Alibi Junior High

by Greg Logsted

  Finally he turns my way and forces a smile. “Hey, how about helping me with this stupid tie?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk in silence through his house and into a bathroom. Andy faces the mirror, and I stand on the edge of the bathtub behind him. I reach around his wide shoulders, look in the mirror and start to tie his tie. It’s definitely easier this way.

  I search for something to say. I can feel the silence thickening around us. I blurt out, “Um, Annie’s real nice. Did you guys used to date or something?”

  He seems aggravated by the question. “No. What gave you that idea?”

  “I guess the way she hugged you.”

  “She’s been seeing Johnny for as long as I can remember. Johnny and I joined the service together. He used to be my best friend.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Still is, I guess. I just haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Why?”

  “We were stationed hundreds of miles apart, that’s all.”

  “I thought best friends keep in touch.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes they don’t. Okay?”

  I finish with his tie. “How’s that look?”

  He eyes it for a second. “Perfect.”

  I step down off the tub and nearly fall when a loose, round rug slips out from under me. I steady myself on Andy’s shoulder and then follow him outside.

  I squint as we walk into the glare of the afternoon sun. Somehow it seems brighter than just a few minutes ago.

  A deep voice barks, “You guys call a cab?”

  I’m startled by the voice and I flinch.

  There’s a taxi waiting in the driveway. The driver’s leaning against the roof. I can’t believe I didn’t hear the car pull up to the house. Why did it take me so long to notice it? I’m slipping, getting soft, not paying attention; I’m being conquered from within. Time to get my head back in the game before something happens.

  Andy looks at me and shakes his head. “Sometimes I know exactly what you’re thinking. I’m not sure what I find more disturbing—that I know what you’re thinking, or that I’m thinking the same thoughts.” He waves at the driver. “Yeah, I called. Sorry, I didn’t hear you pull up.”

  The driver snorts. “No problem. I just got here.” But judging from the look on his face I’m guessing it is a problem. This guy looks like he would have a problem waiting an extra ten seconds for his passenger to shut the door.

  Andy pats me on the back. “Thanks for the hand. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck.”

  When I open the door to the cottage, Jenny is standing a few feet away, waiting for me, clutching her cell phone. She seems very anxious. I quickly glance around the room expecting the worst.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Um, school. You know, that place I go to five days a week.”

  “Don’t be a smart-aleck. You should have been home at least a half hour ago.”

  I smile. Is this what it’s like to have a mother worrying about me? “Andy asked me to help him with something. What’s the big deal?”

  Her cell phone goes off, she glances at it. There’s a change to her expression: it’s all business now.

  She quickly hands me the phone and starts talking as fast as she can. “Okay, it’s your father. He called earlier. You can talk for one minute, not one second more. He said you’d understand.”

  I do. I fumble with the phone before I manage to open it. I nervously place it against my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Cody, is that you?” The connection is poor and I can hear heavy equipment in the background. It sounds like a large steel wheel grinding boulders into pebbles.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, it’s me. How are you, son?”

  “I’m okay. Where are you? It sounds like you’re inside a coffee grinder.”

  “I can’t say. Do you understand why?”

  “Yes, I understand.” I press the phone closer to my ear in an effort to hear better. I can feel my heart starting to pound.

  “Cody, I love you. I want you to know that.”

  “I love you too. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I’m just busy taking care of our little problem. Hopefully I’ll have it settled soon and we can be together again.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “I have no way of knowing that, son. You’re just going to have to be patient.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s school? Was everything okay with the transcripts?”

  I start to laugh. “Everything was fine, but why did you add that ‘problem with authority’ thing? It’s really giving me problems with authority.”

  I can hear him chuckling. “I wanted them to keep you on your toes and press you to work harder. I guess it’s working.”

  “Well, they definitely have me on my toes.”

  There’s a moment of awkward silence. We can both sense that the minute is about to expire. There’s no meaning in the silence, it’s just a complete lack of sound.

  He starts talking faster. “Our time’s almost up. Take care of yourself. Remember: Always stay diligent. Don’t forget, your eyes are your most important weapon. Always expect the unexpected. Listen to Jenny; don’t give her a hard time. Study hard. I love you, Cody.”

  “I love you too. Oh, and Dad…,” The phone goes dead in my hand. I stand there listening to the silence for a while, unable to accept that the conversation’s over. I can feel the heavy fog of emptiness settling around me. I inhale it deeply. I can’t help myself.

  One minute. That’s all I got, just one lousy minute. One minute isn’t long enough for a conversation; it’s barely long enough to ask for directions. I could hold my breath longer than a minute. I think this whole “international man of mystery” routine stinks. It really does. Why couldn’t my dad have been an accountant?

  Jenny places her hand on my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  I look into her eyes. There’s so much concern there; she really does care for me. Part of me feels like falling into her arms and crying against her shoulder and the other part is completely repulsed by the weakness of the idea.

  I’m not sure what to do with these feelings. It’s like they’re in a washing machine, spinning around, mixing together like socks, shirts, and underwear. I can’t just reach in and take only what I need.

  I mumble, “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How’s your dad?”

  “Fine, I guess, but who knows? I’m sick of all this. I’m going to my room.”

  “Sure, okay. Hey, do you want me to make you some hot chocolate? It’s really good.”

  “No, thanks.”

  I walk down the hall and into my room, then close the door and fall upon my bed. I feel as empty as my walls. I bury my head in the pillow; my eyes start to water. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Jenny’s voice is soft and low, filled with concern. “Cody, it’s me…can we talk?”

  I sit up in my bed. “Just a sec.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve and slowly walk across the room. I’m at the door but I just can’t bring myself to open it. I lean against it instead.

  “What do you want?”

  Her voice is like a feather. “I just want to talk, that’s all. Open the door.”

  I’m tempted, but I can’t. “Not now. Later, okay?”

  “Cody, I want to help you. Talk to me, maybe I’ll understand.”

  “I can’t. I just want to be left alone.”

  There’s a long moment of silence. Then she says, “You don’t have to open the door. Just talk to me.”

  I slide down to the floor and sit with my elbows on my knees, hands on the sides of my face. I stare off across the room, focusing on nothing.

  A little while later I hear a noise in the hall and realize it’s Jenny sliding down to the floor. I picture her sitting out there, her back just i
nches behind mine on the other side of the door.

  Time slips away. The world moves forward while I just sit here. The emptiness is like a weight pressing down on top of me. I doubt I could stand even if I tried.

  I hear a car pull into the driveway, then the sound of a door opening. A minute later, I hear Andy saying good-bye. I realize it must be his taxi. Andy went to the job interview already? He’s back? How long have I been sitting here? The room’s a lot darker than it was before.

  “You still there, Jen?”

  “Yeah, hon, still here…you want to talk now?”

  I stare at my shoes and sneakers lying on the floor. They’re scattered around like bodies. I see the waitress winking at me again. I can see her face, her smile, the way she lifted her little pinkie while she poured my dad’s coffee.

  I clear my throat. The words flow out of my mouth like water from a broken pipe. I’ve got no control over them; they’re rushing to be free. My voice sounds strange, almost like it’s not mine.

  “Me and my dad were at this café in Santiago…”

  I tell her the whole story, everything I can remember. When I get to the end, to the part where I find the waitress lying next to me, my voice starts to crack, and before I even know what’s happening I’m crying, crying like I haven’t cried in years.

  I feel the door being pushed with gentle force against my back and I give in to it. A moment later Jenny is sitting next to me, tears flowing down her face. She holds me tight; her hands are rubbing and patting my back. I close my eyes and sink into her.

  For the moment, I feel safe and warm.

  EYES

  When I first looked into Renee Carrington’s eyes—those big, beautiful brown eyes—I realized I had to spend as much time as possible with her. Whenever Mrs. Smith says something stupid or misguided I’ve learned to just let it slide so I can spend more time next to this special girl.

  I discreetly watch her every move. I listen to her conversations with her friend Fiona. I study her extensive doodles, her colorful clothes, and focus on her odd comments in class. Like when Mrs. Smith asked her to explain the importance of the free press in a democratic society and she said, “It’s like having a menu that lets you know what every restaurant in town is serving.”

  I notice the different ways she styles her hair, holds her pen, and taps her fingers on her desk like she’s playing an invisible piano. I notice that she laughs at things the rest of the class doesn’t find funny, gets sad about stuff nobody seems to care about, and is excited by what others find boring.

  For the last week I’ve spent most of my time in class thinking about the best way to talk to her. Should I just introduce myself? Ask her about homework? Give her something? Write her a note? Hack into her computer? Everything I come up with feels really lame. I blame my clothes. They say clothes make the man; well these clothes make me feel like an insecure, tongue-tied boy. I miss my suits. I always felt confident wearing a suit.

  The bell rings and another opportunity to talk to her seems to be slipping away. I can almost feel the floor moving beneath me. She’s walking out the door with a quick, purposeful stride.

  I pick up my books as another wave of disappointment washes over me. I wish I could talk to her. What’s wrong with me? It has to be the clothes. These baggy, pocket-crazed pants are messing with my mind. I glance at her desk. It’s only a few feet away from me. It would be so easy to reach out and touch her. Why is it so hard to just talk to her?

  Then I notice the notebook. Her notebook. It’s on the floor next to her desk. She brought her art project to class today; it’s some kind of weird kite-type thing. Between juggling the artwork and her books, it’s not surprising something was left behind.

  Here’s my chance. I snatch it off the floor and dash toward the door after her.

  “Cody.”

  I look over at Mrs. Smith. I don’t believe it. What does she want and why does she want it now?

  “Yes, Mrs. Smith.”

  She gives me a smile. “I just wanted to say that I’ve noticed a change in your attitude. It’s nice to see that you’ve decided to try harder in class.”

  “I’m not trying any harder.” I can see the clock over her shoulder and I swear that second hand is mocking me. “I’m just trying hard not to get kicked out of class.”

  She has a slightly puzzled look etched across her face. “I see…perhaps we might consider this a turning point?”

  “Sure, why not.” I look toward the open door. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith, if there’s nothing else, I’ve really got to get going.”

  “That’s fine, Cody, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  I hurry out the door and look for Renee. She’s walking down the hall by herself.

  I run after her, shouting, “Renee! Renee!”

  It seems like she’s the only person in the hall who doesn’t hear me. Everyone is turning my way except her.

  “Renee! Renee! You forgot your notebook.”

  I tap her on the shoulder. She jumps and quickly spins around toward me. The stick in her kite swings toward my left eye. I try to avoid it but it’s moving too fast.

  “Ahhh!” The pain shoots through my whole body. I clutch my eye and squat down to the floor. I can’t believe it. I let my guard down. Good thing my dad wasn’t here to see that. I’d be doing extra training drills for a week.

  She’s standing over me, pulling iPod ear buds out of her ears. I can hear the sound of faint, tinny music. “What’s wrong with you?” She looks alarmed. “What are you doing?”

  “You poked me in the eye with your stick.”

  “I did?” Her expression softens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  I slowly rise to my feet, blinking my eye and trying to rub the tears away. I think it will be okay, although it still really hurts.

  It’s tough to talk. “I know, I guess I startled you.”

  “Startled? Who says ‘startled’?”

  “I guess when you’ve been maimed by a stick you tend to say words like ‘startled.’”

  “Did you say tend? Who says ‘tend’? First you say ‘startled,’ and now ‘tend.’” She gives me a huge smile and a wink. “Oh, I get it, you’re from Albania, right?”

  “Albania?” My head’s starting to hurt. “Why would you think I’m from Albania? Are you putting me on?”

  “Putting you on? What an odd phrase. But that would be fun, wouldn’t it? To put someone on like you put on a new suit. Just slide inside their skin and walk around for the rest of the day. See what it’s like to be them.”

  “Um, I guess.”

  “You guess? What’s wrong with you? I think it would be okay for a girl to try being a guy for a day, but a guy being a girl? Now that just seems plain weird to me. You want to be a girl?”

  “What? No! I didn’t say that. Not that there’s anything wrong with girls, it’s just…Why are we even talking about this?”

  “You brought it up.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, whatever you say.”

  I’m starting to get really frustrated. This isn’t how I wanted things to go between us. I try my best to stay calm but I can hear the tension slipping into my voice. I wave at the people in the hall with the notebook. “I have absolutely no desire to walk around in a girl’s or for that matter anyone else’s skin except my own.”

  “Oh, I’m just playin’ with you. Hey! That’s my notebook! What are you doing with my notebook?”

  I almost forgot about it. “Oh yeah. You forgot it under your desk. I was just returning it.”

  She takes it out of my hand.

  A teacher standing in the hall shouts, “Move it along, people! This isn’t a social club!”

  She starts talking faster. “Hey, don’t worry. I think you’re cute. Next time you want to talk to me, just talk to me. Okay? You don’t have to go around stealing my stuff to get my attention.”

  “I didn’t steal y
our notebook!”

  “Whatever you say. Listen, I’ve got to get going. Oh, by the way, my name’s Renee.”

  “I know.” I can’t believe I just admitted that. “I’m Cody.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cody. Hey…I was wondering. Fiona and I need a third for the class project. You seem to know a lot about history. Would you want to work with us?”

  I can’t believe she’s asking me. Two minutes ago I didn’t think I’d even be able to talk to her, and now we’ll be working together! I feel a little dizzy. Just say yes and try not to sound too overly excited. Try to act cool.

  “I’d love to.”

  I can feel my face getting red. Why did I say “love”? What a stupid thing to say, “love.” Why did I say that?

  She smiles. “Great!”

  “Oh, what’s the project about?”

  “France.”

  She starts walking down the hall.

  “Renee.”

  She turns around.

  “I didn’t steal your notebook.”

  She flashes me a smile. “I know. I left it for you. I could tell you needed an excuse to talk to me.”

  I’m late. Time to bolt down the hall to the gym. I really thought gym was going to be a blast. Too bad Coach Dinatelli has to take all the enjoyment out of it. The man’s a fun vampire, just sucking the fun out of everything. I bet he spends his nights dancing with snakes and sticking pins into the voodoo dolls of all good people.

  The bell rings as I burst into the locker room and I nearly plow right into the evil one himself. He’s abandoned his black cloak, sharp teeth, and night wings for his day uniform of gray sweats and a whistle.

  “Teacup. Do my eyes deceive me? Are you late?”

  “I beat the bell, Coach.”

  “That doesn’t make you on time. I expect you to be on the floor when the bell rings, not walking into the locker room. Are you on the floor?”

  “No, I’m not, Coach.”