Chaos Theory

by M Evonne Dobson

  For a minute, I think she isn’t going to answer. Then, Mad at you!!! Then, Gavin, huh? At last! She’s mad enough that Gavin’s move only rated one exclamation mark.

  I know. Meet after school at my locker? Then, remembering the bigger picture and my new plan, text, Bring Sam?

  Again, she makes me pay for my lie.…wait, wait…Then, Why Sam?

  Explain later. It’s call-in-the-cavalry time.

  The pass bell rings and I am so late. Running in to chem lab, Nile’s voice crests above the noise twenty-four students make settling down to work. “Kami! How was the lip-lock with Gavin?”

  I don’t have a comeback. That says it all. Everyone in high school will know about the kiss before school is out. Half the lab students stare at me and the other half snicker. My lab partner Cindy whispers, “Good for you. Ignore them. You flirted with Gavin all fall.”

  And how pathetic is it that everyone noticed?

  She lights the Bunsen burner that bursts to life with a whoosh of sound and flame. “It’s about time he made his move.”

  I stare at the dangerous blue/white flame. And what do we do with that? I can’t remember a thing about today’s experiment.

  She giggles. “So the great and mighty Kami is not prepared. I’ve got your back. You just record the numbers.”

  Even Cindy who I hardly know has my back. Poor Daniel. “Thanks.” And isn’t recording the numbers what I’ve done all my life? Plug those little unemotional numbers into safe known formulas. My life is a high-wire act looking down at the world, and the people below are like distant data sets. Well, those data sets are leaping up to bite me in the butt, forcing me to fall smack into the chaos below.

  Cindy says, “Hey, good luck on your locker experiment. I saw Sam’s vid.”

  “Sure,” I say, but it doesn’t register. My mind is on hunky, sexy Gavin who almost full-body kissed me—on his first kiss. And he’s good at it.

  ***

  In my locker hallway, Sam comes running with a shit-ass grin. “Have you heard?”

  Heard what? Talk about a loaded question. Sam always brings the library with him—the smell of old books and new pages.

  “My YouTube vid about your locker is viral. Mrs. Chanski is zonkers. Gotta get a follow-up post.”

  “My experiment? Why? It isn’t a cute kitten. It’s just a locker.”

  “We’ve got six thousand hits as of this morning, more by now.”

  Whoa. Hold on. “There’re only twelve-hundred kids in our whole school.”

  “Who each have connections. Social media is all about connections. They like it. They link it. They tweet and retweet. They Facebook. They share. And we’re viral. Do you know how big this is for me? People are linking my personal web page to find out who I am!”

  “All because of my locker?” Still, if they’re talking about the YouTube vid, then they aren’t talking about my hot kiss.

  “All because of your chaos locker. They love it.”

  By this time, Sam and I reach Sandy’s locker, next to mine. Seeing me, she crosses her arms and taps her cute cowboy boots on the tile floor. At least she’s here. “Sandy, I’m sorry. Things happened so fast Friday night. You were at the game. I knew you’d come to the hospital—”

  Sam the Great Reporter interrupts me. “Hospital? You were at the hospital? That’s why you weren’t in Pep Band?”

  Sandy jams earbuds in, but she’s listening—I know it, although I’m surprised that she hasn’t shared that gossip item with him. Sandy really does keep her BFF secrets. That’s important, because I can’t do this alone. In two weeks, maybe only one week, it’s spill-the-beans-to-Dr.-Bartlett time.

  “Yes. I was with Daniel—“

  “Triple D?” Sam asks.

  “What?”

  “Drug Dealer Daniel? Triple D.”

  That grates. Where is Sam the Unbiased Reporter? “If he’s a drug dealer, then he’s an inept one. Three goons beat him up at Broken Bone. If I hadn’t been there to stop it—”

  Sandy rips the buds out of her ears, giving up the pretense that she isn’t listening. “You stopped someone from beating the crap out of Daniel?”

  “Yes, and not so loud. No one can know about this. No one. That means no gossip line, Sandy. ”

  “Hey, gossip and BFF secrets are different. I never told anyone about Jake.”

  Oh damn. “About that. I might have, well, I did tell someone about that.” It was only sixth grade after all and only a hint about it—not gory details.

  She looks at me with pointy eyebrows. “Enough proof about who can keep a secret longer than you can.”

  “BFF, I need your help, and will you help too, Sam? You’re the reporter.”

  Sam the Eager asks, “I post the story when it’s all wrapped up?”

  “You’ll have to ask Daniel. It’s complicated. His sister committed suicide and this is all tied up with that.”

  Sam the News Breaker jumps onboard fast. “Promise, but if Daniel’s willing, then I want an exclusive. If he’s not, then I’m still with you and it’s all off the record.”

  Sandy’s not forgiving Daniel, “I’ll do it for you.”

  No exclamation point—the real Sandy no one else knows. Maybe Sam doesn’t even know that Sandy.

  I snort, “Yeah—and your new infatuation with film noir.”

  She asks, “And your infatuation with Gavin?”

  The reminder sends scary ripples through me. What am I going to do? “I. He. We kissed and it was…” I’ve degraded into stutters and incomplete sentences.

  My BFF reaches out and pulls me into her arms in a fierce hug. She whispers, “You can handle this, sweetie. And I’m here to talk it over when you need me.”

  OMG. I love my BFF. “I’m counting on it.”

  But even more important is that I’m not alone anymore with Daniel’s problem. People talk about having a stone around their neck? Well, they peeled a giant boulder off mine. “I have a place we can talk without someone overhearing.”

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later, we’re in the college library. Sandy creeps through the front doors with eyes that shoot around like ping-pong balls. She never went to the public college lectures. I figured she wasn’t interested, but now I suspect she doesn’t know she’s welcome. How can you live in this small town and NOT visit the campus? Then again, Sandy’s real name is Mei-Ling Ng and her grandmother was a boat refugee. She’s cautious by nature.

  I take her hand. “It’s a public library in a land-grant college. We’re allowed to be here.”

  She isn’t convinced, but when no one challenges us, she relaxes. I lead them up the stairs, through the stacks, and into my sanctuary. We pile our bookbags on the coffee table and plop down on the furniture. Outside the window, the thirty-seven-degree Iowa heat wave melts the snow off massive oak branches while students rush from class to class below us. The Iowa sky is blue and endless.

  I tell them everything: meeting Daniel here and at MA, the passing of the note to his handler, Friday night at Broken Bone, and the hospital.

  My BFF forgives me. “Kami. You could have been hurt!!!”

  “I’m sorry about the lie. It was a snap judgment call and a bad one. I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

  Sam chews a fingernail. “This cop said you wanted to buy drugs? He assumed that with no evidence at all? Daniel didn’t imply it?”

  “No. He defended me, but that cop wasn’t listening. He told Daniel to keep me away if I was that innocent.”

  Sam the Impartial says, “From his point of view, it makes sense.”

  Sandy leans over and thumps his upper arm hard enough to make him yelp. She asks, “So Daniel doesn’t know you’re on the case?”

  “On the case?” I ask with a grin. “Time to wean you off those black and white movies.”

 
“Your movies—your fault. Besides, if you watched anything other than PBS, you’d know cop shows say the same thing. So Daniel’s a snitch for the police?”

  “Right. I backed off because of possible rumors. MIT was fading in the wind.”

  Sam presses. “But then something happened? You got involved again or you wouldn’t have called us in.”

  “There was a photo of Julia. I…”

  “…got hooked.” Sandy knows me so well.

  “Yeah. Trish from the stable and Julia Jamison were once BFFs. What could it hurt to find out about Daniel’s half-sister? I met with Trish to talk about Julia at the stable, a place Daniel never goes. Then Trish led me to drugs—a whole lot of drugs—in Julia’s riding glove.”

  Sandy gasps. Sam’s mouth drops open.

  “Guys, the drugs were Julia’s.”

  Ten

  Sandy’s voice hardens. “I’m not buying it! Triple D confessed to the cops!!! We should leave him hanging.”

  “Face facts, Sandy. He dresses up like some NY street ganger and hangs out at Broken Bone. Everyone knows everyone out at Broken Bone. No one will buy from him there. It has setup all over it.”

  Sam says, “And most of those kids just smoke a little pot.”

  “Right. He’s going about this all wrong.”

  Sam the Skeptic asks, “And you know how he should be doing it?”

  “Sam, Kami is who she is! Of course, she figured it out. Thinking like a drug dealer doesn’t make her one. It’s the same way the police think!”

  Bless my BFF’s heart. “Daniel doesn’t have any idea of how to do it. And worst of all? The cops have their snitch. They aren’t going to let him out of this. They won’t listen to me.”

  Sam the Just says, “Come on, we know all the police in town. We’ve played soccer with their kids for years, or we’re coaching theirs now. That doesn’t sound logical.”

  “Things have changed. I Googled five years of drug busts. There’s a seventeen percent higher rate last year over all four previous years—all in the last six months. That’s a definite spike. What do you think Sandy?” If anyone has their finger on the school’s pulse, it’s her.

  Sandy thinks for some time. “I’ve heard about kids using oxi, highly addictive. Remember John Fuerst from the honor society signing up for the army? There were rumors. And there were those two girls sent off to that Arizona school? The rumor was they were pregnant, but maybe they weren’t. Maybe they started using. Who goes away anymore if you’re pregnant? Those aren’t your typical druggies, you know? There could be a lot more.”

  Sam the Investigative Reporter’s eyes go unfocused. “I’ve heard students buy drugs to get sharp before the ACTs. I tried to dig up some information. Everyone closed up. No one from administration to counselors to students would talk. I think you’re onto something.”

  Team Daniel shapes up in front of my eyes—still uncommitted, but intrigued by the puzzle aspect. I say, “And then a high profile Jamison dies of a drug overdose. The police lost control and want to stop it. They have to stop it.”

  Sandy says, “Nothing you’ve said clears Daniel. He could have stored the drugs in Julia’s glove.”

  “No. Trish said Daniel never went to the stable. And he’s been in North Carolina. I checked the school’s website. They’ve got mandatory drug testing. He’s clean.”

  “You can sell without taking,” Sam the Fact Checker says, “Unlikely, but possible. He has access to athletes that might buy steroids from him.”

  Sandy says, “And people who knew Julia told me Daniel was back for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I just don’t buy that he’s innocent. If he’s innocent, why confess?”

  I sigh. Team Daniel fades. I grab a piece of paper and pull out a pen. “Here’s what won’t let me walk away from this.” I draw a quarter-sized-circle. “Pretend this is me.” Then I draw a bunch of overlapping circles that make a larger circle around and overlapping mine. “These circles are you guys and Mom and Dad. You all have my back. I’m never alone.”

  I start a new diagram on the paper’s lower part, adding a quarter-sized circle in the middle, and draw another connecting ring around it, but these don’t overlap the center one. “These circles represent the people around Daniel. This one’s the police. They aren’t concerned about Daniel—only what they can get from him.” I move my finger to another. “The school counselor is more concerned about the school. She’s required to report it.” Then I tap the three remaining ones. “These represent his mom, his dad, and his stepmom. For some reason, Daniel didn’t call them from the hospital. He called his handler, not them. They either don’t have any idea what’s happening or they don’t care. It’s unlikely that all three wipe him off as unimportant.” I lean back and hope.

  Sam the Sesame Street buff sings out, “One of these things is not like the others.” He takes the pencil and re-circles the isolated circle within the ring. “That’s Daniel, all alone.”

  Sandy isn’t feeling any friend buzz. “If he’s innocent and he has a problem, all he has to do is reach out! If he’s chosen not to get help, then he must be guilty. He hasn’t asked for our help either. Let it be!!!”

  “I almost did walk away, but there’s more to this.” Pulling out the photo of angelic, innocent, and very dead Julia, I lay it on the table. It moves them, the way it does me.

  It’s Sam the Inquisitive who eventually says, “You’ve left off one circle.” He takes the piece of paper and draws a small one inside the one that represents Daniel. He taps the photo and then the circle. “Julia.”

  We all stare at that dime-sized dot and think about a young girl who died by suicide.

  “That’s his guilt!” Sandy is still not buying in.

  My heart aches. Is that all there is to Daniel’s isolation? Guilt? I’ve felt that kind of isolation. Like it does so often, the image of Grandma drawing her last breath hits me. This time it doesn’t overwhelm me. This time I use it to understand what Daniel might be going through.

  “Or…” I say, leaning forward, tapping the inner circle again. “It’s Christmas, right? He gets home from school. Something happens. Maybe finds out Julia’s doing drugs or even dealing them. Then she commits suicide. Maybe he feels guilty about her death, not the drugs.”

  I move along this train of thought. “Innocent, sweet Julia commits suicide with her own drugs. The entire world and, even more important, her family would learn what she’d been doing behind their backs.”

  It’s a theory, but it fits. If Daniel is protecting his sister, I’m not going to let him do it alone. If I’m lucky, my friends will help me.

  Sam the I’ve Decided nods. Sandy sighs deep and long. Giving in, she commits to Team Daniel. “And he steps up to protect his sister’s reputation and to keep his family from learning the truth. He’s already in hot water with the DUI. Maybe Daniel hasn’t reached out for help because he’s too busy covering Julia’s back.”

  Pause. She says, “I’m in. I’ll help.”

  And I’m not alone anymore and neither is Daniel—whether he likes it or not.

  ***

  Friday morning, I’m early at school again. About half of the snow melted yesterday, but it left behind black ice. Skittering, I step-pause my way across the sidewalk to the front entrance, and then turn back to search again for Daniel’s red Mustang. It isn’t there. In the lobby, I plop down on the open-stair railing, lift the Starbucks coffee mug, and sip, watching the parking lot and front door through the two-story front windows. With national school violence and mass shootings, this is the only entrance.

  An hour passes. Jocks line the railing with some friendly ribbing about me being on their turf. Sam and Sandy enter and climb the stairs past me. I raise my caffeine to them. Sam’s hand is on Sandy’s lower, way lower, back as they disappear down the hall. Happy for them, I return to my lonely vigil.

  The warning be
ll rings. Daniel’s a no show. I leave my spot, giving way to the jocks. One of them says, “Hey, way to go on your locker 224 experiment.” He mimics an end zone spike. “MIT here you come. You can do it.”

  “Thanks.” I head down the hall to my locker. It’s changed. Sandy’s printed banner, “Know Your Locker” has been modified. Ask replaces Know. Someone used a thick red magic marker. Underneath that in different handwriting is, “Thank God.” WTF?

  I open the locker door to familiar pain. Thud. Thud. Thud. The scents hit, and then I wait to see if things escape. It’s a fall-out day. But it isn’t anything I’d put in there. Instead, three sealed envelopes flutter to the floor. All three are addressed in different handwriting, but share the same label, Kami/Chaos Locker. It’s like three friends dropped them through the locker vents together.

  The second bell rings, but I ignore it as I read the message on the outside of one: You have a chaos locker? We have chaos lives. We’ve all written you for advice. We figure Sam can post answers on the website. Thank you.

  Again, WTF. I open the first envelope. I had an argument with my boyfriend. He treats me like crap, but if I break up with him all my friends will have that look. You know the look that says pity all over it? What I can’t tell them is that he hit me. I know I should tell him where to go, but I don’t want to be alone. What should I do? I can’t talk about this with my friends.

  In a panic, I rip open the second envelop. My boyfriend wants to drink at parties. I don’t want to, but everyone thinks I’m a baby. What happens if I say no? Should I? Life would be easier if I just do it or fake it.

  Then I read the third that is pink with little butterflies on it. My friends don’t understand me! No one understands me! Am I weird?

  I am now five minutes late for class, but research rule number one is never break protocol. Pulling out three marbles, I list them in my notebook as envelopes one, two, and three, and then set them in the locker. One rolls off the stack toward the front right corner. It rattles down the interior vertical groove of the locker, where it rings loudly on the bottom when it hits.