“So what does this require of us . . . ? What are we supposed to do now . . . ? Not much, really. We just have to stay the course. Try to be good people. That’s really it. . . .”
And that’s where I’ve utterly failed. I’ve had infinite opportunities to clean up my act, to change my stripes, to be a good dude for once in my existence. Each time, though, I took the vengeful route. Even when my dad gave me that pep talk, the come-to-Jesus that I thought would change my life, even when I tried to do the right thing by stopping Wiley from making that video, it only lasted, like, ten seconds. The moment I felt like he was trying to undermine me, I snapped right back to my truest self. I breathed fire at him. That’s what monsters do.
“Imagine yourself as the middle man on a Grease Pole team. There is someone beneath you, whose shoulders you are teetering on . . . but at the same time, there is someone else too, that guy on top, and his entire fate is in your hands. . . .”
Wait.
Hold up.
What did she just say?
“And remember that all of those people, and not you, never ever you, determine whether you fall to your doom . . .
Whether you fall to your doom . . .
Whether you fall to your doom . . .
Holy shit. Holy shit.
I knew where Wiley was.
Oh my God.
With all eyes on Allie, I leaped out of my chair. I dashed past the principal and superintendent. I flew off the stage. As the applause for the speech poured in, I rushed as fast as I could down that field. I know how ridiculous I must have looked—still in my Harry Potter robes, still in my mortarboard, rushing the wrong way down the sideline like some football idiot—but I kept running, running like the fate of the world was at stake. I got there just as it was about to happen. I skidded and screamed without stopping to breathe—
“DO!!!
“NOT!!!
“JUMP!!!!!”
• • •
There Wiley stood, at the very peak of that behemoth of a theater, some forty or fifty feet up in the air. He was standing on the farthest edge of the roof, same as he had months ago. The only difference was he was even closer to the drop this time. I mean I could see his feet. They were balanced halfway off the ledge, like they were hanging ten on a surfboard, nothing below them but the ground.
“Wiley! Wiley! Look at me! Listen to me!”
“No,” he said, more to himself than to me. He stared ahead as he said it, off in the direction of the field. “Didn’t you hear Allie’s speech?”
He said it in the lowest, slurriest voice. I could barely make out his words. My heart was thumping too damn loudly.
“I heard it,” Wiley said. “From up here. I heard what she said. She admitted it. She gave up on me.”
“YES, BUT SHE ALSO SAID DO GOOD—”
“I am doing good. This is the best thing I can think of. All I’ve done all year is torment the people around me. It’s all I’ve ever done, you know? I get close to you people, too close, and eventually you run away. Shouldn’t I take the hint by now?”
“BE GOOD TO YOURSELF. YOU’VE GOT TO BE GOOD TO YOURSELF, WILEY.”
“I am, though. I’m not going to repeat senior year. I refuse to stay here forever while you all leave me behind. I won’t live in purgatory. I can’t let it come to that.”
He sounded so creepily calm as he spoke, so premeditated, like he’d been thinking about this all year, secretly plotting his nuclear option in case all else failed.
“YOU’RE A GREAT GUY. PEOPLE LIKE YOU. THEY LOVE YOU, WILEY. YOU’RE THE BEST.”
One of his mouth corners twitched, like it was as close as he could get to a sarcastic laugh. Beyond that, the rest of him remained exactly the same. His shoulders were slumped. His eyes were vacant. His toes were inching off the roof’s edge. His body would not stop wavering. I think he was drunk.
Just then, he lifted one foot in the air. He extended it in front of him the slightest bit. His entire body shifted when he did that, like, a lot. He held his arms out for balance. He looked so unsteady as he did it, like the slightest gust of wind would send him toppling over. I prayed silently to a God I don’t think I believe in.
“WHAT IF THE FALL DOESN’T END YOU? WHAT ABOUT THAT? DID YOU THINK ABOUT THAT? I MEAN, HOW HIGH IS THIS BUILDING, REALLY?”
“Actually, I have thought about it,” Wiley said, placing his foot down. “Honestly, Cole? It doesn’t matter what happens. I accept either result. Either this ends up working, and you all won’t have to deal with me anymore . . . or it doesn’t work. But in a way it still works. Maybe I hurt myself. Maybe I’m damaged so badly it makes me different. You know, more like Brian. I wouldn’t mind that, actually. Having that routine. That mind, that life. I could find the happiness he’s found.”
“BRIAN’S GETTING BETTER! AND YOU CAN TOO!”
“It’s too late,” Wiley said. “I’m a failure, okay? I failed high school. I don’t want to fail at life, too.”
“THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING! YOU HAVEN’T FAILED AT ANYTHING.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I DO. AND I BELIEVE IN YOU.”
“Fuck you.”
“NO, FUCK YOU FOR DOING THIS.”
“Don’t say ‘fuck you’ to a guy who’s about to jump off a roof.”
“I CAN’T HELP IT. IT’S WHO I AM.”
“This is who I am.”
“NO, IT’S NOT.”
“I’m worthless.”
“YOU ARE MY FRIEND.”
“Shut up,” Wiley said, his tone flatter than ever, his eyes at their deadest. “Shut up, Cole. Fuck you. Just leave me the fuck alone. Fuck you. I’m a loser. I’m a fucking loser. I’m a loser.”
He lifted his foot again, and this time it was real, like he lifted it, and he didn’t hold his arms out, and he leaned his body forward, and he still wouldn’t look me in the eye, and he tipped his head down, the whole long way down, down toward his endpoint, and he unbent his knee, and he stretched his foot forward, and it was like he was about to take the most casual step on the most ordinary day. Only he wasn’t; he was walking into nothing, right into nothing forever—
And I don’t know what possessed me to do this. I mean I’ll never know what in heaven’s name led me to do what I did, but before he could move another millimeter, I threw my hand up, and I yanked my mortarboard off my head, and I did what so many before me have done. I cocked back and flung the thing high in the air, like way high, like ten feet up, twenty feet, thirty feet, forty, and I belted as loud as I could—
“YOU!
“ARE!
“A!
“GRADUATE!!!”
And it flew, it flew, end over end, through the air, right on target, like it had somewhere it needed to be.
And Wiley got so distracted by the random flying hat suddenly entering his field of vision that he went and did the automatic thing, the thing any person would do in that situation:
He reached out and caught it.
He looked down at it, this graduation cap in his hand. He looked down at me.
Then back at the cap.
Then back at me.
Back at the cap. Back at me.
The cap. Me. The cap. Me. The cap.
He returned his outstretched foot to the ledge. He held his arms out for balance, and he took a step down and a couple back, until he was all the way safe on the roof.
And then he did something else:
He started giggling.
It shook his whole body, the laughter. He seized so hard and he wouldn’t stop. He laughed for the longest-ass time, and only after his entire body was completely spent from spasms did he finally die down.
“Wow,” Wiley said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“That shouldn’t have worked,” he said. “That really shouldn’t have worked.”
I just dropped my head in my hands. I let out the breath to end all breaths.
Then I stuck a hand in the air. A finger, to be specific.<
br />
“Okay, little birdie,” I said. “Time to fly home.”
• • •
We made it back to the field in time for the tail end of post-ceremony pictures and congratulations. When my parents asked why I’d run off like that at the end of the speech, I said “Hey, sometimes nature calls,” and we all laughed like fools. My pops pulled me aside and asked if everything was okay. I said I’d had to help my friend Wiley and that we’d need to get him professional help as soon as possible. My dad patted me on the head and said, “Good man.” The four of us agreed to have dinner together that night. I said first we had to stop at the gas station for some Nutter Butters.
Wiley’s family wasn’t there, of course, since he wasn’t graduating, and also because, well, I don’t want to think about why he hadn’t invited them. But even though his folks didn’t show, Allegra’s family spotted him from across the field. They looked overjoyed to see him, like he was one of their own. Papa Rey made Wiley and Allegra take a BFFs-for-life pic. She looked legitimately cute in the photos, her arm around Wiley, clutching him close. He still had his same smile from the roof.
I didn’t get a chance to see Nikki or Mona on the field. I’m guessing they hustled out with their parents as soon as the ceremony ended. Given what they went through at prom, and really all year, I honestly don’t blame them. I know I’ll never truly be able to make amends with those ladies, but I hope I find a way to try. I guess that’s something I’ll have to deal with moving forward.
Brian Mack was the most boisterous kid out there. He scampered around, giving ginormous hugs to every Bulldog in a robe he could find. He even hugged me. He hoisted me up and squeezed my body till my ribs crackled. Everyone took pictures of us and cheered.
And it made me happy, seeing my old friend so happy like that. At the same time, though, I have to admit, as I watched Brian dance and play, as I felt the brute force of his embrace, I felt something else, too. More bitter than sweet. You could even say I got a little depressed.
I wonder how it should have been.
EPILOGUE: HOMECOMING WEEK
BRIAN
I stepped forward to take my bow.
I didn’t expect lots of cheers. I mean I’d only been onstage for the last five minutes. My part didn’t even have lines. The little girl who played Scout had to memorize, like, three hours of stuff. And Cole was mind-blowing as Tom Robinson—he actually cried during the trial scene, like, legit tears down his cheeks. That’s real acting, right there. All I had to do as Boo Radley was walk onstage and stand there like a dumbass.
But I’m not any ordinary dumbass, am I?
I’m the Big Mack, bitches.
The second I stepped forward, everyone in the audience, all the people in the city college performing arts center, they got on their feet. They whooped like wild monkeys. They stomped like Polynesian football dudes. They chanted my name, again and again.
So come on, of course I had to give them a show.
I held out both my hands. I slapped them on my gut. And I jiggled.
I jiggled hard.
My mom and dad covered their eyes. My brother cheered, “Hell yeah,” and so did my old teammates and Seuss friends, the ones who haven’t left for college. Nikki and Mona giggled their butts off. Coach just smiled.
I thought I spotted someone else in the very last row. She was all by herself. She was wearing a red sweatshirt. Her hair was straighter than normal, but still a few curls. I couldn’t see her face. Her hands were in her face. Maybe she was crying.
But Allie couldn’t have come to my show. She’s up at school now. She can’t be back in town. There’s no reason for her to be here.
So I didn’t worry about her. I danced for myself. I boogied the night away.
Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle.
ALLEGRA
As the pews emptied out yesterday afternoon, I made my rounds. I stopped by each cluster of family members and friends to thank them for coming.
I thanked Pam Otis for bringing all of the food. I told my band friends how lovely their rendition of “Amazing Grace” had been. I thanked my dad and Abuela for being so emotionally open, and I thanked my brothers for being so brave. I thanked the priest for his exceptional eulogy.
Wiley thanked me. He told me how much it had meant to him, getting the opportunity to compile and edit the footage for my mom’s tribute video. I told him no thanks were necessary, that we simply chose the best man for the job. He said he appreciated it all the same. I hugged him and said, “See you this Christmas. I can’t wait for your birthday film festival.”
After the service and reception, I escorted my family back home. We gathered on the living room couch, said a brief prayer, and ate a quick dinner. We shed a few final tears and headed to bed.
By five this morning, I was off.
I’m never quite comfortable leaving my family behind, especially under such trying circumstances. But all the same, they understand. They really do.
There is much to get done.
I have my chem 31 midterm on Monday, not to mention a paper due for my gender and sexuality class. The marching band is meeting after lunch to walk through the halftime show for USC, but I’ll have to leave early for improv, and I’ll have to jet out of there in order to make it to Wilbur Dining in time for faculty night, at which I’ll be hosting my linguistics professor, who I’m crossing my fingers will write my letter of rec for this summer program I’ve been looking at in Ecuador. On top of all that, I owe Chloe a boba date, and Pooja and Alexis want to try fountain hopping with me, and David invited me over to watch a foreign film in his room, and I’d really like to see where that goes.
So I drive.
So I head north, through the blue-orange dawn, hands ten and two, eyes fixed ahead. I ride on, up the 101, refusing to relinquish my past, yet eager to take hold of all tomorrow brings.
Thank you, Mama. Thank you for letting me go. Thanks for making me.
You’ve let me be a freshman again.
WILEY
I held for lighting. I checked for sound. I hit record. I told my subject we were rolling. I waited a beat, for her to get ready. I called out, “Action.”
She walked down the hallway, pausing to stop at various classrooms. At each window, I told her to place her hand on the glass and look pensive. When she wasn’t being pensive enough, I told her look more pensive, like you have regrets. Eventually, after five or six times of this, she turned to me. She opened her jaws and snarled.
You know what they say the number one rule of filmmaking is:
Don’t work with animals.
The Bear asked why we needed so many takes of this exact same shot. I explained that in any good documentary, you want lots of random footage of the subject looking thoughtful. She said she was starting to have doubts about this whole documentary thing. I said, “Do you want to be in the Dos Caminos Film Festival or not? Do you want to help my career or not? Do you want to be a star or not?”
The Bear grunted and nodded.
Just then, the door closest to us opened.
Dozens of girls streamed out. All different kinds of girls. Hot girls breaking dress code. Wide-eyed freshmen with braces. Religious girls in Jesus shirts. Jock girls who could destroy me. AP girls clutching textbooks. Bad girls who smell like smoke.
I kept my camera trained on all of them, for stock footage purposes.
In the end, two girls were left. They were chatting and laughing. One had strikingly shiny hair. I recognized them both:
Nikki Foxworth and Mona Omidi.
Nikki looked flustered to see me. She gripped Mona’s shoulder and almost moved behind her. I asked what they were up to. Nikki said volunteering. Mona explained that it was a peer mentorship group they’d started, to talk with girls about their self-image. I said that sounds awesome. Nikki asked what I was doing here. I explained that I’ve founded my own production company, and that I did the video tribute for Magdalena Rey’s memorial, and a docuseries about stoner culture post-gradu
ation, and now I’m making my magnum opus, Ursa Major: Thirty Years of Maude Behrman at Dos Caminos High.
Right then, I got an idea. I snapped my fingers. I smiled.
I asked Nikki if she ever wanted to be in a movie.
Mona’s jaw fell open. Nikki’s hand shot to her cheek.
It didn’t hit me at first.
Then it did. I realized what I’d just said. My whole body went numb. There were one, two, three beats of silence.
And then Nikki . . .
She burst into laughter. She bit down on her fist and died of ridiculous snickers. Mona did too. And I did too. I doubled over, nearly in pain. I cracked up hardest of all.
The Bear swiped her paw. She shushed us repeatedly. She yelled at us to shut up.
Just like old times.
NIKKI
Peer group was amazing.
Mona and I had planned on keeping the meeting short and the focus narrow. What with homecoming this weekend, we wanted to discuss dance-related anxiety and lead a group dialogue about just that. After I shared my experiences from last year, though, Lindsey raised her hand and said she felt like she was being pressured into having sex with her boyfriend, and Dominique shared the same. Kyndall said her boyfriend had been making comments about how she was going to look in her new dress, and that she’d been stress-eating as a result. Mikayla admitted she was concerned because her best friend hasn’t been eating nearly enough, and Andrea said it wasn’t her boyfriend she was scared of not pleasing; it was her mom.
The afternoon was pretty heavy overall. I mean it wasn’t exactly nonstop fun, but at the same time, for me it weirdly kind of was. Not to be boastful, but Mon and I really are great listeners, and I know we’re making those ladies feel actually valued, and even important, and yeah, the session just flew by today, like so quickly I completely lost track of the hour, so by the time I finally looked, I realized—whoops—I was late for class.
I rushed out the door. I laughed my way through an awkward run-in. I jammed over to DCCC. A few minutes later, I sprinted into the beginning stats lecture hall. I grabbed the only free chair I could find.
Two Roads from Here Page 27
