The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B

by Teresa Toten

  His face warmed. It was her lip-gloss that smelled like peaches. He remembered now from when he’d hugged her in the cemetery. That didn’t mean that she would taste like peaches.

  “Adam?”

  “I’m here, sorry.”

  “Look, maybe I trust you, and maybe you could trust me too?”

  Did he? Was it about trust? He got lost in the wanting again. It was just always so right there with her. He had wanted to kiss her so much. Maybe she would still taste like peaches, even if it was only lip-gloss that made her smell like peaches. “There is something—something I haven’t even told Chuck.”

  “Not even Chuck?”

  “No, not even Chuck. Well, I started, but I stopped. It’s complicated because it’s not about me, not directly. Sort of like with your mom.”

  “I’m here. I get complicated. I promise.”

  “So yeah, she, my mom, is getting these, like, anonymous letters and they’re sicko and they freak her out. And I, I’ve got to say they’re sort of freaking me out too. It’s … they’re that bad.”

  The relief was faster than instant.

  And relief trumped shame. Relief even trumped his fear of her reaction. So much relief from letting go of one dirty little secret? Or were all secrets dirty? Maybe even the clean ones were like magnets inevitably attracting slithery things.

  He was stunned.

  Adam told and the world didn’t wobble. Robyn did not mock him, or threaten unwanted action. The secret lost its power, poof.

  “Okay, that’s sick, Adam. Way harsh. How many so far?”

  “Three or four or five or more. I don’t know. She used to try to hide them. I just saw a bit of one. It was like in the old serial-killer movies, you know.” Adam made an executive decision not to go into how he fished out shreds from the garbage and then forgot about them in his pocket. “Like when the deranged guy cuts out words from newspapers and magazines and glues them onto the paper.”

  “Wow, that’s extra creepy. Do they threaten her? Like, really technically threaten?”

  “Yeah, well, maybe no,” he said. “They’re nasty, but not directly, I don’t think. I haven’t seen them really, but it mainly sounds like they call her terrible things and tell her to die, but not like he is going to kill her.”

  “Or she,” corrected Robyn. “Did you google ‘threatening letters’ or whatever?”

  “No, see, I can’t. Only at school. And I—”

  “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. Hang on. Let’s just see, shall we? I’m going online now. I have a new iPad! Daddy got it for me the day I got off meds. Cool, eh?”

  “Yeah, for sure.” Again, the scraping inside his stomach. “You deserve it.”

  There was a pause. “Adam, I started off way worse. I was in residence, remember? For months.” Another pause. “But you’re going to do great too and I swear you’re, like, ten feet taller. Hell of a Group, all in all, eh? Here it is, I’m looking up ‘receiving anonymous letters.’ ”

  “What?!”

  “On the iPad. I’m looking up—”

  “No, the other thing. The taller thing.”

  “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. It’s your body. Snooki’s noticed.”

  “She has? I mean, that doesn’t matter. But you can actually tell?”

  “Geez Louise, you’re taller than me. You’re heading into Thor and Wolverine territory. Didn’t you notice when you hugged me?”

  “Uh.” When he hugged her and her lips smelled of peaches. “Uh …”

  “Got it! www.ehow.com. How to cope with receiving anonymous letters.”

  “That sounds good. What’s it say?”

  “Okay, sooo there are five tips. One … mutter-mumble … Remain calm and form a plan to cope with the person and any future letters.”

  “I’ve been telling her. Thing is, she just rips up the letters. What next?”

  “Okay, two … mutter-mumble … Only cowards write anonymous letters, and most of them will tire if they receive no response from you.”

  “Yeah, I sort of thought or hoped that, but it’s so many letters now. When does it stop?”

  “So number three is … Never mind, that’s on e-mails. Number four says, Check with local authorities. They can help you track down—”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Okay, the last tip is to, uh, basically call a lawyer or a private investigator, to seek professional help because this can threaten your physical or mental health and—”

  “Not gonna happen either. But thanks, I’ll keep it all in mind. Promise.”

  “You’re the kid, Batman.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, I know you’re a guy and you’re fifteen and everything, but your mom, she’s the parent, right? And she is, like, a big deal at a hospital. I overheard Chuck say. She would know about this stuff.”

  “No. Well, maybe, yeah. She’s like a supervisor and she heads committees, so yeah. I guess.”

  “You’re not the one in charge.”

  Wanna bet?

  “Adam?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Okay, so why not the cops?”

  “She has other issues that could be a problem if anyone … She’s not … She has issues, and it’s complicated.” Adam felt more disloyal with each word. He was shaking by the second “issues.”

  Silence again. Not so awkward this time. He could hear her breathing at the other end. If only he could see her, see her lips.

  “The collecting?”

  He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him.

  “Adam?”

  “Yeah.” He kept nodding. “Yeah, the collecting. It’s a no-go.”

  “Okay, how about good friends—of your mom’s, I mean?”

  “Yeah, not so much. Not anymore. There is no one else, Robyn. I’m the one she tell things to. I’m everybody.”

  Silence.

  “I get it, and your dad’s out with the divorce situation and everything.” Adam could almost hear her thinking. “I know this is nuts, but how about your stepmom?”

  “Brenda?”

  “Yeah, you talked about how her and your mom are bordering on being friendly.”

  “Yeah, that’s true, but no. You see, Brenda’s cool and all, but she kind of has her hands full with my little brother. He gets a bit anxious and that makes her anxious and off they go. But you gave me some real good ideas off the Net. That whole ‘plan for the next letter’ thing and that it’s a coward, et cetera. Good to know. I mean it, thanks. I’m glad I called.”

  “Are you?”

  “For sure. I get to hear your voice, and yeah, like, it was good just to get it out of my head and say it out loud.” And the funny thing was, it was.

  “You know what I know for sure?”

  You don’t have to see a smile, you can hear one. Her beautiful mouth turned up, one dimple at play. It was contagious. Adam smiled too. “No, what?”

  “That it’s all good for me. Like, maybe you’re good for me. See you Monday, Batman!”

  Robyn hung up while Adam was constructing what he should say and how he should say it. He held the phone in his hand long after he heard the dial tone, still smiling.

  He did not count.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Adam’s heart ran laps around his chest, threatening to break a land speed record. He could conquer the universe.

  He had told. He had told her. And Robyn had not run off; she’d stayed and they’d talked just like two normal people out there in world who cared. Normal. This was what normal felt like?

  Su-weeet.

  Adam bolted up the stairs three at a time. He needed to measure himself against his door jamb right away. But once there, he froze. It wasn’t a threshold thing. It was a confusion thing. What if she was just messing with him? He leaned hard into the door, waiting for the nausea to pass.

  From the time he could stand upright, Adam’s height had been dutifully measured and recorded by his father’s pencil marking
s, and then his mother’s, and now his own. He grabbed a ruler and laid it flat on top of his head. The temptation to angle it upwards and make himself taller had to be resisted each time. Five foot seven and three-quarters! Yes! He’d be six feet by Christmas. Anything was possible!

  He was good for her! She’d said it. Out loud. Maybe she didn’t mean it, though. Maybe she just felt sorry for him. His stomach lurched. No! She wasn’t like that, wouldn’t do that. He was good for her. And she liked him. He picked that option and tried to stay with it, but couldn’t.

  Adam’s feelings stumbled and tripped around like out-of-control drunks; he was jubilant one minute, drowning in anxiety the next. This was love? It was like being held hostage by a terrorist. The feelings from hope to horror were crazy intense and changed on a dime. If only he knew what she thought. Why couldn’t girls tell you exactly what they were thinking the moment they were thinking it? The world would be a better place, yes, sir. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop grinning. Adam felt like he was starring in an Italian film. If only he smoked. He should smoke. Maybe smoking would calm him down some, focus his mind without the tapping. He would not tap. He should go for a run. No, his mom would be home soon.

  Adam paced around his room but stopped as soon as he realized he was doing so in precise concentric patterns. He reached for the figurines but did not touch them. He could do the List. Yes! He felt instantly awful for not keeping up with the List. He’d promised Chuck, promised himself. This time he’d have it all ready to go for his next one-on-one. It would blow Chuck away.

  Adam ripped a sheet out of a notebook. He was perspiring, but began writing before he lost his nerve. He wrote it all while standing.

  December 11 THE LIST Adam Spencer Ross

  Meds: Anafranil 25 mg 2 × per day

  Ativan as needed 4–6 per week

  Primary presenting compulsions: Ordering, Tapping, Counting in Head, Magical Thinking re: Thresholds

  Damn. He remembered now why he hated doing these. Full-frontal reality. Reality sucked. He sucked. What massive suckage to see just how much he sucked on paper. And he was getting worse—no use denying it—which was suckier still. The Ativan dose was a lie, but he did not correct it.

  “Adam? I’m home, finally!”

  He heard his mom shoving things away and knew that she did so without really seeing the mess. “I’m just finishing up some English homework,” he called. “Dinner’s in the blue CorningWare thingy. Stick it in the microwave.”

  “Thanks, baby!”

  He heard rattling, shuffling, ice clinking. Vodka on ice. Adam shut his door. Robyn. He could do it if he thought of Robyn.

  1. I believe that Robyn Isobel Plummer is my one true love and that love CAN conquer all.

  2. I believe that if I am good and strong and courageous and above all NORMAL, Robyn Isobel Plummer will love me back. I can wait. I am patient. It will be worth it.

  3. I believe that it is possible to be fixed. Most of the time. And I believe that my mom will get helped, somehow, but I don’t know how.

  4. I believe that Stones is still my best friend and that maybe the guys in Group are kind of like friends.

  5. I believe that my mom loves me, and that my father loves me as best he can, that Brenda loves me, that Sweetie loves me and that they all worry about me, and it makes me feel bad. Well, Sweetie worries about everything except me. He thinks I’m invincible.

  6. I believe that even numbers wreak havoc in the world and I am trying not to believe that Wolverine has a similar kind of effect.

  7. I believe that lying is sick and makes everything sicker, and that liars can never be trusted. But then again, everybody lies.

  8. I believe that thresholds are becoming a bigger problem for me. They now include, in various degrees of toxicity: the gym doors, biology lab doors, vice-principal’s office, English class and south entrance at school; the front bronze doors to Holy Rosary (in and out); the side doors to Brenda’s place; the John Street subway entrance; the 7-Eleven near the cemetery; and as of today, just a bare hint, so maybe not, but … okay, maybe as of today, the front door to 97 Chatsworth. This scares me.

  9. I believe that I am a coward but I’m working on that. I mean I WILL work on that. Really.

  10. I believe that there are times that my molecules are nuclear and that they’ll explode, raining radiation on all those I love unless I execute certain cleansing and clearing rituals, but I’m going to work on that too.

  There. Adam touched the paper eleven times as he reread his List. It was bad, no doubt. But not nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Chuck was right. Lists were good. Staring at it straight on was like taking himself straight on. That’s what Chuck said. Big long exhale. Okay.

  He’d kind of been scaring himself lately.

  “Honey? Adam, come down, baby, and keep your old mom company. I brought apple fritters from Sweet Jenny’s just for you.”

  He nodded to himself. “Okay,” he called.

  He read the List one more time, congratulating himself on his honesty and progress, before he ripped it to shreds. One more inhale, one more big exhale. Adam got up, dry-swallowed two Ativans and went downstairs.

  “Coming, Mom!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Group had just started and already Adam had trouble hearing through the blood rushing in his ears. That happened sometimes—okay, a lot. He’d have to cut down on the Ativan. It could be a new goal, a good goal. He strained to listen, which only elevated the sound of his own breathing. Chill. This was a safe place.

  “So what do you say?” asked Chuck. “Shall we adjourn to more festive surroundings for our last session of the year. Field trip?”

  “Like, you want to go back to the church? I’m up for it.” Green Lantern nodded with alarming enthusiasm.

  What!?

  “Yeah, the church was cool,” agreed Iron Man. “And I’d like to see Batman’s pope again.”

  “Priest,” Adam managed. “Father Rick is a priest.”

  Chuck shook his head. “No, not the church.”

  “Well, I’m not doing that politically correct shuffle,” huffed Snooki. “I for one am not going to drag my ample ass to a mosque and then to a, a … what is it that you Jewish people go to?” She turned to Wonder Woman. “A temple or a synagogue?”

  “Don’t look at me. I’ve been to a church now more than I’ve been to temple,” said Wonder Woman. “Anyway, I wouldn’t mind lighting more candles. I got a real buzz out of that.”

  “Yeah! Yeah, for sure!” snorted Captain America, and this was followed by vigorous head-nodding from Iron Man. Wolverine looked bored.

  “Whoa, guys!” Chuck put up his hand. “Not today, okay? You can go back to Batman’s church whenever you want, but for today I was proposing we go over to a coffee house. I called up Jeff at Slave to the Grind around the corner and he’s keeping that whole back area open for us. What do you say? Coffee, anyone?”

  “I’m in!” Wolverine was up and ready.

  Snooki yanked up Wonder Woman. “Us too. May we assume they do a non-fat latte?”

  “Skim milk has calories too, you know!” sniffed Wonder Woman.

  “I could do with a double espresso!” said Captain America. “A double espresso would be good. Double espresso. Ass up, Batman.”

  Adam and Thor rose as one. Thor looked as baffled as Adam felt. He growled in Batman’s general direction and off they went, slipping into coats and scarves and mitts on the way down. No one suggested it, or made excuses—they all just took the stairs.

  At the café, Adam got separated from Robyn while they were lining up. Chuck was at the head, followed by Wolverine, then Robyn, then Green Lantern, then Adam with the rest of them in a fidgety formation behind Thor.

  “Hey, Robyn, let me get this.” Wolverine waved a twenty. “My treat.”

  Adam bit down and gritted his teeth. Wolverine had offered just as Adam was trying to figure out if he had enough money to pay for two coffees. This whole thing SUC
KED! He needed an Ativan. Adam had never been in a coffee shop before. He was so not part of St. Mary’s after-school Starbucks club. How much would it be? What should he order? How should he order? They could charge him anything—fifty cents or fifty bucks—for all he knew.

  Chuck stepped out of line and waved his arms. “Yo, superheroes, I’ve got this, okay? It’s on the house—” Then he stopped, realizing that everyone in the place was looking at him. He lowered his voice. “It’s on me. Enjoy, okay?”

  The other customers were still staring. Again Adam wondered what they all looked like to regular people. It had gotten so that he could barely see them without imagining some aspect of their superhero costume magically appended. Except for Snooki, of course. Adam still had no idea what a Snooki was or what her costume would be, except that it would be formidable.

  Without warning it was his turn. The girl behind the cash asked him for his order. Robyn, Wolverine and Chuck were ahead of him, waiting by the “barista” for their orders.

  Adam started to sweat energetically. Maybe they had tea, but he only liked Earl Grey and he couldn’t see Earl Grey on the chalkboard. What the hell was a green chai latte?

  Thor leaned into him. “Americano black, double shot, and don’t put any shit in it. Milk and sugar are for pussies. They’re all watching.”

  Jesus, the guy had turned into a motormouth.

  “An Americano, double shot, please?”

  “Small or large?”

  “Oh, um, well, sma—”

  Thor cleared his throat.

  “Large, please,” he squeaked.

  “And drink the whole damn thing, or they’ll know you’re a faker.”

  Adam nodded. “Sure. Thanks, Thor.” Okay, how bad could it be?

  Nine chairs were already arranged around three small tables. Since Thor and Adam didn’t need any embellishments for their manly Americanos, they caught up to Chuck, Robyn and Wolverine. Thor not so delicately blocked just enough space to allow Adam to wedge in and sit right across from Robyn. This way he could look at her and touch her. She pulled her braid around and forward. God she was beautiful. It shocked him every time he saw her. Her lips were all shiny and peachy again. How do girls do that? He’d swear he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since Group.