The Fixes
Page 3
“Okay,” he says, walking over to the group. “Just one, though, then I’m done.”
28.
Except—
Shots are like potato chips.
(Bet you can’t drink just one.)
29.
“Don’t fucking worry about it, Connelly. You can just crash on the couch.”
Callum Fulchrest has his arm around Eric now. With his free hand, he’s shoving another shot into Eric’s hands. Eric’s trying to argue, trying to tell Callum how he drove here, how his mom will be pissed if he doesn’t bring the Benz back.
Callum isn’t taking no for an answer. “Your mom will get over it,” he’s telling Eric. “Quit being such a baby.”
Eric looks at the shot. Looks around at the group. Jordan’s watching him. Jordan has crazy blue eyes. Jordan’s smiling at him with those perfect white teeth like, Come on, what are you waiting for?
Shit.
“I’ll just wake up early,” Eric says. “I’ll bring the car back tomorrow.”
Callum slaps him hard on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he says, thrusting the shot glass at Eric again. “Down the hatch.”
30.
And from there, it’s pretty much a gong show.
Two shots are enough to get Eric pretty drunk. He’s thinking a third shot might actually kill him. Thankfully, the bottle’s empty.
Then Lexi Tanner’s in front of him. “You need a drink,” she says. “You like gin?”
She hands Eric a red cup.
“I went a little overboard with the Hendrick’s,” Lexi giggles. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Eric tells her. “Not at all.”
(He can nurse a gin and tonic, at least.)
(And he does.)
The group envelops Eric. The party surrounds him. Eric talks to Callum and Lexi and Terry Miles. They’re making plans for the summer. Lexi’s going to Spain. Callum’s racing Ferraris with his uncles in Las Vegas. Terry Miles is staying in Capilano.
“I’m just going to party,” he tells the group. “Get stoned at the beach and surf and get laid. Why complicate things?”
They all look at Eric. “What about you?”
Eric shrugs. “Why complicate things?”
31.
Someone passes a joint around. Eric hesitates.
“Come on, dude,” Terry says. “Don’t be that guy.”
(#PeerPressure.)
Eric starts coughing, doubled over like a rookie. Lexi and Terry are laughing. Terry slaps Eric on the back, and when Eric looks up, gasping for air and embarrassed, he realizes Jordan isn’t here anymore.
And Eric’s just drunk enough to go looking for him.
“Excuse me,” he tells Lexi and Terry, who start laughing again, and then launch into a conversation about the first time they smoked pot.
“I’ve smoked pot before,” Eric says as he’s leaving. Or rather, he thinks it. Doesn’t say it out loud. The words never shake loose from his brain.
He puts down his cup. Sets off through the mob of kids in the kitchen. It’s hot in the house, stifling hot, and Eric’s sweaty and high and he’s pretty drunk, too. If he’s not careful, he’s going to pass out or puke or otherwise make a scene—
(and he’s pretty sure Connelly Men aren’t supposed to get white-girl wasted).
Eric navigates the party carefully. Back through the vast living room, where couples are hooking up on the couches and some junior is at the piano, trying to play “Chopsticks” and failing miserably. And then Eric’s standing in the front hall, dizzy as shit, wondering what to do and where to look, when he turns around and there’s Jordan, right in front of him, like a magazine cover or something.
“Two n’s,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Eric blinks. “Better. I was looking for you.”
Jordan laughs. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
Because you’re the reason I’m here, Eric wants to tell him. Because I’ve been looking for you all night.
Yep. Eric’s just drunk enough to say it.
“You’re the reason I came here,” he tells Jordan. “I just wanted to see you again.”
“You are going to see me again,” Jordan says. “The tutoring thing, remember? I’ll message you tomorrow. We’ll set it up.”
“No,” Eric says. “I mean, yeah, that too, but, like—”
(It’s really hot in here.)
(This is a disaster.)
“I was just kind of hoping we could maybe be alone,” Eric finishes.
Jordan’s eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”
“It’s stupid,” Eric says. “Just forget it. You’re probably not even like that. Forget I said anything.”
Jordan looks past Eric. Eric follows his gaze, sees a couple of not-so-popular Cap High girls in the open doorway, Paige Hammond and Haley Keefer—
(who are kind of weird people for Jordan to hang with)
—staring in like they’re waiting for something.
Jordan holds up a finger, One second. Then he looks at Eric again. Studies him with those intoxicating blue eyes.
“You’re sweet,” he says. “And you’re smoking hot, too. If I didn’t have to bail, hell, I’d probably take you home.”
This sounds decent to Eric. So Eric’s thinking, Why not?
“But that’s all it would be, just a one-night stand. And then shit would get awkward, and I’d fail freaking calculus, and nobody would be happy.”
Eric looks away. “It wouldn’t have to be like that.”
“Sure it would. You’re a good kid. Fucking Student of the Year, man.”
“Yeah, so?” Eric says. “What does that make you?”
“Me?” Jordan shrugs. Smiles that movie-star smile, but there’s something else behind it, something darker. “I’m a bad influence. I’m a one-way ticket to nowhere.”
Paige shows up at Jordan’s arm. “We gotta go, Jordan.”
“Yeah,” Jordan says. Eric blinks and Jordan’s just Jordan again—that strangeness evaporating like some kind of hallucination. Eric wondering if it was real, or just the pot.
“I’ll holler at you,” he tells Eric. “We’ll do that tutoring thing, okay?”
He’s already following Paige to the door.
“Wait,” Eric says. “Where are you going?”
Jordan glances back. Winks. “Believe me, Eric, you don’t want to know.”
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 06/25/16 – 04:40 AM
USERNAME: SuIcIdEpAcK
MESSAGE: Something’s burning, Capilano. Watch this space.
32.
“Dude, wake up.”
Eric opens his eyes to bright daylight and Callum Fulchrest looming above him. Callum has a look on his face like he forgot to wear pants to the prom, and Eric sits up too fast and realizes two things immediately:
1.He’s in Callum’s palatial living room.
2.He’s hungover as shit.
Ow.
The night comes back in snapshots. Shots of Fireball, shots of gin. Jordan—gone with Paige and Haley, the party raging on regardless. Girls, dancing, music, drugs.
And puking.
(Shit.)
Callum is pacing. Callum is running his hands through his hair. Callum looks like he’s ready to cry.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Callum is saying. “My dad’s going to kill me.”
Judging from the light coming through the living room windows, it’s midmorning, or worse.
Eric’s been here all night.
He still has his mom’s G-Wagen.
(He thinks: You think your dad’s going to kill you?)
Eric sits back, tries to shade his eyes from the light. Looks around for some water and sees only trashed Solo cups and empty bottles. Party detritus. A couple kids passed out on the opposite couch.
“You didn’t see it, did you?” Callum asks Eric. “You didn’t see if someone, like, took it?”
Eric s
hakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”
Then Eric frowns.
“Wait. What exactly are we talking about?”
Callum stops pacing, and now there really are tears in his eyes.
“My dad’s Basquiat,” he says. “Someone stole it.”
33.
Eric doesn’t know what a Basquiat is.
But according to Callum, it’s worth a shitload of money.
“It’s my dad’s favorite painting,” Callum says, leading Eric into his dad’s den. “He paid, like, a million for it. And it’s gone.”
Callum gestures to a blank space on the wall. It looks like a good place to hang a painting. There’s nothing there now but a forlorn picture hook.
“Yup,” Eric says. “It’s definitely gone.”
34.
“What are you going to do?” Eric asks Callum.
They’re in the kitchen now. Eric’s drinking orange juice and fighting the urge to puke again. Callum is still pacing. Callum is openly crying.
“I don’t know,” Callum says. “My dad comes back in three days. Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”
Eric thinks back. Still doesn’t know what a Basquiat is supposed to look like, but he can’t remember anyone walking around with a painting.
(You’d figure a painting would be kind of hard to hide.)
“I’m pretty sure,” Eric tells Callum. “I got really drunk, though.”
Callum moans. “He’s going to freaking kill me. I’m as good as freaking dead.”
Eric thinks about his own dad. About his mom, who is bound to be pissed that Eric still has her car.
Eric doesn’t know anything about Callum’s little problem.
Eric needs to save his own skin.
He’s about to bail on Callum, when his phone starts to buzz. And then Callum stops pacing.
His phone’s buzzing too.
35.
It’s a message to the private Capilano High Kik group. But it’s no user Eric has ever seen before.
“SuIcIdEpAcK.”
(Eric sees they posted an earlier message, in the middle of the night. Something’s burning, Capilano. Watch this space.)
There’s no text in this message, though. Just a link.
Eric clicks the link, and it opens a Vine. He presses play. Across the room, Callum is doing the same.
THE VINE
FADE IN
INT. – CALLUM FULCHREST’S KITCHEN – NIGHT
A crazy HOUSE PARTY. Drunk TEENAGERS everywhere. The camera is shaky, waist level. Nobody seems to notice it’s there.
In a corner of the kitchen, CALLUM FULCHREST is talking to A PRETTY GIRL. They are both holding RED SOLO CUPS.
As we watch, the girl turns away from Callum to talk to A FRIEND. She puts her cup on the counter.
Quickly, Callum removes A BAGGIE from his pocket. He pours SOME KIND OF POWDER in the girl’s drink. Stirs it a little with his finger. Nobody sees.
FREEZE on the Solo cup. HORROR MOVIE MUSIC. (Think strings.)
Back to action. The girl turns around. Reaches for her Solo cup, but before she can take a drink, something happens offscreen. She puts the cup down again.
CLOSE ON THE CUPS as someone walks past. We only see gloved hands and dark clothing. The hands switch the cups.
PAN BACK TO: Callum drinking from his cup. Then CUT TO:
INT. – CALLUM FULCHREST’S LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
One hour later. Callum slumps on a couch. He’s slurring his words. He’s drooling.
(He’s obviously been drugged.)
CUT TO:
EXT. – OUTDOORS – NIGHT
A bonfire. There’s something burning in the flames, something large. The camera zooms in – it’s CALLUM’S DAD’S BASQUIAT.
CUT TO:
A black background. A logo, a HANGMAN’S NOOSE fashioned into a heart. Words: SUICIDE PACK.
VOICE-OVER:
(disguised)
Be careful, Capilano. Next time we burn more than the Basquiat.
FADE TO BLACK.
36.
Eric puts down his phone.
Callum has gone pale. He’s staring at his phone with his mouth open like he wants to say something but there’s nothing he can say.
Other people are talking, though. That message thread is blowing up.
#sleazeball.
smdh
Someone should kick that dude’s ass.
Unbelievable. Always knew you were shady Callum.
LMFAO!
And there’s Jordan Grant, ThaINfamous:
Holy shit!!!
(Plus a hundred laughing emojis.)
The hits keep coming.
Nobody’s on Team Callum.
(#SocialSuicide.)
37.
Seeing Jordan’s message reminds Eric of last night.
The awkwardness.
The drunkenness.
The point-blank rejection.
(Shit.)
Then Eric remembers how he was supposed to bring the G-Wagen back home and how he doesn’t have time for Callum Fulchrest’s little comeuppance, or the Suicide Pack—
(whoever they are).
He’s in deep enough shit on his own.
He stands.
Callum looks up, his eyes hollow.“Dude,” he says. “I didn’t. That wasn’t—”
But Eric’s already heading for the door. “It doesn’t matter, man,” he tells Callum. “Whatever you did, I can’t help you.”
38.
Eric’s mom is on the phone when he walks in the house. She hangs up quickly. “Eric, oh my god,” she says, standing up from the table. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”
The fact that she’s worried and not angry makes it even worse. “I’m fine,” Eric tells her, letting her hug him. “I stayed out too late, is all.”
“You’re sure you’re not injured? You weren’t in an accident?”
“I’m not hurt; I’m fine,” Eric says. “I’m sorry I messed up your phone call.”
His mom blinks, shakes her head. “Oh, Monica was talking my ear off, anyway. You’d think the Summer’s End Ball was tomorrow, the way she’s carrying on.”
She keeps talking. Eric feels the hangover returning. “I think I need a drink of water.”
His mom takes a step back. “You were at a party.”
“Please don’t tell Dad,” Eric begs her. “I know I should have called, and I should have brought the car home, but, like—he’ll flip out if he hears this.”
His mom doesn’t say anything for a beat or two. She just studies Eric’s face, like a judge mulling the death penalty. Eric holds her gaze and tries to look sorry.
Finally, his mom sighs. “I guess it’s better that you didn’t drive drunk,” she says. “What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Eric hugs his mom. “I swear, it won’t happen again.”
“It’s normal to blow off steam,” his mom says. “You worked so hard this year; I’m glad you’re out with your friends. Just be careful you don’t go overboard, okay?”
Eric pours himself a glass of water. Drinks it, and feels a million times better already.
“I won’t go overboard,” he tells his mom. “I learned my lesson, I swear.”
39.
It’s not exactly a lie.
(Eric’s hungover as hell.)
(He thinks he’s through with partying.)
(He’s thinks he’s going to spend the summer BEING RESPONSIBLE and LIVING UP TO EXPECTATIONS.)
(He thinks he’s going to be the perfect Connelly Man.)
Holy shit, is he wrong.
40.
Nobody at Capilano knows anything about the Suicide Pack. There’s, like, a whole cottage industry sprung up in the wake of Callum Fulchrest’s personal fiasco, every kid in town trying to figure out who’s behind that mysterious Vine.
But nobody claims credit. Nobody steps forward.
(There isn’t even anything in the news about the Fulchrests’ stolen B
asquiat. And that doesn’t seem right.)
(I mean, it sounds like a big deal, doesn’t it? A million-dollar painting stolen. A whole school full of suspects—it’s like the inciting incident in a shitty movie.)
But there’s nothing in the news. No police come to take Eric’s statement. Nobody’s talking about the missing Basquiat—not in public, anyway. But everyone from Cap High is talking about the Suicide Pack on Kik.
But SuIcIdEpAcK stays silent.
And nobody else has any answers.
41.
Jordan doesn’t message Eric. They never set up a tutoring session. Eric figures he was right; Jordan was just trying to make him feel better.
Trying to let him down easy.
It hurts, but, you know, it is what it is.
(Anyway, Connelly Men don’t have time for romance.)
(Especially not with Harrison Grant’s kid.)
Eric feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s been spared something. Like—maybe this is a good thing?
42.
Eric’s dad comes home. He doesn’t find out about the party.
Eric sweats out his hangover for the rest of the weekend. Picks his courses for first semester and downloads the textbooks. Eric shows his dad his schedule.
Intro to Political Systems.
International Relations.
Elements of Political Theory.
Statistics.
American Literature.
(“I needed an arts elective,” Eric tells his dad.)
Eric’s dad purses his lips together and frowns. “Hmm,” he says, in that way that tells Eric he should already be taking, I dunno, Advanced Corporate Litigation and, like, How to Be President When You’re Only Seventeen.
“Hmm.”
43.
Anyway.
Monday comes, and Eric goes back to the law firm. He goes back to the little room with the really old computer, and he spends the next eight hours inputting data from the stacks of paper files.
He does this on Tuesday.
He does this on Wednesday.