I’m still trying to figure out what this has to do with Mall Dog, when he continues, “The kid is smiling at me and saying something, I don’t know what, ’cause he’s speaking Pashto. I’ve still got my finger on the trigger, because you never know, but the next thing I know I’m on my back, I can’t hear, and the kid is dead.”
I gasp.
“He stepped on an IED. I just keep seeing it, Stella. Over and over.”
Now I’m the one trying to hold it together.
“The dog wasn’t dead. You could tell it wasn’t going to make it, but it was still alive and suffering. My ears were messed up from the blast, but I could still hear that poor dog whining, even through the ringing.”
He inhales loudly before continuing.
“So I put him out of his misery. It was the right thing to do. But later, when we got back to base, I got the letter from Mom telling me that y’all had to put down Cosmo. It felt like payback, ’cause if that truck hadn’t broken down, maybe that poor kid and his dog might still be alive.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Rob. You were just doing your job.” That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? It’s the truth, but will it help?
“Yeah, I was ‘just obeying orders,’” he says. “Look, I know we didn’t plant that IED. But maybe if I’d shouted at the kid to go away instead of smiling at him because he was a kid who could have been me if I’d been born halfway across the world, he would still be alive.”
I wish I knew what else to say. I want to help Rob, but this is bigger than what I’ve got. Feeling helpless, I hug him and hope that’s enough. “I love you, Rob. I know that you’re a good person.”
Rob pulls away and leans his forehead against the window with a heavy sigh.
Great job, Stella. Way to say the wrong thing.
But I don’t know what else to say. If I agree with him that it’s horrible, wouldn’t it make him feel worse? I mean, it is horrible.
I look over at my brother. I don’t have more to say, so I just sit there saying nothing, hating myself more for it each second the silence drags on.
Finally, Rob wipes his face with his arm, and it’s as if he pulls a mask back over his face. “Let’s go see this movie. That’s why I bothered taking a shower and putting on clean clothes, right?”
He’s acting like the crying thing never happened, so I follow his lead.
“And deodorant, I hope.”
“Yeah, Mom, and deodorant.”
I wonder if I should text Mom and Dad to tell them about this latest incident, but I don’t want Rob to feel like I’m narcing on him, so I leave my phone in my pocket.
Rob tenses up as we walking into the mall. His eyes swivel from side to side, and his shoulders hunch over. His anxiety drifts over me like a cold mist, until I’m completely enveloped in it, too.
Luckily, there’s no line for popcorn, and there aren’t that many people in the theater.
I head toward seats in the middle, where we always sit.
“Not there,” Rob says. He walks to the very back row.
“Why do we have to sit all the way back here?” I ask.
“Why not?” he says.
“Because we always sit in the middle.”
“Life changes. You gotta learn to change with it,” he says, his eyes darting over my shoulder.
I turn around and see an Emergency Exit sign.
Shrugging, I sit down next to him and wonder if he’s given me a clue. Is whatever’s going on with him about change I don’t understand because I haven’t changed with him?
I’m relieved when the movie starts, because it gives me a chance to escape from this mystery. I’m afraid to look at Rob, but I hope it’s doing the same for him. It’s not till he leans over and whispers, “This part is the best!” that I unclench my fingers from the armrest. I didn’t even realize I was gripping it so hard.
Maybe this will work. Maybe it can be the start of something—a baby step toward bringing my brother back to us.
When the final credits roll, Rob turns to me and smiles.
“Thanks, Stella. I know you had to drag me here, but it was worth it.”
“How about we celebrate by getting froyo at the food court?”
“Froyo? Nah. I want the real thing. We’re getting ice cream.”
“Fine,” I say. “As long as it’s cold and sweet.”
Rob’s tension seems to amp up again as we walk to the food court, and I wonder if I should have just let it go at the movie.
“Why don’t we forget the ice cream?” I say, hoping he doesn’t see through my obvious attempt to get him out of here. “Mom will be mad if we ruin our appetite for dinner.”
“You put the idea of ice cream in my head and now you’re bailing?” Rob says. “No way, wimp.”
His eyes are darting one way and the other, checking out the doorway of each store. But if he’s not admitting to anything bothering him, then I’ll play along.
“Okay, ice cream it is.”
At least the food court isn’t as crowded as it would be on the weekend.
I spot Wade Boles and Jed Landon sitting at a table. With Rob acting wiggy, they’re the last people I want to bump into, so I steer us around the outside of the food court toward Dreamsicle Creamsicles.
Rob orders two scoops of cookies ’n’ cream with whipped cream and sprinkles; I get butter pecan with hot fudge.
I find us a table far enough from Wade and Jed so I can pretend that I don’t see them.
“Man, this is the stuff,” Rob says. “Mmm-hmmm.”
“Yup. Hot fudge. Nectar of the gods,” I agree. “So what was your favorite part of the movie?”
“Definitely the part where—”
He breaks off, eyes narrowing, his body suddenly tense and alert as he looks at something over my shoulder.
I turn around and see Wade and Jed standing by a kid who is cleaning and wiping down tables. He also happens to be Sikh, which I know because his hair is up in a topknot covered by a piece of cloth.
“Hey, raghead,” Jed says. “We don’t want terrorists around here. Go back to your own country.”
Wait, what? I know Jed can be a jerk, but I’m still completely surprised he’d say such an offensive thing.
Rob springs up to a standing position so quickly his chair falls over. Before I know what’s happening, he’s stalking toward Wade and Jed, who are jeering as the kid says, “Piss off.”
My heart starts beating faster, and I curse myself for suggesting frozen yogurt in the first place, because I know right now this isn’t going to end well.
DO: This is Detective Brendan Overmann speaking. It’s 8 p.m. on Wednesday, September 7th. I am interviewing Ashar Singh. Ashar, will you please spell your name?
AS: A-S-H-A-R S-I-N-G-H.
DO: Thank you. Ashar is 17 years old. His date of birth is January 31st. He is employed as a janitor at the Lone Pine Mall. Ashar, what time did you arrive at Lone Pine Mall for work?
AS: My shift started at 5.
DO: Approximately what time did the incident occur?
AS: About 6:25 p.m. My mom texted me just before I got to work and that was, like, 6:10 or something.
DO: Can you tell me what happened, in as much detail as possible?
AS: Sure, I guess. I started to clear off tables in the food court. You wouldn’t believe how many people don’t clean up after themselves. They’re, like, total pigs. They just leave their garbage without thinking about anyone else. If I did that at home, my parents would never let me hear the end of it.
DO: How did the encounter with the other young men start?
AS: I was sweeping the floor near their table, when one, I think the one named Jed or Jez or something like that, he calls out to me, “Hey, raghead, we don’t want terrorists around here. Go back to your own country.” Like I wasn’t born right here in Virginia, and I’m not just as American as he is. Where does he get off? And “raghead”? Seriously? I wear a patka as a sign of my faith. If someone wears a cross
on a chain around their neck, does that make them a terrorist? Or if a guy is wearing one of those Jewish beanies, I forget what they’re called—what about then?
DO: So how did you respond?
AS: I sort of told him to get lost—more or less. That just riled the guy up more. He spit on the floor at my feet and picked some pepperoni off his pizza and threw it on top of the spit. Then he’s all: “Pick it up, it’s your job.” It’s so obvious he thought I was Muslim and I’d be offended by the pepperoni, not just because he was being an ignorant bigot. As usual, I had to explain that I was born here and, duh, I’m not a terrorist. That’s when the other guy came over. He told Pepperoni Guy, “You have no right to speak to him that way. Pick that up and apologize.”
DO: How did the kids who were bothering you respond to that?
AS: The one who threw the pepperoni was a total jerk. He cursed the guy out, then said, “Haven’t you heard of the First Amendment?”
DO: How did Walker—the other guy—react?
AS: He was pissed. He grabbed the kid by the shirt and told him again to pick it up himself. He repeated that the dude should apologize to me.
DO: Did the boy—Wade Boles—apologize?
AS: Nope. He asked the guy—is Walker his name?
DO: Yes.
AS: He asked Walker, “Are you a terrorist lover or something?” That’s when Walker seemed to lose it. His eyes changed and he punched the dude in the face. The first time there was blood. The second time I heard bone cracking. It was sick. Then this girl—I think she’s Walker’s sister—
DO: She is.
AS: She came running over and was screaming at him to stop. It took me, the sister, and the other kid to pull Walker off Wade Boles. By that time, mall security arrived, and they took over.
DO: So Wade Boles wasn’t threatening Robert Walker?
AS: I don’t know if you’d call it threatening, exactly. But he was up in Walker’s face, for sure. I definitely felt like Wade Boles and his friend were threatening me, and that guy Walker came over and took my side. Not everyone will do that. Most people just walk on by, like they don’t see what’s happening, because it’s not their problem. I mean I get it, Walker shouldn’t have broken the guy’s nose, but it wasn’t him that started it. It was those other two guys.
DY: This is Detective Alan Yerwood speaking. It is Wednesday, September 7th at 8 p.m. I am interviewing John Landon, a male age 16, DOB 11/25. Mr. Landon is currently a junior at Argleton High School.
Mr. Landon, please spell your name for the record.
JL: J-O-H-N L-A-N-D-O-N, but no one calls me John except my mom when she’s mad. I go by Jed. That’s J-E-D.
DY: Okay then, Jed. What time did you arrive at the Lone Pine Mall?
JL: Wade and I got there around 5. We went to GameStop and messed around for a while.
DY: Is that the only place you went in the mall?
JL: No. Wade’s in the market for some new kicks, so we went to Foot Locker. He didn’t buy anything, though. Those shoes ain’t cheap. Then we went to the food court.
DY: What time did you arrive at the food court?
JL: Not sure exactly. 6 maybe?
DY: What did you do then?
JL: We each got a few slices of pizza.
DY: Tell me what led up to the encounter with Robert Walker.
JL: So we were sitting there eating pizza and this kid is cleaning tables near us. And we start joking with him. You know, just friendly-like.
DY: What kind of joking?
JL: Not threatening or anything, just messing around.
DY: But you said it was friendly?
JL: Okay. Maybe not exactly friendly.
DY: Can you tell me what you said to him, exactly?
JL: I can’t remember the exact words. I might have made a joke about the rag he was wearing on his man bun. And then I told him to go back to his country because we don’t want terrorists here.
DY: So that’s what you call “friendly”?
JL: It was just a joke. It wasn’t serious. We were just messing around. You know, having a little fun.
DY: How did the kid take it? Did he take it as a joke and a “little fun”?
JL: I don’t know. He told us to piss off.
DY: What happened next?
JL: Um … I can’t remember exactly how it went down.
DY: Did you respond?
JY: No. I think Wade said something.
DY: What was that?
JL: Uh, he threw some pepperoni on the floor and told the guy to pick it up.
DY: And did he?
JL: No. Instead he said he was American and not a terrorist.
DY: Do you believe that?
JL: That he isn’t a terrorist? How am I supposed to know? You’re the cop.
DY: No, that he’s just as American as you are.
JL: Um … I don’t know. I guess. Maybe.
DY: Then what happened?
JY: Then Stella’s brother came over and started going crazy.
DY: What do you mean by “going crazy”?
JL: He grabbed Wade by the shirt and told him to apologize and pick the stuff up himself.
DY: He grabbed Wade before saying anything first?
JL: Yeah.
DJ: Did Wade apologize?
JL: No, he asked Walker if he was a terrorist lover. And that’s when Walker decked him. There was blood everywhere. He broke his nose on the second punch. Man, the sound was awful. He would have kept punching Wade if we hadn’t pulled him off.
DJ: Who is “we”?
JL: Me, Stella—that’s Rob Walker’s sister—and the kid.
DJ: So Walker hit Wade Boles without any provocation?
JL: That’s right. Look, the guy is messed up. About a month ago, I was at the convenience store with Mike Carlson, and Mike accidentally slammed the door of a cooler. Next thing we know, Walker is down on the floor with his hands over his head. C’mon, that’s not normal. So it’s not like I’m a hundred percent surprised that he freaked out on Wade.
DY: This is Detective Alan Yerwood speaking. It’s 3:30 p.m. on Thursday, September 8th. I am interviewing Wade Boles. Wade, will you please spell your name?
WB: W-A-D-E B-O-L-E-S
DY: Thank you. Wade is 17 years old. His date of birth is 12/4. He is currently a junior at Argleton High School.
DY: What time did you arrive at the Lone Pine Mall?
WB: I don’t know. Around 4:30? Maybe 5?
DY: What did you do there?
WB: We went to GameStop and checked out the new games. Messed around for a while. Looked at kicks in Foot Locker.
DY: When did you get to the food court?
WB: I don’t know exactly. I don’t wear a watch. It was probably 6. Maybe earlier, maybe later.
DY: Can you tell me in as much detail as possible what happened once you arrived at the food court?
WB: Got a few slices of pizza and a Coke at Pizza Palace. Jed and I were minding our own business when Stella Walker’s older brother comes out of nowhere and starts getting in my face because he didn’t like that I told this guy who was cleaning tables to pick a piece of pepperoni off the floor. That’s his job, right? Walker grabs me by the shirt and the dude gets spit on me when he tells me to pick it up myself and apologize. Apologize for what? I didn’t do anything wrong!
DY: So before Walker came over, your only interaction with the kid cleaning tables was a request to pick a piece of pepperoni up from the floor?
WB: That’s right.
DY: Well, that’s very interesting, because your friend Jed had a slightly different recollection of the events.
WB: He did? Well, you know, sir, I’m taking painkillers because of the broken nose that Rob Walker gave me, so maybe that’s what’s interfering with my memory.
DY: I understand. Well, let me ask you the question again, now that you’ve had a chance to refresh your memory with this new information. Before Walker came over, is it true that the only interaction between you
and Ashar Singh, the young man working in the food court, was that you asked him to pick up a piece of pepperoni from the floor?
[silence]
DY: Wade?
WB: Well … now that I think about it, maybe there was a little more than that. I … think Jed might have made a joke about the thing the guy was wearing on his hair bun. You know, like those people do.
DY: Do you recall what, exactly, the joke was?
WB: Not exactly. Something about him being a terrorist and how he should go back to his country.
DY: Did Ashar find that joke funny?
WB: I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader. He said he wasn’t a terrorist and that he was born here.
DY: And how did things proceed from there? You started this interview saying that Walker hit you without provocation because you asked Ashar to pick up a piece of pepperoni from the floor and that’s his job. But it seems there’s a little more to this story. Fill me in.
WB: Well, a piece of pepperoni fell off my pizza onto the floor. So I asked that guy to pick it up, since he was standing right there and it’s his job anyway.
DY: Let me make sure I understand this sequence of events correctly: Your friend calls Ashar a terrorist and tells him to go back to his country, Ashar says he isn’t a terrorist, he was born here, which, for the record, would make him an American citizen, and you ask him to pick up the pepperoni because he’s standing there. Do I have this right?
WB: Yes, sir.
DY: And you didn’t drop it on the floor intentionally?
WB: Why would I do something like that? Waste a good piece of pepperoni?
DY: Okay. So this piece of pepperoni lands on the floor, you ask Ashar to pick it up and …
WB: Next thing I know Stella Walker’s older brother comes out of nowhere and starts getting in my face for telling the guy to pick up the pepperoni, like it’s any of his business.
DY: When you say “getting in your face,” you mean … ?
WB: He grabs me by the shirt and tells me to pick it up and apologize. Apologize for what? I didn’t do anything wrong! So I told him where he could go, and then he punched me in the face. He would have kept on punching me, even though his sister was screaming at him to stop. As you can see, sir, he broke my nose. It took three people to pull him off me.
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