Swim the Fly

by Don Calame

  This makes Valerie giggle.

  “I know. I’m not exactly heavyweight material.” I lift the ice to show my injury as proof. “At the time, it seemed like a good idea. I drank raw eggs and chased my cat around the house to try and get my reflexes in shape.”

  “Raw eggs can give you salmonella,” Valerie says.

  “Yeah, well, Rocky did it, so I figured that’s what boxers do.”

  “You’re pretty gullible.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Okay. I bet you didn’t know that gullible isn’t in the dictionary?”

  “Seriously?”

  Valerie smiles. “You see? Gullible.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for that.” I laugh weakly. “I wasn’t feeling like enough of an idiot already.”

  “Any time,” Valerie says. Her cell phone rings. She digs it out of her little green purse and looks at who’s calling. “My dad’s here. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? We could take you.”

  “I’m okay, really. But thanks.”

  “How about a lift home, then?”

  “I’m good. I’ve got a ride with Coop and Sean.” As if. I can’t believe they bailed on me like that. Bastards.

  “All right, then.” Valerie stands, looking very serious. “But I’m going to call you tomorrow, anyway. Just to make sure you’re okay. What’s your number?”

  I give her my cell number, and she plugs it into her phone.

  “Keep that ice on for twenty minutes.”

  “I will.”

  Valerie waves, then turns and walks away.

  I wait a minute before hauling myself up from the table. I keep the ice pressed to my head as I hobble my way around the side of Ronnie Hull’s house. I could call my mother, I guess, but it’s only a few miles, and I could use the walk home to clear the cobwebs from my brain.

  MY EYES ARE OPEN, but I stay in bed, lying on my side, staring at the putty blue wall of my bedroom. I have an apocalyptic headache that’s radiating from the lump on my skull.

  Last night I dreamed that I was over at Coop’s house eating dinner but my teeth were loose and they kept falling out. I was really embarrassed by it, and I kept hiding the teeth in my napkin. It was pretty disturbing.

  I run my tongue over my teeth now just to make sure they’re still all there and solidly embedded.

  Coop and Sean both left messages on my voice mail while I was walking home last night, wanting to know if I made it out okay. So, even though I’m still a little ticked off at them, at least they didn’t completely forget about me.

  My cell phone vibrates on my dresser. Last time I checked the clock it was ten thirty. Anybody who knows me knows that I sleep till noon on weekends.

  And then I remember Valerie.

  I throw my covers off and leap from my bed. My still-sore body grouses, and my brain slams against the inside of my skull. I have to steady myself as I grab the phone and flip it open. Valerie’s name is on the screen.

  “Hello?” I say, hanging on to the dresser for support.

  But there’s no answer. It’s gone over to voice mail. Which is just as well. I’d rather not start answering questions about why Tony was so pissed at me. Once Tony and Mandy spill the beans about me hiding in the closet, I’ll be as welcome as a hernia check from Jack Frost.

  My bed calls to me. The tangle of the covers, the soft down pillow. But I’m already up. Might as well face the day.

  I pick a few shirts off my bedroom floor and give them the sniff test. The only one that seems relatively clean is my bright yellow BIG BONE LICK STATE PARK, KENTUCKY T-shirt that Cooper got me for my birthday last year. He thought it was the funniest thing ever.

  I slog out into the hall, toward the bathroom. As I look over at Pete’s closed bedroom door, my insides tighten up. It’s like a bear trap ready to snap on my leg. He won’t be back for another two weeks, but I don’t think I could make the accident look convincing even if I had two years.

  After a half-gallon pee and a splash of water on my face, I notice I have a zit the size of Mount Vesuvius on my chin. My first instinct is to pop it, but Mom’s words echo in my head. “Leave it alone or you’ll get an infection. It could disfigure you.” It takes some willpower because there’s something very satisfying about the bursting snap of a whitehead. Instead, I use the cranberry acne mud mask that Mom bought me last week from a kiosk in the mall. It’s supposed to draw out the oil and pus naturally. Or at least that’s what it says on the label. I slather the thick red goop all over my face. It smells like a fruit cocktail and feels cold on my skin. When I’m finished, I look like some kind of crazed, masked wrestler. I growl at my reflection and do a Mr. Universe pose.

  I head down to the family room to check my e-mail while I wait for the mud to dry.

  Grandpa Arlo, in his frayed tan terry-cloth robe, is at the computer, talking to the screen.

  “Nope. Haven’t seen him this morning,” Grandpa says. “I think he’s still sleeping.” He laughs. “This is amazing. I didn’t even know you could do this kind of thing. It’s like Star Trek.”

  “Who you talking to, Grandpa?” I step up behind him, and there’s Kelly and Valerie on Skype. I drop to the floor like I’m dodging machine-gun fire.

  “Speak of the devil.” Grandpa glances down at me crouched under the desk. I wave him off like mad. “Jesus,” he says, recoiling when he sees me. “What the —?”

  “Hey, Matt,” Valerie calls out. “Come back. Sit down at the computer.”

  How the hell did they get my Skype address? And why did Grandpa answer it? My eyes dart every which way, searching for an escape route.

  “I, um . . . I can’t,” I call.

  Grandpa looks back up at the screen. “He’s not decent.”

  Kelly laughs. “Ohmygod. Do you walk around your house naked?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m just . . . I just woke up.”

  “We don’t care.” It’s Valerie. “We need to talk to you. I couldn’t get you on your cell, so I searched for you on Skype.”

  “I’ll call you later.” I feel the drying mud mask start to crack on my face.

  “Oh, come on,” Kelly says. “We won’t be here later. So you have a little bed-head. Big deal. Poor Val was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, starting to commando crawl across the floor. It’s a slow, tedious, muscle-straining process. Not to mention, the rug is burning the hell out of my knees and elbows. “I’m good. Thanks for asking.”

  “Matt’s grandpa. Can you help us out?” Valerie is leaning on her accent and using a very cute pretty-please voice that I’m not sure Grandpa Arlo will be able to resist. “Could you tell him to come to the computer?”

  “He’s kind of embarrassed, girls. He doesn’t want you to see him in his Little Mermaid PJs.”

  The three of them laugh.

  “Thanks a lot, Grandpa,” I growl through clenched teeth.

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Grandpa tells them. “You were right before. He’s actually naked. Walks around the house that way all the time. Says it’s how God made him. But that doesn’t make it any easier sitting at the breakfast table with him.”

  Valerie and Kelly crack up again. Grandpa’s having a great time.

  “Hey, Matt,” Valerie says. “Kelly and I are going to the mall this afternoon. Meet us at Guess at two o’clock, okay?”

  “Sure, fine.” Anything to get them to hang up.

  “But wear some clothes,” Kelly says, chuckling.

  I’ve nearly crawled my way to the stairs, when I hear the electronic bleep of the call ending.

  “You can get up now,” Grandpa says. “They’re gone. Come over here. I need your help.”

  I labor to my feet and approach the computer cautiously, just in case. But Valerie and Kelly have been replaced by a huge picture of a fluffy white kitten.

  Grandpa Arlo points to the screen. “I’m trying to make a found-kitten poster for Edith.”

  “You e
xpect me to help you after you embarrassed me like that?”

  “You embarrassed yourself, Kabuki boy. I was just trying to diffuse the situation with a little levity. What the hell is that on your face?”

  “It’s a mud mask.” I touch the thick hard plaster on my cheeks. “It’s supposed to help your complexion. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone.”

  “Oh, that’s your excuse? What else are you doing when you aren’t expecting to see anyone? Painting your nails, maybe? Shaving your legs?”

  “Mom got it for me.”

  He frowns. “There used to be such a clear line between boys and girls. I don’t know what the hell’s happening to the world.”

  I gesture at the monitor. “Why are you making a found-kitten poster? The kitten’s not even lost.”

  Grandpa lets out a long heavy sigh. “When Edith and I went to the goddamn pet store, the lady there said she’d never seen the kitten before in her life.”

  “Isn’t that why you had me call?”

  “Yes, but now Edith’s absolutely convinced that the kitten’s stolen.” Grandpa shakes his head. “I tell you. I don’t know how I get myself into these messes.”

  “Why don’t you just tell her it was you?”

  “You heard her going on about what kind of awful person would wrap an animal up in a box. I can’t have her thinking I’d do something like that.”

  “But you did.”

  “Anyway,” he says. “I told her we’d take a picture of the kitten and put up posters around town, and if nobody claimed the kitten in a couple of weeks, then she could keep it without feeling guilty.” Grandpa turns back to the computer and starts working the mouse. “Now I’ve gotten the damn kitten picture into the computer, but this program won’t let me type over it.”

  “Here. I’ll do it,” I say. “What do you want written on it?”

  Grandpa Arlo stands and lets me take over the chair. “It’s written there on the sticky note.” He points to a yellow square beside the keyboard. “‘Lost kitten found.’ Along with Edith’s name, phone number, and address.”

  “All right.” I click on the text box and drag it to the bottom. “What color do you want the words?”

  “Oh, I don’t care.” He waves dismissively. “It’s just bullshit, anyway. But make it look nice. I want Edith to see that I made an effort. I’m going to get some coffee. Do you want something? A loofah? Or some cucumbers to put over your eyes?”

  “Very funny.”

  He totters off to the kitchen as I finish up the poster. I use a big purple comic font so that it looks like Grandpa really went to town. I add a few cat paw prints in the corners for good measure. I think Mrs. Hoogenboom will be impressed.

  When Grandpa returns, he glances at the computer screen. “That looks pretty damn good.” He nods and takes a sip of his coffee. “I like how I put the little cat prints in there.”

  “How many posters do you want?”

  “Let’s run off an even dozen. We don’t want to waste too much paper.”

  I send the poster to the printer. As it whirs to life, all I can think about is why Kelly and Valerie invited me to the mall. The wishful-thinking part of me hopes it’s because Kelly wants to hang out, but the get-real part keeps asking the same question over and over.

  Did Tony say something about last night?

  I WASH THE MUD MASK OFF and examine my face in the mirror. The treatment doesn’t seem to have helped much, because the angry pimple is still protruding from my chin.

  I take a shower and dry off and attempt to do something with my hair. It needs to be cut, but I’ve been putting it off because I can’t find anyone who can make it look cool. The last hairdresser got really creative and ended up making me look like that woman from The Sound of Music. Right now there’s this one piece that keeps curling up, away from my ear, and I can’t get it to stay down. Why does everybody else always look like they’ve stepped out of a fashion magazine, and all I can manage is to look like I stepped out of a comic-book convention?

  Whatever. I give up. I throw on my most expensive jeans and a black polo. I use a little of Mom’s cover-up on my chin, which I’m sure Grandpa would love.

  I take the bus to the mall and make it there a few minutes before I have to meet the girls. I decide to buy a fruit smoothie to use as a prop. I never know what to do with my hands when I’m around girls, so it’ll be good to have something to hold.

  I come around the corner, and there’s Kelly and Valerie sitting on a bench, surrounded by several Guess shopping bags. There’s a lump of dread in my stomach, but I play it cool as I approach, sipping my drink.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey there.” Valerie smiles. “How’s your head feeling?”

  “Better. Thanks.” I touch the bump by my hairline. “That ice you gave me really helped.”

  Kelly smirks. “Val told me what Tony did. Asshole. I didn’t think he’d go all ballistic on you like that. I was just trying to get him back a little.”

  My belly relaxes because this means they haven’t heard what really happened at the party.

  “It’s no big deal. He snuck up on me, otherwise I would have put him down with some of my Jackie Chan moves.” I glance over my shoulder at the store window. “So. What’d you guys buy?”

  Kelly peeks into each of the Guess bags. “Just a couple of tops and some shorts and a pair of jeans and some shoes. Oh, and a cute jacket. It was a light shopping day.” She laughs.

  “What about you?” I ask Valerie.

  “I didn’t get anything.”

  “Val doesn’t shop. She’s saving her pennies for college,” Kelly says. “It’s so boring.”

  Valerie’s neck goes pink. “I shop. Sometimes.”

  “It’s okay, Val. You don’t have to apologize. We’re just different. I’m the girlie one and you’re the sensible one. Just know that when you’re a rich doctor someday and I’m poor and homeless, you’ll have to bail me out.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Oh, please. You’re a giver, Val. That’s what you do.” Kelly stands and grabs her bags. “Come on. Let’s go to DeLuca’s. I need a white-chocolate mocha, like, yesterday.”

  We make our way through the mall toward the coffee shop. I sip my smoothie and try to come up with something to say. I don’t know why I get so tongue-tied when I’m around Kelly. She’s just a girl. Like anyone else. Except exponentially hotter. I’m about to ask them if they’ve seen any cool movies this summer, when Kelly leans over to Valerie and me.

  “Don’t look now,” Kelly whispers. “Hot Dog Helen’s here. Ugh, like she could ever wear anything from Betsey Johnson.”

  I try to look without seeming like I am. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Helen Harriwick, a round-faced girl with stringy brown hair and braces, staring in the window of Betsey Johnson.

  “I feel bad for her,” Valerie says.

  Kelly groans. “You feel bad for everyone.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s just got to be hard to always have people whispering about you.”

  “I heard it wasn’t true,” I say. “I heard that Craig Altman started that rumor when she wouldn’t let him cheat off her on a math test.”

  “Whatever.” Kelly sighs. “She’s still a freak. And she should, like, get away from Betsey Johnson before people start to think that her kind shop there.”

  And it’s as if Helen can hear Kelly from all the way across the mall, because at that very moment she turns away from the store and walks off.

  I suddenly realize that this is how it’s going to be for Coop, Sean, and me if people find out about the Peeping Tom episode. Not to mention our stint as cross-dressers. What are they going to call us? The Three Perverteers? I’m going to have to beg my family to move, for sure.

  When we get to DeLuca’s, I dump my smoothie and order a white-chocolate mocha, like Kelly. I want her to think that we like the same sorts of things, though I’m not sure that she even notices. She just gets her coffee and finds us an
empty table.

  “Aren’t you getting anything?” I ask Valerie as I wait for my drink.

  She shakes her head. “Too much caffeine makes me shaky. Maybe you’ll give me a taste of yours. As repayment for my doctor services last night.”

  “Sure. Seems like I’m getting off cheap, though.”

  Valerie smiles. “Consider it a down payment.”

  When my drink’s up, we join Kelly at the table. She’s on her cell and she’s rolling her eyes.

  “Whatever you have to say, Tony, I don’t want to hear it,” Kelly insists.

  Tony? Oh shit. This is not good. My belly resumes its earlier twisted-up yoga position.

  “My voice mail’s working just fine. I heard the eight thousand messages you left this morning. And I got the gazillion texts. Maybe you should get a clue.” And with that, Kelly snaps her phone shut and tosses it on the table. “God!”

  “You should change your number,” Valerie says.

  “Please. I’m not gonna change my entire life because Tony’s a lunatic.”

  “Why’s he calling so much?” I ask, taking a “casual” sip of my mocha and searing the hell out my mouth.

  “Pffff. Like I even care. Honestly, you have to feel sorry for him. The moron can’t even take a hint.” Kelly pulls the lid off her mocha. “Let’s change the subject. What do you want to talk about, Mark?”

  “Matt,” I say.

  “Who’s Matt?” Kelly asks. “Do I know him?”

  “He’s Matt,” Valerie chides. “You called him Mark.”

  Kelly laughs. “Oh. That’s funny. I thought we were going to rip on some guy named Matt.” Kelly blows the steam off the surface of her coffee. “You look more like a Mark.”

  “You think?” I ask, because I don’t want to embarrass her any more than she probably is.

  “Anyway, don’t listen to me.” Kelly finally takes a sip of her drink. “I can’t even remember my own name sometimes.”

  Kelly’s cell phone vibrates on the table. She grabs it and looks at the screen. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

  “Just turn it off,” Valerie says.