The Other Boy

by M. G. Hennessey

  To my surprise, he was standing on the sidewalk, looking impatient.

  “Dude,” he said. “You’re gonna make us late!”

  “You waited,” I said, dumbfounded.

  “Yeah, sorry about yesterday. I had to bring in that science project, so Mom drove me to school.” He cuffed me on the shoulder. “Where were you, anyway? Didn’t see you at lunch.”

  “I went home early. Sick.”

  “Yeah?” He looked concerned. “Not too sick for practice, right? Coach’ll bench you if you miss it.”

  “I’ll be there.” It felt like a huge pressure had lifted. Maybe I’d just overreacted, and this wasn’t as big of a deal as I’d thought.

  I wanted to ask Josh if Nico had said anything, but bringing it up might raise more questions. So instead we talked about last night’s Dodgers game. Or rather, Josh gave the play-by-play and I pretended to listen. We walked a lot faster than usual, making it to school as the last bell was ringing.

  “See you at lunch?” he asked.

  “Yeah. See you.”

  I went straight to homeroom, since there was no time to go to my locker. Inside, Madeline was sitting by the window. Looking up, she gave me a wide smile and tapped the desk next to hers. When I was a few feet away, she slid her purse off it and said, “I saved it for you.”

  “Thanks.” I slid in, dropping my pack on the floor.

  As Mr. Peters took attendance, she leaned in and whispered, “So can you come for dinner?”

  I’d been so stressed out, I’d totally forgotten to ask. “Um, yeah. I think so.”

  “Great.” There were two high pink dots in her cheeks.

  I didn’t know what else to say, and she didn’t seem to, either. So we sat there while Mr. Peters read off some announcements. I kept checking around, but no one seemed to be giving me funny looks.

  “Finally,” Mr. Peters said, “the Cardinals club baseball team is playing in the regionals a week from Saturday. We’ve got a lot of students on that team”—he indicated me with the sheaf of papers he was holding—“including our own Shane Woods, star pitcher. So make sure to go out and support them.”

  There was a smattering of applause. Madeline beamed at me, clapping louder than everyone else combined. I flushed bright red and sank lower in my chair as he went on about the next school assembly.

  By lunchtime, I was starting to think that I’d made a big deal out of nothing. No one seemed to be acting weird around me, and no toilet-bowl head dunks, either. Mom sent a text asking, All good?

  I wrote back, Everything’s cool. Love u.

  Then I got to lunch. Josh was already on our bench, halfway through a container of noodles. His mom always sent him to school with leftovers, and since she pretty much only cooked Chinese food, it always reeked. “Ugh,” I teased as I sat down. “I can smell that from here.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said without looking up. “You’re just jealous, vegan boy.”

  “Almond butter and jelly,” I said defensively, showing him. “So not even a little jealous.”

  “Trade?” he asked hopefully.

  I handed him half the sandwich but shook my head when he tried to pass me the noodles. “No way, dude.”

  “Suit yourself.” Josh covered the container and shoved it back in his bag before digging into the sandwich.

  Across the basketball court, I suddenly spotted Nico talking to Dylan and some other guys from our baseball team. They kept looking over at us, but when I caught their eyes, they looked away.

  The bite I was swallowing caught in my throat, and I had to gulp water to wash it down.

  Josh frowned at me. “What?”

  “Huh?”

  “You look kind of freaked out.”

  “It’s nothing,” I muttered, putting away the rest of my lunch.

  “You’re not going to finish?” he asked. “What else you got?”

  “Help yourself.” I handed over the bag. As he rooted through it, I kept my focus on the group.

  Was Nico talking about me, or was I just being paranoid?

  “Let’s use the other court,” Josh said, following my gaze. “I hate playing with Nico. He’s like the king of cheap fouls.”

  “What?” I asked blankly, distracted.

  “Basketball,” he said. “You know, the game we play every day?”

  “Sure, right.”

  He got off the bench. “C’mon.”

  “Actually, I feel kinda sick again,” I said, getting up quickly and slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I knew it was cowardly; I should’ve just gone over and pretended everything was cool. But if they had been talking about me . . . well, I wasn’t ready to face the awkwardness. Not yet.

  Josh shot me a puzzled look, then shrugged. “All right, man. Later.” He trotted across the court.

  I hung out in the library for the last ten minutes of lunch, trying to focus on my math homework. It was pretty empty, and I didn’t recognize any of the other kids. They probably didn’t play sports; maybe they were like me, avoiding everyone who was out in the yard.

  Maybe these would have to become my new friends.

  The rest of the day, it felt like there were more people giving me strange looks, more whispers that stopped when I got close. A half-dozen times I was tempted to take Mom up on her offer and have her come get me. But missing baseball practice this close to regionals without a really good excuse would make Coach Tom angry, and I didn’t want to risk being benched.

  But I knew something was off the minute I walked into the locker room. Most of the team was already changing, and they got really quiet when they saw me.

  “Hey,” I said, trying not to let my nervousness show. My heart was thudding hard against my rib cage, and my stomach was churning.

  A few guys muttered “Hey” back. Most avoided my eyes. Not Nico’s buddy Dylan, though. “So, Woods,” he said, with a big, fake smile. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Yeah?” I swallowed hard.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Yeah. Why do you always change in the stalls?”

  I shrugged. “No reason.”

  “No?” His smile broadened. “So do it out here then.”

  “Why should I?” I threw back.

  Before he could answer, Josh walked in.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, taking in the scene.

  “Dylan wants to see Shane naked,” Cole said with a snort.

  “I do not!” Dylan protested. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for support. “I just think it’s weird that he changes in the stalls.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe he’s hiding something.”

  Josh gave an exaggerated sigh. “Sheesh, this again.”

  “What again?” I asked, my heart hammering. There was a roar in my ears, making it hard to keep up the act.

  “Nico’s been going around saying all this crazy stuff.” Josh glared at Dylan. “Spreading rumors like a girl.”

  I winced involuntarily at the word girl. No one noticed, because Dylan had stepped forward menacingly, looking braced for a fight. Even though Josh was shorter, he stood his ground. I felt a flare of pride for my friend, sticking up for me. If he could be that brave, the least I could do was back him up.

  So I stepped forward and held out an arm. “Coach’ll freak if you guys fight in here.”

  They were still staring each other down. I got between them. “Seriously. You want to screw up regionals? He’ll bench you both for sure.”

  Dylan’s mouth twisted into a sneer as he said, “So prove it. Change out here.”

  “He doesn’t have to prove anything,” Josh said defiantly.

  A few mutters of agreement. Dylan whipped his head around. He looked seriously angry. I could tell he was hoping people would rally around him, but everyone just turned away and went back to putting on their uniforms.

  Josh wore a triumphant expression as he leaned in. “Like Coach says, if you go after one of us, you go after all of us. We’re all on the same team, even
if you’re just the backup pitcher.”

  Dylan’s face was practically purple. He gave us a final glare before stomping toward the field.

  A long beat passed. “Thanks, man,” I said.

  Josh was still staring after him. “What a loser. I wish Coach would kick him off the team.”

  “It’s okay.” My knees felt weak, but I couldn’t sit down yet. I still needed to get changed, and after what had just gone down, I’d better do it out in the open. I set my bag on the bench that ran down the center of the room and slowly stripped off my shirt.

  I could see a few guys surreptitiously watching. I pulled on my jersey, then unzipped my pants and dropped them to the floor.

  Luckily, I’d prepared for something like this. I was wearing compression shorts, and I’d carefully arranged a sock in them. Hopefully that would pass the test.

  After I was sure everyone had gotten a good look, I sat down to lace up my cleats. As people filtered out toward the field, Cole came over to me.

  “What’s up?” I asked without looking at him.

  “Dylan’s got a thing for Madeline,” Cole said in a conciliatory voice. “That’s why he’s being such a jerk.”

  Suddenly, it all made sense. “Okay.”

  “Just thought you should know.” Cole tugged at his ball cap, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t believe him.”

  I avoided his eyes. “What was he saying, anyway?”

  “Nothing. Dumb stuff. Anyway, see you out there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Better hurry. Warm-ups in five.”

  After he left the locker room, I checked every toilet stall to make sure they were empty. Then I went into the nearest one and threw up. I knelt there for a minute, breathing hard. That had easily been the worst ten minutes of my life. But you got through it, I told myself. Hopefully, enough of them had been convinced.

  I got up, rinsed out my mouth at the sink, and splashed my face with water. I could hear Coach Tom yelling from the field as I dried off with a paper towel. I leaned over to check myself in the mirror: my eyes were a little red, but I looked a lot calmer than I felt.

  “Woods! We’re waiting on you!”

  “Coming, sir!” I drew a deep breath, grabbed my glove, and ran out.

  FOURTEEN

  At exactly six o’clock that night I stood on Madeline’s front porch, staring up at her house. It was a lot fancier than I’d expected, with Greek columns and everything.

  “Nice place,” Mom commented.

  “Yeah.” I tugged at my shirt collar, wondering if I’d worn the right thing. I’d changed into a button-down shirt after practice, but still had on jeans and sneakers. Judging by the size of this place, maybe I should’ve worn a suit and tie.

  “You look great,” Mom said, leaning in.

  I didn’t answer. Gathering my courage, I pushed the doorbell.

  “Coming!” Madeline yelled from inside.

  The door was thrown open. Madeline was standing there, slightly breathless. She was still wearing the skirt and top from school today, which made me feel a little better. Her eyes widened. “Oh, hi. You must be Shane’s mom! My folks want to meet you. Mom! Dad!” she called over her shoulder.

  “So, Madeline,” Mom said, smiling at her. “Are you and Shane in any of the same classes?”

  “Just homeroom,” Madeline said.

  “She’s in the gifted program,” I muttered.

  “The gifted program! Wow, that’s great!” Mom said with what I thought was way too much enthusiasm.

  Madeline’s parents appeared behind her. Madeline’s mom was tall and thin, with the same red hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a pantsuit, expensive-looking jewelry, and heels. Her dad was on the short side—about my height, actually. He was pretty dressed up, too, in khakis and an oxford shirt. They smiled politely at us.

  “Hi, I’m Rebecca,” Mom said, shaking their hands.

  “And you must be Shane,” Madeline’s mom said. Her hand was cool and limp in mine; not a good grip at all.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Well, come on in!” Madeline’s dad boomed. He had a really loud voice for such a small guy.

  “Thanks so much, but I’m afraid I have plans.” Mom made a big show of looking at her watch. “What time should I swing by to get him?”

  I winced at swing by; it sounded way too casual for these people. But Madeline’s mom smiled and said, “I think eight thirty would be fine, since it’s not a school night.”

  Madeline rolled her eyes at me and mouthed, “Eight thirty!”

  “Fantastic.” Mom bent over and kissed my cheek. “Bye, sweetie. Have fun.”

  I mumbled, “Bye, Mom.”

  The inside of their house was even nicer, with super-high ceilings, lots of Oriental rugs, and the kind of furniture that obviously cost a lot of money. You could practically fit our entire home in their front hallway. I wondered why Madeline wasn’t in private school, if her folks could afford a place like this.

  “We’re having salmon for dinner,” Madeline said. “I hope that’s cool.”

  “Sure, sounds great,” I said, even though I wasn’t a big fan of fish. Something about the house made me want to speak quietly. It felt like a library or a museum.

  Shouting from upstairs, and the sound of running footsteps. Two redheaded kids skidded to a stop on the landing. “Boys!” Madeline’s dad called out. “Stop tearing around up there. Come downstairs and meet Shane.”

  “My brothers,” Madeline explained. “They’re seven.”

  The twins descended slowly, eyeing me like I wasn’t to be trusted. They mumbled hellos, stepping forward and shaking my hand one at a time.

  “Mom, I’m going to give Shane a tour. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. But don’t take too long. Dinner is almost ready,” her mom said.

  “C’mon,” Madeline said, waving for me to follow.

  Terrified of breaking something, I was careful to keep my hands by my sides as she led me through room after room. Each of the kids had their own bedroom, with their own bathroom, too. It was spotlessly neat; not a single paper anywhere, unlike our house, where there was a lot of what Mom called “semi-organized clutter.” It felt kind of cold and lonely, though.

  Except for Madeline’s room, which was an explosion of color. Pink walls, an orange carpet, and lime-green beanbag chairs. My eyes widened when I saw posters of anime characters on every wall. “You like anime?”

  “Oh, I love it,” she gushed. “Have you seen any of Miyazaki’s movies?”

  “All of them, like, a dozen times each,” I said.

  “Me too!” she exclaimed. “My favorite is Spirited Away.”

  “Mine is Castle in the Sky, but Spirited Away is great, too.”

  And from there, figuring out what to say got a lot easier. While she showed me the rest of the house, we discussed favorite scenes: the things we liked about them, and the things we’d change.

  “I’m actually working on a graphic novel,” I finally admitted. “Kind of a similar style, but more sci-fi.”

  “Right, that drawing you showed me was amazing!” she said enthusiastically. “I’d love to see more.”

  “Sure,” I said, as my heart gave a little jolt.

  We entered the dining room still chatting. There was a huge table there, big enough for twenty people. Our places were all set at one end, and everyone else was sitting down.

  “Shane, why don’t you sit next to Madeline,” her mom said.

  Obediently, I sat down. For the first few minutes, no one seemed to know what to say. I wondered if they were always this quiet, or if it was because I was there.

  “Your mother seems lovely,” Madeline’s mom finally offered. “What does she do?”

  “She’s a midwife,” I explained.

  “Really? That’s awesome!” Madeline exclaimed. “You know, I want to be a doctor.”

  “Neat,” I said, then immediately berated myself. Neat? Seriously?

  “Maddie’s o
ur idealist,” her dad said with a warm smile. “She’s going to save the world someday. But did she tell you she used to be an actress?”

  “Dad!”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “She did commercials,” he continued over her protests. “Let’s see, my favorite one went something like this. . . .” He cocked his head to the side and sang out in a deep voice, “Oh-oh-oh, I love those rich and creamy Or-e-os!”

  I burst out laughing. Madeline let out a high-pitched squeal and threw her napkin at her dad. Madeline’s mom and brothers were cracking up, too.

  “I think I actually remember that one,” I said.

  “Pretty good, right?” her dad asked.

  “Definitely. I bet it sold a lot of cookies.”

  That set her brothers off again. Madeline’s mom and dad joined in. Madeline buried her face in her hands in mock agony.

  “Guys, you promised not to embarrass me!” she groaned.

  “We’re parents. That’s our job,” her dad said with a wink. Which made me think that despite the fancy house and clothes, maybe they weren’t so different from Mom after all.

  After we finished dinner, Madeline asked, “Can we watch TV?”

  Her parents exchanged a glance, then her mom said, “Of course.” Madeline grabbed my hand and pulled me into their family room, which had an enormous TV and a giant circular couch facing it. I surreptitiously checked my watch: seven thirty, which meant we still had an hour before Mom came back. “So . . . what do you want to watch?” Madeline asked, suddenly looking shy.

  I shrugged. “Whatever. You choose.”

  “Have you seen Steamboy? It’s really good.”

  I’d seen it at least three times, but I said, “Sure, sounds great.”

  She started the movie and plopped down on the couch. I sat a few feet away. It was actually a good thing I’d seen the movie before, because it was really hard to focus on it. I was hyper-self-conscious; it was like I’d forgotten how to just sit. I kept shifting, feeling like my legs or arms were in the wrong place. It didn’t help that the couch was so soft. I kept sinking into it at weird angles.

  “Is the couch eating you?” Madeline finally asked.