by Andrew Smith
“There were police here, two days in a row, looking for you and Bosten,” she said. “Where is your brother?”
I put down my fork and looked directly at her. “I don’t know. I thought he would be here. I hoped he would.”
Aunt Dahlia’s eyes were wet and heavy with concern. “The first day it was a detective from Oregon, asking only about Bosten. On the next day, when he came back, there was another detective from Washington. Then he started asking about you, too.”
I didn’t know what to tell her. I felt guilty, even though I didn’t do anything wrong.
She said, “They told me that someone got killed. It scared me so bad I thought I was going to die. I thought it was you or Bosten.”
I shook my head.
“They didn’t tell you who it was?”
“No. They didn’t say anything else, except there had been a killing in Oregon, and they needed to find you boys.”
I pushed my plate away. I couldn’t eat.
I must have sat there for five minutes, just looking at the food Dahlia had made for me.
It was so quiet.
“Some people got shot. It happened on a boat. I was hiding inside a room. I didn’t see who did it or why they started shooting. When I came out, there were two people dead and whoever did it was gone.”
I felt Dahlia’s hand shaking on top of mine. Then she stood up and squeezed me and said, “Oh.”
Aunt Dahlia stroked my hair and kissed me on the top of my head. I think she was crying.
“I need to tell you about me and Bosten. And why I’m here.”
* * *
I suppose that in most ways memories are like the sounds that get trapped inside my head. They just swirl around at their own pace, making their own order, doing the math by themselves. Because as we sat there and I tried to tell Dahlia the whole story—everything—I would find myself at times backing up as something forgotten rose to the surface and became important.
And none of what happened to us would ever make sense if I didn’t let the biggest monsters that swam in my head come up and reveal their teeth—there is no love in our house, only rules.
But there is this room.
I told her about our name and Saint Fillan and how I believed the story to be real and she said there is nothing wrong with you.
When she said it, it sounded true
it sounded like chains coming loose
* * *
my little window
and our secret way out
all Bosten and me ever had was just us
* * *
I told her about Ricky Dostal
I told her
every detail
about what happened to us in the Saint Fillan room
about our bucket
what Dad did
to Bosten
what Dad did to Bosten
what our goddamned father
did
how I dreamed one day
I would be brave enough to kill him
but Bosten was smarter and stronger than me
and he left
* * *
and then I told her what happened with Buck
I had to
I knew it wouldn’t make a difference to her
but it sent Dad over the edge
Buck tried to kill himself with scissors
then they sent him away
so I took the car
to save myself
and save Bosten, too.
* * *
Dahlia patted my knee. She waited until she was certain I’d finished.
“Your brother told me about it. You remember that evening, you made me go outside for a walk with you?”
I nodded.
“That night, Bosten told me why you took me outside while he was on the phone. He told me about the boy back home in Washington. He said that’s why he loves you so much, too, Stark. Because none of this other stuff ever came between you two. It doesn’t make us change how we feel about each other.”
“I need to find him.”
“I know. We will.”
* * *
On Monday, the Strand was deserted of all the kids I’d usually see out in the water.
Normal kids go to school.
I slept in too late to catch Evan and Kim before their school bus came; and I felt bad about that, but Dahlia told me she’d rather watch me sleep than wake me up.
As I sat there eating the breakfast she cooked before I opened my eyes, Dahlia said we had plans to take care of.
“It starts with a shower,” I said. “I think I smell bad enough to curdle milk.”
The last time I took a shower was after April cut my hair, on my birthday.
“And maybe when I’m in there, I could throw my stuff in your washer. I don’t have anything to change into.”
Dahlia looked surprised. “What’s in your suitcase?”
“Our wetsuits, one set of clothes for Bosten, dirty socks, jeans, and underwear, and a newspaper clipping with a picture of a UFO.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“What am I going to do with you, Stark?”
* * *
She took me to a Sears in Ventura and bought me all the clothes I’d need for a few days, even socks. And underwear and T-shirts that weren’t all white. I changed in the men’s room at the shopping center.
Then she drove me across Oxnard to Anacapa Junior High School, and parked her Dodge in a space in front of the office that said VISITORS.
“What do you think?” she said.
What was I supposed to think? I wondered.
“It doesn’t have hallways.”
That was the first thing that struck me about the school: All the classrooms had doors that opened onto the outside, and instead of hallways, there were sidewalks.
The second thing I wondered was if they were going to put me in the mentally retarded class.
I think Dahlia saw the nervousness that came over me as we sat there in front of the school. I was never a natural fit into any situations involving new kids; and I dreaded the thought that somewhere, on the other side of the stucco wall we were facing, was a PE coach who was ready to start recording as much as he could about my life, my measurements, what I wore, and whether or not I took a shower.
Aunt Dahlia put her hand on my arm. “Let’s just see what the people inside are like. Then we’ll talk about things. But, you know what, Stark? This means I intend that you’re going to be staying here with me. I think they’re going to have to put me in jail before I’ll let them send you back up to Washington.”
I never knew anyone who’d stick up for me like that, with the exception of Bosten, and Emily. So it made me feel safe and lonely at the same time. I didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t see Emily Lohman again.
I felt small and so far away from her.
I gulped, and said, “Okay.”
And I was terrified that they were going to take me directly from the office and deposit me in some hostile class—probably gym—right on the spot. But after we talked to the school registrar, she gave Aunt Dahlia an enrollment packet that listed all the things we needed to provide before they could do such things to me; and that meant I was off the hook, at least for a few days.
When we stepped outside, Aunt Dahlia said, “That was better than I thought it would be. I have a feeling things are going to work out just fine for us. Of course, this is all up to you, Stark. I just want you to be sure that you’re safe here.”
“I know that. Thank you, Dahlia.”
The strange thing was how much it seemed to me like I was really home, maybe for the first time in my life.
* * *
After we left the school, we drove into Oxnard, to a grocery store. Aunt Dahlia said she didn’t think she even had a stale cracker left in her house, and she was afraid I was going to start eating her furniture if she didn’t stock up on provisions.
On the way there, I thumbed through my new school’s regis
tration packet and found the page I dreaded the most: “Boys’ Physical Education Participation Requirements.” It had all the same important words that the Mr. Lloyds in the world kept precise records on: “daily showers,” “deodorant,” “hygiene,” “athletic supporter.”
School.
I wondered how long it would be until I had to punch one of Anacapa’s “key guys” in the face.
Because things were different now.
* * *
In the afternoon, Aunt Dahlia phoned my mother. I pretended to be sleeping in my room. I even got undressed and slid under the sheets. My new T-shirt and underwear had that chemical smell that I always liked. And anyway, I wasn’t going to talk to Mom. I didn’t believe she really wanted to hear anything from me, either.
They were making arrangements. Mom was going to send down the papers the school needed so I could start going to classes. I kept my eyes shut, but I could tell by the way the conversation went Mom didn’t mind at all that Aunt Dahlia was planning on having me move in with her.
Mom was always doing the math, and I guess things were finally starting to equal out to zero for her.
Not more than twenty minutes after that phone call, as I was still lying quietly in my bed with my door open, four policemen came to Aunt Dahlia’s front door, asking if I was here and could they come in.
The police probably had some special guidelines that required them to always arrive when the guy they were looking for was in bed, in his underwear. I mean, what are you going to do in that situation? The only worse possible time would be if you were at a urinal, holding your dick, like when Ricky Dostal started that shit that got me here in the first place. I honestly did think about running, even if I didn’t really understand what I could possibly be running away from.
I sat up. I could see the door right from where I was in my bed.
Two of the cops had on uniforms, with shining badges and guns; and the other two, the ones standing in front, wore suits, neckties, and expressionless, bored faces.
They were there for me.
Just like that.
* * *
So there I was, sitting at Dahlia’s kitchen table, barefoot, in my new T-shirt and underwear, talking to Detectives Adam Berkowitz from Portland and Guy Sheehan from Seattle. I wondered why anyone would name a guy Guy, but that thought went right out of my head as soon as Berkowitz said my own name.
“So, you’re Stark McClellan?”
It sounded like something a sheriff in a Western would say, just before he shot the guy he knew he was going to shoot even if he didn’t ask his name, anyway. It was part of the plan.
“Um. Yeah.”
The two uniformed cops—from the Oxnard Police Department—waited outside with their car, in front of Dahlia’s house. I guess they knew the stories about how the surfers on the Strand did things like leave dead rats under the windshield wipers of unattended patrol cars. At least, that’s what Evan told me, and I believed him.
Detective Berkowitz sat right in front of me, so close that he actually had to spread his knees apart so we wouldn’t knock legs—kind of like he was getting ready to apply a scissors- takedown if the wanted guy facing him made the slightest wrong move. Aunt Dahlia sat on the other side of the table, looking alternately at me, and then at each of the detectives, with an expression on her face that plainly said she was ready to kill either one of them if they had any ideas about taking me away from her.
“A lot of people have been looking for you.” Berkowitz’s voice sounded grim.
“Oh.”
I swallowed spit.
I looked at Aunt Dahlia. She wasn’t budging.
Then Guy Sheehan from Seattle said, “Your father’s car was found outside of Fresno. A man named Willie Purcell fixed it at his service station in Oregon. And your father’s been at home in Kitsap County for the past two weeks.”
And all at the same time, I said, “I’m too young to drive,” and Aunt Dahlia said, “Stark didn’t steal anyone’s car.”
Then Guy Sheehan nodded his chin at Detective Berkowitz and pointed at his right ear. It felt like all the blood was draining out of my body. I just stared at Detective Berkowitz’s enormous mustache.
“Nobody said you stole anything, son,” Berkowitz said.
Sheehan’s mustache wasn’t as intimidating. He had zits, too, which kind of took the edge off his scariness.
But I didn’t like the way Berkowitz called me “son,” and then he leaned forward, so his knee actually pressed against my bare thigh. “You know a girl named April Van Hecht?”
I shifted away from him. “I know a girl named April. I don’t know her last name. She was Willie’s cousin. She cut my hair last week. On my birthday.”
“So I guess that makes you fourteen now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But you told her your name was Bosten McClellan. That you were sixteen.”
“I didn’t think I’d get into any trouble if I pretended to be older.”
“Nobody said you’re in trouble,” Sheehan said.
“Then why are there four cops from three different states here at my aunt’s house?”
I knew I shouldn’t have said it as soon as the words came out of my mouth. It was the kind of thing that would get me slapped at my house.
Berkowitz leaned back in his chair. “You ready to tell me what happened at that houseboat?”
I waited; took a couple breaths.
“I don’t know what happened at that houseboat. I was hiding in Willie’s room. I heard five gunshots. Exactly five. I was too scared to come out. Anyway, I was scared of Willie and this other guy, an old man named Brock. They were doing cocaine all night, so I just hid in the room.”
I didn’t tell them the other stuff Brock tried to make me do or how he stole money from me.
Then Guy Sheehan got really close to me, trapping me against the edge of the table, between him and Berkowitz. “Did you do cocaine with them, Stark?”
I heard Aunt Dahlia inhale as soon as he asked.
And I lied, “No.”
Well, it wasn’t technically a lie. Willie forced it into my mouth.
Then I said, “I don’t do shit like that. Nothing.”
I looked at Dahlia. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cuss.”
I turned red.
She patted my hand.
I heard the diesel rumble of a school bus churning down the street in front of the house. I wanted so desperately to run outside, even in my underwear, and beg Evan and Kim to get me out of there. Into the water.
The detectives stayed for almost two hours. When they finished asking me questions, they had me write out a statement about what happened in Scappoose. As I signed it, Guy Sheehan said, “Your father didn’t want us to take you in for driving his car without a license.”
I finished writing my statement. I should have saved that grocery bag for them. It had the same words trapped on it.
“I’m sure it’s not worth his trouble.”
* * *
I peeked through Dahlia’s front window until I was certain the cops were gone.
When they disappeared down Ocean Avenue, I got dressed.
Aunt Dahlia looked worried. It hurt to see her like that, because I knew I was the cause of her suffering. I swore then that I would never do anything again to bring trouble into her house. I hugged her and told her I was sorry, and she rocked me back and forth in her arms and said, “Don’t be foolish, Stark. You didn’t do the first thing to be sorry about.”
And even though I was dying to get out to the beach and see Kim and her brother, I sat at Dahlia’s kitchen table with her and, together, we filled out the registration papers for my new school. Aunt Dahlia never had children. She asked me what an “athletic supporter” was, and why it was that only boys were required to have one to go to school.
So I told her. But I told her my version—the “Stick” explanation—not the myth that the Mr. Lloyds of the world expected you to believe.
W
e both laughed about it, too.
* * *
When I sat in the cool sand, digging my fingers in like I was trying to hold myself in one spot—finally—on the earth, watching Evan and Kim struggle to catch the chopped-up waves next to the jetty, I decided I’d ask Aunt Dahlia if I could call Emily that evening. Just the thought of hearing Emily’s voice put a weight on my chest, and I honestly wasn’t sure I’d be able to talk to her without crying.
But I had to make myself not cry, I thought.
Because things were different now.
Evan finally noticed me sitting there when his leash came off and he had to chase his board all the way into the sand, about fifteen feet in front of where I sat.
“Holy shit!” He dropped his board, then turned back toward the water and hollered, “Kimmy! Look who’s here! Stick came back! Holy shit!”
Evan pulled me up by my hand and then slapped my shoulder. “What the fuck? I thought you guys were back in Washington.”
I kept looking past Evan, watching Kim as she came out from the surf.
“My brother’s not here yet. But it looks like I’m moving back for good.”
“School and everything?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. Then I’m ditching tomorrow. Let’s go to C Street.”
Evan got closer to me. He cocked his head like he was looking at something under a microscope. “Did I say something wrong? Is something the matter, Stick?”
“It’s … I got a really long story to tell you guys.”
“And where’s your wetsuit?”
Kim was out of the water now. She bent down and unfastened her leash and climbed the last few feet up the sand bank to where we stood. Then she was there with us. If it was possible, Kim Hansen looked even better than I remembered, even better than I imagined, those times I’d fantasized about her since my Easter vacation ended.
“I have it at my aunt’s. I’ll come out with you tomorrow, okay?”
“You came back,” she said. Kim sounded genuinely happy to see me.
And before Evan could say anything else, his sister wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss, right on the mouth.
I would have drank an ocean of salt water at that moment, as long as it tasted like it did on Kim’s lips. But it was a quick taste. After all, her brother was right next to us. Still, it left me feeling a little weak and winded; and plotting for some time in the immediate future when Kim and I might be able to do it better.