Not Today

by MC Lee

  The smile froze on Noah’s face. “I sound like a total dick.”

  I could have let him off the hook. Should have, really. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and I’d ended up with a mouthful of dirt. But the chip on my shoulder was weighing me down, and I didn’t contradict him. Instead I finished off my ice-cream cone and stood up.

  “Gotta go. Things to do.”

  Noah looked up at me, his smile amazingly still in place, though it wavered just a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Emmett. Thanks for letting me hang out.”

  I stared at him, searching for sarcasm and finding nothing but honest warmth. A sudden flood of shame finally stopped my inner asshole in its tracks. Noah was a new kid trying to find his way. And I was acting like a dick.

  “You want me to walk you back to your Jeep?” I offered, by way of apology.

  I felt like a total piece of shit when instead of telling me to shove it, his face lit up. “That would be great.” He jumped to his feet, and I took a step backward, out of his personal space. He fell in beside me when I started to walk toward Elmore Street.

  “What was your last school like?” I asked.

  “Interesting,” Noah said.

  “Interesting how?”

  “It was a two-room schoolhouse in a village in Kenya.”

  My eyes widened. “Is that where you come from?”

  Noah shot me a pained look. “I come from Chicago, Emmett.”

  I cringed, feeling like a fool. Noah was kind enough to take pity on me and didn’t call me on being an ignorant moron.

  “My dad works for a company that does environmental impact assessments. He was scoping out a site on behalf of the UN.”

  “Don’t they have regular schools over there?” I asked, immediately putting my big foot in my mouth again. I hadn’t really meant “regular.” I’d meant “rich-kid,” and something about the way Noah looked at me told me he knew it.

  “It was regular enough,” he said evenly. “You’d be surprised what you can learn from a different culture.”

  He was way too polite and gracious to add, “You can learn not to be a judgmental, hypocritical asswipe. Maybe you should spend a few centuries over there, Emmett.” I don’t believe the thought even crossed his mind. The cookie-cutter version of Noah Davis that had been stuck in my head slowly started unraveling.

  “Have you been to a lot of schools outside the States?”

  “A few.” Noah laughed. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve been to just as many exclusive private schools whose fees would keep a small country afloat for a year. But they haven’t all had what you’ve got here.”

  We turned a corner, and I pulled up beside Noah’s Jeep that mercifully hadn’t been vandalized.

  “Thanks,” he said. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys, though he didn’t seem in any particular hurry to leave.

  “No problem. See you tomorrow?”

  “You can bet on it.” He raised his head, and our eyes met in an electric jolt that made me suck in a sharp breath. “It was nice to talk to you, Emmett.”

  Although I didn’t want to walk away, I made myself turn and hurry down the road. I had less than ten minutes before Frank left. I knew he’d be getting antsy, that he’d be walking to the window and twitching aside the curtain to see if I was out on the street. I almost decided to forget about the groceries, except we had absolutely nothing to eat at home. So I broke into a run and tore through the store in record time, grabbing whatever came to hand first.

  Luckily, the line to check out was short, and I was only ten minutes late when I turned down South Street at a run. I could see Frank silhouetted behind the curtain. He didn’t move. I suppose he wanted me to see I’d kept him waiting.

  I burst into the house with a fake apology already tumbling from my mouth. “Sorry, Frank. There was a massive line up at the store.”

  He frowned suspiciously, but he waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, Emmett. You know I’d be glad to stay longer. It’s just I have this thing….”

  “Sure, Frank. I understand.”

  I should. All of Dad’s friends had “this thing” as soon as they got bored of his company or he started acting up. I didn’t blame them, although it didn’t stop me resenting them even more. It had never occurred to them that I might want to have a “thing” of my own.

  Frank beat a retreat, and I restocked the cupboards before sticking my head around the door. “Pasta okay, Dad?” The real thing tonight, not the orange stuff that came out of the can.

  Dad nodded absently. “Frank has lost a little weight,” he said. “I hope Josie isn’t giving him a hard time.”

  It was a surprisingly keen observation, only spoiled by the fact that Frank’s wife, Josie, had hanged herself three years ago.

  Chapter Six

  IT DIDN’T take a genius to figure out why I was anxious to get to school next day, but, as usual, my plan went to hell.

  Dad refused to cooperate when I tried to get him dressed, and I ended up leaving him in his pajamas. I mostly managed to avoid his flying fists, although I caught one in the ribs that I knew would leave a bruise. He might only be firing on half his cylinders, but he hadn’t lost his strength—or his temper.

  I settled him in front of the TV with a juice box and a bowl of Cornflakes, and eyed him warily, trying to figure out which way he’d jump. Sometimes he lapsed into quietness after a tough start, as though all his energy was spent. But sometimes he stayed riled up and on edge, which was when things got difficult. I couldn’t afford to have him take out his bad mood on Mrs. Sweeney, so sometimes I had to ditch school to stay with him, at least until his temper drained away.

  I watched him for a minute, staying safely out of reach. He seemed mesmerized by the TV, which was a good sign. I waited until he picked up his bowl of cereal and started eating, noting that he seemed pretty coordinated today. I glanced at the clock on the wall and swore silently. Ten minutes until the first class. I was going to be late. Again.

  “You need to go to the bathroom, Dad?” I asked.

  His head turned slowly, and he looked at me silently. It wasn’t the blank look I sometimes got, as though he had no idea who I was. I held my breath, waiting for the answer that would tell me if I got to leave, or if I had to spend the rest of the day trying to keep him calm.

  “Emmett, shouldn’t you be at school?”

  The breath whistled through my teeth, and I smiled.

  “On my way.”

  He returned his attention to the TV, and I grabbed my backpack. I threw a last look over my shoulder on my way out and saw that he was frozen in place, his cereal bowl discarded on the sofa beside him, eyes staring fixedly at the screen. He was quiet. He was passive. It was the best I could hope for.

  I peddled like a madman and managed to slip into the classroom just as my name was being read. Mrs. Pilger, who taught civics and geography, looked over the top of her glasses as I slid into my seat. I thought she was going to say something snotty, but she just shook her head and let it go.

  Noah was sitting in front of me, and he turned his head and smiled.

  “Didn’t think you were going to make it today.”

  I shrugged. “It was touch and go for a minute.”

  “You should let me drive you,” he said.

  Before I had the chance to refuse, he turned back around. I let myself fantasize for a few happy minutes about sitting in the Jeep next to Noah and gliding through the streets, arriving at school on time and serene instead of dashing in at the last minute, sweaty and disheveled, trying to think up an excuse I hadn’t used a dozen times before. It was a fantastic dream. But it would never be anything more than that.

  At the end of the lesson, Noah stood up and turned around, but if he was going to say anything to me, his words were swallowed up by the horde of kids who surrounded him and whisked him out of the room. He glanced back over his shoulder as he was all but carried out the door, and I sent him a
tentative smile.

  I didn’t see him again until lunch break. I sometimes tried to dodge the cafeteria, but a sudden downpour of rain had trapped us all inside. Besides, I still had some of Frank’s money left, and I hadn’t had time to grab my usual bag of leftovers so I was forced to duck in and get some food. I had planned on finding a quiet corner and eating my slice of pizza in peace, when I heard somebody call my name. I looked around and saw Noah waving to me. Which would have been great, except that he was sitting with the football team.

  I had a pretty complicated relationship with the team. They had once been my friends; some, like Cal and the other townies, still were. They had been sympathetic after Jamie’s death, but their understanding only stretched so far. They didn’t get why I’d left them in the middle of a winning season and never come back, despite repeated pleas when the team began to lose without me. I’d once been a teammate, and they didn’t forget that, but they no longer considered me completely one of their own.

  All I wanted to do was to blow past the table and escape, but that was just plain stupid, so I sidled up and nodded to the few players who still acknowledged me. Foster ignored me completely, which suited me just fine.

  “Sit down,” Noah said.

  I shuffled my feet and looked down at the sticky floor. “Nah. I’m just going to—”

  “Sit the fuck down, Easy,” Cal said. He slid sideways, ignoring the grumbled complaints of all the kids who had to squash together to make room for me.

  I was more likely to draw attention to myself if I continued to argue, so I reluctantly sat down next to Cal, directly opposite Noah, who had a quizzical look on his face.

  “Easy?”

  “Emmett Callaghan. EC. Easy.”

  Noah laughed. “It suits you.”

  I didn’t want to touch that one. “Have they given you a nickname yet?”

  Noah shook his head. “Not one they’d say to my face anyway.”

  Cal shot me a sidelong look. “Noah joined the team.”

  “Yeah? What position?”

  The flush that flooded Cal’s face was all the answer I needed, although John Foster leaned forward and took it upon himself to put it into words.

  “Running back. Your old position, Callaghan.”

  Noah’s head jerked up, and his eyes found mine and held for a long moment. “I didn’t realize—”

  “It’s fine,” I cut in, waving a hand. “I quit the team. It’s totally cool. You’ll be great….” I forced myself to stop babbling and shoved Cal’s shoulder. He was looking pretty miserable. He’d always pretended that one day I was going to return to being my old self, and I’d let him nurse that hope. I figured if somebody actually believed it, maybe it had a chance of coming true. But it had been another in a long line of fantasies, and it was past time to get real.

  “It’s okay, Cal,” I murmured. “The team needs him.”

  “You can still come back,” he mumbled, but this time he couldn’t meet my eyes, and I figured he’d finally accepted the inevitable.

  I crammed the last of the pizza slice into my mouth and stood up quickly. “I gotta go. I just remembered….” Since nobody really cared what I was pretending to do, I didn’t need to finish the sentence. I gave a half wave, turned my back, and started to hurry away, but a minute later, I heard a voice behind me.

  “Wait up, Emmett.”

  I looked over my shoulder and kept walking as Noah drew alongside me, failing to take the hint.

  “Hey, man. I’m sorry about the football team. I didn’t know it was your place—”

  “Forget it,” I cut in, wincing when it came out more snappish than I’d intended. I tried to soften my tone. “It’s really okay, Noah. Like I said, I don’t have time for all that.”

  That didn’t get any reaction, and an awkward silence fell between us. Noah glanced down at the ground and then looked up at me through lowered lashes, his expression uncharacteristically somber. I’d been here too many times, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “Cal told me about your brother,” he said quietly.

  And there it was: the sympathetic tone that made my flesh crawl and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. But I’d used Jamie’s death to cover my sudden withdrawal from the world, and I had to keep doing it now, even though it tied my stomach in knots and made me hate myself. What kind of asshole manipulates the death of his own brother to hide the shitty truth that his mom walked out on him and his dad is losing his mind?

  Weirdly, I hated lying to Noah, even though he was nothing to me and I’d persistently spun the same story to people who’d known me for years without giving it a second thought.

  “Yeah. It sucks.”

  “Is that why—”

  I stopped in my tracks and rounded on Noah.

  “Look, man, I’m sure you mean well, but I’m not talking about this with you. No offense, but I don’t know shit about you, and I’m not into sharing and caring with a total stranger.” I turned my back and started walking, feeling worse than when I’d been forced to blow off all my oldest friends in case they figured out what was really going on.

  “So, get to know me.”

  I stopped again. Noah walked up and stepped around to face me.

  “You don’t know shit about me. So, find out. Come to the movies with me tonight. We’ll grab a coffee afterward and talk.”

  I closed my eyes briefly and savored the moment. I remembered the days when deciding which movie to see was the biggest worry I had. My mouth almost said the words, almost agreed to meet Noah after school, but then my brain caught up and I opened my eyes.

  “Can’t.”

  The word burned my throat, but there was no help for it. I didn’t wait for Noah to answer. I left, pretending he would have tried to persuade me to change my mind, though this time, he didn’t follow me.

  MRS. SWEENEY was just leaving the house when I got arrived. I’d run out of the last lesson so I wouldn’t have to face Noah or think up an excuse why I couldn’t accept a ride home with him, and I’d grabbed my bike and practically flown home.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  She nodded. “He was fine today. Pretty aware of what was going on. He asked for you.”

  “For me?” I replied, surprised.

  “Something about a gravestone.” Her gaze slid away, and I immediately knew what this was about.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Sweeney. See you tomorrow?”

  Her eyes found mine, and she shook her head. “Why don’t you take a night off?” she said softly. “You know I could sit with him for a few hours. And we could ask those friends of his for help. Somebody must be able to spare an evening.”

  “That’s okay, Mrs. S,” I said quickly. “Where would I go, anyway?” I tried not to think about sitting next to Noah in a dark cinema or hanging out in a coffee shop and talking about something other than Dad’s deteriorating mental state and my brother’s death.

  “It isn’t good for you, you know. You should be out there enjoying yourself, not stuck at home every night playing nursemaid.”

  “It won’t be for much longer,” I said quickly. “You know I plan to get help as soon as I turn eighteen and I have more control over what happens to him.”

  I had to tread carefully when Mrs. Sweeney got righteous on me. She meant well, but I was always aware that the only way I could keep up this pretense was with her support.

  It was because of her that I hadn’t dropped out of school altogether when Mom left. I had pretty much accepted that the only way I could take care of Dad was to ditch my childhood, especially because school had begun to feel like a self-indulgent waste of valuable time. But she had dug her heels in, unapologetically blackmailing me with the threat that she would call in social services herself if I didn’t graduate.

  “Your eighteenth birthday is still more than a year away,” she said stubbornly.

  “I can handle a year, no sweat,” I said, trying to sound confident and cheerful.

  Mr
s. Sweeney shook her head. “You young people have no appreciation of time. When you get to my age, you’ll know you can’t afford to throw away a year of your life trying to make somebody else happy.” She looked at me long and hard and then waved a hand. “I know you don’t believe me. You think you have all the time in the world. Go on, then. I’ve left your dinner in the oven. Let it heat for half an hour.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Sweeney,” I said, meaning it with all my heart. She was right about most things, but not about this. When your brother gets blown into tiny pieces two days short of his twenty-third birthday, you stop thinking you have all the time in the world.

  DAD WAS in the kitchen when I walked into the house. Sometime during the day he had changed into his clothes, and he was sitting at the table now with a pen in his hand and a piece of paper in front of him. He looked up and scowled when I walked in.

  “Where the hell have you been? I told you to come straight home from school.”

  “I did. It’s only four o’clock.”

  “I don’t want any of your lip,” he thundered. “I told the funeral home we’d finalize the arrangements today. I’ve decided on roses for the wreath. Your mother loved roses.”

  “Sure, Dad. Sounds great. You want me to finish that up?”

  He looked down at the blank sheet of paper and frowned, and then returned his gaze to me. His frown darkened, and I knew what was coming next.

  “Get a goddamned haircut. And take those things out of your ears. Show a little fucking respect.”

  I had to battle the reflex to drag a hand through my hair, knowing it would only enrage him further. He’d always hated that I kept my shaggy hair long and had both my ears pierced, probably knowing I did it mostly to piss him off. I could see the next words forming on his lips, so there was no surprise when he snarled, “Why can’t you be more like your brother? You don’t see him running around looking like a girl.”