by Alex Flinn
“You have to be nuts if you think I’m listening to you.”
She turned back and stood there a moment. I watched her. She was imploding. Silently. Trying to decide whether to scream or cry, which type of emotional blackmail to use. She chose her weapon.
She yanked a hair.
“Quit it,” I snapped. I wanted to pull every hair from her head. I grabbed the remote and turned the sound louder. The room filled with the sounds of World Wrestling Federation.
“Why are you behaving like this?” she shrieked over the noise. She walked to the edge of the room, pivoted, and turned back. “Since you’ve met him, you barely spend an hour at home. You won’t talk to me. You’re only home for dinner and bed.” She sank onto the sofa. “We used to mean so much to each other.”
“I never meant anything to you. Not really. Not as your son. As your servant, maybe, or some kind of surrogate husband you didn’t have to f—sleep with. Why don’t you get a boyfriend? Or any friend and get the hell out of my life!”
I stopped. The words hung there.
“How dare you…?” She was crying now, burying head in hands. The old Paul would have held her, comforted her. This Paul didn’t care. “I love you,” she sobbed. “I gave up everything for you. Everything.”
“What did you give up?”
“You may as well know, I suppose. When your father and I divided our property in the divorce, I told him he could have everything as long as he didn’t contest my custody of you.”
She looked up at me, triumphant.
I stepped back. “Dad wanted custody?”
“Oh, he said he did.” She stopped, stifling leftover sobs with her palm. “He said lots of things, but it was all about money, all about trying to work a good settlement. A good deal. He never loved you like I did.”
The meaning soaked in. “So, you bought me from him.”
“Don’t say that. He sold more than I bought. He had a million reasons why I shouldn’t have you.” She laughed, a high cough. “But the second I said I’d forget the money, I became the perfect mother in his eyes. He told the judge so. So, we agreed. I’d come here with barely a penny to my name. And he’d leave us alone, no matter what.”
She kept talking, saying other things, but I wasn’t listening. I felt dizzy, sick. All those calls. All those soul-killing calls to my father. He hadn’t answered because he loved money. Loved money enough to shut me out forever. And worse. Dad had known all along what a leech Mom was, yet he’d abandoned me to her. And Mom gloried in it. I buried my head in my hands and sat there, willing her to disappear.
The next best thing. The phone rang. I reached for it.
“Don’t get that,” Mom snapped. She lunged for the end table, but I was faster.
It paid off. It was Charlie.
“Hey, Einstein. How’s it going?”
I couldn’t even say fine.
“Got out early. Come downstairs. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“Sure,” I managed. But every bone in my body was thanking God or whoever for Charlie Good.
“I’m going to Charlie’s,” I said as I hung up. Then, I walked out and downstairs, not even listening to Mom’s whining.
“I got your note.”
I’d been avoiding Binky. For obvious reasons. But the day after I finally had it out with Mom, I was still feeling defiant. That’s why I got to Spanish class early, to talk to Binky.
“What note?” she said. “I didn’t write you a note.”
“Yeah, right. The note you sent … about Charlie. I got it the day after I…” I stopped, not wanting to say kissed you.
She said nothing for another minute. And in her silence, I realized she was telling the truth. She hadn’t sent the note. But who else would imply such a terrible thing about Charlie? I’d been trying not to think about it. But since Charlie had asked me to plant the bomb, it had suddenly become important. If the person who’d written the note really knew something about Charlie, if Charlie had anything to do with what had happened to Trouble, it made the whole thing a lot more serious. Not that I believed that Charlie would do something like that.
Finally, Binky said, “Don’t flatter yourself, Richmond. I wouldn’t warn you if there was a bear behind you, licking its chops … and that’s not so far from the truth.”
I said, “Charlie’s my friend, my real friend.”
She nodded. “I hope you’re right, Paul.”
I had to get out of there. I grabbed my books. There were ten minutes left of lunch hour, so I looked for Amanda. Sometimes, we hung out before class. We hadn’t made out again since Pierre’s party the week before. Still, I had hopes. But when I found her, she was by her locker, with St. John. He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. I ducked into the boys’ room.
All day long, it bugged me. Who’d sent the note? Then, it hit me.
After class, I didn’t wait for Charlie or Mom.
I had to find David Blanco.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Looking for David felt like a betrayal of Charlie. It meant I believed what the note said—that Charlie had something to do with killing Trouble. But I didn’t.
I had no reason to. Charlie had been the best. He hadn’t pressured me about setting the bomb. Really, he couldn’t have been nicer about it. “I understand,” he’d said when I apologized again and again. “You’d do it if you could. You’re just scared. Don’t worry—we’re still friends.”
Yet, I was looking for David, going first to the janitor’s cottage, tapping on the window I’d figured was his. Then, on the green plywood door. No answer. When I turned to leave, the door squeaked open.
David’s mother filled the door frame. I stood a second, awkward, because I’d bought lunch from her a couple dozen times without making eye contact. Now, I did. Maybe I stared. Her obesity was fascinating in its detail, four or five chins, fat even under her eyes. “Is David here? I’m Paul. Paul Richmond.”
Slowly, she smiled. “Paul. David’s mentioned you.” Her English was edged with a southern lilt. “Come in.”
“Is he here?”
She shook her head, chins following. “He’d be around somewhere. You’ll look for him, honey?”
“I will.” I left, feeling her eyes follow me as I walked away.
David could have been anywhere, but I started looking at the back of campus. By the clock tower because that’s where I’d always seen him with Trouble. I drifted toward it, still asking myself why I was looking for him.
The clock rang three forty-five. Half an hour, still, until my ride home. I’d made up an excuse not to leave with Charlie that day, told him I was going shopping with Mom, wondering if he knew I was lying. Now, I circled the clock tower, waiting for David to materialize.
A shout pierced the stillness.
“Get away from me, assholes!”
It was David’s voice. It came from above and was followed by a scream. My shoulder hit the tower’s door, my foot met the lowest stair. I ran up the dim, narrow passage, barely feeling my step’s momentum. I reached the top, winded from a run I didn’t recall making.
Three people were inside. Two were guys I’d seen at assemblies. They wore Gate’s familiar blue student council caps and stood on the gray cement floor inside. The third barely balanced on the narrow gold ledge outside. He held the wall between them. I stared.
He looked unreal, green curls glowing in the dying sun. It was David. On the ledge was David Blanco.
I remembered him reading, to justify despair. And I knew. I knew what it was to have more than you could take. But for Charlie, I’d have been there myself. I stepped toward David.
“Stay back!” Then, his face changed. He recognized me. He raised one hand, holding tight with the other. The two guys rushed toward him. Again, he shrieked, “Stay back!”
They backed off. David stared.
“Get out,” David finally said. “You have your friends now. You don’t need me.”
“I was looking for you,” I
tried.
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
And I realized, it didn’t. All my worries about Charlie and the note vanished, and I crept closer. David didn’t stop me this time and, finally, I stood beside him. One of the blue caps whispered to me, “Watch him, kid. We’ll go for help.”
“What do you care?” David demanded. “Get out!”
The blue caps slipped away, their feet slowing as they reached the stairs.
David seemed to relax. He turned back to me. His eyes were deep green, and he gazed at me until I edged to the wall’s near side. Would he really jump? Or was he just screwing around? The cement burned my arm. The distance between us, only inches, could have been miles. Below, the blue caps reached ground and ran for the administration building.
“What are you doing here?” David said.
And suddenly, everything swam before me, Charlie, Meat, Amanda, the mailboxes, the ficus tree, Binky’s weeping Madonna, Mrs. Blanco, so happy I’d come to visit her son, her words, David’s mentioned you. Oh, God. He wasn’t a bad guy. We might have been friends if I hadn’t found Charlie. And I didn’t have to ask if he’d jump. He would. This is what Gate did to people. It ate them alive. It could have eaten me.
I said, “Please, don’t do this.”
“Why not?” Scornful.
“Please don’t,” I repeated. I looked down. The sidewalk swam below, darkened by tentacly tree shadows. Then up. The tattoo on David’s arm was a broken heart.
“I can’t handle two more years here,” he said.
“You could transfer schools.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“My parents. They have all these dreams…” He changed his grip on the wall. “Mom, she dishes chili mac like a grub so I can have this exclusive education… I couldn’t disappoint her. Dad either.”
“You think killing yourself won’t disappoint them?”
“Maybe. But I won’t be around to see it.” He started to turn, to face outward, readying himself to jump.
“Wait!” Across campus, the two blue caps entered the administration building. They’d get someone, the police, fire rescue. There were people who talked down jumpers. I just had to stall him.
So I said, “Got the note you sent me.”
“What note?”
“You know. The note about…” I stopped, not wanting to mention the dog. Not now.
I didn’t have to. “I never sent you any note,” David said.
“Sorry. Someone sent me a note. I thought it was you.”
“So that’s why you’re here? To talk about yourself?”
“No. I heard you scream. I want to … help you.” The sun had ducked behind a cloud, and I was cold. I said, “Why are you doing this?”
“You ever hear the story about the bat, the birds, and the beasts?”
“No.”
“It’s one of Aesop’s fables. Mama—my mother—used to read them when I was little. Before we came here.”
“Yeah, we read those too,” I said. “But I don’t remember that one.” Was he buying time? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t really jump. He seemed too calm. “Tell me,” I said.
David held the wall. His voice was quiet, resigned.
“Once, all the creatures lived in harmony. Then, there was a conflict between the birds and the beasts. They formed two armies.”
In the distance I heard a siren, but it passed by.
“The bat went to join with the birds. But they said, ‘Sorry. You’re no bird.’ So, he went to join the beasts, but they said, ‘You can fly. You must be a bird.’” David looked at the ground, and for a second I pictured him, soaring above it, then plummeting. “Finally, the birds and beasts made their peace. They had something in common—they all hated the bat, who was different from everyone. So the bat was forced to fly off alone before the other creatures ripped him apart.”
I looked out, across campus. Principal Meeks left his office with the two blue caps. A few others followed him. David kept talking, oblivious.
“The moral is: If you aren’t like anyone, you’ll always be alone.”
I heard Charlie’s voice: And the moral of this story, children, is: Don’t get caught.
I stared at David. “I understand.”
“Do you? Well, I’m a bat,” he said. Then, looking down again, “Wanna see me fly?”
I looked down too. The scene was surreal, like a childhood memory. Other people had come with Principal Meeks, come from all over—a crowd, clustering close, but not too close. All there watching and gawking. Mom was there. Her hand met her mouth when she saw me, and she stepped toward the tower door. Principal Meeks stopped her. He opened the door and started upstairs, followed by two defensive linemen in practice gear. One guy slapped the other’s upraised palm. God. They hadn’t called the police. They hadn’t called the police. It was up to me. Suddenly, I was terrified.
Still, I kept talking. “But the bat wasn’t alone.”
“He was. Don’t you understand? He wasn’t a bird, and he wasn’t a beast.”
“No,” I said. “He was a bat. That’s not an endangered species. There are millions of bats, billions even.”
David shook his head. “Not here.” And suddenly, his composure crumbled. It came out a sob. “Not here.”
“Yes.” I gripped his shoulder. “I’m a bat, don’t you see? A bat like you. I don’t want to be one of them. If you jump, it will make them happy, won’t it? Add some excitement to a dull Wednesday? That’s why they’re all here.” I gestured toward the clones below. I still hated them, I realized, more than ever. I believed what I was telling David. I was a bat—I didn’t belong with them. And if he’d just come back over that wall, I’d stick with him from now on. “If you jump, they’ll cheer.” Was Principal Meeks behind me yet?
“It’s too late.” Now, he was faltering. “They’ve seen me. If I don’t do it now, they’ll think—”
“Who cares what they think?” I heard a light step on the stair and raised my voice—difficult, because I was out of breath. “You have to stay here, breathing their air, sitting in their classrooms, crapping on their toilets, for Christ’s sake. We both do, or they win.”
David looked down at the crowd. Oh, it was so far down. Some jeered, others were frozen in horror. He looked scared.
“Come back over,” I whispered. “They want you to jump, but I don’t. Your mother doesn’t. Don’t do what they want.”
And he began to sob in earnest. “I … I don’t want to die.” David moved closer, hugging the wall.
Then, behind me, a flurry of movement. Strong arms fumbled against my back. A hand grabbed for David’s fingers. He screamed. Someone shoved me aside, and I saw David struggle, bobble on the ledge, his wrist barely in one jock’s grip. His eyes sought mine.
“You bastard!” he screamed in my face.
His free hand clawed the jock’s eyes. The jock lost his grip, and David hurtled toward gray and white cement. I think his scream will always be there, hanging over Gate’s oak trees. The crowd raced back to give him room.
That’s when they called the police. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to answer questions with no answers. It was eight before I went home and stumbled to bed without dinner. I didn’t speak to Mom, though she tried. I didn’t even call Charlie.
Only later, as I struggled to find sleep, the vision of David’s broken body haunting nearly every corner of my memory, did I realize. I still didn’t know who’d sent the note. It wasn’t Binky or even David. Someone else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I’m getting back together with Gray.”
It took me a moment to remember who Gray was. Or to care. I stared at Amanda. Around us, people were getting their books and going to class like it was a normal day, like nothing unusual had happened. Could they not know about David? Could Amanda not know? That must be it—they didn’t know.
“Paul?” Amanda’
s voice.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked.
“I’m getting back together with Gray.”
“Oh.” Seconds passed before I realized. “Oh, you mean St. John.”
“Right.” She smiled, touched my shoulder. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Paul. It’s just… Gray and I … we’ve been together since cotillion in grade school. He gave me my first kiss behind the cabanas at the yacht club.” She removed her hand from my shoulder. “We come from more similar backgrounds than you and I.”
Similar backgrounds. Well, that summed it up nicely. Someone like her didn’t go for someone like me. And suddenly, I knew she did know about David. She just didn’t care. None of them cared.
I said, “Whatever,” and walked away.
All day, I had the same sick feeling I’d had after Mom and Dad broke up. That feeling there’s something wrong. You should do something. Then, you realize there’s nothing to do.
I don’t know how I expected Gate to deal with David’s suicide. They dealt with it like they dealt with everything, by not dealing with it. I’d read about school disasters where they had grief counselors and stuff to help students. Not here. Not even a mention in the morning announcements. Was I the only one feeling grief about David? I remembered Binky’s words, David Blanco isn’t one of them. After what Amanda had said, I knew I wasn’t either.
Waiting in line at Mickey D’s that day, Meat tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, Richmond,” he said. “What’s red and green and definitely can’t fly?”
I shrugged.
“David Blanco.” He laughed.
I didn’t move. Meat’s laughter rang in my ears long after he’d stopped laughing. He turned to Pierre to share the joke. I watched the hamburger helpers, sliding yellow-wrapped burgers onto trays. Fat dripped from the fries in the fryer. I couldn’t eat. Meat shoved me forward.
“Look!” Pierre’s voice behind me broke my daze.
I turned. We all did.
Pierre pointed toward the window. “Look, up in the sky. It’s a bird!”
