“Sorry about that, dude. I keep forgetting…you don’t need my help anymore.” Will sat and stared at his lunch tray looking like I’d caught him stealing my pocket change.
I felt bad for him—his perspective of me had changed in a big way, but old habits die hard. “No problem. He just needed to prove he was still a badass to his friends. Can’t have a freshman giving him crap.”
I went back to wolfing down my double cheeseburger, not giving Carter another thought. When I finished a bite and reached for my milk, I noticed Will staring at me. “What?”
“I don’t know what’s happening to you, but when you stared Carter down, you could’ve melted a hole in his forehead with your eyes.”
Will glanced at the basketball team table. Carter must’ve felt our stares, because he flipped us the bird. When I didn’t do anything other than glare at him and eat French fries, he turned his back on us. Grinning, I picked up my cheeseburger again. I must’ve learned more than I thought last week.
“Well, guess this means I’m off hall patrol.” Will leaned his chair against the wall, resting it on two legs, and swung his feet in the air. “Maybe you should cover me during passing period.”
“Whatever, man. Happy to help you out. Oh, and save me a spot at the weight rack tomorrow. I’m ready to try the fifteen pound dumbbells after detention. We need to keep in shape, so we’re ready when we get called.”
Will gave me a fist bump across the table. “Rock and roll, dude. Rock and roll.”
* * *
I wrapped up detention with Mrs. Stevens in mid-November. During my two weeks in her office after school, she made me read To Kill a Mockingbird and write an essay about tolerance and loyalty. I got a laugh out of it because if anyone needed that particular assignment, it was Carter Jacobs.
But as the month went on, any confidence I’d felt after my training wore off. I didn’t have a chance to prove myself by killing another monster because the Army hadn’t called. Strange that the activity just stopped. I wondered if my kill had scared the Bears off, but that didn’t make sense. I had more pressing things to worry about, though. Mike was leaving December first.
“That’s great, Ryan….Yes, the Saturday after Thanksgiving, at Brownstone….Wonderful, see you then.”
Mom ended the call and crossed something off her checklist. Our kitchen table, a large wooden rectangle that could seat six, had become party central. She was always parked there and had so much stuff spread out we usually had to clean papers off its top to eat.
“More RSVPs?” I asked. Mike’s send-off was getting bigger by the day, between the catered dinner and the twenty million people showing up.
“Yes. Mike’s friend, Ryan Black, can make it.” She smiled at me. “I don’t think you’ve ever met him. He’s a colonel out at Fort Carson. I met him a few years ago; really interesting guy. You and Brent will like him.”
Mom knew Colonel Black? That could be a problem.
She noticed I wasn’t entirely there. Her smile faded. “Matt, sweetie, are you okay? You haven’t been yourself lately…”
Crap. “I’m fine, Mom.”
Her eyes searched mine. “If there’s something you need to tell me, I promise I’ll understand and try to help, no matter what it is.”
Understand the fact that I was part of an elite military unit that hunted and killed deadly monsters? Somehow, I didn’t think so. “Mom, really, it’s nothing. I’m just…tired. I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”
I escaped to my room and flopped on my bed. There was a spider building a web in the corner above my closet. Spiders were cool; they ate bugs. I didn’t mind sharing my space.
“You don’t have much to worry about,” I told it. “Steady supply of flies, nice warm web…bet your uncle isn’t going to Afghanistan.”
Mamie peeked through my cracked bedroom door. “Who are you talking to?”
She opened the door wider, wearing a sympathetic smile.
“A spider.” I kicked off my shoes and pulled my knees up to give Mamie a place to sit at the foot of my twin-sized bed.
She had her holiday ribbons tied to her pigtails. Brown and orange for Thanksgiving today would give way to red and green on Friday. I wondered if anyone at school made fun of her braids. If they did, they were jerks. Mamie without pigtails would be like Christmas without snow. It was a constant, and had been since I could remember. I needed constants right now.
“It say anything back?” Her voice was light.
“Nah.”
“Matt, I know you’re hurting. But, it’s the holidays, school’s out for a week. We should be having fun, even if we don’t feel like it. Want to play Wii Tennis with me?”
I laughed. “Wow, you really are trying to cheer me up. I clobber you at tennis.”
“Whatever it takes…so let’s go. Maybe I can beat you once.”
I rolled off my bed and stretched. “Not a chance…”
Mamie’s eyebrows shot up. “Matt, when did your arms get so huge?”
Surprised, I flexed to see what she was talking about. My muscles were definitely bigger than they had been, and I had that awesome line running down the middle of my upper arm where the bicep separated from the tricep. Look at that—welcome to the gun show. That got me thinking…maybe I could accidentally-on-purpose pick up something heavy right in front of Ella. She’d be sure to notice that, right?
With a pleased laugh, I said, “I’ve been working out with Will. Trying to bulk up, you know?”
Mamie continued to stare, amazement giving way to suspicion. “Uh huh. Why this sudden interest in physical fitness?”
“Physical fitness? Mamie, you sound like a dictionary.” Time to start wearing long-sleeves around the house; I couldn’t give the bloodhound any more clues. “I just felt like it, okay? Now quit stalling—you threw down; it’s time for you to lose.”
She wasn’t convinced, I could see that, but she stopped dogging me.
Tennis went as predicted, and Mamie lost gracefully five times out of five.
* * *
The scent of Mom’s pumpkin pie hung in the air–spice and cinnamon. Too bad I hated the flavor and texture of pumpkin pie filling, because it smelled great. Mom had decorated the dinner table with her good tablecloth and napkins, complete with one of those stupid paper turkeys with the fan shaped tail, but none of us really felt like celebrating. Either way, it wasn’t Thanksgiving dinner without a pie browning in the oven, even if we were miserable.
“Brent, can you put the cell phone down long enough to finish dinner? It’s Thanksgiving, for goodness sake.” Mom jabbed her fork in his direction.
Mike gulped down a mouthful of green bean casserole, obviously trying to head Mom off. “Dani, I think you should cut him some slack.”
“Yeah, Mom, listen to Mike.” Brent slid his phone into his lap and hunched down over his plate to shovel a few bites into his mouth. Something was eating him. He hadn’t finished his first plate, with smaller portions than usual, and I was already on seconds.
“That’s Uncle Mike to you,” Mom said, scowling. “And it’s certainly not okay for you to sass me at the dinner table, young man.”
“Dani….” Mike’s tone held a note of warning.
That got through to Mom and she saw it, too. Her scowl melted into a frown. “Sweetheart, are you getting sick?” She reached across the table to feel Brent’s forehead.
“Mom’s right, you do look off,” Mamie said. “Do your joints ache?”
Mom followed up. “And if they do, is it sharp and stabbing, or dull?”
Mike shot pointed looks at the mother-hens, but neither of them noticed. They were too interested in smothering Brent with concern. Mike looked to me for help and I shrugged. How would I know what it took to stop them from overdoing the love?
“Damn it, just leave me alone!” Brent shoved his chair back so hard it toppled over and stormed from the kitchen. I heard his door slam a few seconds later.
The mother hens jumped like th
ey’d been caught napping by a fox. Mamie’s lips quivered; it didn’t take much to reduce her to tears these days. I got up to pat her shoulders.
“He’s just stressed out or something, Mamie. Playoffs didn’t go well–he’s probably still mad about that.”
“No, that’s not it,” Mike said. He wouldn’t look at us, spending time cutting his cranberry sauce into smaller and smaller chunks with his fork. “He, uh, he’s having a rough day.”
We stared at him, astonished. Brent had “grown out” of confiding in Mike years ago.
Mike tugged at the collar of his sweater. “His girlfriend broke up with him this morning. By text. He didn’t want anyone to know, but he’s pretty upset about it. He was trying to convince her to take him back.”
Mamie went on red alert. “You’re kidding me! By text? When I see that little…well, that was just mean!” She sniffled angrily and wiped her nose with one of Mom’s good linen napkins.
Mom sighed, her eyes focused on a spot outside the kitchen window. “Honey, let’s leave it to him. He’s usually the one to break it off with a girlfriend. Far as I know, this is a first for him.”
She picked up Brent’s plate and carried it upstairs. We could hear his voice rise and fall, telling her about it. While we sat around the table, waiting for Mom to come back, the pumpkin pie started to smell burned. Tears streamed down Mamie’s face again.
“So,” I said, to break the tension, “anyone want to play Boggle?”
Mamie cracked up while crying at the same time. That made her blow a snot bubble and it was over. I gave her a fist bump for upping the gross factor. Mike shook in silent laughter with his eyes squinted shut until he ran out of air. He finally gave a great, gasping wheeze and collapsed howling against the table top.
Best Thanksgiving ever.
* * *
“All right, present, check. Photo album, check. Index cards for bon voyage messages, check. Email list for Mike, check.” Mom muttered these little reminders to herself while she ran around the living room wearing one shoe and trying to put an earring in. She paused in front of the decorative mirror on the entryway wall to finish with the jewelry. “Make-up, good. Hair, well, it’ll do.”
“You look great, Mom,” Mamie said.
She was right; Mom did look nice. She had on this blue dress that wrapped around in front, and she was pretty skinny these days—her latest diet had worked. Her brown hair was spiked up in all the right places. It was meant to look like she ran her fingers through it, a feat that took her ten minutes and a handful of gel. Mamie was all dressed up, too, wearing a light blue sweater over a short, beige skirt. She’d even lost the pigtails, letting her hair hang down her back. I wasn’t sure I liked it—she looked eighteen. Good thing that shy kid in her Latin class wasn’t around. I might’ve had to glue his eyelids shut.
While they gushed about the party, I got sick to my stomach for the tenth time that day. It was bad enough sending Mike off without having to make small talk with Colonel Black while I pretended not to know him. If I made it through the night without going insane, I planned to drink a gallon of milk when we got home then sleep until noon on Sunday.
Brent shuffled into the living room, looking uncomfortable in a navy blazer that strained across his shoulders and dress pants he hadn’t worn in months. He’d been really subdued since Jada dumped him. Funny thing about that, though—he was nicer because of it. After sweeping back a lock of freshly gelled hair that had gotten stuck to his forehead, he waved me over.
“Dude, come here. Your tie is all crooked.”
A week ago I would’ve told him to shove off and fixed it myself. Tonight, both of us were messed up enough that a little brotherly affection didn’t seem stupid. I let him straighten out the knot.
“You know,” I said, “ if you just buzzed your hair like mine, you wouldn’t have to mess with gel and stuff.”
Brent pushed me into the wall. “Maybe, but then I’d look as geeky as you.”
I shoved him back. “At least I don’t look like a greased up gorilla.”
Mom broke it up and hurried us out to our minivan. We got to Brownstone in plenty of time for her to fret over the last minute details. Brownstone was this fancy old restaurant downtown, with cloth napkins and candles and waiters for every little thing. One waiter for the water glasses, one for the food, and one that walked around the room asking if the meal was okay.
Mom had reserved their back room for the party. The walls were dark brick and the lights were dim, for “atmosphere.” Two long tables ran down the middle, each covered with white tablecloths and centerpieces with real flowers and little American flags stuck in them. I wrinkled my nose. Uncle Mike was a beer and pizza guy. None of this really seemed like him.
“Do you think Mike will care about color-coordinated napkins?” I asked Brent while Mamie and Mom buzzed around the room. “Heck, as long as they feed me, I’ll sit on the floor.”
I pulled one of the little flags out of a centerpiece and stuck it in pocket of my dress shirt. It looked better there than lost in all the flowers.
“Women are like that. Details matter. But I’m with you; who gives a crap? Bring on the steaks.” Brent dropped onto one of the spindly little chairs set up around the table, fingers twitching at his pocket. Cell phone withdrawal.
People, and then more people, arrived. Friends from the Army, friends from his civilian job at the bank, friends from...well, everywhere. I didn’t think the back room at Brownstone could hold a crowd this size. Colonel Black arrived a few minutes before Mike was due. He scanned the room, and his eyes went right over me, like we’d never met. But I knew he’d seen me.
Mamie squealed. “He’s here!”
I stood in the doorway to the back room with Mamie. The other thirty or so people shushed and hid behind the wall, but I could tell Mike knew what waited for him. He winked at me and sighed, like he was steeling himself for combat. After he stepped through the door and I heard all the screaming, I realized he was.
It took three hours for poor Mike to shake hands and talk with every single person there. Except us. I was beginning to feel like this wasn’t my farewell at all. He’d fly out at noon tomorrow and I’d hardly seen him all night.
While I watched Mike work the room, Colonel Black sat down next to me. “So, you must be Matt. Your uncle talks about you all the time.”
I bit my lip to keep from busting up. “Yes, sir.”
“Seen any good monster movies lately?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Yes, sir. About, what was it that Mike called it? A eight-foot Wookiee.”
After a glance to make sure Mom wasn’t watching us, the colonel leaned in. “We picked up your kill; took it back to base for autopsy. You stabbed it in the heart—fatal blow right off the bat. Good work.”
“Beginner’s luck,” I said, pretending to be modest while giving myself a mental high-five.
He got serious then. “The major told me about your desire to add your friend, Cruessan, to the team. I don’t think this is a good idea, son.”
I crossed my arms. I’d counted on the arguments. Mike had given up on talking us out of it; the colonel would have to get over it, too. “Will wants to help. And from what I’ve heard, you haven’t found anyone available at Fort Carson that’s ‘right’ for the job. Will is.”
The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean I won’t find someone. I’ve expanded the search to other bases. It’s not safe for two teenagers to hunt these things alone.”
“Colonel Black, Will’s the only person I trust enough, other than Uncle Mike,” I said, trying to keep my voice down even though I was totally frustrated. “If the Army won’t let Mike stay home, then Will’s my next choice. You want me to fight, you have to let me do it my way. With Will, I start with a leg up. He knows the woods, he’s fast, strong and has plenty of equipment.” I glared at him. “And, besides, how are you going to stop him?”
“I could tell his parents,” the colonel growled.
/> I shook my head. “But you won’t. Because then I’d tell my mom, and the game would be up for everyone.” Blackmail sucked, but sometimes you had to do it. “Will’s my partner, no exceptions. I won’t fight without him. Period.”
He sat quiet for a while, a silent struggle playing across his face. “I’ll give you a month. If you convert a hunt successfully, then we’ll talk about a longer-term solution.” He sounded resigned. “Still no sightings, but there was a mysterious disappearance in the woods a few days ago. You’re on alert, okay? I may call soon.”
“Yes, sir. I have the sat-phone hidden in my backpack at all times. If possible, though, don’t call between eight and three-fifteen. If my teachers catch me with that thing, they’ll confiscate it, thinking it’s a fancy cell phone.”
Colonel Black chuckled. “Right. We won’t call you during school hours. Oops, your mom’s looking this way. Better move on.” The colonel clapped me on the back and got up.
After another ten minutes, I decided I couldn’t take the party anymore. I pushed my way through the crowd and wandered out front. Brent was already out there, sitting on the bench next to the valet stand under the restaurant’s green awning. It was colder than Hades, but he didn’t have his coat. Neither did I; getting away from the crowd was more important than being warm. I plunked down next to him.
“Doesn’t seem real that he’s leaving, does it?” Brent asked.
“No.” I shifted on the bench. “You know, I just realized something. Mamie didn’t get her birthday card from Dad. She’s been ‘sweet-sixteen’ eleven whole days, and not a word.”
“Bastard,” Brent said. “I hate the man. Seriously.” His face had a pinched look, bitter and angry to the core. “Didn’t call when I signed with Washington State, either. His kid’s gonna play football at a Pac-12 school and he didn’t bother to say congrats. I’m glad he left us.”
Suddenly, Brent’s break-up with Jada had a lot more meaning. A girl had dumped him and his father didn’t give a crap. My chest burned. The only man who did give a crap was being taken away. How were we going to make it?
Mike must’ve sensed we were thinking about him, because he came looking for us. “Guys, it’s twenty below out here. I know the party’s a beating, but I’ve been waiting for you two to liven things up a little.” He leaned down and put a hand on my shoulder, mischief in his eyes. “Please, I’m begging you. Juggle dishes, I don’t care. If we stay buttoned down one more minute I’m going to lose it.”
Matt Archer: Monster Hunter Page 10
