Boy Nobody

by Allen Zadoff

  So I say, “I’m wondering if I saw someone you might know.”

  “I don’t know many people in New York,” he says cautiously.

  “Maybe it was a friend you sent to check up on me? Since I’m new here and all.”

  “Where did you see this person?” Father says.

  Tension seizes his voice. He covers it well. There is perhaps a 5 percent elevation in pitch.

  A normal person would not hear it.

  But I can.

  “I didn’t see him exactly,” I say. “It was more of a casual thing. At the Apple Store and again on the street just now.”

  “Did you speak with him?” Father says.

  “It wasn’t a speaking situation.”

  It was a following situation. I walked, and he followed me.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Father says.

  I listen to his voice, trying to judge whether he’s telling the truth. It sounds like he is. Which would mean the Presence is not related to The Program. But I can’t say for sure.

  “I hope he didn’t bother you,” Father says.

  “He didn’t.”

  “This conversation has me concerned. Especially given the timeline of your new assignment.”

  “Yes, it’s a tight one,” I say.

  “You can’t afford any distractions. Your mother and I were talking about what happened the last time.”

  “What are you referring to?”

  “The four obstacles.”

  He’s talking about the Chinese spies.

  “Mother told me it was no big deal,” I say.

  “In and of itself, no. But I don’t want to think there’s a pattern here. Unexpected things popping up suddenly.”

  A pattern of what? Is Father suggesting that I’ve screwed up?

  “I’m sure it was nothing,” I say.

  Back to business. Back to being in control.

  I say, “I’m not even convinced I saw anything. I just thought I should check with you.”

  “I’m glad you did—something important like this.”

  “I have to go now,” I say. “I have to get back to school.”

  “Of course. Keep me in the loop,” he says. “And if you see this person again, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  The line disconnects.

  I’m troubled by this conversation with Father and the questions it raises.

  But there’s nothing I can do about it now.

  I scan the lobby, looking for anything out of place. I don’t find it. Only people in business suits gliding up and down the escalators, going about their day.

  It’s time for me to go on with mine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A CRY ECHOES DOWN THE SCHOOL CORRIDOR.

  I’m walking in the hall after sixth period when I hear it.

  “Cut it out!” a high-pitched voice says.

  It sounds like a girl.

  It’s not.

  It’s the pale kid from the cluster group this morning.

  He’s down the far end of the hall, pushed into a nearly invisible cubbyhole off the main hallway.

  This school has a lot of unique study areas. L-shapes, dead ends, mini cul-de-sacs. Nooks and crannies laid out with beanbag chairs, most with large windows looking out on the New York skyline. If this were a prison, these would be considered traps. Blind spots the guards cannot monitor and where anything could happen. Here they are not traps but alternative study environments.

  Hence the two guys teaching this boy a lesson by beating the crap out of him.

  “Stop it!” Pale says.

  I hear cursing, and a thump. The bigger of the two guys straight-arms him into the wall. It’s Justin, the guy with the soccer build from the AP class. A serious jock. He hits the geeky kid like a freight train while his buddy with a greasy face looks on.

  The kid takes his punishment, his body limp, arms flopping at his sides. He doesn’t even hold his hands up in front of himself. No defense at all. They’ve beaten it out of him.

  The application of might. It’s the same all over the world.

  But it has nothing to do with me or my assignment, so I continue down the hall, minding my own business but monitoring the action in my peripheral vision.

  As I pass by, Justin punches the geek in the stomach. It’s more of a half punch, crooked elbow, no backswing. But still, it’s a punch in the guts.

  Ruthless.

  I could stop this in a second. Clear my throat. Cast some attention in their direction.

  I could stop it in other ways, too. I could make sure it never happens again. I could make sure Justin never raises his arm above waist level. No more throwing or catching or whatever the hell he does to get laid after school. I could remove his arm altogether.

  But that wouldn’t serve my assignment.

  The pale kid grunts in pain, and I ignore it and keep walking.

  Uninvolved. That’s the best way to play it.

  Or so I think until I hear a girl’s voice behind me.

  Sam’s voice.

  “Cut the shit!” she says.

  I turn back to find her standing outside the cubbyhole, her arms crossed hard over her chest.

  Involved. That’s how she plays it. Of course.

  Her timing is lousy. I’ve blown my chance to grandstand in front of her. Now I’ll have to play catch-up.

  “Mind your own business,” the jock says to her.

  “I’m making it my business, Justin,” Sam says.

  Justin steps out of the cubbyhole, confronts her face-to-face. He’s towering over her. He’s got eight inches and ninety pounds on her.

  She doesn’t care. She stands her ground.

  Impressive.

  Justin says, “What are you going to do, Sam? Run to your daddy crying?”

  He says her name with a sneer, adding syllables where none exist.

  It’s time to get back into this thing. The casual hero. That’s the way I’ll play it.

  I turn toward them, interested, but no more than any student passing by might be.

  “What’s going on?” I say.

  I say it low and even-toned, not like I’m going to do anything about it, but like I’m a good citizen.

  Justin looks up at me. He looks back at Sam. His greasy friend is by his side.

  I take a step toward them.

  Sam looks at me.

  “We’re out of here,” Justin says.

  He and his buddy walk down the hall in my direction.

  I walk toward Sam, not diverting, but giving the guys room. As Justin passes by, he pulls back a fist like he’s going to punch me in the face.

  Our eyes meet briefly.

  He puts his fist down.

  When I get to Sam, she’s pulling the pale kid up off the floor.

  “You’re all right, Howard,” she says to him. She brushes dirt out of his hair. Her finger snags in the tangle.

  He looks at the ground, mortified.

  “Thanks, Sam,” he says.

  “Should I call someone?” she says. “Do you need the nurse?”

  “I’m fine,” he says, embarrassed. He pulls away from her, rushing away down the hall.

  Sam sighs and watches him go.

  “Everything okay here?” I say.

  I keep it low-key. I don’t brag.

  I saved the day, and it’s no big deal to me. That’s what I want to communicate.

  “No thanks to you,” Sam says.

  “Hey, I stepped up,” I say.

  “What are you talking about? I saw you walk right past him. No surprise from the guy who doesn’t believe in right and wrong.”

  Bad news. She saw me, and the hero act is not going to work.

  My fallback position?

  Play the rebel. I’m caught and I don’t care.

  I say, “I’m the new guy, remember? I mind my own business.”

  “History is filled with guys like you. They’re the ones who stand by while the war crimes happen.�
�

  “You don’t know me,” I say.

  “I don’t want to know you,” she says, and she brushes past.

  I watch her huff her way down the hall.

  Not good. First day and I’m already on her shit list. If I had more time, I’d say it was an achievement to get on the radar in any way.

  But with my timeline, I have to find a way to turn this around fast.

  “She has issues with men,” a voice says.

  It’s the pale kid, Howard. He’s been hiding around the corner and listening.

  “What kind of issues?” I say.

  “She had her heart broken.”

  “Really?”

  “A few years ago. She had a superserious boyfriend who messed with her head.”

  I need to hear that story, but I put it aside for a moment, focus instead on Howard. On the fact that he knows this about Sam.

  A boy without options, adopted by the one girl who will give him the time of day. And she happens to be at the top of the pyramid.

  Howard is on the inside. If need be, I can use this fact.

  “Should I go after her?” I say.

  I say it like someone who is unsure, who needs help with girls from someone like Howard.

  “It depends what you want,” he says.

  “What could I want?”

  “To break her heart.”

  “I don’t do that,” I say. “It’s not my style.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “She’ll probably break yours.”

  I laugh. Nothing to worry about there, Howard.

  He looks at me, deciding.

  “If it were me, I would go after her,” he says.

  Why isn’t it you? That’s what I’m thinking. But I’ll leave that question for another time.

  “Be gentle,” he says. “She’s famous, but she’s still a person.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I say.

  “My name is Howard,” he says.

  “I owe you one, Howard.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “DO YOU HAVE A THREE-STRIKES POLICY?” I SAY TO SAM.

  She ignores me and keeps walking. I follow a few paces behind. Not rushing. But also not afraid.

  “Why do you ask?” she says over her shoulder.

  “Because I was an asshole in class and then I walked away from a fight. I figure I’m at two and I need to know how careful I should be right now.”

  “Bad news,” she says. “I’m a two-strikes kind of girl.”

  “So I’ve blown it.”

  “Big-time,” she says. “But what do you care?”

  Because I need to get close to your father.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “For some reason I do. Something about you, I guess. I can see you’re different.”

  It’s a classic ploy. Express interest in a girl you just met. If you do it right, you can charm her, or at least pique her interest.

  “You’re playing games,” she says. “We don’t know each other, so how do you know I’m different?”

  So much for the classics.

  If one path doesn’t work, try another. That’s what I’ve been taught.

  I played the rebel earlier in the hall. Now I’ll be the rebel who has seen the light. What would that guy say in this situation?

  “Maybe I feel guilty,” I say. “Maybe you woke me up a little with what you said about me being a bystander.”

  She considers this.

  “Have you ever seen a little kid ice-skating for the first time?” she says.

  “Change of subject, huh?”

  “Have you?”

  Genesee Valley Park.

  The name pops into my head. A place I haven’t thought about in years. I remember learning to skate there when I was a kid, my father walking backward in front of me, his arms outstretched, urging me to come toward him.

  I don’t want to be remembering this.

  I pull myself back to the moment. Sam in front of me. Her question.

  “I’ve seen kids skate,” I say.

  “Inevitably a kid is going to slip on the ice, and his body will contort into all kinds of crazy positions as he tries to steady himself. He’ll do anything not to fall down.”

  “Your point is?”

  “That’s you,” she says. “Right now. You’ll say anything, won’t you?”

  This girl is like a human lie detector. I stand there, stalling for time, trying to find the next mode of attack.

  “Even now,” she says, “you’re trying to think of the right thing to say to me.”

  I feel my face flush. I never react like this. Not to a girl. Not to anyone.

  Follow her lead, I think. Go with it and don’t lie.

  “You’re right. I’ll say anything right now.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to meet you.”

  “Finally, the truth,” she says.

  “A lot of girls prefer if guys lie. As long as they’re hearing what they want to hear.”

  “I’m not a lot of girls.”

  “I’m starting to see that.”

  She looks at me. Not really a look. More like an MRI.

  “I’m Samara,” she says, and she extends her hand.

  I reach for it. Her hand is soft and warm, much warmer than I expected it to be.

  “I know who you are,” I say.

  “I guess everyone knows.”

  “They only know your reputation.”

  She sighs.

  “Thanks for putting it that way. Not many people get that.”

  “I get it.”

  “Maybe you’re the one who’s different,” she says.

  “You’ll say anything right now, won’t you?” I say.

  She smiles.

  “You’re using my own lines against me?” she says.

  “All’s fair in love and war.”

  “Which one are we doing, new guy?”

  I look at her eyes, a beautiful smoky gray flecked with green.

  Suddenly I am somewhere else, standing in front of someone else…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A GIRL.

  The first one. Not like Sam. This girl had long blond hair and blue eyes.

  I was fourteen at the time. The girl was older. Seventeen or eighteen.

  She was a cashier in a convenience store. I met her one day when Father took me out to do errands with him. It was my second year of training and things were different. Mother and Father trusted me. I even got to leave the house sometimes.

  The cashier smiled and slipped me a note. It said we should meet.

  I thought that something real was happening between us. Maybe I wanted to feel what it was like to be normal, just once. A normal guy hooking up with a beautiful girl.

  We met at her house later that night. She walked me straight through the house and didn’t stop until we got to her bedroom.

  She closed the door behind her.

  And then she started to unbutton her blouse.

  I remember a red bra. Nipples visible through lace.

  “Do you like me?” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. She seemed to be okay with that answer because she kept unbuttoning.

  She paused at the bottom button. She bit her lip like something was troubling her.

  “You’re very young,” she said.

  “Not so young,” I said.

  She put a hand on my shoulder. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “You’re going to think you love me after this.”

  I’d had nearly two years of training at the time. I’d become tough in a way I did not know was possible.

  When she mentioned love, I shook my head no.

  She took my face in her hands. I remember how warm her skin felt against mine.

  “Trust me on this,” she said. “You’re going to think you love me. And you’re going to think I love you because I gave you my body.”

  She let her blouse drop to the floor.

  “You’ll be wrong about both things,” she sai
d.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  BUT THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about it. Not now.

  Now it is Sam who is standing in front of me, waiting for an answer.

  All’s fair in love and war, I said.

  Which one are we doing? she asked.

  “I don’t know which one,” I say. “But I’d like to find out.”

  “Fair enough,” she says. “Maybe we could start with you telling me your name.”

  My name.

  My real name is somewhere near the back of my brain, swept into a far corner, where it’s out of sight. I’ve got a pile of things back there. Names, images, moments, memories.

  The artifacts of a former life. None of them useful to me now.

  “My name is Benjamin,” I say.

  My name for now. My name for this assignment. My name for her.

  “Benjamin,” she says. “An old man’s name.”

  “I’ve got an old soul.”

  She studies my face.

  “We’re similar that way,” she says.

  The class tone sounds.

  “I apologize if I put you on the spot before, Benjamin. I have to be really careful because of my father. A lot of people want to know me for the wrong reasons.”

  “You threw me for a second. I’m not used to someone being so honest.”

  “I think it’s good for you,” she says.

  A second tone sounds. The hallway fills with people.

  “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

  I turn away, heading for my next class.

  “There’s a party tonight,” she says.

  I stop.

  “You should come by. We do it every April Fool’s, and it’s my turn to host this year.”

  “At the mayor’s residence?” I say.

  “Also known as my apartment.”

  Her father doesn’t live in Gracie Mansion. He prefers his double apartment on the Upper West Side. It’s more private, and because of that, it’s a more exclusive invite. One I’m not in a position to turn down.

  “A party sounds nice,” I say.

  The final class tone sounds.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you later,” Sam says.

  She smiles.

  I’m in.