Cooper wanted to say something, to fill the silence that followed, but stating everything would be fine felt like a lie. He could offer no such assurances, and he wasn’t going to lie to Gus again.
Gus instead spoke next. “So, how long has it been for you?”
“Three years since it was final.” The total time of misery was longer, but Cooper didn’t see the point in going into more detail.
Gus nodded for a moment before saying, “Well, you’ve made it through. It’s not like my parents splitting up will kill me, right?”
Cooper was pretty sure no one should look at him as a role model in divorce survival. He picked at a hole in his sock, pulling an elastic thread so taut it snapped. “Maybe?” he said.
“Does it get easier?”
“It gets . . . different.”
Cooper had never wanted to talk about his parents’ divorce with anyone his age before. But somehow, with Gus, it was okay. Cooper didn’t know if it was because Gus was going through the same thing, or the fact that Gus hadn’t witnessed the very public and embarrassing exposure of Cooper’s father’s lies. There was a sort of relief in talking to someone with shared struggles, but it was also like scratching a poison-ivy rash—satisfying, but painful at the same time. Whatever he felt, though, it was nice to feel slightly less alone.
An idea sprouted in Cooper’s brain. “Do you want to do something a little weird?” he asked with a mischievous smile.
Gus screwed up his mouth, tentatively. “Sure?”
“Call your grandma,” Cooper said, taking the Far Side book and tossing it onto the bed. “You need to tell her you’re going to be out for a while.”
9
It took Cooper and Gus twenty minutes to walk to their destination. The highway bridge wasn’t much to look at, with its exposed rebar, rust-stained cracks, and graffiti-marred surfaces, but maybe that was part of why it was Cooper’s favorite place in the whole world. It was a damaged, rundown, neglected old thing just trying to do its job. As he guided Gus onto the pedestrian path, he kicked a large chunk of the crumbling sidewalk cement ahead of them. Gus kicked it in turn, and they traded kicks back and forth as their ears filled with the sound of the rumbling river below. Traffic hummed directly beside them, only a concrete barrier away. Cooper had started coming here last year, on his own. It was one of the few places in the city that was out in the open, but where no one (save the people in the speeding cars) ever came. And Cooper had never shared it—not this way, at least—with anyone.
“We’re here,” he announced with a flourish at the center of the bridge.
Gus halted beside him, peering at the river sixty feet below and the downtown buildings just past the other end of the bridge. He gave Cooper a quizzical look. “Here” didn’t seem like anywhere in particular.
“Now, what I am going to show you is a little strange, but I’ve found it helps a lot.”
“Okay?” Gus said curiously.
Cooper put a foot on the outer curb, grabbed the cool metal railing, and leaned his weight back as far back as he could. Then, with all the force he could muster, he yanked himself forward, bent his waist over the rail, and screamed. He yelled with all he had in him, emptying his chest until it burned, before taking another gulp of air to do it all over again.
After his third or fourth bellow, he turned to a stunned Gus and grinned. “Go on! Try it.”
Gus didn’t move at all, but a blush of embarrassment bloomed on his face.
“Seriously!” Cooper laughed. The cars kept whizzing past. “No one cares. Give it a go. I swear, it helps.”
“Just . . . scream?”
“Yup. Just scream.”
Slowly, cautiously, Gus took a breath. He then released a sad little yelp that made Cooper laugh even harder.
“No, you weirdo! Not like that. Like this!” And again, Cooper released a shriek like he was being stabbed. When he finished, he waved an arm to Gus, giving him the floor.
Gus smiled, grabbed the railing, inhaled with all he had, and bellowed out over the river and the city beyond. His voice blended with the sounds of squeaky brakes, rushing water, and ever-present car horns. It broke through the river mist and engine exhaust—a wild animal released from its pen—before dissolving away. Then he did it again.
After he’d done it four or five more times, Gus turned to Cooper. He seemed a little lighter, and his cheeks had a healthy flush in them. Cooper gave him an inquiring glance, one eyebrow up.
Gus nodded.
Together they leaned back, their bodies making forty-five-degree angles with the sidewalk, before hoisting themselves in sync toward the rail.
They wailed at the world together. They howled again and again, in unison, but not one driver turned to look at two young boys screaming their pain away. Cooper screamed away ugly, amorphous things that he didn’t have the courage to put in his journal: I’m not worth sticking around for. Dad never cared about me. It’s all my fault.
Cooper always felt a release after he roared like this, but this time, with Gus, something wholly unexpected happened. Their final howl ended in panting laughter.
“Better?” Cooper asked when he finally caught his breath, his voice ragged and torn.
“Yeah,” Gus said, leaning against the railing, spent but smiling. “For sure. I think I need a lozenge.”
“A lozenge? You really do live with an eighty-year-old woman!”
Gus punched Cooper in the arm.
Two semi trucks, one from each direction, barreled across the bridge, passing the boys at the exact same time. It caused such a jarring shudder beneath their feet that Gus gripped the handrail with both hands and let out a small yelp. Cooper, in contrast, assumed a surfer’s stance.
Once the roar of the engines passed, Gus said, “Okay, that was terrifying! Is this thing made of aluminum foil?”
Cooper jiggled an extended pinkie and thumb. “It’s all part of the bridge-screaming experience. This bridge is crazy old; they keep talking about replacing it, but nothing ever happens. You should feel this thing shake when there’s even more traffic. You’d swear the whole thing was going to fall down.”
“I’m gonna pass.”
Now it was Cooper’s turn to imitate his friend’s frightened face. He reenacted the scared expression Gus had made when discussing his grandmother at lunch that first day. Again, they both ended up in giggles. Ultimately, they looked out over the city, elbows on the railing, one foot on the curb, sharing a quiet moment.
Finally Gus said, “It’s really pretty from here.”
“Right?” This was Cooper’s favorite view of downtown, with its innumerable skyscrapers made of stone, steel, and glass, showcasing over a century of architectural history all from one spot. On a clear day, the blue hues of the river and sky reflected off the thousands of windows. It was beautiful and so different from his neighborhood just a few minutes away, with its many tired and worn houses. His street was like a bad dream the city had forgotten.
He pointed out his favorite buildings to Gus: the corncob-shaped Marina City, the undulating wavy surface of Aqua, and the Aon building, with its stark white lines that reminded him of a tower fan. And of course, there was the pride of Chicago in the distance, the second-tallest building in the United States: the Sears tower. Cooper knew it wasn’t called that anymore, but his parents had never called it Willis Tower, so neither did he.
There was something comforting about being so small in comparison to everything around them, a city teeming with people and lives and stories. In these moments, Cooper felt like maybe his small part of it all would be manageable in the end, somehow.
“Did you know they dye the river green for St. Patrick’s Day every year?” Cooper asked.
“What?” Gus said. “How is that even possible?”
“They have some secret-formula powder they put in the water. It only lasts a few hours, but it’s pretty cool. We can come down here in March and see.”
“Yeah, maybe . . . ,” Gus said, and
Cooper understood his hesitation. March was months away. Gus’s situation might be very different by then.
“So,” Cooper said, “when do you think you’ll know what’s up at home? With your mom and dad?”
“Not sure. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, you know?”
Cooper nodded. Then, before he even knew the words were coming, Cooper blurted, “I lied to you.”
Gus appeared taken aback by this out-of-the-blue admission. “What?”
“I lied to you. About my dad. He’s not a marine.”
Gus turned his gaze back out over the water, seeming to measure how to respond.
“I told you that because the truth’s . . . because it’s embarrassing. He actually lives in San Diego. He’s a cardiologist. “
“Like a heart doctor?” Gus looked at Cooper askance with a laugh. “That doesn’t seem very embarrassing.”
Cooper didn’t entirely understand why he was telling Gus this now. He hadn’t intended to turn the conversation to his father. “I guess I thought that, when your dad’s a marine, you don’t have to explain why you never see him.”
“Oh,” Gus said quietly. “But California . . . that’s got to be cool.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve never been.”
“I thought you said your parents divorced three years ago.”
“I did, but he’s never invited me. I guess he just . . . doesn’t want to see me.”
There it was. He’d said it.
“Whoa. That’s so . . .” But Gus didn’t finish. There was no good finish to that sentence. “Man, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve wanted to lie about my parents, too. Only I never came up with anything as cool as the marines.”
Cooper laughed, relieved that Gus wasn’t put off by what he’d told him. “Well, if you’re gonna be a liar, I guess it’s best to be a good liar.”
Gus looked him straight in the eye. “Thanks for telling me.”
Cooper nodded. He wanted to thank Gus for being the kind of person to whom he could tell the truth, but he didn’t have the right words for it. Instead, he looked out again over the city.
“And thanks for bringing me down here,” Gus said. “I feel a lot better.”
“Yeah.” Cooper nodded. “Me too.”
“Hey, Coop!” his mom called when she saw him and Gus coming down the alley. “Come help carry groceries, please.”
Gus checked his watch. “I should get home.”
“What? You don’t want to help with groceries?” Cooper teased.
“Nope! See ya tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Later.”
Gus gave all the Stewarts a slight wave as he passed their driveway and continued down the alley in the direction of Ms. Dreadful’s house.
“Isn’t that the guy who sits up with the kindergartners on the bus?” Jess asked as their mom took her bags inside.
“Are you actually making a new friend?” she said with mock surprise.
“I’m not a monster, you know.”
Jess tipped her chin down and stared at him through heavy lids.
“He’s nice,” Cooper said with a shrug.
“It wasn’t his niceness I was worried about.”
They walked into the house, and something glass clattered ominously within one of Jess’s bags as she set it on the counter. Cooper looked in the bag to see a jar of pickles on its side, but not broken. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Just tired.”
Cooper moved closer to Jess to get a stealth sniff. No Juicy Fruit.
“Stop sniffing me,” Jess said, skirting away from him. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“Just checking.”
“Jess, help me put things away,” their mother said, unpacking her own bag. “And Cooper, I think there are still a few more bags in the car.”
“Got it.” Cooper slid past his mom and headed back outside. Hands full with the last of the bags, he pressed the garage-door button with his elbow and maneuvered out of the garage carefully. He looked at Elena’s empty yard, wondering if maybe she’d be around later for another attempt at conversation.
As he stood wondering, Elena’s house suddenly went dark. Every light, as if all on a giant master switch, went out at once.
Cooper froze. With a quick glance, he confirmed every other house down the alley was still lit. Maybe the yellow house had blown a fuse? Or . . . all the fuses? At the same time? As goose bumps rose on his arms, he ran up the steps a little faster than usual and kicked the door shut behind him.
10
“Hey, easy with the door!”
“Sorry, Mom.” Cooper lugged the last bags to the counter and began to unload them. He could practically feel the piece of paper he’d jotted on earlier in his pocket. The sooner they finished putting away the groceries, the sooner he could search for whatever Vigilantes whatever-it-was meant.
“Did you pick up your sister’s homework from the office?”
“Yeah, it’s in my backpack.” Like always.
“Sweetie, you can be done here. Go start on your schoolwork.”
Cooper suppressed his desire to roll his eyes. Jess didn’t have to go to school. She didn’t have to finish putting away the groceries. Maybe she would like him to do her homework for her too. He didn’t realize he’d closed the cupboard with too much force until he heard the wineglasses on the adjoining shelves shudder against each other.
“Cooper?” his mom said, head tipped.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Can I go work on homework too?”
His mother sighed. “I assumed you were already done since you were out running around the neighborhood.” She perused all the food still on the counter, then waved a hand at him. “Okay. Go. But please fold these bags and put them away first.”
Cooper did as he was asked, grabbed his backpack, and bounded up the stairs.
“Dinner will be ready soon!” his mom called after him.
Out of guilt, he did tend to some schoolwork but was done with his math in seven minutes flat. He then pushed back on two chair legs to straighten his body out and fish the small piece of paper from his pocket, almost tipping over backward in the process.
“Vigilantes Unum,” he read aloud, flattening the crumpled wad against his desk to read it better. He already knew what a vigilante was, but unum? He knew he’d heard that word somewhere before, but he couldn’t recall where.
Jess peeked around Cooper’s bedroom door, iPad in hand. “Did you talk to her?”
“Yeah, I actually did.”
A huge grin blossomed on her face. “Really?”
He waved for her to come in and close the door. “Her name’s Elena, but she didn’t really tell me much before Gus came by. Just that she goes to a private school.” He grabbed the piece of paper from his desk and handed it to her. “That’s what the banner on her crest says. Do you know what ‘unum’ means?”
Jess furrowed her brow as she took it. “You mean like in ‘e pluribus unum’?”
Cooper snapped his fingers. “Of course! That’s where I’ve heard it!” He picked a dime out of a cup of change that sat on the corner of his desk. The Latin words gleamed up at him from between the torch and the branches on the back of the coin.
“Out of many, one,” Jess said, standing a bit taller. “I did that project in fourth grade on U.S. currency, remember?”
“So, like Vigilante Number One? Punisher Numero Uno?” Cooper grimaced. He held his hand out for the iPad and did a Google image search using “Vigilantes Unum” as his search term. This time, only a small number of relevant images came up.
“That’s it, right?” Jess said, pointing.
Under her finger was an exact match of the crest, and this time it was a detailed photograph. The image was more than the crest by itself: it was a picture of a V-neck T-shirt with the crest stitched onto the chest pocket. The shirt
looked like it had been worn into battle. Cooper guessed the fabric had been white at one time, but it was difficult to say with all the dirt and rust-colored stains that covered it. There were tears in the fabric, and it was hopelessly wrinkled despite it being flattened out on a white table for the picture. A pencil was barely visible at the corner of the photo, offering some perspective on size.
The garment appeared small enough to fit Jess.
Cooper clicked the thumbnail and waited to be linked to the photograph’s source page, excitement brewing in his chest. But then both he and Jess sagged at what came up.
“What is that? Chinese?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
The iPad screen was filled with the front page of an Asian newspaper. Jess and Cooper couldn’t read it, but they didn’t need to to understand what was being reported. A photograph dominated the space above the fold, showing a building in ruins. Two five-story bright pink walls still stood facing each other, bracketing a pile of rubble like two lonely and useless sides of a bookcase whose shelves had collapsed. Rebar dangled from the walls’ edges like gnarled witch’s fingers. Between them, piles of twisted metal and crumbled cement lay under a cloud of dust.
“Whoa,” Jess said. “Is that from, like, an earthquake or something?”
Cooper scrolled down to a collection of smaller pictures at the bottom of the newspaper’s front page. In addition to the dirty T-shirt, there were multiple damaged items displayed: a bent wedding ring, a cracked Mickey Mouse wristwatch, a dusty pair of purple women’s designer boots.
“We have to find something about this in English.” Cooper started typing again in the images search bar. “How many destroyed buildings can there be that look like they were painted with Pepto-Bismol?” But he didn’t find anything related when he searched “pink building bomb.”
“Try ‘pink building earthquake,’” Jess suggested.
Nothing.
On his third try, using “pink building collapse,” the search returned a seemingly endless stream of images of the building from the newspaper article, from every possible angle. Before he could scroll down, Jess reached over his shoulder and tapped ALL at the top of the Google search, bringing them results that included text as well as images. The top link was a New York Examiner article from 1995. The headline read:
The In-Between Page 6
