A Split in Time

by Vin Carver

  “Brenda, that’s who. And she knows, man, trust me, she knows.”

  Warren pursed his lips. “Yeah, your sister’s a real brainiac.” He let his backpack slide to the ground. “Did you bring the pot?”

  Tanner gazed down at Warren’s backpack. The wind pushed his hair around his face, swaddling his chin in a blond blanket.

  Warren said, “Well? Did you?”

  Tanner gazed a moment longer before lifting his head. The wind blew his hair back, and his eyes glinted with a special crazy—more wizard than monster. “Nathan has some weed, man.”

  “He isn’t going to give us his weed.”

  “You're right, he isn't…we'll have to take it. He’s working at the Tenoco after school. You distract him, and I’ll sneak into the back of the store where he keeps his stuff."

  Warren lowered his head. “I don’t know.” He pinched the lichen. “Even if we do get it, how are we going to smoke it out of an urn?”

  “I’ve got that all planned out. I stole a pack of cigarettes from Brenda last week. We can use them to test out the bong.”

  Warren said, “The bong? I don’t like this.”

  “Don’t worry, man—”

  Warren’s neck turned red. “I’m not stealing weed from your brother, and we don’t have a bong, we have an urn. I don’t even know how to make a bong. Do you? Won’t Nathan kill us when he finds out?”

  “Don’t worry, man. He’s not going to find out.” He pushed his hair back and smiled. “It’s going to be so cool, man. Meet me at the edge of the parking lot after sixth period, okay?”

  Warren shook his head. “I'm not sure.”

  Tanner’s crazy eyes said, We’re doing this Warren. You won’t let me down. You’re my friend and you won’t let me down. You know we’re doing this.

  Inside the crazy, Tanner had an odd combination of strength and happiness that Warren loved. The strength came from Tanner’s lack of doubt. The happiness came from Tanner’s lack of common sense.

  Warren rolled the lichen into a ball and pinched it tight. “You want me to skip seventh and eighth period, walk all the way to Homestead Forest, and get killed by your brother?”

  “He won't kill us, man, because he’ll never know. Nothing horrible will happen, I promise.” Tanner raised his hand in the air as if to solemnly swear. “I promise. It will be the experience of your life.”

  Warren pushed over a hill of black ants with his foot.

  Tanner put his hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about Nathan. We’re not going to take all of his weed, just a little bit. He’s too stupid to notice if we just take a little bit.”

  Warren tried to swallow, but he couldn’t keep his anger down. He gritted his teeth. “Your brother’s not stupid. You’re lucky you have a brother, you spoiled brat.”

  “Whoa, man.” Tanner stepped back and raised his hands. “Calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The ants scurried over the toppled hill, searching for their queen. “Like you said, he isn’t just going to give us the weed, so we have to take it. I don’t think he’s stupid…”

  The wind gusted, and a cloud of dirt hit the side of the shack. Tiny pieces of rock speckled the side of Warren’s face, and the chill of the wind made his skin tense. He squinted. He raised his hand to block the wind, and Tanner didn’t flinch.

  Warren said, “The experience of my life? This is another one of your YOLO moments, isn’t it?”

  Tanner’s smile stretched from ear to ear—more monster than wizard. “That’s right, man. Now you’re getting it. YOLO!”

  “What if the school calls my parents, and they find out I skipped class? What will I do then?”

  Tanner stopped smiling, rubbed his chin, and furrowed his eyebrows—a chess player on the verge of declaring checkmate. He put his hand on Warren’s shoulder. “Warren, man, you know I care, but I wonder…if the school calls, will your parents care?”

  The little ball of lichen fell from Warren’s fingers and bounced away with the wind. His forefinger mashed into his thumb, and he stepped on the ants.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you, but I’m not smoking any weed. I’m not going to turn out like my dad.”

  Check and mate. Tanner wins again.

  “Sure, sure, man. You don’t have to smoke anything if you don’t want to. Remember, meet me after sixth period on the edge of the Tenoco parking lot, by the gas pumps.”

  Warren picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I didn’t want to go to Biology anyway.”

  Tanner turned and walked up the hill.

  Warren said, “Hey, wait. Aren’t you coming to school?”

  Tanner let the wind move the hair off his face, and he spoke from a place of crazy. “No, man. I’m not going to school. I’m going soak in the hot tub so I’ll be relaxed for our pot party.” The wind thrust a cloud of dust into Tanner’s face, and he smiled. “Remember, man. You only live once.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I See You Renner

  Warren walked across the school parking lot, and the bell rang. Mrs. Hemthorne and Coach Chaney opened the main door, and a horde of high-schoolers began filing inside.

  Warren shoved his hands into his pants pockets until his arms were straight and lowered his head. A tall kid moved near him, and he stepped into the kid’s shadow. He rolled his shoulders forward and took short steps. The shadow reminded him of Lake Forest. As long as he stayed inside it, no one could see him.

  At the main door, Warren’s foot caught on the jam and he stumbled forward. Coach Chaney grabbed him by the arm. Their eyes connected and the coach gave Warren a wry smile.

  I see you, Renner.

  The flow of kids pushed Warren past the coach and into the lobby. He moved to the side and walked along the edge of the hall. Hundreds of voices chipped away at his nerves. He rounded the corner to the stairs, put his hand on his chest, and took a breath.

  The school’s awards sat on shelves inside glass cases—miniature, golden people playing football, basketball, and volleyball. The school put the awards on display as a reminder of Tamarack High’s greatness—past, present, and who cares. A banner reading RED AND WHITE WILL ALWAYS FIGHT hung above the cases. Warren shook his head and walked up the stairs to Blue Hall.

  He stopped in front of his locker, but his backpack didn’t stop with him. Someone hit him from behind, and his backpack broke open like a piñata. A hand shoved Warren’s face into his locker, and he braced himself against the metal.

  Darren Sredo said, “Way to go, Warthog. You drop all you stuff. You got money?”

  Warren shook his head, and Sredo let go. Warren knelt. His personal mess of notes, markers, pencils, erasers, books, empty wrappers, and lint covered the blue carpet. Warren imagined his dad with a different kind of personal mess, kneeling over a toilet. He scrunched his eyes, and the image went away.

  “What’s matter Warthog? You have flashbacks from sixties?”

  Warren opened his eyes and shoved his things into his backpack. The bulge in the outer pocket reminded him that he’d taken the urn. He shouldn’t have taken it. With Sredo looming over him now, the possibility of losing the urn—the one thing that was keeping his parents together—drove a spike into his heart. Fortunately, Sredo wasn’t smart enough to steal things and sell them to the pawn shop.

  Sredo was always like a night watchman on the verge of sleep. He was big, dumb, and compensating for a sucky life as a janitor—a life he hadn’t lived yet. Warren hated him. His caveman brow hung over his dull, lifeless eyes, below a shock of spotless blond hair. His abnormally short arms made his triceps and biceps look large, and they were large. They were large enough to beat up kids like Warren.

  “You got money?” Sredo said.

  Warren shoved the last of his stuff into his backpack. “No, I don’t have any money. Leave me alone.”

  A frown ran across Sredo’s dumb face, and he punched at Warren’s backpack. “I get you in gym class, Warthog. You going to squeal like real
hog, Warthog. Like real one when I get you.” Sredo turned his head. “Hey, Wilcox. You a chicken? You mom want cocks? You got money?” Sredo clomped down the hall toward his next victim.

  Warren pulled out his history paper, tucked it under his arm, and shoved everything else inside his locker. He slammed the door closed, spun the combination, and rested his head against the blue metal.

  What am I going to do?

  Coach Chaney had stared at him—I see you Renner—and smiled. There was no way out of it. Unless Warren came up with something he hadn’t tried before, he would have to go to gym class.

  In September, he hadn’t been able to find the gym. Most of October, when he had found the gym, he had arrived too late to make it worth changing clothes. Sometimes he’d hide in the locker room and wait for everyone else to come back as if he was the first to return. While this fooled some of them, others caught on, so he upped his game after Halloween.

  In November and December, he sat out because of two terrible colds. The first cold occurred before Thanksgiving, and the second cold occurred between the holidays. An authentic note from an actual doctor supported the authenticity of his illness. Tanner’s mother worked with Dr. Stein at the hospital, and nothing was more believable than hospital letterhead with a forged scribble.

  In January, Warren didn’t miss a single day of gym. The summer before, Juanita Espinoza had drowned in the lake right after her fifteenth birthday. In response to the tragedy, the school board had forced CPR into the curriculum. For all of January, Coach Chaney and a nurse—not Tanner’s mother—took turns making out with a dummy named Annie. Warren didn’t have to dress down, exercise, or take showers. All he had to do was watch Coach Chaney and the nurse make Annie’s belly go up and down.

  A spell of bad weather kept Warren safe and dry during February. Unable to go outside, the class played indoor sports—badminton, four-square, dodge ball. On most days, he hadn't sweat enough to need a shower. When he had sweat enough, a freak accident would occur, and he’d get sent to the nurse’s office, like the day a badminton birdie came near his eye and threatened to blind him.

  Today marked a new month, and gym class would return to the outdoors. Coach Chaney viewed March as an opportunity to scout talent for his track and field team. Tamarack had never won a track meet, but Coach Chaney kept trying. The only fish in the high school trophy aquarium were of the football, basketball, and volleyball variety. Last week, coach had announced that today’s class would begin with ten minutes of stretching followed by a brisk two-mile run on the track.

  After six months of avoiding the showers, Warren had messed up by forgetting to limp into school. He glanced at the clock in the hall. Today, he would run, he would sweat, and—against all that was good in the world—he would take a shower.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Napoleon

  Warren dropped his history paper into Mr. Hammond’s in-tray. He walked down the aisle and took his seat between Big Sharon and Suzie…something. He could never remember her last name. Warren had only talked to her once before, by accident. They had bumped heads while trying to drink from the same water fountain.

  Suzie had said, “Ouch.”

  Before realizing Suzie was a girl, Warren had said, “I’m sorry.”

  Like most girls, Suzie’s looks made Warren nervous. Big Sharon’s looks, on the other hand, didn’t make him nervous, yet he had never talked to her at all. No one had ever talked to her. Everyone treated Big Sharon like she had a disease—a fat disease.

  Is fat contagious?

  Warren slid into his desk and tried to get comfortable. The plastic seats alternated between red and white, and they were bolted too close to the desks. He rested his head on the back of the chair, and his mind wandered along with Mr. Hammond’s lecture. By becoming a history teacher, Mr. Hammond had missed his calling as a meditation coach. His low, droning voice put at least one person to sleep in every class.

  “Today, we are going to talk about the timeline of Napoleon’s conquest for world domination.”

  Napoleon appeared on the classroom wall. An insane glint in Napoleon’s eyes reminded Warren of Tanner. Right now, Tanner was sitting in his hot tub, relaxing. Warren wondered if kids had talked to Napoleon in high school, or if they had run away in fear of catching his crazy—more monster than wizard.

  Is crazy contagious?

  “Napoleon Bonaparte was born in Ajaccio Corsica, and at the age of…”

  Half way through class, Warren looked to his left. Big Sharon stared at him. Because she was tall, she could see the entire class, and because she was big, she was easy to see. He didn’t want to, but he stared back. The word “pudgy” didn’t describe her face, it defined it. Her greasy, brown hair drooped over her shoulders, and ran down her long, wide back.

  “…undeterred by growing discontent among his soldiers, Napoleon pushed on into Austria…”

  Warren made eye contact with Sharon. She raised her index finger into the air.

  Wait and you will see the most amazing thing.

  She picked up a yellow pencil and placed it on her upper lip. Her lip curled up and held the pencil in place. Warren tried to look away, but this high-school Zulu witch doctor had captured his attention. Something about Big Sharon had changed.

  “…and named Napoleon ‘King of Italy’ just before…”

  Sharon’s index finger shot back up into the air. She picked up another pencil and placed it above her chin. Her lower lip curled down and held that pencil in place. With her pudgy face adorning two no. 2 pencils, Sharon’s eyes twinkled with glee.

  Warren wanted to laugh. No one else noticed the magic act. Some slept, some tapped on their cell phones. Everyone was self-involved, except for that geek, Peter Maxwell. He sat in his seat twitching with questions about Napoleon.

  Big Sharon reached for another pencil and raised her index finger one last time.

  And for my final trick…

  “…having made that bad decision, he is banished to Elba. Napoleon lives without his wife and son who go to Austria where…”

  Sharon placed the third pencil across the bridge of her nose in line with her eyebrows. She squinted hard. Her forehead rolled over the pencil, and she moved her hand away. The pencil teetered and settled into place. She held her hands out wide, and her eyes shouted, TADA.

  Warren cracked a smile and hid his face.

  “…defeated at Waterloo, Napoleon is exiled to Saint Helena where he later died, most likely of stomach cancer.”

  Big Sharon smiled at Warren. Her face folds lost control and, one by one, the pencils slipped and fell onto the floor. The clatter interrupted Mr. Hammond, and his eyes flared. He opened his mouth, turned toward the clatter, raised his hand, and…closed his mouth. He lowered his hand, and his cheeks sagged. His eyes returned to their usual listlessness.

  No one talks to Big Sharon.

  Mr. Hammond scanned the classroom. “Okay, where was I? Oh, yes. Napoleon died in exile never to see Paris again. Remember next week’s paper is due on Thursday instead of Wednesday. That’ll be all for today.” He put his hand on his head. “Please be quiet as you leave. I have a headache.”

  Warren walked into the hallway and headed for gym class. Without a doubt, Mrs. Hemthorne was looking for him, and if he tried to skip class, she would find him. She had seen him come in through the main doors, and Warren had seen Coach Chaney talking to her.

  “Did you catch that Dolores? That Renner kid looked right at me. I’ve got him today.”

  “That’s right, Don. You’ve got him today, but just to be sure, why don’t I round him up for you right before gym class? I know all of his stupid little hiding spots.”

  Warren stopped on the stairs. His heart fluttered. Sarah Halifax walked toward the water fountain the way an eagle cruises in for a landing. He sucked in a breath and steadied himself. Her long, blond hair flowed and bent behind her in silken waves of serenity. Her body curved over the fountain, and water flowed over her lips.


  She is so beautiful. I wish she liked me. I wish we could live in the forest together, forever.

  Sarah finished drinking and turned toward the stairs. Warren averted his eyes and whipped his head to the side. His hair flopped across his face, and she closed in on him. He’d be a weirdo if he turned his back on her now. Time ran out, and she brought her body within inches his.

  “Hi Warren. Can I get by?”

  She knew his name. What else did she know about him? The beat of his heart doubled in time.

  “Sure. I mean—wait.” A wave of emotion clogged his thoughts like a horde of ants trying to escape through a collapsing tunnel. He blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. “I know someone who likes you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh yeah? Who?”

  Her question hung in the air while he waded out of her blue eyes. “Tanner. My friend Tanner likes you.”

  She frowned. “Scarhead? Oh. That’s nice, I guess. Can I get by?”

  Warren jerked to the left and banged his hip against the railing. He put his hand on it and slumped.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” He wasn’t okay. He wanted his words back. She walked up the stairs and out of sight. Warren wondered if Napoleon had ever had trouble talking to girls. Warren walked past the trophy cases and gazed at the door to the gym. He wondered if Napoleon had ever been afraid to go into battle.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Bubbling

  Doc’s back curved in an arc over the polished bar and bent up at an angle where it attached to his head. He was a buzzard—a dry and dusty old buzzard. Wads of wrinkled, sandpaper skin creased his face and wrapped around his pale, hazel eyes. He had seen less life than most, and he had lived long enough to see more than many. You can see a lot from a bar stool, but it's important to get out once in a while and do things, like go boating. Doc loved to go boating.

  “Do you think it takes forever?” Doc said. His throaty, western accent coated each word with dust.