.
“We’ve been calling you.” Mama Kate came in from the kitchen, holding up her phone. “Why didn’t you answer?”
“Library.”
Mama Kate dropped the phone by her side. Looked at Momma Jo.
“I can’t answer the phone in the library,” I snapped.
Everything looked a little different. A little off. Like the walls had been repainted a shade darker. Something.
“Hey.” Momma Jo put her hands on her hips. “First of all, don’t be a jerk to us. We are your moms. Second. If you see we have called, you can walk your butt out of the library and call us back.”
I studied the carpet. “Fine. I’m going up to my room to study.”
“More?” Momma Jo asked.
Mama Kate stepped forward. Then stopped.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Monty,” Mama Kate said. “We haven’t seen you all day. Do you want to sit for a bit? Did you eat?”
“I ate. I have to study, okay?”
“Okay,” Mama Kate said, stepping back toward the kitchen. “Okay, Monty. That’s fine. Just…”
“Adjust your attitude a little would be nice,” Momma Jo grumbled, settling into the La-Z-Boy.
What is that supposed to mean? I stewed.
As I passed Tesla’s door, I could hear music blaring. Someone singing about love. And heartache.
In my room, I pulled everything I could find on the floor and the surrounding area onto my bed.
Curled up under the weight of a thousand cushions, I took the stone off my neck, wrapped my fingers around it. It was cold as ice. A little shiver ran through me.
What was happening?
9
Hypnotism
Hypnotism is the ability of one person to say “this is true,” and make it true for another person.
Momma Jo doesn’t believe in hypnotism, because she’s only ever seen white people get hypnotized. Which, basically, to Momma Jo, means it’s some sort of western society thing, which somehow, to her, makes it less true. Which has something to do with feminism in this way I’m not completely sure about.
I’ve tried it on Thomas many times, using instructions I found on this website for the Society for the Secret Mind. They didn’t work. Thomas would always criticize my tone and overall delivery, which he was convinced needed to be more regal.
“Like Sherlock Holmes,” he offered once, lying on my couch while Naoki filmed our session with her phone.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with Sherlock Holmes,” I countered. “You just want to hear a British accent.”
“Your British accent is really funny,” he said, eyes closed, waiting.
“Thomas.”
“Just do it. I’ll pretend to be hypnotized.”
I tried it on Naoki after that, and she just fell asleep. But she said that in her dream, she was hypnotized.
“And it was really relaxing.” She smiled.
Difference between being asleep and being hypnotized? Can you be both?
Hypnotism is one of the few techniques I’ve seen videos of where it doesn’t look completely fake. There are actual doctors out there who use hypnotism to help people remember stuff and also to help them quit smoking. Sometimes the people in these videos look dumb, but I think that’s just because they’re sort of sleeping, and sort-of-sleeping people look kind of dumb.
For anyone who says, you know, that magic isn’t real, I say, okay, well, look at hypnotism. A hypnotist tells you, “You are getting sleepy,” and you are. “You feel relaxed,” and you are. A hypnotist counts to ten and says, “You are awake,” and you are.
And no one is sure why.
It’s a legit mystery.
Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean it’s not happening.
Although that can be kind of scary.
When Naoki tried to hypnotize me, I fell asleep, or I thought I did. In the video, I just kept saying “Be careful” over and over again, in this sleepy voice, no matter what she asked me.
* * *
The morning after what happened to Matt, I couldn’t eat breakfast. I just got in the car and waited for Tesla to find her socks.
“You okay?” Momma Jo asked, twisting in her seat.
“Fine,” I said, slumped down in the same overalls, this time in my I BELIEVE IN MAGIC T-shirt.
On my way to first period, I bumped into one of the boys from the soccer field. A friend of Matt’s. Peter Hassle. A tall kid with long brown hair that was always in his eyes. Maroon spots on his face. Smelled like orange gum. Always the third kid to lau
gh at a joke about someone else.
He looked up and scooped the hair off his face. His eyes went from sleepy to wide awake in a nanosecond.
Like I’d just popped him in the face.
“Uh, sorry,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor.
By English, I could hear the whispers swirling on the backs of a thousand whispers.
“Didn’t you know?”
“Montgomery Sole is obsessed with Matt Truit.”
“Yesterday? She attacked him.”
“No!”
“Josh and Pete told me.”
“She’s such a freak.”
I pressed my fingers into my desk. The stone was still around my neck.
I’m sure I looked like a crazy person. I hadn’t really slept. My joints felt like a rotten apple cores; my head felt like a bowling ball balancing precariously in a divot between my shoulders. When I closed my eyes, I saw Matt, his face white as chalk, mouth stretched open. It felt like someone else’s pulse was racing against mine, like the rumble of traffic outside.
Chairs squeaked against the floor as students settled. Someone had written Matt Truit on the chalkboard and circled his name with a big heart.
Naoki was nowhere to be seen that morning. I’d received two “are you ok?” texts from Thomas, who I’d also yet to see.
Me: I’m fine.
Thomas: Ok. I want to talk to you, OK?
Me: K.
It felt like time was slipping out from underneath me. Like I was in that hour of pre-sleep where you trip into a dream. In and out. Someone said something about a comic book.
Right, I thought, because I’m in a classroom.
“It’s just a really good, uh, story,” he finished. It was Teddy Kent. Who only ever talked about comic books. And superheroes. In every class. No matter what we were talking about. “I thought. You know, better than the original series because well, the art is better in this one. At least. But the movie sucked.”
Mrs. Farley leaned on her desk and flipped through her notebook.
“Okay. Great. Thanks, Teddy. Let’s get back to the text, okay? I know you want to talk, but I’m not allowing any more comments on TV shows or comic books or music videos you like, unless you can link it to our discussion of the hero in this book. Okay. How do you know when a character is the hero of a story?”
Our crumpled copies of The Outsiders sat on our desks, spines cracked. Corners frayed. Some students made a show of flipping through their books, “looking” for the answers, as Mrs. Farley sat on her desk, tapping her pencil on her teeth the way she does when she’s annoyed we’re not raising our hands.
Saving Montgomery Sole Page 11