by Pearl Love
Tyrell tensed as the third #8 bus passed him since he’d gotten off his own bus at Halsted fifteen minutes before, this time without even stopping to let off passengers. He’d arrived nearly forty minutes ahead of first period, so unless Jeremy had gotten to school an hour early, there was no way he’d beaten Tyrell there. By choosing to confront Jeremy here rather than in front of the school, he hoped to increase his chances that Jeremy would actually talk to him. Struggling for patience, Tyrell shifted his feet and resigned himself to wait.
A few minutes later, another bus pulled to a stop. Tyrell was half watching, not expecting Jeremy to show up with over twenty minutes to go before classes started, but he looked over sharply when a flash of blond hair caught his attention. Jeremy looked better than he had the two previous days. His hair was shining—obviously recently washed—and his skin had regained its healthy pink hue. Still there was no mistaking the air of depression that lingered over his head like a dark cloud.
Tyrell stood a few feet away from the bus shelter and was racking his brain to figure out the best way to approach Jeremy when he was spotted. Jeremy stopped dead in his tracks and stared at him in shock. For a moment he thought Jeremy might be waiting for him to approach, but in the next instant, Jeremy’s eyes shuttered, and he turned, showing Tyrell his back. He began walking stiffly away from the bus shelter, clearly having no further intention of acknowledging Tyrell’s presence.
“Jeremy, wait,” Tyrell called out. He growled in frustration when Jeremy reacted by picking up his pace and jogged after him until he was close enough to grab Jeremy by the arm. “Damn it, I said hold up!”
“Let go of me.”
Tyrell reared back at the viciousness of Jeremy’s snarl, but he held firm as Jeremy tried to yank his arm away. “Look, just give me a second, okay?”
Jeremy glared at him. “What for? So you can humiliate me to my face? Don’t worry, your friends already took care of that, or weren’t you watching?”
“Those motherfuckers are not my friends.” Tyrell ignored the woman who shot him a disapproving glance as she hurried past them. It was her problem, not his, if she’d never heard someone swear before. “I am sorry, okay? I’m truly sorry about what happened.” He sighed and looked away from Jeremy’s furious expression. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“Then why didn’t you say something back then?”
Tyrell winced, his heart aching at the pain in Jeremy’s tone. Why indeed? Wasn’t that the fifty-million-dollar question? He hadn’t been able to think of a reason other than that he was a cowardly little shit.
“I don’t know,” Tyrell said finally. “I should have but… I’m sorry,” he repeated, unable to think of anything better to say.
“Whatever,” Jeremy mumbled. He tugged at Tyrell’s grip, and Tyrell finally let him go, feeling confident Jeremy wasn’t about to run away.
“We really need to talk,” he ventured after a moment, desperate to break the silence that stretched between them.
Jeremy stared at him, his expression still closed off. “You heard about that body up in Oak Park and that little kid in Hyde Park, right?”
“The kid was Kevin’s missing friend.”
That caught Jeremy off guard. The hostility in his face melted away for a brief second before returning with muted force. “Damn, I’m really sorry to hear that. But don’t think I haven’t realized the only reason you ever gave me the time of day in the first place. You needed my help figuring out these crazy murders.”
Tyrell didn’t react at Jeremy’s characterization of the bizarre string of deaths since he agreed wholeheartedly. Unlikely as it was that dozens of young people would suddenly die of heart attacks for no reason, the chilling experiences they’d had at the location of at least two of the deaths clinched it. Though how the victims had been killed and by whom he had not the slightest clue. “Yeah, I’d hoped we could do something, but that’s not why—”
“Spare me, Tyrell.” Jeremy’s glare was unforgiving. “You don’t actually like me. You only pretended to be my friend because I was useful to you.”
Tyrell blinked at him in astonishment. “What are you talking about?” His voice was shrill with disbelief. “I was not pretending. I thought we were friends.”
“Then whatever so-called friendship you thought we had is over,” Jeremy spat, his harsh tone forestalling any disagreement. “I would have helped you, you know. I hate knowing that people are dying as much as you do.” His eyes began to shimmer as they filled with tears. “You didn’t have to lie to me.”
Tyrell struggled to find the words he needed, his efforts hampered by the sparkling beauty of Jeremy’s teary gaze. He was entranced even though he hated knowing he was the one who’d made Jeremy cry. “I didn’t lie,” he replied weakly.
“Fuck you, Tyrell!” Jeremy grabbed at his pendant and ripped it from his neck before throwing it at Tyrell’s face.
Tyrell caught it instinctively although the rest of him could only stand there frozen.
“That stone is tied to all of this somehow, so take it. Now you won’t need my help. We’re done!”
Tyrell felt powerless to move as Jeremy darted off in the direction of the school. Jeremy’s rash action had shocked him to his core. Never had Jeremy spoken of his dead brother without expressing a poignant sense of longing. Even if he’d never said anything more about Christopher, his love for his brother was plain to see. Tyrell couldn’t fathom how much Jeremy must despise him to give up something that obviously meant the world to him.
“Goddamn it,” Tyrell groaned under his breath, sagging as all the energy he’d mustered in anticipation of speaking with Jeremy drained out of him.
He knew he’d messed up, but he hadn’t truly grasped just how much damage he’d done. People were dying and, without Jeremy, Tyrell didn’t know whether he could do anything to stop it. But beyond that, he was at a loss as to how to begin repairing the friendship he hadn’t realized meant so much to him until it was gone.
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
MR. CRABTREE looked up from his desk when Jeremy entered his office. The space was small and cramped, one of the few allotted to the teachers so they could have someplace quiet to review lesson plans or grade papers. Jeremy saw a second desk over to the other side of the room, which was covered with textbooks on American history.
“Mr. Michalak, someone told me they saw you in school today.” Mr. Crabtree waited until Jeremy nodded and an uncomfortable stretch of silence had passed between them. “So? Are you going to tell me why you missed homeroom this morning? Did you have a relapse of whatever kept you out earlier in the week?”
Jeremy stared at his teacher like a deer in headlights. He should have been expecting the question and was cursing himself for being unprepared. “Uh, I guess. After first period I was feeling kinda icky, so I went to lie down in the nurse’s office. Sorry I didn’t check in with you first.”
Mr. Crabtree looked singularly unconvinced by the hastily constructed lie, but he merely nodded, apparently willing to give Jeremy the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, but if there’s a next time, at least do me the courtesy of letting me know you’re here. If I mark you absent one more time this month, I’ll need to call your parents in for a conference, you realize.”
Jeremy nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
Mr. Crabtree smiled benignly. “Don’t sweat it. So, what can I do for you?”
Jeremy shuffled his feet and gathered his courage. He hadn’t made the decision lightly, but his encounter with Tyrell that morning had convinced him there was no way he could possibly continue. Being forced to sit next to Tyrell in homeroom for the rest of the school year would be bad enough without prolonging their contact with each other. Jeremy missed the weight of Chris’s pendant around his neck like a physical ache. He still couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid, but it was too late to do anything about it now. He’d rather bite off his own tongue than ask Tyrell to return it to him now.
“Mr. Mic
halak?”
Jeremy started and realized he’d been staring silently at the floor while he tried to figure out how to express what he’d come to say. Finally, he just blurted it out. “I want to drop out of band.”
Mr. Crabtree stared at him for a long moment before pointing to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Have a seat.”
“Um, I really need to get going—”
“I know for a fact that you have study this period.” Mr. Crabtree’s blue eyes brooked no disagreement. “Sit down, please.”
Jeremy dropped into the chair and slouched back in the seat. He kept his attention glued to the edge of the desk closest to him so he wouldn’t have to meet his teacher’s gaze.
“I confess, Jeremy,” Mr. Crabtree began, slipping into a more casual form of address, “this comes as a real surprise. You were so gung ho about being a part of the ensemble, and to be perfectly honest, you’re one of the best clarinetists I’ve ever had the pleasure of conducting. Losing you would be a real blow. Not to mention, I doubt your excellent idea of forming a jazz band will survive without you.” He smiled when Jeremy glanced up at him. “I was going to speak to you about it on Monday, but I would like to get going with that, or at least I wanted to. Care to tell me why you’re suddenly so eager to quit?”
Jeremy squirmed in his chair. “Eager?” he repeated. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I’ve, uh, been struggling trying to keep up with all of my homework and studying. Participating in an after-school activity is starting to be too much.”
Mr. Crabtree watched him silently for a moment. “Hmmm, that would be a good reason except, as your homeroom teacher, it’s my job to keep track of all my kids’ grades. You, Jeremy, are getting As in just about every one of your classes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want to try again?”
Jeremy groaned softly, embarrassed at being caught in such an obvious fabrication. He should have known Mr. Crabtree would be aware he was, in fact, doing perfectly well in his coursework.
Mr. Crabtree sighed. “Look, son, I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but I’m having real trouble understanding why you want to give up something you obviously love so much.” He leaned forward and captured Jeremy’s gaze with his. “Remember when I said you could come to me with anything you needed to get off your chest? The offer still stands.”
Jeremy took nearly a full minute to consider whether he wanted to share his humiliation. He’d already spent three days getting over it to the point where he could actually show his face in public. The mere thought of rehashing everything made him feel ill, but, in the end, the sincerity of Mr. Crabtree’s expression convinced him that he could safely unburden his troubles.
“There was this party last Saturday….”
He spent the next ten minutes explaining everything that had happened, starting with the invitation he’d been so foolish to trust and ending with him running home with his tail between his legs. When he finished, Mr. Crabtree ran his hand down his face and let out a heavy sigh.
“I’d heard that Mr. Bryant had benched several members of the football team until at least the end of the semester. Now I understand why.”
Jeremy looked up at the news, wondering how that had come about. He couldn’t believe anyone had gotten in trouble because of what happened at the party. The other people who’d been there might have spread the story to the rest of the student body, but who would have told the football coach about it? Putting the mystery aside, Jeremy rushed to clarify his explanation. He’d trusted Mr. Crabtree this far, so he might as well go all the way.
“It’s not even what they did with the, um, panties that made me so upset.”
It was Mr. Crabtree’s turn to look surprised. “No? Then what?”
Jeremy took a deep breath. “It’s because of Tyrell,” he mumbled.
“Tyrell Hughes?”
“Yeah.”
Mr. Crabtree scowled. “Don’t tell me he was involved.” His jaw clenched. “For the love of…. Where did I put his home information?” He pulled out a file drawer at the bottom corner of his desk and began rifling through it.
Jeremy placed his hand on the desk to distract Mr. Crabtree from his search. “No, he didn’t do anything, or rather, that’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Crabtree asked with a frown.
“I thought….” Jeremy sighed, feeling stupid. “I thought we’d become friends, but he just stood there and did nothing. Apparently I was the idiot.”
Mr. Crabtree quirked his lips in a subdued smile. “You’re not an idiot, Jeremy. I’ve seen the two of you, both in homeroom and in band, and I got the same impression. Whatever thorny issues you guys were dealing with at the beginning of the year, lately you seemed to have put that behind you.” He shook his head. “Frankly, I was beyond relieved to see it.”
Jeremy frowned at the unexpected sentiment. “Relieved?”
“Jeremy,” Mr. Crabtree went on, ignoring the prompt. “If at all possible, I’d ask you to try and see things from Tyrell’s perspective.”
“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, irritated at the dodge, but curious enough about what Mr. Crabtree had said to let it go.
“Tyrell has been a student here at Winton Yowell since his freshman year, right? That’s two full years longer than you’ve been here.”
“I know that,” Jeremy said testily, unsure where this was going. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that he’s far more integrated into the student body than you are. He knows more people and more people know him, meaning he has a bigger reputation than you’ve been able to form in such a short time.”
Jeremy sat back, beginning to understand what Mr. Crabtree was getting at. “Meaning he has more to lose by standing out.”
Mr. Crabtree beamed. “I always knew you were a bright young man. I’m not going to speculate on Tyrell’s motives, but I want you to ask yourself something.” He stared directly into Jeremy’s eyes. “Is it that he didn’t care enough to help you or that he wanted to but was simply too afraid to put himself out there?”
Jeremy looked away, uncomfortable at Mr. Crabtree’s logical assessment. He could see all too easily how the latter might be true. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly.
“Of course,” Mr. Crabtree continued, “I might be wrong, and Tyrell isn’t the person I thought he was, but then again, I might be right. Don’t you think it’s worth it to find out?”
Jeremy shrugged, unable to verbalize a response as the surge of hope shooting through him constricted his throat.
“Why don’t you give him another chance? That’s all I ask.” Mr. Crabtree took a deep breath and folded his hands on top of his desk. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my long years,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle, “it’s that true friendship isn’t easy to come by. It can take a lot of work, but in the end, the results are always worth it.”
TYRELL DID a double take when he saw Jeremy walk into the band room for rehearsal. When Jeremy had skipped homeroom that morning, he’d been sure Jeremy must have gone home sometime during first period.
Jeremy made his way down to the floor and headed toward his seat without once glancing back toward where Tyrell was standing. The pendant was burning a hole in Tyrell’s bag, and he wondered if this might be the opportunity he’d been looking for to return it to its rightful owner. Whatever he decided to do, it would have to wait. The room was rapidly filling with people, and Tyrell was reluctant to confront Jeremy in such a public setting.
Patricia was far less reticent in her determination to speak with Jeremy. She hadn’t been at practice yesterday and obviously hadn’t had a chance to discuss what had happened on Saturday. Tyrell clenched his jaw as readily identifiable jealousy streaked through him when he saw the redhead bounce up to Jeremy like the last time she’d seen him hadn’t been during that awful spectacle at Nicole’s party. H
e pretended he was arranging his music as he strained his ears to listen in on their conversation.
“Jeremy! I heard you were sick. I hope you’re feeling better now. Was it something you ate at Nicole’s? I had a bad tummy ache yesterday myself—”
“Hey, Patricia,” Jeremy replied, cutting her off before she could mention the party any further.
Tyrell goggled at her unbelievable insensitivity.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Jeremy continued. He seemed uncertain whether to go along with her charade or to acknowledge what had actually occurred. “Um, I’m sorry I ran off and left you there,” he said, splitting the difference.
Patricia beamed at him. “Don’t worry about it. My dad came and picked me up.”
Jeremy’s tense expression smoothed in obvious relief. “That’s good. So, uh, what happened, you know, after I left?”
“Oh, not much. The party went on, I guess. There was a ruckus of some kind and someone left not long after you did, but I didn’t see who it was. My dad came for me shortly after that.”
Mr. Crabtree came into the room and called everyone to attention as he walked down the stairs. “Good afternoon, all. Let’s get going. I want to run straight through as much of ‘Mars’ and ‘Saturn’ as we can. We’re performing a concert the week before Christmas break, so we need to get cracking on the pieces we’re going to play.”
Patricia flashed a smile at Jeremy before turning to find her seat. Tyrell noticed the bemused look on Jeremy’s face as he stared after her. He understood how Jeremy felt. What was up with her not even mentioning what happened? Maybe she was just being considerate, but Tyrell somehow doubted it. That girl was just weird.