The Gatekeepers

by Jen Lancaster

That’s when Dad laughed, sure that this was all a case of mistaken identity. The look the Averys gave him in response was downright murderous.

  “I don’t understand. Simone isn’t permitted to see your son,” Mum replied. She straightened her back while she spoke, as though someone suddenly stuck a steel rod in her spine. When completely upright, Mum’s almost six feet tall and quite imposing, far more than Dad. “No. You must be mistaken. That’s impossible. Right, Simba?”

  I’ve started to sweat. Rivulets of liquid panic roll down my back. I try to speak but my throat is too dry, too constricted to form proper words, particularly under the Averys’ hostile gazes.

  “Impossible?” Liam’s mom snorted. “She’s at our house every day. If you were the kind of people who kept track of their kid, you’d know.”

  Both my parents turned to look at me and I found myself wishing the ground would split open and swallow me whole. I’d wondered if my lies wouldn’t eventually catch up to me, but I never envisioned this.

  “Simba,” Mum asked, her normally firm voice taking on a pleading edge. “That’s impossible, yes? You’ve been at the newspaper.”

  I shook my head, not able to look in her eyes, incapable of making a sound.

  “Oh, Sim,” Dad said, sounding more hurt and disappointed than angry.

  Mr. Avery gestured toward me. “You keep her away from Liam, understand? She stays away from our son or there will be consequences.”

  “Beg your pardon, but it almost sounds as though you’re threatening our daughter,” Mum said, attempting to clarify a situation that I’d later describe as surreal, even though Dad despises my perpetual misuse of the term surreal. Makes me put a dollar in a biscuit tin when he catches me saying it. He says surreal is not being lectured by bullies in a foyer, surreal is Magritte’s bowler-hatted, bespoke men raining down on row houses.

  “That’s not a threat,” Liam’s mother said, jaw set and arms firmly crossed, clutching her own elbows. For all the muffins she bakes and the good morning hugs and darling Homecoming posters, I suddenly saw the ice queen Mrs. Avery was back in her advertising agency days. “That’s a promise.”

  “Your Liam has problems,” Mum said, her own frosty calm turning into something else. “Problems he had before he ever met Simone. I’ll thank you not to come into my home and make baseless accusations.”

  “Let’s do the math here,” Liam’s dad responded, his lip curled into a sneer. “Liam was the perfect kid, an ideal student, and a dedicated athlete a couple of months ago. But now that he’s hooked up with this one—” he thrust his chin in my direction “—I’m hearing that he’s taking drugs and lying about college applications. Hmm, let me think about that...before meeting Simone, Liam was headed to Princeton. After meeting Simone, he’s on the path to heading to, I don’t know, prison? You claim she’s innocent, but she lives here, with you...two bohemians. Read about you on the internet. Real nice example you’ve set.” He let out a cruel laugh. “Yeah, sure sounds like Liam’s the problem. Let me tell you this, he will be fine again the second she’s out of his life. This isn’t him, this is her.”

  “Let me tell you this,” Mum hissed, her patience spent. “Your ‘golden child’ was high the first night we met him. Get your house in order before making accusations in mine.”

  I ached to talk to Liam, to hear what had happened to him before all of this, to offer some sort of comfort. As impossible as his father was when he’d done well, but not well enough, I was terrified of how Mr. Avery might have reacted to hearing anything negative about Liam—anything that could somehow reflect badly on himself. I wouldn’t sleep a wink that night, agonizing over Liam’s state of mind.

  “Let me tell you this,” Liam’s dad countered, inching closer to my mum. I was holding my breath, waiting for someone to throw a punch, and I feared it would be my mum who struck the first blow. “If I see her around my kid again, then I—”

  “Wait,” my dad said, inserting himself between them, always opting to be peacemaker over the antagonist. Dad rarely fought; he was much more likely to work out his emotions through his art. I half suspected he’d whip out some colored pencils and paper, instructing us all to sketch our feelings. “Let me stop you all right there. So, you don’t want your son to see our daughter, yeah? And we don’t fancy having our daughter around your son. Looks to me that we’re on the same page. We want the same thing. I’d say we’ve accomplished our mission here and there’s nothing left to discuss. We’ll call it a night before this gets even more ugly, right?”

  That seemed to take the wind out of Mr. Avery’s sails, yet he was determined to have the last word. “You make sure she stays away.”

  “We will,” Mum said, nodding. “We will do that because we’re her parents and we love her and even as virtual strangers, we can see your son is on a collision course with trouble. We’ll gladly keep close watch on our daughter because wherever your son is headed, we’d prefer he not drag her down with him.”

  Mrs. Avery began to protest, but Mum shut her down, adding, “If you don’t see that, if you can’t comprehend that your Liam might have issues, despite every advantage you’ve given him, despite being exemplary parents, whatever happens next is your fault and your responsibility.”

  In a softer voice, Mum continues. “I’ve seen what drug use can do to the most talented among us, so I’m begging you to find him help. Regard this as a serious threat. With our daughter removed from the equation, you might assume your problem’s solved. Simone’s not the issue, despite your beliefs. Your son is wrestling his own demons. Get him to treatment. Now. Please. This isn’t the time to punish him, this isn’t the time to rend your garments or cast blame. Reach out because it’s not too late. Too many tragic things have already happened in this community this year. Help him. Don’t let your child become another statistic. I beg of you, don’t ignore what’s going on under your own roof.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mr. Avery replied, dismissing everything my mum had just said. “Follow your own advice. Get your house in order before you go looking for trouble in mine.”

  With that, the Averys left. I wanted to warn Liam, to tell him what to expect, but I had a feeling reaching him would be impossible. And I was right.

  Dad closed the door behind them and collapsed a little bit as he leaned against it. The whole interchange had zapped him of his spirit. I hated that they had to witness anything unpleasant and that I was the cause of their unhappiness.

  Mum turned to me. I braced myself for yelling or accusations or for the firm hand of justice. Instead, with the saddest eyes in the world, Mum simply asked, “Why did you lie, Sim? I’m not angry, I’m confused. Please tell us why.”

  I had to tell them the truth.

  “I lied because I love him.”

  “Oy, Simba that’s not enough reason,” my dad said, squeezing me tight so that I was mashed against his scratchy cardigan. “That’s never enough reason.”

  “Sim, sweetie, the boy is in danger, and by association, he’s endangering you. We can’t let that happen. We exist to keep you safe. I’ve always trusted your judgment before, but now? Now I’m not sure what to think.”

  “It’s just a few pain pills,” I argued. “Prescription stuff. No big deal. Liam is ridiculously smart and he knows what he’s doing. He can stop any time he’d like.”

  Dad sighed. “Never in the history of ever has that phrase proven true, Sim.” He pulled me in closer and planted a kiss on my forehead.

  Mum said, “Love, I hope you won’t mind excusing us. Your father and I should talk.”

  “Don’t you want me to be part of the conversation? We always talk as a family,” I said.

  “We speak as a family when we function as a family,” she replied. “Off you go.”

  My feet felt like those heavy boots the old-timey scuba divers used to wear to keep themselves pinned to the ocea
n’s floor, but I made myself climb the stairs to my room anyway. I couldn’t bear to be around my folks right then, even if they had wanted to be with me.

  I stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt as I reached the top of the stairs, anxious to shed at least one item that was weighing me down. The air meeting my bare, damp skin gave me goose bumps. I found Warhol camped out on my bed, vibrating with nervous energy, tail thumping a million miles an hour, sitting next to my phone. In a panic, I grabbed it and texted, u there?

  I never received a response.

  I learned the next morning that Liam has lost use of any way to communicate with me because his parents are serious about punishing him.

  How he’s being disciplined pales in comparison to what mine have decided to do to me.

  We’re moving back to London at the end of the term.

  36

  MALLORY

  “Hey, stranger, where have you been hiding?”

  Liam brushes past, not even turning to look at me. Did he not hear? I try again, louder this time. “Liam, hi! Didn’t see you at the last couple of Gatekeeper meetings. Will you be there this afternoon? This is the big day!”

  Mr. Gorton lobbied for and won approval from the school board to approach the Parents’ Association. He spoke to the PA last night in a closed-door meeting to discuss imposing limits on our workload. With their approval, the teachers will have a finite amount of homework they can assign, which should lessen the burden on each student, hence allowing us more time to decompress. Mr. Gorton’s going to brief us on the specifics of the agreement at Gatekeepers today.

  The whole Association meeting has been such a big deal, it even pinged my mother’s radar.

  “Assignment limits? Never going to happen,” she told me yesterday, after she’d skimmed a couple of emails about the Gatekeeper’s proposal. She had her iPad in one hand, balanced on her knees, and her third (fourth?) glass of wine in the other.

  “Of course it will,” I said. “The Association would be foolish to deny our request for relief.”

  “Foolish or not, never going to happen,” she replied, tabbing from her email back over to ShopBop.com.

  “Disagree. It’s the only logical course of action,” I argued.

  I resented the way she was smirking at me, like she knew something I didn’t. Sometimes I think she gets off on taking the counterpoint, no matter what it is. I could be all, “Here’s why it’s important we protect the environment,” and she’d go off on a tangent about how convenient non-recyclable plastic bags are and why everyone’s better off using disposable diapers.

  “We’re not asking for a three-day school week or anything. Just some guidelines on amounts of homework assigned and test frequency. We had teachers and guidance counselors help us phrase our request. They’re on board. What’s to object? We’re trying to save lives.”

  As my mother perused ShopBop’s shoe section, she explained, “Mallory, the objection is pure economics. Decrease competition by limiting workload and test scores go down. When test scores go down, property values decrease. Property values go down, the tax base decreases. High net worth individuals flee because their properties’ values are diminishing, and then the town loses even more revenue from its tax base. Less tax base negatively impacts the school. Then the quality of education suffers and the school can’t hire the best teachers and then the whole thing is a vicious downward spiral. Schools are the linchpin of the community. No one’s going to mess with a good thing. North Shore has a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. So, sorry, never going to happen.”

  That is ridiculous.

  I said, “No one would be so callous when lives are at stake.”

  She shrugged. “Facts are facts. Take Arizona, for example. They estimate how many prison beds they’ll need based on standardized testing of third grade reading scores.”

  I snorted. “So, what, you’re saying if we have one hour less of Trig homework a night, we’re all going to turn into criminals? That’s a stretch. I mean, with the rash of suicides here, we have to do something. Do people not love their kids?”

  She sipped her wine and put a pair of suede Rag and Bone booties in her shopping cart. “People love their children. They also love their status. While I wish you luck with your little proposal, don’t be surprised when the Association votes no.”

  As there’s no one in North Shore as narcissistic as my mother (save, possibly, for Mr. Avery) I chose not to believe her skewed worldview. I’m confident the Parents’ Association will do the right thing.

  “Remember?” I prompt, trotting up to Liam. “The big meeting was last night?”

  “Uh-huh,” he replies, accelerating his pace down the hall. What’s up with that? I thought he and I were cool. I didn’t make him being with Simone into a thing. I let it all go graciously. I’m even nice to Simone because she seems to be into the Gatekeepers. We’re on the same team.

  Now that I’m out of Liam’s orbit, I see how we weren’t good together. Not enough contrast between us. He probably relates better to Simone’s lack of intensity. Or maybe he’s just into hideous trousers.

  (Sorry, it had to be said. Harem pants will never be the new black.)

  “You won’t be there?” I press, breaking into a slight jog to keep up with him. “Today’s meeting’s too important for us not to show up in full force.”

  Being involved with the Gatekeepers is exactly what I’ve needed. Without them, I would spend all day staring at Braden’s email log-in and I can’t do that. I have to get on with my life. I have so much untapped energy now that the field hockey season is over, it feels good to pour it into something with an actual purpose and not just debating fonts for the Italian Club mixer invite.

  Being with this group makes me realize that we’re all going through something and the best way to get through it is to rely on each other. I mean, who’d have guessed that Owen Freaking Foley-Feinstein would end up back in my and Theo’s life, and that we’d both be thankful every day for him? If Braden felt like he could have leaned on a collective group of us, like he had more of a formal support system, maybe everything would have been different. Maybe we could have helped Paulie and Macey. Maybe Stephen would still be here, ruining the curve for everyone.

  I so wish we’d come together sooner. I wish we hadn’t each been battling everything on our own. But we’re here now, collectively strong, and that’s the best we can do.

  Liam stares straight ahead while I scurry alongside. “Can’t make it, sorry.”

  Perspiration streams down from his hairline, soaking his shirt collar. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. You’re sweating even though it’s so cold and—”

  He grabs my wrist. “What is it that you need right now, Mallory?”

  I extricate myself from his grip and shake out my hand. Not cool. “Whoa, Liam, manhandle much? I better not have a bruise. Ow. Seriously, ouch. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Whatever.”

  Liam is practically running away from me now.

  “Whatever? I think the words you’re looking for are ‘I’m sorry, Mallory.’”

  He turns around to flip me the bird and I notice the black eye and split lip right before he turns the corner and vanishes from sight.

  Oh, no, Liam.

  Jasper comes up behind me. “You okay, Malady?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

  If someone had told me at the beginning of the semester that not only would I be BFFs with Owen, but that Liam would regard me as the enemy and Jasper would be my ally, I’d have laughed. Yet here we are.

  Jasper and I made peace with the advent of the Gatekeepers. He’s as concerned as the rest of us with helping the kids in our school, so I’ve stopped being so hard on him. I promised I’d stop ca
lling him the JasHole and he pledged to stop being one.

  So far, we’re both keeping our word.

  I mean, yes, his first inclination was to throw a huge party for the Gatekeepers, but he was reasonable when I objected.

  “Um, Jasper? Is free and easy access to unlimited liquor the best idea right now?” I’d asked. Our group had just been discussing the link between the increase in adolescent alcohol use and suicidal ideation.

  “Valid point, Mallomar,” he’d replied. He’s finally taken to making plays on my name, after all these years. I’m shocked to find this endearing. (It’s an entirely different universe around here now, I’m telling you.) “We need to do something, though.”

  As an alternative, his dad rented a whole bowling alley and chartered buses so that we could have an all-school outing. The event ended up being awesome. Everyone agreed it was so refreshing to participate in a sport where our futures didn’t depend on the final score. Most of the student body attended and it was hilarious to see some our elite athletes tossing gutter balls, while people like Kent completely slayed.

  The night felt like we were all part of something bigger than ourselves.

  Jasper and I were paired up at the outing. Despite initial trepidations, we were high-fiving and performing victory dances by the end of the night. I may even have admitted I didn’t hate his look—grass-green cords with tiny candy canes embroidered on them. We bonded and we’re firmly on the same side now.

  “You have any clue what’s going on with Liam?” I asked. “He practically just ripped my head off. I thought he and I were cool.”

  Jasper shrugs. “Can’t tell ya what’s up. He’s stopped talking to me.”

  “You’re kidding!” I stop in my tracks. “Since when? You luff him.” I make a little heart with my hands to demonstrate my point. “You guys are BFFs.”

  A flash of something—sadness? regret?—crosses his normally implacable face. “Were, past tense. I talked to his parents about his new drug habit. I even implicated myself, saying I’d supplied him in the beginning. I thought that might afford him some protection, given how his folks are always sucking up to mine. But you saw his face.” He gestures toward his eye and lip. “That’d be a no.”