I snap at him, “What am I, a prostitute?”
Jon-Jon laughs. “That’s good. Be just like that.”
He leaves me at this table. I stare at empty plastic cups. I could really go for something to drink right about now.
I don’t look around the room like I probably should. If I do, I’ll end up making eye contact with people. I find it kind of strange that I’m overwhelmed by this kind of reaction, but at the same time, it’s still very flattering.
I am flattered.
This is all fake flattery but it still hits. It still sticks.
And I want that attention like anyone else.
A guy named Jeff sits next to me. He has a drink for me. Now this really does feel like some kind of prostitution thing.
I’m getting really nervous.
“Be cool,” Jeff says, “figured you wanted a drink.”
“Thanks,” I say, and then, “So what’s this party all about?”
Jeff takes a sip from his cup and I sip from mine. The beer is kind of lukewarm and tastes watered down—bottom-of-the-keg beer.
“The guy that’s hosting it is being all Great Gatsby about it.”
“Huh?”
“Never read that book?”
I shake my head. “I guess not.”
“He’s into a girl that he can’t get. They have a history. That’s what this party’s about.”
“Oh,” I reply. I’m really not doing well at this. I think it’s because I’m being forced to hang out with people.
“Anyway,” Jeff starts, “how’s the demon thing going?”
“It’s... going,” I say in a surprisingly monotone way.
“Yeah”—he nods—“I had one too.”
“You did?”
“Yup.” Jeff takes another sip, which sends the signal for me to drink too. “But I didn’t do that Falter thing. That’s crazy. It’s a cool legend, but no, I’m too claustrophobic for that.”
“How’d you get it?”
Jeff shrugs. “I just got it one day. Woke up and everything had changed.”
“Damn.” I take a gulp of beer.
“Yeah, but I didn’t wait around for symptoms to really kick in. I had the exorcism two days after I started being haunted.”
Shit, makes me think about how long I’ve been holding that off.
“But I guess you’re planning on going through with it?”
Through with what? Do I play dumb? Do I actually know what he means?
Jeff’s like, “If you do, be ready, man. People do it but it’s basically like saying, ‘Yeah, I’m ready to die.’ Some people think it’ll make them transcendent. That there’s life beyond the body.”
“And what do you think?” I said that not because I want to know but because by asking that question, it’ll cause Jeff to carry the conversation, and I don’t have to say anything.
“Me? Well—”
But Jon-Jon interrupts us. Someone else, a girl named Melanie, wants to say hi to me.
Jeff shakes my hand. “Good luck with it. With all of it.”
“Yeah, thanks,” and then he’s gone, back into the crowd of the party.
Melanie smiles a lot and giggles. She asks me more about running than the demon. She says it’s really, really hot, a big turn-on, dangerous situations like that.
“Do you go to Meadows?” I ask her, just to change the conversation.
“I’m going next year.”
Her hand is on my leg. Oh, man...
“Next... year?”
“I’m almost done with eighth grade,” and then a giggle.
Oh god, hand off crotch now. Now, now, now. “Oh, cool,” I say.
She giggles, drinks more, and I want to ask her how she got into the party, but there are always ways. It’s not like there’s anyone paying much attention.
Thankfully this train wreck doesn’t last long.
Another group shows up and starts lecturing me on the ins and outs of demon hauntings. All sorts of stories about how demons can travel through time from one “unclean” place to the next. They talk about religious stuff, the fact that demons are from hell.
I don’t know much about it, but they are talking and I don’t have to really do anything but occasionally nod my head and say “Yeah.”
So it’s okay, but it’s also so absurd that this is happening.
That this is all happening.
After the group finishes, Jon-Jon sits down and asks me in that way he always does: “How much money do you think you made in the last hour, on a scale of one to ten, ten being raking it in like a fiend? What do you think?”
It’s hopefully enough to stop. I tell him, “Eight?”
Jon-Jon laughs, hands me a beer—not keg beer, but an actual bottle of IPA, some craft beer I don’t know. “You’re off the hook, friend.”
I stare at him. “So... I made money then?”
Jon-Jon tells me, “You’re off the hook. Debt paid. Next thing we do, you’ll be raking it in. But I got to take everything I’d give you as repayment and handling fees.”
“That’s bullshit.” Shouldn’t have said it but...
It’s okay because Jon-Jon just laughs it off. He must have made a lot. He’s happy. I haven’t really seen him like this before, all mellow and laughing, not playing up that crime lord crap.
I stand up and ask, “So I can go now?”
“Don’t forget your beer.” Jon-Jon hands me the bottle.
“Yeah, okay. Yeah,” I say. I sound drunk even though I’m not.
So I walk around the room once, determined to leave now, totally not digging this atmosphere; everyone’s trying so hard, you know? It just feels... wrong to be at a party like this, where everyone’s all about being amazing and dressed up and trying to get laid. It’s so much effort, for me it kind of takes it out of caring. I usually care. I’m here, aren’t I? I cared enough to make sure that they still notice me. Now I feel empty.
I really feel empty.
I just want to...
Oh.
“Hey,” I say, forgetting the concept of pickup lines.
Nikki Dillon walks up to me and hugs me like we’re dear old friends.
Of course Nikki Dillon is at a party like this. Of course.
“Hunter, so great to see you!”
It sounds so genuine it makes me blush. Probably doesn’t look like I’m blushing though, in this dark light, which is good, because I feel really nervous all of a sudden.
All of a sudden, it’s happening, what I could never bring myself to doing... talking to Nikki Dillon. No secret to anyone and I really don’t need to say it now, but here it goes: it’s no secret that she’s a longtime crush. I think she knows it as well, because in the past we’ve had too many encounters where we cross paths and exchange glances, do that thing that is everything about saying you’re interested but without actually putting yourself out there.
We do that stuff.
But now it’s finally happening.
She’s talking to me, doing all the work, and I don’t know what to say.
I don’t have to say anything.
I grin and forget everything.
She tells me, “You’re a hit.”
“I’m a... what?” Too nervous, and stupid, to think.
“Everyone loves you.” Nikki raises her eyebrows in a cute way as she brushes a strand of hair from her face. She does that so perfectly. I bet she practices these kinds of gestures in the mirror for hours.
“I guess so, yeah.” I laugh all nervously.
Stupid, so stupid.
Then she says something that I think she lifted from a romance film, or a spy thriller, or maybe I’m just thinking that she did.
“We keep trading looks. I feel like it’s time we trade numbers.”
That was so smooth I can die happy now.
And then we do. I trade numbers with Nikki Dillon.
Nikki hugs me again, plants a kiss on my right cheek, and says, “Call me.”
This party�
��s not so bad after all. But it’s peaked, it’s over.
I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I showed up. I’m not going to think about how she’s into me maybe just because of the demon.
She’s always liked me.
That’s what I choose to believe.
But I get the hell out of the room, posthaste. It’s like if I stay there, everything will be second-guessed and ruined.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking, “When is it time to trade photos of ourselves naked?” Then I hate myself for being an asshole. That’s something Brad would do.
I drive around aimlessly, up and down the neighborhood streets. I’m actually just happy, feeling like everything is perfect. Like life can be the shit sometimes.
I can’t believe it.
I drive for what feels like hours until she texts me.
She texts me.
I pull into the driveway, seeing that Dad’s home. I stay in the car and text her back. We have an entire conversation in text, with me sitting in the car, avoiding the fact that I’ll have to go back inside. I’ll have to face it. And every night it surprises me with something worse. I don’t want it to ruin this feeling.
So I think about this instead.
Reread every single line of the conversation we had because I can’t really believe it.
“Hey H.”
“Glad I bumped into you tonight.”
“Me too.” Winking smiley.
“You still there?”
“Left after the keg was tapped.”
“You up for something this weekend?”
“I’m up for anything.” Heart emoji.
“You up for something tomorrow night? 7ish?”
“Mmhmm. Sounds good.”
“Sounds great.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Here’s where I respond with a stupid regular smiley.
“Buh-bye babes.”
“Night!”
Could have done without the exclamation point. Also, I don’t like that I was the last to reply. But still. There it is—proof that everything’s changed. Proof that it happened.
Please be enough proof to steel my mood until I fall asleep tonight.
I look up at my window and see that the lights are on. I turned them off when I left. Beautiful. But you know who’s beautiful?
Nikki.
I have a date with Nikki.
Friday night.
“Mr. Warden to the principal’s office.” The way Halverson’s office goon says it, I don’t know, it just makes it sting so much worse, you know? I was in second period doing my best to just be myself, but since word got out about running and the demon on my back, I can’t focus on anything else. I feel like all eyes are forever on me, so I have to put up appearances like this is a twenty-four-hour reality TV show. That’s enough pressure, especially when you kind of want everyone to keep watching, but then someone gets on the PA and says those things. If you think being dropped off at school by your parents is embarrassing, being called to the principal’s office like some sixth grader is worse. I can’t look people in the eye on the walk to the office.
But then everyone’s buzzing about what Halverson might want with me. I hear in the halls their whispers, gossip already starting.
There’s talk about me being expelled.
For running the gauntlet? Really?
I hope not. I also don’t care. But then I remember what happens to people who are expelled, especially this late in the school year. Starting over at a new school for, like, a few weeks or something is like being sent to prison. If that happens, I’m finished. Like totally done. I won’t be able to go on.
Think about something else.
Think about something else.
I have nothing in common with anybody but I still want them to like me, especially now that it’s all like this. They’re all watching.
That’s a scary sentence: They’re all watching.
Almost scarier than having to go home and face a demon that’s getting worse with each day.
Last night... yeah, I’m not thinking about it.
I’ll just repeat the excuse I’ll give Mom if she asks: I decided to rearrange my room. It was getting boring and dull the way it was. Things didn’t move, exactly. It’s just that things went missing and I wanted to keep all the things I really need close to my bed, like I’ll be able to grab the thing before it tries to nab it. I kept my laptop in my arms when I slept.
It’s getting kind of ridiculous.
The office goons make me wait like they didn’t just announce my name over the PA for the whole school to hear. Rush me in here but then I have to wait.
I shiver and start worrying that it’ll start messing with me during the day. Then again, is “messing” the right word for this? Haunting is a form of hazing, right? I guess so. Not like I’ll ask anyone for clarification.
That’s just asking for more attention.
Maybe I want more attention.
“Mr. Warden—”
Doesn’t sound like she’s asking.
“If you’ll step right this way...”
Yeah.
I walk into Halverson’s office. The place is cramped, full of books, stacks and stacks of books everywhere. Halverson’s this kind of pudgy guy, probably in his late forties. He’s got bags under his eyes. Eyes are bloodshot too.
Bet he doesn’t sleep well either.
“Hunter”—he gestures toward the seat facing the desk—“have a seat.”
“Yeah,” I say because I have nothing else to say.
I sit down and wait.
Halverson looks at something on his computer—click of the mouse, typing something out—and then he turns his attention to me. “How are you on this fine day?”
It’s a fine day? I say, “Fine. I’m fine.”
“Good, good.” Halverson nods his head.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head too. I don’t mean to, but when you watch someone nod his head kind of like a bird, you end up doing the same thing. Sort of like how if you watch someone throw up, you get nauseated too.
“I called you into my office today because, well... frankly we’re concerned.”
I’m concerned too. I don’t say anything though.
“We have received reports about a Falter Kingdom incident.” Halverson goes back to his computer, typing something out, still talking to me though. “Frankly, I have heard everything there is to be heard about what happens in that tunnel.”
“Yeah,” I say. I’m actually agreeing. Falter’s got a whole lot going for it. I think.
“I obviously don’t condone what kids your age do there, as it’s quite dangerous.”
That’s also kind of the point.
“Frankly,” Halverson says, turning back to me, “more than a couple parents of students attending Meadows have called in, concerned with, well, you, Hunter.” Halverson leans forward. “I want you to be honest with me. Are you experiencing symptoms of a haunting?”
Frankly, I am. Instead I say, “Yeah.”
He leans back in his chair, folding his hands. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
What’s unfortunate? I mean, what’s unfortunate besides what I already know?
“Frankly, my hands are tied, Hunter. You’re a good kid, but I must operate in accordance with the school board’s guidelines. Due to your condition, you are deemed ill and unfit to attend school.”
I’m nodding. I’m agreeing with him. “Yeah.”
“Don’t take this harshly, because I am more concerned with your well-being. Have you”—he searches for the right words—“seen a specialist yet?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Then as of now, there’s nothing else I can do.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to have to suspend you until you get checked.”
“Yeah.”
“Frankly, I don’t want to do this, but as principal of this school, I am forced to act outside of compassion. You do understand, ri
ght, Hunter?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You’re free to return the moment you are seen by a specialist.”
Someone walks in, one of those rent-a-cops, the guys who linger around like guards with no weapons around the school.
I stand up and walk over to the guy.
“Oh,” Halverson calls out, “I’ll need a note from the priest. Proof, understand?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Halverson leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk. “Don’t take this personally, Hunter. And please get checked out now. Today. There are plenty of places that will help you. Do you need help finding one?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Are you sure?” The way he stresses “sure” seems so strange, like he doesn’t have confidence in me.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Well, all right then.” Halverson gestures to the guy. “Ben will walk you to your car. I know you’re capable of doing that on your own but, frankly, it’s a formality.”
“Yeah,” I say.
And we walk out into the hall.
Halverson probably said something else but I’m done, no longer listening.
I don’t know how to feel about the whole thing. I guess it should be bothering me but it still doesn’t feel real.
And I’m kind of excited about how people will see this. It’s going to be good. Suspended for demonic possession. Everyone will be talking about it. About me.
And then I’m thinking about Nikki. My date with Nikki. It’s hard to take in just how bad it is to be suspended this late in my senior year when everything else is going so great.
Well, you know, outside of the whole demon thing.
Ben the rent-a-cop guy doesn’t say anything to me. He walks behind me and seems kind of afraid.
I bet I could lunge at him, pretending to punch him, and he’d wince. That’s also kind of cool, I have to admit: you know, how there’s this sense of mystery and almost fear surrounding me. The older people are the ones worried. Everyone else finds it exciting.
And me?
I think I’ve mentioned it way too much. I go back and forth on the whole thing. But Halverson is definitely right.
I need to get checked.
How the hell do I do that? I don’t know...
Maybe I actually do need help.
I sit in my car until Ben the rent-a-cop guy leaves.
Falter Kingdom Page 7
