Playing Tyler

by T L Costa

  I push up from the desk. The feet of the chair scratching at the tile floor is the only sound in the room. Walking to the front of the room, I put the test down on the teacher’s desk. “I’m done.”

  “But it’s only been fifteen minutes,” she says. Her eyes look sad, worried, almost. “Take it back to the desk, Tyler. Give it another try, you can sit in the hall if you want.”

  “Later.” I wave as I walk out the door, sneakers wrecking the perfect silence of the empty hall, drowning out the clear notes of sorrow in her protests.

  Where’s Mom? She’s supposed to be home by now. I sent her a text. OK, three texts. She can’t forget. She has to drive me. The Department of Motor Vehicles closes at five. It’s 4.15 and if I don’t get there soon I won’t have time to take the test and won’t get my license. Need my license. Need it today.

  I call her cell and walk up the driveway. Don’t see her car. Don’t see her coming. Third ring. No answer. Where the hell is she? Why does she always flake out like this? Fifth ring. No car. No answer.

  I pace. Up and down and up and down the driveway. Voicemail. Again. I hang up. Dial her work number. Pick up pick up pick up. Have to get there. She can’t forget, she can’t. Reminded her every day for the past week. Hell, probably two weeks.

  Third ring. No answer. Not at her desk. I text her again. Dammit, Mom! She can’t just forget like this. She can’t but she will. She totally will. I kick the side of the house. Kick it again. And again.

  The phone buzzes. I look down. Mom. She sends me a text:

  Sorry, I completely forgot. But things are really busy here, I have to work on this case. Be back late tonight. Maybe we can get your license next week?

  Why can’t just for one day I have a normal freaking life with a normal mom who…

  “Tyler!” A car pulls into the driveway. Rick. Thank God. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting your license today?”

  “Yeah” – I hold up my phone – “Think mom forgot, though.”

  “I thought that she might. Get in, if we hurry we can still make it to the one in North Haven before they close.” He smiles, motions with his head for me to get into the car. I rush around to the passenger side. Throw open the door. Hop in.

  “Thanks, man.” I adjust the seat so that it slides back and I can stretch my legs. Grateful with every breath I take that at least Rick is functional. At least Rick gives a damn. “You really just saved my ass.”

  “Anytime.” He backs up and we’re off. Just hope we can make it before they close.

  Ani

  Why is he so determined to talk to me? I lay on my bed, running through a mental list of possible answers, my mind hovers around one:

  He must like me.

  How do I feel about that? Giddy? Excited? Terrified? Stretching out on top of my comforter, I pull my philosophy text up onto my lap. No one has ever sought me out. Not if they didn’t need me to do something for them. Even Julie, and she’s my sister.

  And he’s cute, too. Really cute. My heart flitters around right behind my ears and I push my arm into my forehead. I need to think. Maybe he just needs something, or has a question about the sim. Checking to make sure Christy is out of the room, I pull out my laptop and call up the tracers I put on all the sim systems. Access to this new technology, or at least the technology that it’s based on, is highly classified. Mr Anderson’s department came up with very specific parameters for its use. It’s part of the reason why he doesn’t want me to talk to the kids after I set up their systems. I may not be able to talk to Tyler, but I guess I can make sure his system isn’t buggy from here. Staring at lines of code, searching for patterns, for anything off, my mind narrows, focuses, comes to life.

  Wait a minute, there’s a line I didn’t write. Looks like nothing more than a linking program but I back it all up anyway, in case I’m missing something. Mr Anderson would be pissed to know that I have my own private log record of his program. But nothing will end a career faster than not having sufficient backup.

  My cell rings. I kick my roommate’s jeans out of my way as I go over to my coat and pull out the phone. “Julie?”

  “Hey babe, what’s up?” Her voice is bouncy, like her curls, like her smile, like, well, her. You’d never know that it was past eleven out in California, not with Julie. She’s never tired.

  “Um, nothing.” Maybe I should ask her about Tyler. She’s dated enough guys to know whether or not I should write him back or forget him.

  “Any Ivy League hotties out there to tell me about?” She’s so up, all the time. UCLA is perfect for her, she even made the cheerleading team.

  I scoff. “No, but there is this guy…”

  “Does he go to Yale?”

  “Well, no, he’s–”

  “Ani, ditch him. Every relationship I’ve ever seen where the guy goes to one school and the girl goes to another never works out. They might pretend that it does for a while but then the next thing you know you’re walking downtown with your girlfriends and see your guy sucking face with some girl he told you was just his cousin. Anyway, moving on, I need your help.”

  Of course she does. “Um, OK, which class?”

  “Psychology 101, section three, with Professor Hernandez.”

  “Psych? I thought you wanted to major in Psych?” I ask, not as surprised as I expected to be.

  “Ugh. I did, until I got shoved in that moron’s class. Did you know that he actually gave me a D on my test? A D! Doesn’t he know that this school needs me?”

  “Did you study?” I try and cut off the usual tirade.

  “Of course… mostly… he just hates women, Ani.” She loves to play up to my feminist side. Loves it.

  “Alright. When are grades due?”

  “The profs put them in by midnight on the ninth.”

  “Got it, consider it a C.” I scribble down the info. I’ll do it after class.

  “Love you, Ani! And ditch the guy from the other school, it’s a waste of time!”

  She makes kiss-smacking noises into the phone and I give her a half-hearted goodbye. Ditch the guy. She’s right, of course, I have to just forget him. I can’t break my contract with Mr Anderson. I can’t. He helped me out of an impossible situation. He not only helped me out of it but also offered me a job, a way to pay for a college as amazing as Yale.

  Fingers seeming to move on their own, I stare at Tyler’s latest email:

  SlayerGrrl, you out there somewhere?

  My fingers hover over the keys.

  CHAPTER 8

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29

  TYLER

  Saybrook College isn’t really a college. It’s a lie. I guess saying “dorm” is just too lowbrow for Yale. They even each have their own dining halls and shit. Probably separated by income bracket. Like the George W Bushes and the John Kerrys are kept on one side of the campus and the kids of the doctors and lawyers and the Asian kids on scholarship are kept on the other.

  I kick a pile of dead leaves. Check out the fliers on one of the poles in Saybrook College’s courtyard. Blowing air into my hands to warm them. I should have worn gloves, man, it’s cold.

  Scanning the rain-beaten multicolored fliers tacked up on the post I see nothing, nothing that looks like SlayerGrrl would be a part of. Foreign film festivals and fundraisers. Guess they don’t advertise the secret societies, huh? Too bad, would have been fun if I snagged one of their fliers for B. He likes that stuff.

  I shove my hands into my pockets and walk over to a bench. Guess I’m gonna wait here. I sit. My ass is cold. Stupid jeans. Stupid fall. Stupid Tyler thinking that the whole stalker routine is gonna work. Peanut and Alpha told me not to come, maybe they were right.

  “Hey.” A guy walking as he talks on his cell stops, comes over to me on the bench. “Hey, man, I know you! You’re that guy, MacIvrish, no, wait, MacCandless, right? With the show… the vlog? I loved it, man, what was it called, Divergence? Why’d you stop?” He looks so happy. Black hair and thick black glasses and short leather c
oat contrasting with the wild yellow of the leaves on the tree behind him. Like a black spot on the sun, almost. His eyes are wide, like I’m somebody.

  I get even colder. “Nah, man, that’s my brother, Brandon.”

  “Oh, man, sorry.” His eyes narrow, just a bit. His enthusiasm leaks away. “Hey, where is he going to school, does he still have a vlog?”

  My fingers clench into a little ball and try to find the right words, the nice words, the words that will be nice to this poor guy and to Brandon. But I can’t. What would Brandon say? Damn, he’s good at this stuff. Everything was always so easy. Especially with words. I say, “Nah, he doesn’t do that anymore. He’s” – think, Ty, think – “on sabbatical.” Totally a word B would use.

  “Oh.” His face softens, and he shuffles his feet, breath leaving cotton-ball puffs in the air. “Well, if he ever starts one up again, let me know, just post it on the Yale message board, OK?”

  “Yeah, sure.” God, please let that happen. He walks away, and I wonder what it would be like for Brandon to have been here. He would love it here. He would love all of this. His grades were good, too, man. He belongs here, not… not where he is now.

  I should sit outside the buildings that have the classes. No. They have class all over New Haven. Could be anywhere. Damn. I don’t even know what she’s studying. I don’t even know why I’m here, really. It’s not like Ani’s answering any of my emails. Rick always talks about persistence paying off, a real soldier never accepting defeat. And I know in gaming, if you go at a level enough, you’ll beat it. So hopefully the same rules apply to girls. Well, to this girl, anyway. The conversation about Brandon’s messing me up. Can’t think. Why did I come down here? This is stupid. I should have printed out a copy of her class schedule or something. I am such a moron sometimes.

  I grab a flier off of one of the poles on my way out. Upcoming events. Perfect.

  CHAPTER 9

  TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2

  TYLER

  PPT? Why do I need another PPT? Planning and Placement Team? What a joke. I hate these things. I have to sit here while they list off this long string of issues. ADHD, apraxia, all that crap. An overgrown parent-teacher conference where I have to sit here and listen to all the stuff that’s wrong with me. I’m sure I have all the problems going on that they say that I do, but it’s me, it’s all that I know how to be. Why are we here? “Mom.” I pull out the chair for her. It’s the right thing to do, help your mother. Mom’s cool. Works a lot, tries really hard. Not easy to pay bills. She sits. She smells good. Mom always smells good, like some perfume she’s always worn, she smells like home.

  “Mrs MacCandless, Tyler, we’re so happy that you could join us today.” The second Dempsey hits the door he sends those marble-like little eyes rolling all over my mother. I hate him. I sit beside Mom. I lean in close to her. Want to look imposing. “Would you like some water? We just have to wait for the school psychologist.”

  Ugh. I’m seventeen now, do I really have to sit here and deal with Dempsey and his crap?

  My foot starts under the table. I hate this, hate waiting. There’s nothing to do when you wait. Except lose time that could have been spent actually accomplishing something. It’s like dying. Only I imagine that dying is nicer because if you’re dead then at least you won’t be bored. Or worried about the way Dempsey’s eyes are hanging on my Mom’s rack like an overcoat. Sick bastard.

  Look at her, all clearing her throat, he doesn’t get it, just keeps staring at her chest. Damn. Can I throw something at him? It’s not like she’s wearing anything tight even, just a dress shirt.

  I hate him. Hate him even more now. My foot goes crazy under the table and I shift in my chair again so I won’t just leap across the table. Smack that leer right off his face.

  Mom reaches her hand over, grabs mine. Be cool, Ty.

  I love Mom, and she wants me to be here, so I’m here.

  The school psychologist, Ms Kinney, walks into the room. It’s about time. Hate Kinney. She’s almost less cool than Dempsey. She’s always asking these questions like she cares and tells you that everything you tell her is confidential but it’s not. She tells Dempsey, my mom, anyone who will listen.

  “Tyler, so nice to see you!” she greets as she pulls out a chair. Concern oozes from her like honey-covered pus.

  I shift in my chair again. At least Dempsey doesn’t pretend, just sits and pulls out his notes. “As I mentioned in my email, Tyler has been missing a lot of school lately. In fact, he has only been to school four times in the past two and a half weeks.” Dempsey eyes just freaking glow when he looks at my mother’s face.

  “Yes, you did mention that.” She looks at me. Thrusting my feet into the floor, I brace myself. Her soft voice, asking, “Tyler, is that true?”

  Can’t look at her face, there is more than enough disappointment there normally, don’t need to see any more of it now. I nod.

  “What have you been doing?”

  The fear. The fear in her voice. It tears me right through the middle.

  “Nothing, Mom.” How do I make this clear to her? “Nothing bad, just hanging out.”

  I look into her eyes. Wide. Blue. Pained. I’ll tell you later, Mom, I promise.

  Ms Kinney clears her throat. “Also,” her voice filled with sweetness so intense it sounds like rot, “Tyler mentioned that he hasn’t been taking his prescribed medication, and I felt that it was best to make sure that you are aware of the situation.”

  Why do I keep talking to her? Why do I tell that woman anything? I am such an idiot. Grinding my feet into the tile I lean back so that I’m looking at the ceiling and not at her. I know I shouldn’t trust her. Why does it piss me off every time? Can’t trust anyone. Ever. Should know that by now. Well, maybe Mom. Maybe Rick.

  “Has the doctor suggested anything to help Tyler, Mrs MacCandless?” Dempsey now, voice low, playing the part of vice principal who gives a damn. Just wants to come off that way so he can get into Mom’s pants. I should punch him. So smug.

  “Medication, but Tyler doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.” Mom, voice like a cord wrapping its way around my middle. She can’t say that B used to steal it. Leaving me with an empty bottle and a prescription that I could only fill once a month. So I just gave up filling it. Had to deal without it. Like things better without it now, anyway. Used to it.

  “Yes, well, we’re afraid that his recent string of absences may be the symptom of a deeper problem.” Drugs. He doesn’t say the words. But he leaves the thought. Leaves the thought right there. On the table. Playing on Mom’s worst fears in the world. That sick fuck. I am going to kill him. “Statistically, students who have ADHD are more likely to… experiment with other things.”

  “That’s bullshit, there’s no deeper problem and you know it,” I say, leaning forward across the table.

  “Tyler, your language.” Ms Kinney shakes her head. “And we never insinuated that you–”

  “Fuck you, Kinney. You say all that stuff is confidential and here you are lying to my mom.” Words flying around my head a thousand miles an hour. All of them fighting.

  “I’m not lying, Tyler. We are just making your mother aware that your behavior is consistent with certain patterns…”

  Thoughts pound at the back of my skull. Can’t grab them. They’re trying to come out but all I can do is look at my mom.

  Her face is like ice. Like glass. Cold and numb and broken. I want to scream, want to kill them for hurting my mom. They don’t know me. Don’t know that I would never do that to my mom and now they’re telling her that I’m doing drugs and I’m not. Why are they doing this to her now? They are all idiots. All of them. Brutal. Freaking. Idiots.

  They keep talking, accusations flying around me. “Always late.” “Distracted.” “Disrespectful.” “Displaying some of the same behaviors as his brother.”

  Each word they say hits me like a club, beating me down until there is nothing left. There is one thing in life I would never do and
it’s drugs. Ever. I can’t even get the words out to say anything. I just sit there like a punching bag and listen to my trial. Witnesses lined up condemning me in front of my mom. And it’s not true. Do they know that I can’t defend myself? They know.

  All of them trying to ruin my life. They need to leave Mom alone I will hurt them if they hurt her how could they hurt her? How could they hurt her now? I can’t believe I trusted Kinney. I’m a moron.

  “Tyler.” Mom’s voice breaks through the chaos inside my head and tugs at my heart. She reaches out and holds my hand. “Focus for me, baby. Look at me. Just at me.”

  The whirlwind quiets. I don’t know if everybody else stops talking. If they finally shut up. All I see is Mom. She used to do this. Holds my hand and tell me to squeeze, hard, to help me focus, to help bring the thoughts into order and be able to get them out. I turn her hand over in mine. God, it’s so small, her hand. Soft skin drawn tight over little bones, like a bird. My hand is massive, like I could hurt her if I held it too hard. My heart pounds. I am so pissed right now.

  The blue of Mom’s eyes melt together like an ocean I just want to drown in. Her lips curl up at the edges and she puts her other hand on top of the one already holding hers. She knows how hard it is for me. She knows. Damn, I love her.

  Dempsey’s voice stays low, like a jaguar waiting for the kill. “As it is, he’ll have to do summer school to get enough credit to graduate.”