The Quick Fix

by Jack D. Ferraiolo

  “Because I know why you want to help.”

  I leaned closer to the door as their yelling transitioned into talking.

  “No, you don’t,” he said. “You think you do—”

  “No, I know I do,” she said. “You’re helping so you can prove to me that you were right. So you can shove my nose in it. I made a bad decision. There. I said it. Are you happy now?”

  “No, I’m not, damn it! I’m not happy! And I don’t care about that! About any of it, for Chrissakes! Will you just listen to me for one second?!?”

  I opened the door and walked inside. “I’ll listen to you for one second,” I said. “Several, if you need a little more time.”

  Mr. Carling’s face was about two inches away from my mom’s; he had a firm grip on her shoulders. He let go and backed off. It looked bad, but Mom didn’t look worried, not in the least. She looked more confused.

  “Matt?”

  “Mom … Mr. Carling.”

  Mr. Carling just stood there, trying to decide what to do with his hands. Putting them in his pockets were his first and sixth choices.

  He was wearing a suit that was worth two months of groceries for my mom and me. He was good-looking in a “I used to be more good-looking” kind of way. He opened his mouth to speak, realized he wasn’t sure what to say, and closed his mouth without saying a word.

  “You were grabbing and yelling at my mom in our kitchen,” I said. “The least you could do is say hello.”

  “Matt. Watch it.” My mom tried to sound stern, but I could tell she was playing defense.

  “Watch what?” I asked. “And be specific, so I know what to look for.”

  “Your mom and I were discussing her future,” Mr. Carling said. He was trying to regain the upper hand by putting on the arrogant, domineering identity he usually wore. It didn’t seem to fit him at the moment.

  “I was late for work and Mr. Carling had to come look for me,” my mom said.

  “Didn’t he think to call first?” I asked.

  “He did. I didn’t answer the phone.”

  “But you let him in the house.”

  “Matt, I am really not in the mood for this.”

  “Well, what are you in the mood for?” I asked. “Me? I’m in the mood for an explanation that makes even a little bit of sense.”

  Mr. Carling’s face broke into an odd little smile. “You let him talk to you this way?” he asked, but there was nothing accusatory in the way he said it. The arrogant tone was gone; he sounded more impressed and amused. I looked at my mom, who looked like she was trying not to laugh. It was my turn to be confused.

  “I should go,” Mr. Carling said before I had a chance to ask another question. “And, uh … this is your final warning, Kathy,” he said, trying to sound angry. It just sounded fake. “Do it again, and you’re fired. You hear me?” My mom was still trying not to laugh as she nodded yes.

  Mr. Carling left, slamming the door behind him, but even that seemed fake.

  “Okay,” I said, “now you’ve really lost me.”

  “Seems pretty cut-and-dried to me,” she said, making a concerted effort to squelch her smile.

  “You want to talk about it?” I asked.

  “No. You?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you want to talk about it,” she said, “but you’re bound by our agreement. You’re not ready to tell me what’s going on in your world, but you want to know what’s going on in mine.”

  A while back, my mom and I made an agreement: I agreed not to ask her about how her odd relationship with Mr. Carling was affecting her life; she agreed not to ask me what was going on at school that was causing me to get into fights. It was an uneasy truce, and neither one of us was very comfortable with it … but we kept it. However, I was getting the feeling that this truce had an expiration date, and it was rapidly approaching. It was already starting to smell bad.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m not ready to talk about it. It’s just that I didn’t expect you to bring your secrets home with you.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Is it about Dad, and why he left?”

  She looked away from me. “There’s no way to answer that,” she said.

  “A simple yes or no will do.”

  “Not in this case it won’t.”

  “Just pick the one that more closely fits, then,” I said.

  “Why? It won’t do you any good. You won’t know any more about it.”

  “I don’t know anything now, so what’s the difference?” I asked.

  “It’s worse to think you know something … you make all sorts of false assumptions when you think you know something.”

  “So what should I assume about Mr. Carling being here?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You expect me to buy that?”

  “What’s going on at school?” she countered. “Does it have something to do with all the ‘jobs’ you take and all that money you keep bringing home?”

  My eyes got wide.

  “Yeah … didn’t think I knew about that, did you? I swear Matt, I know I’m busy, but I’m trying not to be insulted by how clueless you think I am.”

  “I don’t think you’re clueless,” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “I said, I don’t think you’re clueless.”

  She took a deep breath. “I know.”

  We looked at each other. I felt the anger drain out of me, like it was air and I was a tire with a slow leak.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “We could tell each other everything.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You first.”

  She smiled. I smiled. Even when we didn’t really trust each other, at least we could still crack each other up. “Any other ideas?” I asked.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Kind of.”

  “You want to go into town? Get something to eat?”

  I didn’t say anything. Walking around town was something that made us feel closer together, and closer to my dad’s memory. I wasn’t sure I was in the state of mind to feel that right now.

  “Yeah,” she said, reading me like a one-page picture book. “Me, neither.”

  “I have some homework I need to get to,” I said.

  “Yeah … of course … Listen, I should probably check in at the restaurant, see if I can help out. You know, at least try to keep my job,” she said.

  “Right. Yeah.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll see you tonight.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She looked at me. Her eyes started to get damp, but she left before the dam broke. I sat at the kitchen table, listening to our decrepit car drive away.

  next morning, my mom and I met in the kitchen. We didn’t talk, just sipped our beverages.

  I almost told her everything. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I was exhausted or that my mom’s face was puffy, maybe from crying. All I knew was that I was tired of this distance between us, tired of not knowing and not telling. I wanted it over.

  She must’ve sensed something was up with me, because whenever I looked at her, she had a strange expression on her face. It was sincere but also a little smiley. I couldn’t tell if it was caring or pre-triumphant because she could tell that I was inches away from cracking.

  I opened my mouth, not sure how I was going to begin.

  “Stop,” she said, before I could even get started. “Don’t tell me anything right now.” She took a sip of coffee.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said with mock arrogance. “I was nowhere near about to crack and tell you everything right now while sipping my orange juice.”

  She smiled. “You shouldn’t. Not now. If you tell me, then I have to tell you, and then neither one of us is going to get to where we need to go today.”

  “So …?”

  She smiled. “Tomorrow’
s Thursday. I have the night off. We’ll have a party. You and me. We’ll hang out, eat something good that’s bad for us, and then, when the clock strikes nine, we’ll air our dirty laundry. Sound good?”

  I smiled. My heart tripped a couple of times just thinking about talking about Vinny, the Outs, and everything else that went on at school. “I don’t think it’s ever going to sound good,” I said, “but it does sound right.”

  “That’ll have to do.”

  “Amen.”

  She wrapped me up in a big hug. When we unclasped, she grabbed the side of my head and planted a big kiss on my forehead. “Ahhh, mio figlio,” she said. “Ti amo … ti amo!” She smiled at me, one of her thousand-watt ones, and pinched my cheeks. Before I could ask her what she had said, and in what language, she was already on her way to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.

  I figured it out an hour later, as I was walking to school. She was speaking Italian. The answer just popped into my head, and for some reason I knew it was right. But why was my mom suddenly speaking to me in Italian? I had no idea what to make of it.

  When I got to school, my brain started ticking off the names of the kids I didn’t want to run into: Liz, Vinny, Jenny Finnegan. Cynthia I wasn’t sure about. Part of me wanted to see her more than anyone else in the world; the other part of me was scared to death of her. I was so preoccupied, I almost ran into the girl in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you. My mind was orbiting Satur—”

  She turned around, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize her. Her blond hair stuck out like uncooked spaghetti. Her skin was pale and blotchy, and there were small clusters of pimples on her forehead and right cheek. Her eyes were still bright blue, but their gaze was more piercing and uncomfortable than attractive. Her body was barely visible under her baggy, shapeless clothes.

  “Melissa?” I said.

  Before I could say anything else, her eyes filled up with tears. I reached out for her, to try to stop her from running away, but she turned and ran off anyway.

  “Melissa!” I called after her. She threaded her way through the hall like a person afraid to touch anyone. Kids glanced at her as she passed but didn’t pay her much attention. By the time the shock wore off, she was gone. I wasn’t sure if I had just witnessed a reminder of my duty or an omen of my future.

  I trudged over to my locker. Cynthia was already there, waiting, leaning against it in a pose that mirrored Melissa’s from a couple of days ago. You can tell your life has taken a drastic turn when you see a gorgeous cheerleader waiting for you and you’re not sure it’s a good thing. I approached her cautiously. She saw me coming and straightened up.

  “I just wanted to apologize again for yesterday,” she said. She looked at me, then cast her eyes to the floor. “I didn’t mean to come between you and Liz.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “Well, good, then,” she said, and smiled. “Because I’m not sure I’m sorry.” She took a step closer to me. I noticed for the first time that she was a half-inch taller than me, adding to the list of her intimidating attributes. She leaned toward me, her lips as close to mine as they could get without actually touching. “In fact, I know I’m not.”

  My heart thumped in my chest. “Interesting,” I said, my voice only cracking on every other syllable. “I suppose it’s only a matter of time before I figure out your angle.”

  Her expression changed to one of confusion, but she stood her ground. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure there’s a reason why you’ve decided to stand this close to me, but I don’t think it has anything to do with my charm.”

  She pulled her head back but only a little. “You really should have more confidence in yourself,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, past experience and the last couple of days beg to differ.”

  As if on cue, Vinny, Jenny, and three of Vinny’s goons came around the corner. “Oh, my,” Vinny said. “Looks like we’re interrupting something special.”

  Cynthia took a step away from me and turned to Vinny. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said.

  “Vincent Biggio,” he said, holding out his hand. Cynthia shook it politely. “And we have, my dear, but I wouldn’t expect you to remember. I was a different boy then.”

  “Different how?” she asked.

  He smiled. “In every way possible. Now, if you will excuse us, Matthew and I have a matter to discuss.”

  “I like discussions,” she said in a way that managed to be innocent and defiant at the same time.

  Vinny chuckled. “You and I met at the beginning of last year. One of the cheerleaders—I believe her name was Gretchen—made a rather annoying habit of calling me a big fat pig whenever she got the chance. She made the mistake of doing that in your presence once, and you proceeded to ‘rip her a new one,’ as they say. This, even though she was a year ahead of you and a bit of a ‘queen bee.’”

  “I know what it’s like to be picked on for something you can’t control,” she said.

  Vinny looked her up and down. I didn’t like it. “Yes, well, it seems as if you’ve managed nicely. Anyway, I’ve always been grateful, which is why I’ll say to you politely, please leave.”

  “And if I don’t?” she asked.

  I looked at her, confused as to where she was going with this.

  Vinny chuckled again. “Then Michelle will ask. But I’m afraid she’s not as nice as I am.” One of the goons behind Vinny took a step forward. She looked like the only thing that she used her head for was cracking walnuts.

  “It’s okay,” I said to Cynthia. “Talking to the likes of Vinny is part of my job description.”

  “I’m insulted, Matthew,” he said. “You should know that there are no ‘likes of me.’ I’m one of a kind.”

  Cynthia shot me a look like she didn’t want to leave me alone. I gave her a little smile that tried to say that I would be fine, but I’m not sure it did. Maybe because I wasn’t sure I would be.

  “All right,” she said, even though she didn’t look happy about it. “I’ll see you later.” She shot a look at Vinny that seemed to say that she’d better see me later.

  “Why, Matthew,” he said, when Cynthia was finally out of sight, “I do believe you’re stepping up in the world.”

  “You couldn’t expect my charms to be a secret for long. Either that or she has an undisclosed head injury.”

  “Yes, well, cheerleading is a dangerous sport,” he said. “She’s feisty. It’s been a while since anyone’s quasi-threatened me.”

  “Is there something you want,” I asked, “or are you just here to interrupt my climb up the social ladder?”

  “Time for you to earn your money.”

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “No need for you to go to the trouble,” Vinny said. “I’ve already said yes for you.” He waved his right hand in a casual gesture. Harold stepped forward and shoved the duffel bag into my locker, then gave me a little wink as he stepped back.

  “There’s going to be a fire drill after lunch,” Vinny said, “before fifth period. Before the alarm goes off, you need to put that bag in locker number 416. It will be open. After you put the bag in, spin the lock, then leave. Do not hang around. Do not try to catch whoever is doing this.”

  “You don’t want to know who it is?”

  “I’ll find out soon enough, but today is not that day. He or she can watch the locker all day long. And they can pick up the bag whenever they think the coast is clear. They don’t have to do it today, or tomorrow, or even next week. They can wait until whenever. And I’m assuming they’ll be patient. That’s all right. I can be patient, too.” A smile crept across his face. It was the smile of someone who savors the destruction of his enemies.

  “Seems a little early to give me the stash, no?” I asked. “Are you sure you trust me?”

  Vinny laughed. “Don’t screw this up, Matthe
w. I would hate to put you in the Outs over such a mundane task.”

  Vinny and his goons left. I opened the locker door, grabbed the bag, and unzipped it. Inside were the same contents as yesterday: $256 and four boxes of candy. I zipped the bag back up, closed my locker door, and spun the lock. I leaned my head against the door and looked down at the ground. This felt wrong. Very, very wrong. Then again, that was just stating the obvious. Has performing a blackmail drop ever felt right?

  tried to get through the rest of my classes, but I was too distracted. I was nervous and full of dread, like someone who walks on-stage to perform a piano concerto and suddenly remembers that he never actually learned how to play the piano. I kept making trips back to my locker, to make sure the bag was still there. If someone stole it before I made the drop, I’d just squirt myself in the pants and dance the hula through the halls.

  As if that wasn’t keeping my boxers in a bunch, I kept seeing Liz. It was almost as if she was haunting me. I’d look down a hallway crowded with kids and her face would just appear, somewhere in the back. She’d catch my eye, then look away. A second later, she’d be gone.

  By the time lunch rolled around, I was in no mood for anyone. All I wanted to do was sit alone and brood. Poor Matt Stevens, full of melancholy and bologna, alone in a world full of criminals. By the time Kevin sat down across from me, I was ready to write an epic poem in my own honor.

  “You’re determined to keep bending your luck until it breaks,” he said.

  “If you have a better idea of what I should’ve done, considering my options, I’m all ears.”

  He leaned in, his face pulled in tight to show how serious he was. “If something goes wrong, he’s going to come down on you like a ton of Salisbury steaks.”

  “I believe the saying is ‘like a ton of bricks.’”

  “Have you tried the Salisbury steak here?” Kevin said. “They make bricks feel like down pillows.”

  I smiled, but there wasn’t much behind it. “So, is this a setup?”

  Kevin gave the question some thought. “No,” he finally answered, “not in a traditional sense. It’s not like Vinny’s absolutely sure something’s going to happen at the drop and he wants you to bear the brunt of it.”