“Goodbye, you heinous concrete monstrosity!” Becky continued, ignoring him. “Goodbye, you culinary atrocities that parade as lunch! And you barely conscious teachers, a very special goodbye to you!” Becky turned around lopsidedly, still wearing just one skate, and looked through the window at the yard in front of the school, where even the buses lined up looked impatient. She called out to the students outside, knowing they couldn’t hear her. “And most importantly, goodbye to you, lemming peers of mine.” Becky waved to them vigorously. Some of the students, misinterpreting her, waved back, inspiring Becky to continue. “For three blessed months, my life will be free of you all.” Becky had gotten her second skate on and began circling the halls joyfully. “No more meaningless homework assignments and school assemblies. No more—”
“Becky, that’s enough,” Alek cut her off. He ran his fingers through his thick curly Armenian hair and adjusted the hunter-green JanSport book bag he’d prayed would fall apart every day since his mom gave it to him the first day of seventh grade. “Can we get going, please?”
“Well, somebody’s underwear is all knotted up today. Just because you have to go to summer school doesn’t mean I should forgo my last-day-of-school ritual.”
“I’m just saying, a little bit of consideration wouldn’t kill you. I’m still going to have to deal with all the stupid things you’re saying goodbye to.”
“It’s not my fault you’re stupid.”
“It’s not my fault you’re a bitch,” Alek shot back. He looked down the school corridors, not believing that only six days had passed since his parents had informed him he’d be denied the well-earned summer respite that was every teenager’s sacred right. “By the way, 1999 called. They want their Rollerblades back.”
“Should I hand over your entire wardrobe while I’m at it?” she asked, one-upping him as usual. “I still don’t get why you’re even doing it.”
“I told you, my parents are making me! Ms. Schmidt told them that if I get A’s in algebra and English, I can stay on Honor Track, and then I might even be able to get on AP by junior year.”
“Ms. Schmidt is a cow. How can we be expected to take advice from someone who decided to become a guidance counselor? That’s like asking a blind man to help you pick a pair of glasses.” Becky finally snapped on her last safety pad. “Are you ready? I’ve been waiting for you for, like, forever.”
Alek rolled his eyes.
“Catch me if you can, slowpoke.” Becky kicked off and skated down the main hall, where green-and-white athletic banners from past years hung like sloths. A hall monitor halfheartedly called after her, “No rollerblading in the hallways,” but Becky ignored the reprimand and flew out the main entrance onto Western Avenue. Alek didn’t bother running after her. He knew she’d come back eventually.
Alek made his way up the small hill in front of his high school, trying to figure out why his freshman year had been so miserable. He even missed middle school, he was embarrassed to admit. He might not have been the most popular kid in eighth grade, but he made honor roll without trying, played first doubles for the tennis team, never had to worry about finding a partner for class projects, and had been invited to enough birthday parties and bar/bat mitzvahs to keep himself busy on the weekends.
High school, however, was its own world with its own rules, as Alek was still figuring out. As his grades started slipping, his freshman year fast-forwarded into a blur of conferences and parent-teacher meetings, none of which made any difference. And the harder he tried, the worse he did, like medicine that just made you sicker.
And when Alek’s parents didn’t let him try out for the tennis team, they effectively cut him off from all his old middle school friends, like Jason and Matthew. Alek’s social life hit a new low in humiliation when his mother reached out to some of those kids and invited them over for a surprise birthday dinner party. Alek could tell they only showed up because their parents made them, and that they’d all have rather been at the movies or playing video games. And instead of ordering in pizza, which is what he would’ve wanted if they’d bothered asking him, his parents insisted on making an entire Armenian feast. What grownups didn’t realize was that nothing was more embarrassing than when they tried to help.
The Khederians lived close enough that Alek could walk to and from school when the weather was good, and he and Becky made a point of doing it together. Whenever she didn’t have to stay after for band practice, they met in front of her locker after eighth period. Then she’d wheel ahead, eventually circling back up with him just past the tennis courts and the large black ash tree that got hit by lightning last spring.
The sound of a sharp whistle penetrated Alek’s brain. He squinted up into the afternoon June sun. “Pay attention, young man,” an elderly crossing guard reprimanded him, the folds of wrinkles on her forehead arching in concern. Alek looked up, startled, and stepped back onto the curb, mumbling thanks. He caught a glimpse of Becky up ahead, weaving her way through pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Alek just wasn’t one of those people who thrived under pressure, like his old doubles partner. Seth wasn’t a better tennis player than Alek, but when it really mattered, Seth would deliver, serving an ace or slamming the forehand winner down the line.
But when Alek felt pressured, time sped up and out of his control, like when he and Seth had played in the final match last year against Steinbrook. The two teams had been evenly matched, reaching a tiebreaker in the fifth set. Alek and Seth were down five to six on Alek’s serve. They needed to win the point to stay in the match.
Seth had trotted over to Alek after he faulted on his first serve. “I’m counting on you, man. You can do it.” Seth gave Alek an encouraging pat on the shoulder and resumed his position on the court.
Faulting again would lose them the point and the match, so Alek prepared for his simple-but-reliable second serve. As he planted his feet and prepared to throw the ball in the air, Alek had decided to give the serve everything he had. He hoped the unexpected force would surprise the opposing team. Besides, this was the last match that he would be playing as an eighth grader, and he wanted to make it count. Alek aimed at the corner of his opponents’ advantage court, threw the tennis ball high in the air, arched his back, and swung his racket up and around to hit the ball with maximum strength, hoping with every part of himself that the serve would find its mark.
Instead, the ball had slammed meaninglessly into the net. Alek had double-faulted, losing the point and the match.
In the locker room afterward, Seth tried to pull Alek out of the black hole he’d sunk into. “Don’t worry about it, dude. It’s just tennis.”
Alek had looked up, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since his faulty serve. He thought about how much he would miss his tennis partner next year, since Seth would be going to the fancy private high school two townships over. Even though they hadn’t really known each other until they started playing together and they didn’t have the same friends or hang out together, their tennis partnership had blossomed into its own special type of friendship.
“Hold on to this.” Seth held a tennis ball out to Alek.
“Why?”
“It’s the ball from your last serve.”
“So?”
“I had to get it out from the net. You hit the ball so hard that it got stuck. That’s not an easy thing to do, man. If your serve had landed, you would have aced them, no question.” Seth leaned forward, and the light caught the gold of the Star of David necklace he had started wearing after his bar mitzvah.
“But I didn’t. I double-faulted and lost us the match.”
“Come on, man. I’d much rather play with someone who gives it everything he’s got than someone who takes the safe route, okay? That’s what made playing with you so fun this year.”
Alek had stretched out his hand to accept the ball from Seth, and their fingers brushed. Alek kept his hand there, their hands holding the ball in midair between them. Their fingers had remaine
d linked, connecting them and embracing the suspended ball.
Alek thought he saw Seth leaning in right before they both heard the locker room door swing open.
“Aleksander, are you ready?” Alek’s father shouted in.
“Yeah, Dad—one sec!” Alek had grabbed the rest of his things and scrambled out. “Hey, Seth…” He wanted to thank Seth for having been such a great partner and friend, for being kind to him when most partners would’ve ripped him apart, but he didn’t know how to do any of that without sounding stupid or corny. “Thanks for the ball,” he finished, looking away.
“No prob, man.”
Alek hadn’t seen Seth since then. He thought about reaching out to him, but never actually did because he didn’t know what to say. All Alek knew was that he missed Seth differently from everything else in the world he left behind.
3
Alek turned on Etra and saw Becky leaning against a stop sign.
“What took you so long? I could’ve taken the SATs waiting for you.”
Even on her skates, Becky barely broke five feet. Nothing about her appearance, from her frizzy brown hair to her daily outfit of overalls and a sweater, betrayed her real personality. Becky had gone to the other middle school in South Windsor, so Alek hadn’t met her until they sat next to each other in Earth Science on the first day of freshman year. Becky began whispering asides to Alek about their teacher’s ear hair less than five minutes later, and by the time the bell rang Mr. Cenci had reprimanded Alek twice for disrupting the class with his laughter. Each time, Becky stared straight ahead, serious and solemn, feigning innocence at Alek’s disruptive behavior.
“So when are you leaving for Maine?” Alek asked.
“Change of plans.”
“What happened?”
“I decided to dis my grandma when I found this.” She unzipped her book bag and handed Alek a brochure.
“You want to go to skating camp? Really?” Alek flipped through the glossy images of teens performing stunts and tricks.
“It’s the last two weeks before school starts. You get to train with pros. I can’t wait!” Becky said, spinning with joy. “My folks told me I’d have to pay for it if I wanted to go, so I got a job at Dairy Queen.”
“God, I’m so happy that you’re going to be here,” Alek admitted.
“Everybody’s been saying that to me. A few minutes ago, a group of cheerleaders stopped and thanked me for deciding to stay. They said the summer just wouldn’t be the same without me.”
“It wouldn’t! You wanna hit the movies this weekend?”
“Okay, but there’s an Audrey Hepburn film that I want to see, too. Why don’t we catch whatever mindless-superhero-blockbuster ridiculousness you want on Friday night, and then we can spend a civilized afternoon watching My Fair Lady on Saturday? I’ll see if Mandy and Suzie can come.”
“Do you have to?” Alek asked.
“It might be my last chance to see them before band camp,” Becky protested.
“You know I don’t like hanging out with girls,” Alek said.
“Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean, Becky. You’re not like them. You’re different.”
“Well, don’t even think of standing me up,” Becky warned him. “Because if you do, I’ll cut you. I’ve got a reputation around these parts for being a badass. Why do you think no one picks on us? They know you’re running with me and my posse.”
It was hard to imagine someone less intimidating than Becky. Luckily, South Windsor wasn’t the kind of high school where anyone got beaten up. The kids here were interested in getting good grades, getting better SAT scores, and getting into the best colleges. Honor Society students at South Windsor High were treated the way jocks would be at a different school.
“If I’m lucky, this book about the making of My Fair Lady will have arrived by then. That’s the reason I want to see it again! In fact, I’ll probably want to watch it again after I read the book, too, so I can really appreciate the nuances.”
Alek and Becky continued until they reached Orchard Street.
“I can go down the rest of the way by myself.” Becky smiled, initiating their ritual.
“Why don’t I walk you to your door?” Alek recited on cue.
The first time Alek and Becky had walked home from school together, he had insisted on taking her all the way to the front door, because “that’s what my mother told me a gentleman would do.” Becky was so flabbergasted by Alek’s bizarre chivalric formality that she let him accompany her. Ever since then, when they arrived at this intersection, they reenacted the exchange.
Alek dropped Becky off, retraced his steps back to Mercer, and continued walking home. A few minutes later, he reached the train station, the halfway point between his house and Becky’s.
He heard a train approaching, so he ran to the station to watch it pull in. Alex had fallen in love with a hand-carved wooden miniature locomotive he had received for his second birthday and loved trains ever since. Their strength and speed exhilarated him, especially the express trains that skipped South Windsor, shooting through the station at maximum velocity as if it wouldn’t even occur to them to stop at the insignificant suburb. The train pulling in now was a southbound local, originating in New York and traveling into New Jersey. The other side of the station, which Alek had never visited, was for the northbound trains en route to the city.
Over the last few years, Alek had gone into New York with his parents a handful of times. Usually, his family would drive in on a Saturday morning, catch a Broadway matinee or a museum exhibit, and then drive back. Alek begged to stay longer, but Manhattan restaurants made his parents feel claustrophobic, and they flat out rejected Alek’s suggestion that they “just walk around for a while.” Alek could sense other parts of the city calling to him, neighborhoods hiding behind skyscrapers like exotic animals in a jungle. But these family outings were the only way he could get into the city, and he took what he could get.
The train pulled in and the doors slid open. A few people trickled out, unlike the throngs that got off at the end of the workday. Alek envied them for getting to go to New York, but also pitied them for having to come back to suburbia. It made him think of Tantalus, the character in Ancient Greek mythology he learned about in sixth grade, doomed to thirst and starve in the underworld, with water and food always just out of his reach. Alek didn’t know which was worse, being so close to the thing you wanted and not being able to grasp it, like Tantalus, or being exiled from it entirely.
The doors closed and the train started to pull away. Alek watched it shoot into the distance, an arrow happily speeding toward its target.
Alek had lived his entire life in the neighborhood on this side of the station. The proud houses stood behind their manicured lawns in perfect lines, and since the housing association insisted they all be painted in the same palette of heinous pastels, the blocks looked like rows of oversize dinner mints in a giant’s candy box.
The other side of the station, the New York–bound side, bordered a less welcoming part of town. Because it was South Windsor, it wasn’t really dangerous, at least not compared with the parts of New York Alek’s parents had described living in before they got married. But the northbound side didn’t have the cookie-cutter, squeaky-clean feeling of Alek’s.
The two sides of the station had only been connected by a small underground tunnel until an overpass had been built a few years ago. Passing the station every day on his walks to and from school this past year, Alek had fantasized about going to the other side, jumping on a train, and shooting into the city. But Alek’s parents had made it abundantly clear that under no circumstances was he allowed to go in without them.
“I know you love New York,” Alek’s mom told him last month in the car on the way back from their Armenian church. “But the city is very dangerous, especially for someone young. Maybe when you’re a senior in high school, and we’ve had time to explore it together, we’ll let you go in. During t
he day. To a few neighborhoods we would agree on beforehand. With some friends. And a chaperone. And maybe a police escort.”
Alek hoped to get some support from his father. “Didn’t you move to New York for college when you were just a few years older than I am now?” he asked. But his father wouldn’t budge.
“Listen to your mother. The city’s not safe.”
Alek stood in the opening to the tunnel, peering down. Even in the middle of the day, the tunnel was dim, lit only by sporadically flickering orange fluorescents that made it feel like the setting for a horror movie. Since the overpass had been built, the tunnel had gone mostly unused, forgotten like an old pair of jeans. Although he knew his dad expected him to come home right after school, Alek lingered. The corrugated steel forming the tunnel’s opening invited and threatened him at the same time. He took a step in. And then another.
Alek held up his hand and marveled at how the orange light made his flesh look alien. He walked forward, matching his footsteps to the drip-drip-drip of a leaky pipe. He focused on the small landscape of sunlight at the end, beckoning him. The air was cooler in the tunnel. Alek inhaled and continued walking.
He emerged in an abandoned parking lot on the northbound side of the station. A bunch of older kids whom he recognized from school were skateboarding on an obstacle course of ramps and traffic pins they had erected. These kids were Nik’s age, but Alek knew they weren’t part of Nik’s Honor Society clique. They were called the Dropouts, or D.O.s for short, because of their impressively challenged graduation rate. Each clique at South Windsor High had its part to play, and you could always count on the Dropouts to sneak cigarettes, cut class, or start fights. Alek didn’t know most of them by name, but he recognized the one named Ethan as the initiator of the infamous food fight in March.
Principal Saunder had implemented a dress code that prohibited baggy pants and had just rejected the student petition to have them reinstated. So, the rumors went, Ethan took it upon himself to initiate a cafeteria-wide food fight in protest. Alek didn’t share the same lunch period with Ethan, so he hadn’t witnessed the fight itself, but he remembered what all the students looked like when they were being marched out of the cafeteria—their clothes drenched in ketchup and milk, bread and potato chip crumbs and God knows what else, and happier than he’d ever seen a group of kids at South Windsor High. Although Alek was glad he hadn’t been caught up in that mess, he also wished that it had happened during his lunch period so he could’ve witnessed the pandemonium.
One Man Guy Page 2
