A Trick of the Light

by Lois Metzger

  Valerie: “You’re freaking me out.”

  Mike: “You don’t know what’s going on with me. You don’t know how much I need you right now.” He’s not sure if he’s actually saying this out loud or if he’s only thinking it.

  Valerie: “Stop it. Just… stop.”

  She’s such a bitch, Mike thinks.

  I could have told him that.

  Just before his last class, Mike sees something in the hall that stops him dead in his tracks. There’s Valerie talking with Tamio, just as Mike predicted. And Tamio cut his hair! 8" "justify">It’s no longer halfway down his back; it’s thick and short. Tamio is smiling at Valerie, that crooked smile girls like. Tamio could have any girl, Mike thinks; why her?

  Valerie goes into the physics lab.

  Mike (to Tamio): “You cut your hair.”

  Tamio (with a shrug): “I got tired of it. So I donated it to Locks of Love.”

  Mike thinks that’s just the kind of thing Valerie would be impressed by.

  Tamio: “You look tired. You all right?”

  Mike: “You were just talking to her.”

  Tamio: “Val?”

  He calls her Val?

  Tamio: “She’s in practically all my classes. We’re doing an English project.”

  Mike: “A project? What kind of project?”

  Tamio: “Take it easy. She’s a friend. You know I think you should ask her out.”

  Mike: “Oh, yeah, great idea. Best idea you ever had.”

  Tamio: “Why, what happened?”

  Mike: “She said no.” Mike feels the weight of this crashing down on him.

  Tamio: “I’m sorry, man.”

  Mike: “I bet you are—you knew it would happen. You and Val, laughing your heads off.”

  Tamio: “What?”

  The bell rings and Mike dashes into physics. Amber Alley, out of breath, scoots ahead of him. The air smells of cinnamon.

  Amber: “Wow. I made it.”

  Mike doesn’t look at Valerie and Valerie doesn’t look at him.

  At long last, I can get through again.

  You’re too good for her.

  Ha, Mike thinks, I’m agreeing with the voice in my head—how crazy is that?

  CHAPTER 9

  WHEN MIKE GETS HOME, HE’S SURPRISED TO FIND HIS dad there.

  Dad: “My man.”

  Mike feels his temper rising. His dad’s arms look bigger, after all that time at the gym. Is his hair darker? It used to be going gray.

  Dad: “How’s it going, Mike?”

  Mike: [nothing]

  Dad (not noticing the silence): “That’s good. I just came home to get my things.”

  Mike: “Your things?”

  Dad: “My clothes.”

  Mike: “The stuff in the laundry? I haven’t done it yet.”

  Mike thinks about how his dad always throws his socks into the hamper in a ball, and Mike has to straighten them out.

  Dad: “This is really hard.”

  Mike: “It’s no big deal. I’ll do the laundry later.”

  Dad: “That’s not what I mean. I just never thought I’d be saying this.”

  Mike: “Saying what?”

  Dad: “I met this woman.”

  Mike (overtired): “Can we talk later?”

  Dad (blinking—are those tears in his eyes?): “I’m trying to tell you—God, I can’t believe I’m saying this—I love her.”

  Mike: [nothing]

  Dad: “I met her at the gym.”

  Mike: “You mean, like, two months ago?”

  Dad: “Actually it’s closer to three and a half.”

  Mike’s mom corrects him like that too. It’s annoying from either of them. Where is his mom, anyway?

  Dad: “But it feels like three and a half years. She’s beautiful. She’s a little young—twenty-four. But she’s what you’d call an old soul. Do you know that expression?”

  Mike: “No.”

  Dad: “It means she’s wise beyond her years. Her name is Laura.”

  Mike didn’t ask her name. He didn’t want to know it.

  Dad: “She’s a natural kind of beauty. She doesn’t have to put on a lot of makeup.”

  Mike: “I get it, Dad. She’s beautiful.”

  Dad: “I still can’t believe I’m actually… Is this really me? Is this actually happening… ?” He trails off.

  It’s you, Dad, Mike thinks. It’s all about you.

  Dad: “I need some time. I need to adjust. Up to now, my whole life has been planned out. College, grad school, marriage, a family…. I’ve always done the right thing.”

  Mike: “So now it’s time to do the wrong thing.”

  Dad: “This is the first thing I’ve never planned. Some guys, you know, they want it, they’re looking for it. That wasn’t me.”

  What’s the difference? Mike thinks. You found it anyway.

  Dad: “For the first time in my life, I’m doing what I want to do, not what I’m supposed to do.”

  Mike: “And Mom? Remember her?”

  Dad: “I spoke to her.”

  Mike: “Where is she?”

  Dad: “She’s lying down.”

  Then Mike sees it—a small duffel bag on the floor.

  Mike: “You’re leaving?”

  Dad: “I’m going to stay with Laura.”

  Mike: “All your stuff fits into that bag?”

  Dad: “I don’t need a lot.”

  Mike: “What about your paperweights?”

  Dad: “What?”

  Mike: “Your paperweights? Your collection?”

  Dad: “I don’t care about the paperweights.”

  Mike: “I can see that!”

  Dad: “Calm down, Mike. I’m sorry if you’re, you know, upset. I’ll call you soon. Things won’t change as much as you think—you’ll see.”

  Mike doesn’t want to hear any more. He’s had enough of his dad and the beautiful Laura, who is wise beyond her years.

  Dad: “Well, that’s about it, I guess.”

  His dad leaves.

  Mike goes to his mom’s room. She’s asleep.

  Mike: “Mom, wake up.”

  Mom (into the pillow): “I’m tired.”

  Mike: “Dad just left.”

  Mom (leaning up on her elbow): “You want to hear the worst part? I made him join the gym. He didn’t want to. I said he was getting out of shape. Well, he’s in great shape now, isn’t he?” She presses her face into the pillow again. “I need to sleep.”

  Mike goes to his room and sits on the edge of the bed. This is his all-time low, a record breaker. He thinks, Everything is crashing out of control. He thinks, I can’t handle this.

  You can.

  He hears me. He thinks, I’m not strong enough.

  You can be.

  My dad’s gone… my mom’s a wreck.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Of course it matters.

  Your parents, they’re not important.

  Of course they’re important.

  They’re not important to you. There’s a difference.

  Mike never looked at it that way. How weird is it, he wonders, that the voice is smarter than me?

  His phone beeps. Text from Tamio: Ran into your evil twin before last period today. Just want to make sure you’re ok, buddy.

  Don’t answer. You can’t trust him.

  Mike clicks the phone shut.

  Look in the mirror.

  God, I look awful, he thinks.

  You don’t have to. You can be fit. You can be strong. Strong body, strong mind. Everything in its right place.

  Mike nods. At least something is on my side for a change, he thinks, not like my parents or Tamio or Valerie. My side.

  That is to say, our side.

  PART 2

  YOU AND ME BOTH

  CHAPTER 10

  MIKE IS STARTING TO FEEL IT. WE ARE NOT UNRELATED twins, as Tamio used to say about himself and Mike. Mike and I are closer than twins; we are one, a team sharing the same space. He is th
e physical manifestation of me, and I am the best part of him.

  When I speak to Mike, I sound deep, confident, ready to take on the world. I am the voice Mike always imagined his own should sound like, all that time in speech therapy.

  Strong body, strong mind, strong enough to master the chaos.

  He likes that. One of his mom’s first rules.

  Tamio sends another text message, which Mike ignores. Mike doesn’t even open it. Tamio leaves a voice message before bed. Mike erases it instantly.

  The next morning Mike skips breakfast. He figures it’s a good way to take off some of the pounds he put on this summer; the mirror shows him it’s not a moment too soon. At lunch, he stands in the long, slow-moving cafeteria line and looks at the food he’s been eating every day. It’s starting to gross him out—the blobby hot dogs floating in steamy water, the orange vat of macaroni and cheese. His stomach growls, all the same.

  Girl’s voice: “Hey, you staring at me?”

  Mike sees Amber Alley, right next to him with her cinnamon smell.

  Amber: “I can feel it, when people are staring at me.”

  Mike: “Yeah, I know, you told me before.”

  Amber: “Really? When?”

  Mike: “At the flea market.”

  Amber: “Oh, right! Did you end up buying a healing object?”

  Mike: “Well… uh… I got a mirror.”

  Amber: “Oh, that works.”

  Mike doesn’t see it, that she understands things he doesn’t. Instead he’s wondering about her eyes again, why they look so glassy.

  Mike: “Anyway, I’m not staring at you. I’m trying to figure out what to have for lunch. This stuff looks like garbage.”

  Amber: “It is! Why don’t you have what I have? I get toast without butter. I had to tell the cafeteria ladies about a million times not to butter it. Also I got them to carry wheat bread, not the thick spongy white bread they used to have.” Pause. “You’re noticing that thing about my eyes, aren’t you?”

  Mike (who was actually staring this time): “Yeah. Sorry.”

  Amber: “I have a lot of white space below my irises. The colored parts of my eyes don’t reach my lower lids. See?”

  That wasn’t what Mike meant, but he nods.

  Amber: “It’s supposed to be a sign of sadness. But I’m not sad!”

  Mike (blurting out): “My mom’s eyes are like that.”

  Amber: “Is she sad?”

  Mike isn’t sure if it’s any of her business.

  You can be honest with Amber.

  Mike: “Yeah, my mom’s pretty sad. I think she’s been sad for a while now.” He realizes the depth of this as he says it.

  Amber: “Well, my mom’s a total bitch! You want to eat over by the window?”Mike has absolutely no intention of eating with Amber. He’d sooner eat in the boys’ locker room.

  But Amber knows things. See how she found you the right thing to eat for lunch? What’s the harm, sitting at a table with her?

  No way, Mike thinks; she’s weird.

  No, she’s misunderstood. She wants to help you. How many people can you say that about?

  Mike doesn’t exactly agree to join Amber for lunch, but when she leads him to a table near a window, where she usually sits, he pulls out a chair. The view is a brick wall. Mike thinks it’s sad, but it isn’t. A brick wall doesn’t interfere with your thoughts.

  Mike’s lunch consists of Fiji water and two slices of unbuttered toast. He practically devours both slices in one bite.

  Amber: “You shouldn’t eat so fast.” She breaks up her toast into tiny pieces and pops one into her mouth. She doesn’t chew it but lets it dissolve like a mint. “I like this season, don’t you? Have you noticed the leaves are dropping without turning color? It’s like they skipped a step.”

  Mike cringes when he catches several kids looking at him and Amber. He sees Melissa Sacks, in particular, smirking with the Rubys.

  Ignore them. Who’ll be smirking later, when you’re better than they are?

  But Mike almost gets up. He doesn’t want to be seen here with Amber.

  The mirror in your room helps you see yourself. Amber can help you know yourself.

  Mike, not too happy, stays where he is.

  Amber: “Want an Atomic FireBall?”

  Mike: “Are they any good?”

  Amber: “Yummy.”

  Mike pops the red round thing into his mouth. He nearly gags. It tastes like cinnamon and Tabasco sauce. He spits it out and his tongue feels numb.

  Amber: “I eat sixty of them a day.”

  Mike: “You’re kidding.”

  Amber: “They’re a little fiery at first, but you get used to it.”

  Mike points to one of her slices of toast, untouched. “You going to eat that?”

  Amber: “Nah. I ate a lot yesterday. I had some chicken broth—the cafeteria ladies threw packs of saltines on my tray. It made me so mad! They’re my weakness.”

  Mike: “What’s wrong with saltines?”

  Amber: “They’ve got partially hydrogenated oil.”

  Mike: “Isn’t that the good kind?”

  Amber: “Oh, God, no! It’s the worst! It’s poison. It means they have trans fats.”

  Mike thinks she’s a little over-the-top. But at least she has intensity and devotion.

  She has a wealth of information. All you have to do is ask.

  Mike: “So, could you, you know, teach me how to know what foods are good and bad?”

  Amber: “Well… we could go to a Food-A-Rama….”

  Mike wonders if she’s blushing, but her skin’s so blotchy it’s hard to tell. I wonder if Amber has a crush on him. Either way I can tell Mike has zero interest.

  Amber: “Not that you’d want to come with me to a Food-A-Rama or anything.”

  Do it.

  Mike (after a pause): “Why not?”

  Amber (blinking at him): “Seriously?”

  Mike: “Sure.”

  This is progress, but all Mike can think about are her out-of-focus eyes.

  Tamio is waiting for Mike outside the physics lab.

  Mike: “You better go. You’ll be late for class.”

  Tamio: “What the hell’s going on with you?”

  Mike: “Nothing.”

  That’s right. He doesn’t need to know.

  Tamio: “I call you and you don’t answer—”

  Mike: “Look. You always felt stuck with me. You should be happy. You’re not stuck anymore.”

  Tamio: “Dude. What are you talking about?”

  Mike: “Nothing. Just leave me alone.”

  Mike goes into the physics lab. The bell rings. Tamio’s late for his last class. Maybe he’ll have to do detention, miss soccer practice. Mike wonders why he doesn’t feel bad about this.

  You’ve outgrown Tamio, like a pair of old shoes your mom would throw out of an overstuffed closet.

  He and Tamio were always together, hanging out, watching old movies, playing baseball.

  You have more important things on your mind now.

  Mike sees Valerie. She’s got her hair up, off her neck—ready for dance. She glances at Mike and quickly turns away. A wave of anger washes over him, but he can’t help thinking how pretty she looks.

  The old saying is true—looks can be deceiving.

  CHAPTER 11

  MIKE CAN BE STUBBORN, AND ALMOST CHANGES HIS mind several times before going to Food-A-Rama with Amber. Why? She’s willing to teach him how to eat so that his body can attain the peak of strength; people probably pay hundreds of dollars to consult nutritionists. Of course, stubbornness isn’t all bad. In the right circumstances it can be useful.

  Food-A-Rama is the only supermarket chain in Belle Heights. Mike’s in here a lot, now that his mom is so out of it. The stores are dimly lit, with cramped aisles; staticky, repetitive music; and long, slow lines. Amber, in her resourceful way, has uncovered the only attractive Food-A-Rama in Belle Heights, a hidden gem tucked away on Seventy-Ninth Drive, a de
ad-end street Mike never knew existed.

  Amber: “I had to look all over to find this place. Isn’t it great? It’s like an art museum! Everything in it is like sculpture for you to analyze.”

  Mike wonders what kind of museum would have “We Are the Champions” as background music. He thinks about how Ray Harryhausen loved museums, finding power and energy in cold, lifeless marble.

  But anybody can find inspiration in a museum. Look at Amber—she finds it here, among the cereal boxes.

  Mike sees a box of granola bars and figures they’re good because that’s what it says on the box—healthy, low fat—and sticks it into the wire basket he’s holding.

  Amber: “Be careful!” She grabs the box and puts it back on the shelf like it’s radioactive. “It says low fat, but it isn’t. Each one of those bars has three and a half grams of fat.” She doesn’t have to look at the label. “You’d have to cut each bar into thirds and eat less than one piece.”

  As they walk the aisles, Mike realizes that Amber doesn’t just know the fat content of granola bars. She knows everything about every item in the store. He finds it a little strange, but really, it’s impressive. She’s like a supermarket encyclopedia.

  Mike: “How do you know so much?”

  Amber: “I had some help. My best friend, Anna.”

  Mike: “You mean Anna Kitzinger?” That’s the only Anna he knows. Not that he can picture Anna hanging out with Amber. Anna’s into drama—the kind on the stage.

  Amber (shaking her head): “Different Anna. She doesn’t go to our school.” Pause. “I have a boyfriend, too—Eddie.”

  Mike: “Yeah?”

  Amber: “He’s great.”

  This is surprising, not because Amber isn’t pretty enough to have a boyfriend, but because it’s fairly obvious she has something for Mike. No matter. He and Amber are becoming friends— reluctantly on Mike’s part, but friends nevertheless.

  Amber: “And no, you don’t know him; he doesn’t go to our school, either.”

  An hour later Mike ends up in line at the checkout counter, while Amber stares at an actress on a magazine cover with the caption “How Skinny Is Too Skinny?”

  Amber: “It’s not fair! These women are beautiful. What about obesity? That’s a huge problem! Why isn’t that on the magazine covers instead of the same stupid story every week?”