Neanderthal Opens the Door to the Universe

by Preston Norton

“Can I have a word with you?”

  We left Julian and the alleged HAL-in-denial, stepping just outside the lab and into the hall.

  “I take it back,” I said. “I don’t think he’s HAL.”

  “What?” said Aaron. “Of course he is.”

  “Even if he is,” I continued, “I feel like this is completely the wrong way to go about it.”

  “Well, alrighty then, Cliff Almighty. What’s the right way to go about it?”

  “I don’t know, but for being God’s Messenger, you’re kind of acting like a raging asshole.”

  “Hey! I’m just trying to figure this out as I go along, okay? It’s not like God gave me an instruction manual or anything, like, Making High School a Better Place for Dummies. I mean, aside from the fact that I saw God, he didn’t really give me shit to go on. So instead of being a dickwipe, how about you try to help me?”

  Okay. My Nice-O-Meter was maxed out.

  “You know, that’s another thing,” I said. “Is God’s Little Messenger allowed to use potty language like that?”

  “You know what? Screw you.”

  “Screw you, Moses.”

  This was the moment when Aaron and I would turn around and storm off in opposite directions. We would never talk to each other again because someone like me could never be friends with someone like him. And someone like him could never see God. What the hell was I thinking anyway?

  Except that didn’t happen because, at that exact moment, Jack and Julian entered the hallway.

  Jack took the lead, stepping forward with his fingers interlocked. He cleared his throat, and said, “We have a business proposition.”

  “You have a what?” I said.

  “Like I said, I’m not HAL. But we can find out who HAL is. However, I need you to do something for me first.”

  Did this kid comprehend the number of shits that I did not give anymore?

  “What do you mean?” said Aaron.

  “It’s simple, really,” said Jack. “We have a program that allows us to see all of the current TCP/IP connections in the HVHS network.”

  “And if we can get HAL’s IP address,” said Julian, “we can trace him down with this geographical location IP tool site I know.”

  “I also know a site where we can use his IP address to find out his ISP, and if we hack into their network and peek into their customer files, we can find out his name, address, bra size, you name it.”

  They might as well have been speaking Klingon.

  “I was just joking about the bra part,” said Jack. “No legitimate Internet service provider would ask for that.”

  “Okay-okay-okay,” I said. I closed my eyes, because doing that seemed to hold the inevitable brain aneurysm at bay. “So you’re saying you can find out who HAL is?”

  “That is correct,” said Julian.

  I looked at Aaron. Aaron looked at me. Our argument had all but dissipated in the wake of this new plot development. We were fish, and the worm was squirming on a hook, and we could see it in each other’s eyes—neither of us could help nibbling just a little.

  “What do you need us to do?” said Aaron.

  Jack turned his attention solely on me. “Cliff, you may have noticed the other day that Niko stole my 3DS. I want it back.”

  “I’m also tied into this fiasco,” said Julian. “Because I let Jack borrow my copy of Animal Crossing that happened to be inside his 3DS at the time of thievery.”

  “You guys get us our property back,” said Jack, “and we’ll give you HAL’s identity on a platter. But you have to make sure that Niko doesn’t target us again. Otherwise it defeats the whole point. Do we have a deal?”

  Jack and Julian were already extending their hands to shake on it.

  It seemed a little more than coincidental that, in exchange for HAL, Jack and Julian were asking us to do yet another thing on Aaron’s goddamn List.

  Again, Aaron and I exchanged glances. Neither of us had to say a thing.

  We knew that we were in.

  We had a plan. Sort of.

  We had a Plan B. Sort of.

  My stomach was churning. Completely.

  “C’mon,” said Aaron. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “In third grade,” I said, “I distinctly remember Niko finding random insects and pulling off each of their legs. He collected all of them inside a jar. Like, fifty of ’em. These squirming little peanuts that used to be insects. And then he snuck into the cafeteria and microwaved them. And then he poured the contents of the jar into the lunch lady’s coffee. She took one sip and spewed. When she found out what Niko did, she spent the rest of the day in the nurse’s office. I think she started going to a shrink after that.”

  “Jesus,” said Aaron. “Is this your way of telling me you want to back out?”

  “Nah. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  It was kind of unnerving how Niko lived up to every bully stereotype. It’s like he had a checklist that he was marking off. Big, nasty, and violent? Check. Dress like a biker in spite of not owning a motorcycle? Check. Put a special emphasis on bullying the only out gay kid? Check.

  I only bring this up because Niko was currently making said kid’s life a living hell. Noah was holding his books close to his chest, trying to walk away, and Niko kept walking in front of him, cutting off his path.

  “Where ya goin’, Poulson?” said Niko.

  Of course, Noah didn’t respond. He stood still for a moment and attempted to walk in a different direction—only to be intercepted again with a push and a “Hey, Poulson, where ya goin’?”

  Eventually he’d get bored. Or he’d grind Noah’s bones to make his masturbation lubricant.

  “I’ll do the talking,” said Aaron.

  This was going to be good. And I meant good in the most ironic, disastrous way possible.

  “Hey, Niko,” said Aaron.

  Niko looked up at Aaron like he had just insulted his mother.

  Noah took full advantage of the distraction and made a silent escape. Niko didn’t seem to care. His predatory gaze shifted from Aaron to me—it stayed on me for a little bit longer, just because I was so obscenely gargantuan—and then back to Aaron.

  “Hey, fellas,” said Niko. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Yes, actually,” said Aaron. He was smiling, and as far as I could tell, it was genuine. “So I realize this is none of my business, but I understand that you may or may not have Jack Halbert’s Nintendo 3DS in your possession?”

  “3D-what?”

  “It’s like a Game Boy.”

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Okay, perfect. So I’ve experienced an interesting turn of events lately. You’re probably aware of the boating accident I had last week that put me in a coma?”

  Niko nodded. For a violent sociopath, he seemed to be absorbing this bizarre conversation rather well.

  “Here’s the thing,” said Aaron. “It wasn’t just a coma. While I was out, I had a vision. More than a vision actually. I saw God.”

  Niko raised an eyebrow.

  “I know that sounds crazy,” said Aaron, “but it’s true. God actually spoke to me. He gave me a very specific List of things to do. Things that would make Happy Valley High School a better place. And my good friend, Clifford Hubbard”—he gestured elaborately to me; I waved awkwardly—“and I are on a mission to accomplish the things on this List. And God mentioned you by name, Niko. He said your bullying needs to stop.”

  I basically cringed through that entire monologue.

  “Did he now?” said Niko.

  If there was a Richter scale for sarcasm, the little needle would be drawing a horizontal tornado right now.

  “The point I’m trying to make is that God is aware of you,” said Aaron. “I don’t think God wants the bullying to stop just for everyone else’s sake. I think he cares about you too and the quality of your life. I think God has a plan for you. A better plan. One that you can’t even comprehend right now. That’
s why I’m extending you a personal invitation. I would be honored if you would join us. Help us complete this List and make this school a better place.”

  I guess I had a lot of confidence in Aaron because, in my head, this conversation sounded a lot more mentally stable.

  And then something weird happened to Niko’s eyes. They got all screwy. And by “screwy,” I mean they appeared kinda…I dunno. Genuinely touched? It was a new look for the guy, and I didn’t know how to process it.

  “You think God cares about someone like me?” said Niko.

  Holy shit-kittens. Was this actually happening?

  “You think someone like me can change?” Niko’s voice wavered.

  No. No no no no no. Something was up.

  “I think so,” said Aaron.

  Except that Niko’s fist was in Aaron’s face on the last word, and it turned into: I think s—SMACKKKKKKKKKK! Extra emphasis on the KKKKKKKKKK because I swear, Niko had punched a hole through Aaron’s skull. Aaron spun 180 degrees. I managed to catch him before he performed a stunning 360. Fortunately, his face appeared to be mostly intact.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, could you pass the word to the man upstairs?” said Niko. “Also, tell him to eat shit.”

  Aaron blinked, and his face was sharp. A razor. He gritted the blades of his teeth together, and here was the Aaron Zimmerman of legend. The forecast was cool with a hundred percent chance of kick-ass. God’s Little Messenger had left the building.

  “Should I give you ladies a moment?” said Niko.

  Aaron’s face was a twig, and it snapped. “Let’s Plan B this son of a bitch,” he said.

  I shoved Aaron forward, and he rolled with the momentum—so fast, his fist was slicing atomic particles. He nailed Niko in the face. Hard. Like, for a second, I almost expected Niko’s face to fold inside out like a sock.

  Niko spun the full 360.

  But he didn’t fall. His thick legs splayed out and he regained his footing—balanced and deadly. And then, just to reaffirm the theory that he was the Antichrist, he smiled.

  Niko grabbed Aaron by the shoulders and kneed him in the gut.

  Aaron’s eyes became wide and distant as he mumbled a feeble “Sonuvabitch.” His voice sounded like air being let out of a balloon. And then he crumpled to the floor.

  Niko looked at me next, and oh shit.

  I felt the impact—like I was being tackled by a moving Volvo head-on. Our shoulders interlocked as we crashed into each other. The fire exploded in my clavicle, but screw clavicles, who needs ’em, and screw Volvos too, because I was a Hummer. I slid one foot back to brace myself and stood my ground.

  And that was my mistake.

  I was all pushing and no balance. Niko twisted and shoved me down.

  I hit the ground hard. And naturally, Niko’s motto was kick ’em while they’re down, because his foot punted me in the gut. I buckled into the fetal position and wished I could cry, because maybe crying would make it hurt just a little bit less.

  And then Niko said the most words he’d ever spoken to me.

  “Piece of shit,” he said. “You should go kill yourself like your dumb-ass brother.”

  That single sentence caused my humanity to dissolve. Hate swallowed me whole.

  You should go kill yourself like your dumb-ass brother.

  I screamed and kicked my leg out, blasting Niko’s feet out from under him. He had barely hit the asphalt before I was on top of him, punching his face. Punching, smashing, wrecking, destroying—

  “Son of a bitch,” said Aaron, breathless. “Cliff!”

  Aaron’s voice registered in some distant cubicle of my brain. At least it got me to stop punching. But I wasn’t done. I was so far from done. I was on my feet, scouring the schoolyard. A perimeter of students had formed a wall around us. Behind the wall of their heads, the sunrise had left its last bloody streaks on the cloudy horizon.

  I marched up to some chump on the baseball team with this aluminum bat sticking out of his bag. I took the bat. Babe Ruth tried to protest, but I palmed his face like a basketball.

  You should go kill yourself like your dumb-ass brother.

  I marched back to Niko, dragging the bat against the asphalt.

  Aaron was still crumpled on the floor, clutching his gut. But he was looking at me. His eyes were huge, absorbing the vastness of my hate.

  “CLIFF!” Aaron screamed—or at least he tried to. His voice came out soft and strangled.

  I ignored Aaron. I reached Niko, still on the ground, his face a bloody mess. But his one halfway-open eye saw me. He saw my hate. It caused the bat to tremble as I raised it over my head.

  Niko swallowed. But no words came out.

  You should go kill yourself like your dumb-ass brother.

  And then, suddenly, Niko’s bloody face became Shane’s bloody face. The penetration wound beneath his shattered jaw.

  The top of his skull blown open.

  I screamed—long and hard, until I was breathless. I chucked the bat as far away from me as possible. It was like a rogue helicopter blade—spinning, sailing, careening.

  It clattered on the high roof of HVHS.

  And then everything was still.

  The first-period tardy bell rang while I was sitting my voluminous ass on the curb. School wasn’t exactly in my plans anymore. As for God and his To-Do List, they could both eat it in the nearest paper shredder.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Aaron said, “but have you talked to a therapist? About your brother, I mean?”

  Oh, nuh-uh. The guy who thought he saw God was gonna tell me I need to see a therapist?

  “Don’t talk to me about my brother,” I said.

  Aaron didn’t push the matter.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I’m sorry about Shane.”

  “Don’t be. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing—” Aaron started to say, but I cut him off.

  “IT’S NOTHING.”

  Jesus. I was sure doing a stellar job proving the nothingness of the matter.

  “Look,” I said. “I really appreciate”—I hesitated, fumbling for a word that fit—“this. Everything. Whatever it is that you’re trying to do. But I think I’m the wrong person for the job.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Was he serious? Did I have to spell it out for him?

  There were countless reasons why I was a bad choice. But as I paused to consider my vast unqualifications, all I could think about was my mom—the only living human being whom I loved and who loved me—and the thing I said to her the day of my suspension. That Shane died hating her. Shane might have said it, but that didn’t necessarily qualify it as “truth.” Shane said a lot of things that he didn’t mean. I still threw it in her face like a vat of acid. I felt no satisfaction, only the lingering aftertaste of venom.

  “You can’t fix something,” I said, “when you, yourself, are not fixed. Yeah, this school is fucked-up, but I’m probably the most fucked-up thing about it.”

  “I dunno. You are competing with the likes of Esther and Niko.”

  “Okay. Third most fucked-up. I get the bronze medal.”

  “What about Spinelli? He’s on the List too.”

  “Yeah, but his evil is probably a product of old age. Like, you try not being evil when your saggy balls touch the toilet water.”

  Aaron laughed.

  I couldn’t help it. My defenses cracked, and a smile splintered across the hull of my face, from port to starboard.

  “What about me?” said Aaron.

  My smile faltered. “What about you?”

  “Are you more fucked-up than me?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that. If I’d been asked this question a couple days ago, Aaron might have ranked number one. I mean, I hated him. Maybe I hated him because he was perfect, and he had it so fucking easy, but still. Hate is hate, and assholes are assholes, and Aaron was an asshole supreme, regardless of social standing.

  “I don’t like m
yself very much,” said Aaron. “Bet you didn’t know that.”

  I looked at Aaron. Like, really looked at him. Somewhere, deep beneath his perfect tan that he didn’t have to work for a day in his life, and his perfect face—probably shaped by God himself on his Holy Pottery Wheel—I could see it.

  The self-loathing.

  “You’re probably wondering why I do it,” said Aaron. “Act like such a tool to everyone, I mean.”

  I shrugged awkwardly. What was I supposed to say? Yeah, why ARE you such a tool?

  “Have you ever said something—done something—that you instantly regretted? But it’s out there, and you don’t know how to take it back, so you try to justify it because now there’s one more person who doesn’t like you, and you think: Good! They shouldn’t like me.”

  “Doesn’t like you?” I said. “Is there a single person at school who doesn’t like you?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Name one person.”

  “Lacey.”

  “Lacey,” I repeated dubiously.

  “Definitely Lacey.”

  “How can Lacey of all people not like you? You guys dated, didn’t you?”

  “Dude,” said Aaron. “Dating is the surest way to get someone to not like you. Lower their defenses. Make them vulnerable. Then fuck them over like you always do.”

  “Don’t you sit at the same table?”

  Aaron shrugged. “I’m friends with Kyle, and Lacey’s friends with Heather Goodman, and Kyle and Heather are friends. That’s just the dynamics of our group. And I don’t not like Lacey. She’s just good at coexisting. Some people are silent in their dislike.”

  Even as Aaron spoke, I could already smell the bullshit in his hypothesis.

  “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t not like you,” I said. “I mean, she chased you down in her car, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, well,” Aaron stammered, “only because Kyle told her to.”

  “Dude,” I said. “She cried while you were in that coma.”

  Aaron’s mouth opened. It closed. He lowered his head, glaring at his shoelaces.

  “Yeah, well,” he said. “She shouldn’t like me.”

  Of all the tough nuts to crack, Aaron was steel-plated. Impenetrable.

  “Face it,” I said. “Everyone loves your tool ass.”