The Boomerang Effect

by Gordon Jack

  I left my protective stall and walked to first-period history. To discourage tardies to her first-period class, Ms. Atkins allows students to sit wherever they like; first come, first served. This means that all the seats in the back row are taken by the punctual and prepared, leaving the front row for the slackers like me. I sat down and took out my notebook and started copying the notes on the board. When Ms. Atkins paused in her lecture on Manifest Destiny, I turned around and scanned the room for Audrey. I didn’t see her anywhere. I was beginning to think I had mistaken the LARPer I met last Friday for someone else when I saw her in the back corner, looking like she had just tumbled out of bed. Her brown hair, so carefully pulled back and adorned with daisies on Friday, fell in front of her face in a mass of frizzy curls. She wore large, unflattering glasses that sat crooked on her nose. Her bulky sweatshirt had a bad case of acne, sprinkled as it was with tea and food stains. I tried to keep the shock of disappointment from registering, but it must have flashed across my face long enough for her to notice. When I smiled and nodded my head in her direction, she ignored me and went back to scribbling in her notebook. As soon as the bell rang, she raced out of the classroom before I had a chance to call out to her. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the rose I had so carefully worked on over the weekend and threw it in the trash on my way out the door.

  SIXTEEN

  Stone called Eddie in to see him at brunch and ruined any possibility of conferring in person. Luckily, we both had vision-poor second-period teachers and were able to sync our stories before the bell rang. I told Eddie what I confessed to Stone (which was a long text message—good thing my English teacher decided to show a movie today), and his smiley-face emoticon indicated that he understood and would corroborate my version of events. When we finally met in fourth-period Yearbook, he was able to tell me everything that happened.

  “First he played good cop and offered me candy. Then he played bad cop and threatened to suspend me. Then he played Robocop and quoted California Education Code Section 32261 on school crime and violence. Then he sounded like Kindergarten Cop and told me how even principals have feelings and that his were hurt by the vandal’s act.”

  “Thanks for not bowing to that kind of pressure.”

  “He knew that the mascot sat with me for part of the game. Obviously, he’s spoken to other witnesses. I told him I thought it was Phyllis Larouche. I hope she’s got a good alibi.”

  “You guys talking about the Viking Vandal?” Crystal asked, sneaking up on us as usual.

  “The what?” we asked in unison.

  “That’s what Brett’s calling it on the BS website. Check it out.” Crystal flipped her iPad around and showed us the headline, “Viking Vandal Vexes VIPs!”

  “That’s some awful alliteration,” Eddie said.

  “Brett thinks it’s some kind of conspiracy,” Crystal said. “Listen to this. ‘Both Stone and Harkness refuse to comment on the ongoing investigation but have offered a twenty-five-dollar Starbucks gift card to anyone coming forward with information on the person’s identity.’”

  I breathed a sigh of relief over Stone’s cheapness. A couple of lattes would hardly be reason enough for someone to snitch.

  Crystal continued reading. “‘Tortelli and the rest of the offensive line have offered to provide security detail for anyone with information related to the case.’ That incentive should inspire every nerd at Meridian.”

  Eddie and I both looked at each other and gulped simultaneously. Those nerds were smart. And sneaky.

  “What?” Crystal said, leaning in closer. “You guys know something?”

  Eddie explained how we’d both been interrogated by Stone this morning. Crystal nodded. “I thought it was you too, Eddie,” she confessed. “Until I saw you in the stands. But why would Stone think it was Lawrence? He never goes to games.”

  “Exactly!” I said. “Why indeed?”

  “Unless you two were up to something. Where’s your sling, anyway, Eddie?”

  “Oh, that,” Eddie said, looking down at his right arm, now sling-free. “My doctor said I don’t have to wear it as long as I don’t carry any heavy objects.”

  Crystal eyed him suspiciously.

  “He’s not a very good doctor,” he added.

  “Did you take any pictures of the mascot?” Eddie asked.

  “I got tons.”

  “Can we see them?” I asked, as nonchalantly as I could, which apparently wasn’t very nonchalant because Eddie kicked my shins from underneath the table and glared at me in warning.

  “Sure,” Crystal said, bringing up the album on her tablet. She scrolled through the pictures, pausing every now and then to show us a particularly good action shot of Jerry Tortelli. There was Jerry throwing a pass. There was Jerry running with the ball. There was Jerry in the shower, his privates only slightly covered with an oversize bar of soap. “I Photoshopped that one,” Crystal said proudly.

  She scrolled forward until she got to the pictures she had taken of me as the Viking. We examined them closely, the way the detectives on CSI: Miami scour a crime scene for evidence.

  “Whoever it was, they were a horrible dancer,” Crystal said.

  “It’s probably hard to move in that suit,” I said.

  “And they smelled really bad,” Crystal said.

  “Can you imagine how hot that costume must be, though?” I said.

  Eddie glared at me from behind Crystal’s right shoulder and I shut up.

  “The slender arms look feminine,” Crystal said, zooming in on the image. “But I think our smelly dancer is male. What we’re looking for is a hairless white guy with no muscle tone.”

  “There’s got to be thousands of guys who fit that description,” I said, rubbing my arms.

  “I bet I could identify him at the homecoming dance,” Crystal said.

  “You want to help Stone?” I asked.

  “I want to help Jerry,” Crystal said dreamily. “He’d be so grateful. I’m going to show these to Harkness. Maybe he’ll let me be the official team photographer.”

  “You better keep those guns under long sleeves for the next couple of weeks,” Eddie said after Crystal had left us.

  I looked at my pale forearms, still flabby after two days of lifting. “We need to find out who stole the mascot head,” I said. “Whoever it is could get me in a lot more trouble. Stone’s ready to transfer me to Quiet Haven as it is.”

  “Any leads?”

  “I have no idea. It could be anyone with a grudge against Stone.”

  “So . . . anyone.”

  “Right.”

  “Wanna go to lunch and make a list of suspects?” Eddie asked.

  “Can’t today,” I said. “I got this thing.”

  Eddie waited for me to elaborate, but the truth was I didn’t have any details to give him. I was hoping to go to lunch with Adam and my crew but I hadn’t texted them yet. A look of disappointment flashed across Eddie’s face before he excused himself to go upload some candids from the Back to School Dance. I felt bad for blowing him off, but I needed to hang out with the guys before they banished me for good. While Eddie was occupied at the computer, I took out my phone and sent a message to Adam. Chipotle? he texted back a few minutes later. See you in ten.

  As soon as the bell rang, I ran out to the parking lot and found the guys clustered around my car. “Dudes!” I yelled, high-fiving them.

  “Wassup, dude?” Adam said. “Mind driving?”

  I unlocked my car, and the five of us crammed in. The day was sunny and I wanted to be seen, so I opened the convertible top and entered the line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot. At lunch, there’s always a bottleneck of vehicles trying to make a quick getaway. We inched forward slowly and shouted greetings to the girls passing us on foot. It felt good to be back with my crew. There was power in numbers, no doubt about it. For the first time in weeks, I felt safe and protected from Jerry and the football team and Zoe and the walking dead. Even Stone seemed like less o
f a threat.

  I kept waiting for one of the guys to ask me where I’d been or what I’d been up to, but all they talked about was how hungry they were.

  “So, my house arrest is nearly over,” I said, making up an excuse for my absence these past few weeks.

  “You’ve been grounded?” Adam asked.

  “Yeah, that’s why I haven’t been around much,” I said.

  “I thought it was because you were helping the needy,” Will said, lighting up the vape pen.

  “Dude,” I said. “Can’t you wait until we exit the parking lot?”

  “Relax,” Adam said, sucking in the vapor. “Wanna hit?”

  I shook my head. “I’m cool.”

  Adam passed the pencil-shaped inhaler to the guys in the backseat. I debated putting the top back on but didn’t want to appear like more of a tool to my friends. They seemed to like having an audience anyway. One of the Nates waved a sophomore girl over to our idling car and exhaled into her face. “Gross,” she said, waving the smoke away. Then she asked for a puff, which Nate gave her.

  I focused on getting out of the parking lot. There were at least ten cars in front of me waiting to exit. Some responsible driver was letting all the pedestrian underclassmen have the right of way on the sidewalk. Didn’t they know drivers had priority in this mass exodus? Freshmen and sophomores were supposed to yield to those who could run them over.

  I honked my horn in frustration, which only prompted every other car in the lot to chime in. Before I knew it, the cacophony had drawn the attention of Riddel, our campus security guard. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw him approaching in his golf cart. The cart we had adorned with the Student Driver sticker only a few weeks ago.

  “Seriously, guys,” I said. “Put that thing out. If Riddel catches us, I’m getting sent to Quiet Haven.”

  I heard the guys in the backseat whisper something and laugh.

  “What?” I said.

  “Nothing.”

  “You guys said something. What was it?”

  “He called you a pussy,” Adam said, laughing.

  “All I’m asking is that you guys light up after we’ve left the lot. Is that so hard? Are you that desperate to get high that you can’t wait two minutes?”

  Riddel pulled up alongside my car and looked in. “Gentlemen,” he said. He was wearing his Oakley sunglasses, trying to affect the look of the LAPD cyborg who kills everyone in Terminator 2.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Riddel,” I said. “Lovely day, huh?”

  The guys in the backseat burst out laughing, probably at my strained cheerfulness. Riddel, of course, took this as mockery against his person.

  “You mind pulling over?” he said.

  “We’re kind of in a hurry here,” Adam said.

  “Pull over,” Riddel said. “Now.”

  I swung out of the exit line and parked my car in the first available space. The guy in the car behind me unrolled his window and shouted, “Sucks to be you, Lawrence!”

  Riddel got out of his golf cart and sauntered over to my side of the car. He scanned the interior without saying a word. The guys in the back must have stashed the vape pen somewhere because Riddel only grunted before asking me to breathe in his face.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let me smell it.”

  I heard the guys choke back their laughter. I complied with his request, having nothing to hide except the normal halitosis that comes from drinking too much coffee. Riddel stood inches away from my face and didn’t twitch a muscle. “You can go,” he finally said, uninterested in using his personal breathalyzer on the other occupants in my vehicle. I pulled into the line of traffic waiting to exit the parking lot. As soon as we hit the road, the guys erupted in laughter and lit up again.

  “You guys are dicks,” I said, and drove to Chipotle.

  But maybe I was the dick. I should’ve stayed with Eddie.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Viking struck twice more that week. Tuesday night, he superglued the locks and hinges on the doors to the administration building so no one could enter. Thursday night, he dumped some chemical into the pool that turned the water bright pink. Each prank was captured by video surveillance, according to Brett Bridges on the BS website. The footage didn’t reveal the Viking’s identity, and the administration was still issuing no comments to our reporter’s many questions. By Friday, thanks to Brett’s coverage, people were talking about the Viking as if he were some superhero avenging the administration’s disciplinary actions against our most delinquent students.

  I, of course, remained high on Stone’s Most Wanted list. He called me in after each prank and grilled me about my whereabouts. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an alibi for either night, as both my parents were out of town. Dad was in Phoenix all week, helping a client get out of a complicated prenup. Mom was still laid up at Aunt Lucy’s house, suffering from preadolescent overexposure. In her last video, she complained about how the family crowded into her bedroom for dinner so they could all be together. “My comforter might as well be a picnic blanket,” she complained.

  That left me under the care of Estrella, who passed out every night in front of the television. The only evidence I had that I wasn’t at the scene of the crimes were the timestamps of my online activity, but I couldn’t show those to Stone because most of my tweets talked about how much I hated school and/or sobriety.

  Without any hard evidence, all Stone could do was threaten me with expulsion and arrest if and when I was finally caught in the act of vandalizing the school. “No one’s going to save you this time, Barry,” he said at the end of each meeting. “I don’t care how good a lawyer your dad is.”

  I turned to the only person I knew who had the brainpower to help me out of this situation: Spencer. It was weird how important our mentoring sessions were becoming for me. I learned more valuable information in my thirty minutes with Spencer than I did in any of my classes. The other day, he’d explained why zombies wouldn’t be able to attack us without a functioning circulatory system, which was an enormous relief.

  We met at our usual morning session to discuss the case against me. “The Viking only strikes at night when the surveillance cameras are on,” Spencer deduced. “Clearly, he wants these acts of vandalism to be seen by Stone.”

  “But why?”

  “Maybe he isn’t out to destroy the school,” Spencer said. “Maybe he’s out to destroy you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were the person last seen in possession of the Viking costume.”

  “Right.”

  “So, any acts of vandalism performed in the Viking costume will naturally be blamed on you. Are you committing these acts, Lawrence?”

  “No!”

  “Well, then. I would look to your enemies.”

  “But I don’t have any enemies.” Did I? Everyone loved Lawrence Barry. I was the life of most parties. How many times had I swallowed spoonfuls of cinnamon just because someone thought it would be hilarious? I always obliged any request to serve as taxi driver, pot dispenser, or cleanup crew. When I thought about it, most of my friends were kind of leeches, but none of them would turn on me like this after sucking me dry. Besides, they didn’t have the creativity or initiative for the pranks the Viking pulled.

  But who else did that leave? Who could hate me enough to try to get me kicked out of school?

  And then it dawned on me. “It’s Zoe Cosmos,” I said to Spencer.

  Spencer looked at me with interest, which involved the slight raising of his right eyebrow.

  “Last time I saw her, she swore she would have my soul.”

  “You two have a complicated relationship.”

  “If I tell you something, do you swear to keep it to yourself?”

  This was kind of a stupid question. As far as I could tell, I was the only person, besides teachers, that Spencer spoke to. Still, I waited for him to nod before I continued.

  “Zoe and I hooked up at a
party last year.”

  “By ‘hooked up’ do you mean you engaged in intercourse?”

  “What? Ew! Gross, Spencer. No.” I shook my head, trying to rid it of the image Spencer had conjured. Why would Spencer go there? I didn’t think he knew anything about sex. That was going to be the focus of one of our future sessions, but I was saving it for spring because I didn’t think he was ready for my porn collection. “We just messed around.”

  “Were you inebriated?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I woke up the next morning with my neck covered in purple hickies. It was awful. I had to wear turtlenecks for a week. Anyway, she kind of stalked me for a while after I stopped responding to her texts.”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

  “Exactly. I’m sure she’s the one framing me. She was out the night I ditched the Viking head in the bushes. She saw me in the mascot uniform.”

  “She seems the most likely suspect then.”

  “So how do I catch her?”

  “Your best chance of catching her in the act is to wait for her at school. But if Stone sees you on campus at night, he will promptly arrest you.”

  “Right. That might be her plan anyway. To lure me into her web and trap me like a fly.”

  Spencer stared at me blankly. I pushed on.

  “What I need is someone who can give me an alibi and is brave enough to stand up to Zoe’s dark forces.”

  “I’m not allowed out after eight o’clock except for stargazing.”

  “Yeah, what’s up with your mom anyway?” I hadn’t had a chance yet to ask him about her insane behavior last Friday.

  “She did not want to leave Norway.”

  I waited for Spencer to continue, but he stopped talking. I pressed for details. “Why did she freak out, though? Was it the Viking costume?”

  “She would have reacted the same if you were dressed in your normal attire. Her impressions of the United States have been formed by excessive viewing of Law & Order. Are you familiar with the show?”