Worst-Case Collin

by Rebecca Caprara

her special blanket,

  but she dabs my bloody lip

  with the frayed corner anyway.

  You can’t let Tyson

  do this to you, Collin.

  I want to tell her

  it’s hard to argue

  against words

  you think

  might actually

  be true.

  ONE MORE SECRET

  Mr. Wolcott drives me home.

  Georgia’s dad is a really nice guy.

  I hate lying to him.

  But the floor was pretty slippery

  after the janitor mopped it clean.

  So my slip-and-fall story

  isn’t that far-fetched.

  The whole ride

  he studies me in the rearview mirror,

  just like Sharon’s been doing lately.

  Georgia acts the opposite of her dad.

  She barely looks at me.

  I think she’s mad

  that I’m making her keep

  one more secret.

  CLUMSY

  There’s something different

  about your craniofacial structure today, Dad says at home.

  I slipped on the diving board at practice, I lie. Again.

  Hmmm. Coach Baker didn’t call me.

  I told him not to.

  Besides, would you even be able

  to find your phone if he did call?

  Of course. It’s right here. Somewhere…

  He starts sifting through a pile

  of clothing and newspapers.

  Dad, I’m going to bed.

  My head’s throbbing.

  Wait! I’ve got just the remedy for that!

  SOLVED

  Dad flags down our waitress right away.

  We need a bag of Pisum sativum in a brumal state,

  and a large order of your spiciest number nine! Stat!

  I translate the order:

  a bag of frozen peas for my face,

  chili fries for our stomachs.

  The waitress gives us an odd look.

  She delivers the peas quickly.

  As soon as she’s gone,

  Dad slams his palm on the table.

  Bud, this is serious.

  I’m sure he’s going to make me

  fess up

  about my

  beatdown.

  A team of mathematicians from South Africa

  claim they solved the Riemann hypothesis!

  My mouth forms a gaping

  zer0.

  Dad leans forward,

  gently presses the cold peas

  to my swollen cheek.

  Then he removes his glasses,

  pinches the spot

  between his eyes.

  I worry

  some fissure is forming,

  ready to cleave and

  break

  his brilliant brain,

  like Humpty Dumpty falling

  down

  down.

  The waitress returns,

  sets a platter of chili fries on the table,

  then disappears.

  How does that make you feel? I ask,

  testing the temperature

  of this news.

  Dad looks up.

  Hungry, of course!

  We dig in,

  taking turns

  spearing wilting fries

  with our forks.

  Eventually he says,

  I feel equal parts

  elated and

  disappointed.

  I stare at the almost-empty

  grease-stained basket.

  We can always order more.

  Oh, bud!

  He nudges the last fry

  onto my fork with a wink.

  What I mean is

  there are plenty more

  mysteries to solve.

  NEW SOLUTION

  Dad may give up

  the last chili fry,

  but I realize he’ll never

  give up his dream

  of solving the unsolvable.

  So why should I?

  Maybe there’s a way

  to crack the tangled equations

  of my life

  and find a new solution.

  PAYBACK

  I’m gonna pummel that fool into a pancake!

  Liam declares, jabbing his fists in the air

  when he sees my bruised face the next morning.

  Don’t even think about it, I say.

  You can’t.

  News flash: Yes, I can.

  Have you seen these puppies? Liam flexes scrawny muscles.

  Liam! I shout.

  Two more strikes, remember?

  If you get sent to summer school,

  I will be totally alone.

  ALL. SUMMER.

  If you want to help me,

  stay out of trouble.

  Okay?

  He slaps a street sign,

  elbows a hedge,

  roundhouse kicks a lamppost.

  Fine. I’ll try, he huffs.

  NO FUN PHONE

  A few days after my little slip-and-fall incident,

  Sharon buys Liam a cell phone.

  He calls it a No Fun Phone

  because it has

  no games, videos, or data plan.

  Just in case of an emergency, Sharon says,

  handing it to Liam

  but looking hard

  at me.

  * * *

  If you need to jump from a moving train, wait for the train to slow as it bends around a curve.

  Stuff blankets, straw, or other padding into your clothes.

  Pick a landing spot before you jump.

  Get low to the floor, bending your knees.

  Jump perpendicular to the train, leaping as far from the tracks as possible.

  Tuck, cover, roll.

  BRACE FOR IMPACT!

  GEORGIA VERSUS GRAVITY

  At swim practice

  Georgia takes the ladder

  two rungs at a time.

  I watch from below,

  glad my own legs are anchored

  securely on the pool deck.

  She pauses, smiles down at me.

  Want to know my favorite part about diving?

  Watching my tortured expression

  as you climb that thing? I reply, grimacing.

  No, Worst-Case Collin.

  It’s the moment

  after my feet leave the board.

  When it’s just me

  versus gravity.

  But, Gannet, I call up to her,

  gravity always wins.

  Exactly.

  She reaches the top platform,

  jumps up and down a few times,

  which always makes my heart

  flop around in my chest—

  anxious, helpless

  like a goldfish

  spilled from its bowl.

  Gravity might always win,

  but I’ve got a choice:

  fall

  or

  dive.

  And I choose to dive.

  She bends her knees.

  Preferably with style!

  She leaps, twists, splashes.

  When her face breaks the surface,

  she spits an arc of water in my direction.

  So can you, Collin.

  T-MINUS 54

  The day before spring break,

  no one

  (not eve
n the teachers)

  can possibly pay attention.

  Liam passes me a slip of paper

  plotting a week’s worth of epic adventures.

  In the margins, I doodle

  all relevant safety measures

  in comic-book form,

  adding some highly unlikely scenarios

  with dramatic outcomes like

  stampeding rhinos,

  volcanic eruptions,

  and explosive diarrhea,

  which crack Liam up, as intended.

  In a singsong voice, Ms. Treehorn says,

  Spring is the season for fresh starts!

  Instead of grammar worksheets,

  she asks us to clean out our desks

  so the classroom will be in peak learning mode (oh, joy)

  when we return from vacation.

  Ms. Treehorn inspects my work space,

  and calls it Immaculate!

  Which is a vocabulary word

  we haven’t learned yet.

  But I think it’s a compliment,

  because she smiles

  so wide

  all her teeth show,

  even the snaggly one on the far left side.

  Then she glances out the window

  at gray clouds, tumbling.

  She promises extra recess

  if we finish our tasks quickly,

  before the storm hits.

  RAIN

  In the doorway

  Georgia reaches

  up.

  Her palm opens,

  welcoming

  each

  wet

  rare

  raindrop.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Of course Ms. Treehorn manages

  to turn extra recess into

  a learning moment.

  Bullhead City’s annual average rainfall is only six inches.

  This kind of precipitation is extremely unusual!

  We’re not in an orderly line

  listening like we should be.

  Our class has become

  a noisy pack of desert coyotes,

  yipping, nipping,

  pawing the ground.

  Waiting to be released

  into the wild.

  Ms. Treehorn sighs. Go ahead!

  No one minds

  getting soaked.

  The air is warm and thick.

  I’m grateful

  for this unexpected shower.

  I think the parched earth

  is grateful, too.

  We spin. We sing.

  We stomp,

  dashing water

  from shallow, muddy puddles.

  Tyson sings in the loudest

  most obnoxious voice,

  It’s raining!

  It’s pouring!

  The drugged-up driver

  is snoring!

  My body stills.

  Something about those lyrics

  feels too close for comfort.

  Tyson sings louder,

  Went to sleep,

  crashed his jeep—

  I cover my ears,

  because this stupid song

  dredges up

  images

  better left

  submerged:

  Black rubber scars

  seared

  across gray asphalt.

  A metal guardrail, crumpled.

  A weak fence, clinging.

  A car

  sinking.

  Liam takes one look at me—

  at the red creeping up my neck and face—

  and he understands.

  Before I can say a word

  or try to stop him,

  Liam socks Tyson

  square in the face.

  Like a comic-book character,

  his fist goes

  ker-POW!

  Tyson reels,

  staggers,

  slips,

  falls

  backward.

  His legs fly

  UP!

  His mud-splattered sneakers

  have bright blue soles

  I’ve never noticed before.

  A bunch of kids gathers round.

  Tyson whines and bellows,

  covering his bloody nose.

  At least he’s not singing anymore.

  I can’t deny

  that my skin prickles

  with a fleeting spark

  of satisfaction.

  But this fades quickly

  as reality sets in.

  Ms. Treehorn rushes over

  with one of the recess monitors.

  I turn to Liam

  before the teachers

  escort him

  to the principal’s office.

  We exchange

  a small nod.

  Sometimes

  that’s all

  friends like us

  need

  to say.

  STRIKE TWO

  Worst-Case Scenarios, Spring Break Edition:

  Liam, grounded for breaking Tyson’s nose.

  Georgia, three hours away visiting her grandmother.

  Collin, miserable at home with the Hoard.

  What the heck am I going to do all week?

  OCOTILLO

  The following afternoon

  I bike to the vacant lot

  to clear my head

  and devise a new plan.

  I spot a clump of ocotillo

  growing along the chain-link fence.

  After the fluky rain,

  swaying stalks

  sprout oval leaves

  and tufts of fiery flowers.

  A hummingbird zips past,

  pausing midair,

  its so-fast wings

  blur-buzzing,

  its thin beak

  nectar-sipping

  from red blossoms.

  I watch until

  it flies away,

  wishing

  I could do the same.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  When I get back home,

  Liam is waiting

  on my front steps,

  his bike propped against the garage.

  My heart feels like a grape

  squished beneath a sneaker.

  Did I remember to lock the door?

  Did Liam go inside?

  Did he see the Hoard?

  Dude! Where have you been?

  Just riding my bike, I say, trying to be chill.

  Aren’t you grounded?

  Not anymore! It’s a Christmas miracle!

  Liam, it’s March.

  Right. Whatever.

  When I explained to my mom

  that I punched that dirtbag

  because he sang a song

  about what happened to your mom,

  she got these sad puppy eyes

  and said she doesn’t condone violence—

  whatever that means—

  but she understands why I did it.

  Okay. I swallow hard,

  trying not to think about that song,

  wondering if Tyson really did sing it

  to hurt me.

  I’m still in trouble with Principal Rodriguez,

  but Mom said you shouldn’t be punished

  for my stupidity. Liam snorts. Which is a rude thing

  for a mother to say, in my opinion. But anyway,

  you can stay over if you want.

  Cool, I say with a shrug,

  like it’s no big dea
l.

  I don’t want to appear too desperate

  even though I totally am.

  Let’s go! Liam says.

  Umm. First I have to finish a few chores.

  Chores? Really? He groans.

  I promised my dad, I lie,

  stalling,

  to keep him

  from coming inside.

  As soon as I’m done,

  I’ll pack a bag

  and come over.

  Okay. You need help?

  No, no. I shake my head.

  Thanks, though.

  Fine. But hurry!

  He hops back on his bike.

  I head into the house,

  stuff my toothbrush and some clothes

  into a duffel bag,

  then close my bedroom door tightly

  to keep the Hoard out.

  Before leaving,

  I write Dad a note

  telling him where I’ll be

  for the next few days.

  I tape it to the cupboard

  so it won’t get lost

  among the disorganized heaps

  of paper and utensils and dishes

  covering the counters.

  I pause on my way out,

  wondering

  if he’ll miss me.

  THE BEST WEEK

  Liam and I have the best week.

  We visit Miguel’s to see who can eat the most churros (Liam).

  We have a dance-off to decide who has the best moves (me).

  We construct a contraption called a snot-rocket

  to test whose boogers fly farther (it’s a tie).

  I help out around their house a little, too,

  clearing the plates after dinner,

  and offering to fold laundry with Sharon.

  She pretends to take my temperature to see if

  I’ve contracted some make-believe “laundrosis” virus.

  But I know she appreciates my help.

  And I enjoy her mom-ish company.

  Plus, I actually like cleaning up,

  which Liam thinks is ten times weirder

  than building a snot-propulsion system

  out of straws, rubber bands, and Popsicle sticks.

  (This prompts Sharon to take his temperature, declaring that

  he’s most definitely suffering from

  an incurable case of “brain-boogeritis.”)

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Day by day

  laughter replaces worry.

  Distracted by silliness, warmth, and

  just being a kid,

  I temporarily forget

  about the Hoard.