by Yee, Lisa
“Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam,” I whisper to myself in Klingon.
Translation: Today is a good day to die.
I slip my Captain’s Log into my backpack. I’m trying to make myself invisible in the far corner of the room, behind a dressmaker’s dummy. There’s only one design team left to go. I wonder if I should wait or hurl myself into a Dumpster right now. I’m already dressed for it. Emily won’t even look at me. Instead, she’s sitting near the front with her hands folded in her lap, staring straight ahead. There’s a lump of shame wedged in my throat that’s growing so big, I’m sure I’m going to suffocate and die. Emily worked so hard, and not only did I embarrass myself, but I’m sure I embarrassed her too.
“Max, are you ready?” Mrs. Wilder calls out. She’s wearing a dress that looks like a bathrobe. I’d like to see her wearing clothes made out of garbage bags.
I don’t see Ramen anywhere. Max changes the CD and when the music begins to blast, she yells, “There is only one clear winner … BATMAN!”
The back door is kicked open and everyone gasps as Ramen does a flying leap into the room. He looks exactly like Batman, only smaller. The mask is perfect, the cape flows, and Max even made gloves and gave Ramen muscles where there were none before.
“This is the Batman of The Dark Knight, film version,” Max informs the judges. You can tell by her voice that she knows how good it looks.
As Ramen/Batman struts around to the music, Ms. McKenna jumps up and starts to do what she claims is the official “Bat dance.” Then, if you can believe this, Principal Haycorn and Mrs. Wilder start dancing too. It’s surreal, like in Star Trek: TOS, “The Naked Time,” where an alien disease contaminates the crew and everyone starts acting weird.
Once the judges have calmed down, the winning team is announced. From the way Ramen and Max are jumping up and down, you’d think they won the lottery. Everyone crowds around Ramen to admire his costume. “You make a great Batman,” Troy tells him. He’s still wearing his garbage bag. So is Patrick.
“That’s true,” Ramen says glumly. “I tried to get Max to make a Darth Vader costume, but she refused. You know how she is.” They both nod in unison.
“Darth Vader has asthma,” Troy comments.
Patrick slugs him.
“Ramen,” Max says coyly, “you look so nice. You ought to dress like Batman every day.”
“In your dreams,” he replies. He winks at her and flexes his fake muscles.
Emily goes up to congratulate them. She has a lot of class. Too bad her partner was such a loser. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hates me. Right now even I hate me.
I grab my backpack and duck out of the room.
The hallway is empty. When I turn a corner I hear, “Well, well, what do we have here?”
Slowly, I turn around. Great. It’s the small Gorn, flanked by the other two. What are they doing out of class?
“I’m not sure what it is,” the Gorn leader comments as he looks me up and down.
Suddenly, a horrible realization washes over me. I am still wearing my garbage bag gown. I take a step back. The Gorn each take a step forward. I take another step back. They take another step forward. I’m not sure how long this dance can last.
I take a few strides before starting to run. Shoot! The gown keeps tripping me up. I turn the corner, only to find them gaining on me. I feel like I’m running in a swimming pool. As I make my way down Mission Street, they do too. I can hear them panting. I dart down an alley, crouch behind a Dumpster, and try to rip the gown off. It’s hard to do with so much tape on it.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like your dress? It’s so pretty,” an ominous voice says. I jerk my head up to see the Gorn closing in on me. Their eyes sparkle with anticipation. I’m trapped. As I try to walk past, the middle Gorn puts his giant hand on my shoulder. “Wait a minute, little lady,” he says. “Leaving the party so soon?”
Even though I can see it coming, the first hit surprises me. I double over and grip my stomach. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” I sputter as I try to hold my guts in. Can’t let them know how much it hurts. Can’t let them know. Can’t be weak. Like Spock, I need to be in control of my emotions.
“What was that?” the hulking Gorn leader remarks. “Did she say something?”
“She said we could do better,” the small Gorn cackles, revealing his tiny sharp teeth. He makes a fist and swings. My head snaps to the left. My jaw is throbbing. I reach to touch it. It feels wet and slippery. Is that blood on my hand? The Gorn stare at me as if waiting for me to do something. I refuse to cry, even though that’s what I want to do most.
I make eye contact with the middle Gorn. “What’s the matter with you?” I spit out some blood. “Scared to hit me? Are you the only one with a conscience? Come on, go ahead. Come on, hit the geek kid. Hit him. Even if you kill him, no one will notice he’s missing.”
He doesn’t appear excited and hyped up, like his brothers do. A look that could pass for sorrow flashes in his eyes.
“Hit him,” the Gorn leader orders. His voice is flat.
Panic sets in as fear threatens to consume me. I keep pushing it down. Pushing it down, like Spock. Must block it out. Hide all emotions.
The middle Gorn blinks, and when he opens his eyes, the sorrow has been replaced by a cold hard glare. He makes a fist and BOOM. I’m down. The other two get in some good kicks and punches until one says, “This is boring. Let’s go graffiti the gas station.”
I lay still for the longest time to make sure they’re really gone. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever. Every inch of me hurts. My knees wobble when I stand. I throw up. My jaw is throbbing. I could use Dr. “Bones” McCoy right about now. At least the trash bags I’m wearing have kept the blood and barf off my clothes. Slowly I peel the gown off, then drag myself past RadioShack, and the Dinosaur Farm, and Stout’s Coffee Shop without looking up.
Dad’s nowhere in sight. Good. Mom’s listening to an audiobook about Paris. “Bonjour, Marley. Are you up for going to the driving range tonight?” she says when I enter the apartment.
For once I’m glad my mother can’t see me. I straighten up. My bones ache. “I have a lot of homework,” I tell her. “I have a history test.”
“Okay,” she says. “Another time then. Everything all right, honey?”
“Everything’s great.”
“Marley,” Mom says, sounding stern. I hold my breath. “Where’s my hug?”
I exhale. It hurts just to breathe. “Later,” I say.
I head to the freezer and take out the peas to ice my eye. Then I hit the bathroom. I lock the door and turn on the water. As always, it takes forever for the shower to warm up. Stupid old pipes. Digger’s dad is right. The Rialto is falling apart. So am I. After I’ve cleaned up, I wipe the fog off the mirror and assess the damage. My jaw is swelling up. My left eye is swollen. It’s a black eye for sure. My stomach is sore and bruised. My arms are red, giving way to blue, which will turn to an ugly purplish black.
I look hideous. It’s true what they say about me at school. I’m such a loser.
It’s almost 10:30 P.M. I’m in the Transporter Room with my Star Trek action figures.
“Marley,” Mom says. I didn’t even hear her come down. “You’re awfully quiet. Is everything okay?”
When she starts to run her fingers through my hair, I wince and pull away from her. “Everything’s fine,” I say.
“You didn’t even eat dinner. Is this about Emily?” she asks. “She seems awfully sweet. And Millicent was nice too. Why don’t you invite them over again? Maybe they’d like to watch a movie from the projection room. Or we can open up the balcony and —”
“Mom! Everything’s fine, okay?” My voice rises. “I just need some time alone. Do you mind? Sheesh.”
My mother turns around to leave. I can’t see her face, but I can hear her hurt. “All right, Marley. I’ll give you your space.”
I return to my action figures. Captain Kirk is paralyzed lik
e Christopher Pike in Season One, Episode 11, TOS. Even though they are under attack by the Klingon, the Enterprise crew doesn’t fight back.
I spend the rest of the weekend avoiding my father. I can sort of hide my black eye with my hair, but there’s nothing I can do about my swollen jaw.
“Marley, it’s dinnertime,” my mother calls out. Huh? I must have fallen asleep. “Please take this to your dad.” She hands me a plate of salmon, green beans, and brown rice.
My father is thumbing through a worn-out American Film Institute magazine as the projector rolls. I keep my head down and hand him his dinner. “Thanks, son,” he says. I am about to escape free and clear when Dad stops me. “Marley, hold on a minute. Come over here in the light.”
As gently as my mother would, he takes my face in his hands. Dad brushes away my hair and winces when he looks at me. I turn away.
“What happened?”
“I fell down. Can I go?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Who did this to you?”
“No one.”
“Sit with me, Marley,” my father says, half asking, half ordering.
For the longest time Dad just eats his dinner. I watch the movie flicker on the screen. It’s Rebel Without a Cause starring James Dean. There are more people than usual in the audience. Even though he’s been dead for decades, James Dean can still pull in a crowd.
As James Dean and his friends are being chased by bullies, my father puts down his utensils. “The scar near my eye?” he says. He’s staring at the screen and at first I think he’s talking to James Dean. “When I was a kid, there was this boy — his name was Karl Bricknell. He was almost two years older than everyone else in our grade, so of course, he was bigger than the rest of us — and meaner. I figured that maybe he ate barbed wire for breakfast and that set him in a permanently bad mood.
“Anyway, one day I guess I looked at him funny or something, and he decided to do something about it. I remember what he said to me. He said, ‘Sandelski, I’m going to wipe those dimples off your face once and for all.’ When I didn’t respond he said, ‘What’s the matter, Sandelski, are you a chicken?’ Then he made some squawking sounds and beat me to a pulp. All because he hated it when I was happy.
“He never did get rid of my dimples, but he left me with my scar — a parting gift that I can’t exchange or return.”
James Dean is running around an old mansion. The bad guys and the cops are outside and he’s trying to protect his friends.
“Did Karl get in trouble?” I ask.
My father laughs, but it sounds forced. “He didn’t have to get in trouble,” he says. “He was trouble.”
“So what happened after that?”
Dad is quiet and I’m not sure if he heard me. James Dean is still on the run.
“Nothing,” Dad finally says.
“Did he beat you up again?”
“Yes, a couple more times. I wish I had the courage to tell him to leave me alone, but I didn’t.”
“Did Grandma and Grandpa know what was happening?”
My father turns away from me. “If they did, they didn’t say anything. We were all good at pretending. Instead, I kept my head down thinking that if I couldn’t see Karl, he couldn’t see me. It wasn’t until a few years later that I ran into your mother — literally. She taught me to look up again.” My father stops and stares out at the screen. A shot is fired as James Dean’s friend confronts the cops. Dad continues, “Marley, do you want to tell me who did this to you?”
I shake my head.
“All right, son. But if it happens again, we have to do something about it. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Don’t tell Mom, okay?”
He lets out a deep sigh. I can see his eyes go from my swollen jaw up to my black eye. “Okay. There’s no point in getting her all worked up.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I tell him.
I may not be able to protect myself, but at least I can protect my mother. Because knowing that I am hurt would kill her.
On Monday, I keep my head down. My jaw still hurts, especially when I laugh. Luckily for me, I don’t laugh much. In my pocket is my action figure of Dr. Leonard McCoy, a.k.a. Bones. If the Gorn decide to beat me up again, Bones will come in handy.
“Okay, that’s it! We have to go to Principal Haycorn!” Max is livid. It’s lunchtime and she hasn’t even taken a bite of her teriyaki chicken. Instead, she’s chewing me out, like I had a choice about getting beat up.
“Marley, you’ve always looked ugly,” Ramen notes as he studies my face in the sunlight, “but now it’s worse, if that’s even possible.”
I glare at Ramen and point to my black eye. “This could have been yours!”
Ramen quiets down and twirls his noodles with his plastic fork. We both know I’m right.
Other than Max and Ramen, no one has mentioned my injuries. I guess that’s the benefit of being invisible — no one can see that you’re in pain.
“If you don’t tell someone about them, then I will,” Max threatens. “We can’t let them get away with this.”
“Do you know what they do to people who squeal?” I ask. “They kill them.”
Ramen nods. “They’ll make it look like it was a boating accident or a suicide.”
I nibble on my tuna salad sandwich. It hurts when I chew. This morning, my mother gave me a really tight good-bye hug. It was so painful I had to do everything I could to keep from screaming.
“Look at him. He’s all beat up,” Max insists. I can hear the anger in her voice. “We can’t just pretend this didn’t happen!”
“SHUT UP!” I shout, startling everyone, including myself. My fists are clenched as I glare at Max. “I don’t want you to tell anyone. This is a Kobayashi Maru! Don’t you get it? It’s a Kobayashi Maru!”
As I pace, Max asks Ramen, “What’s a Kobayashi Maru?”
“It’s a stupid Star Trek test where there’s a no-win situation,” he explains. “It was designed so that the Trek dudes could experience fear in the face of death.”
Max comes over to me. “We can beat it, Marley, Kobayashi Maru or not …”
The more she babbles, the tighter I clench my fists. Finally, the anger rises up from the pit of my stomach and I cut her off. “This is my business, not yours. Quit telling me what to do! Who do you think you are?”
Max looks shocked. She blinks as if holding back tears. “Sure, Marley, we’ll do it your way. It’s just that … that … I’m your friend.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. I walk away quickly. I’m not used to someone at school caring about what happens to me.
By the time sixth period rolls around, I’m ready to go home. Mr. Jiang is due back today, so it means no more Emily Ebers. Not that she’s ever going to speak to me again. Every part of me hurts, especially my heart. I can’t believe how much I let her down. I’ve heard a couple people whisper in the hallway, “That’s the boy who wore a dress.”
Troy is sitting at his desk picking a lock as he debates the outcome of a battle between Jawas and Ferengi with Patrick, when Mr. Jiang strolls into class. “Hello, AV clubbers!” he bellows.
“Mr. Jiang!” we cry as we crowd around him. He looks like he’s lost weight. The only one who stands back is Max.
“It’s going to take more than a burst appendix to get rid of me! Hey, give the man some room to breathe.”
We step back as he walks toward Max. She’s got her head down and is punching the keys on the old Amiga computer that Mr. Jiang keeps around for kicks. “Max,” he says softly. She looks up. “Thank you.”
There is silence. I can see Max’s lower lip quiver.
“Anytime,” she answers.
“I wanted you to be the first to see this,” Mr. Jiang says, handing her a glass jar with something floating inside. She looks confused. “It’s my appendix,” he explains.
Max stares at it before breaking into a huge grin. “Totally coo
l!” she says.
We crowd around her. It looks like something a dog might cough up.
“Okay then!” Mr. Jiang says, taking his appendix back and setting it on his desk among the replacement keyboards, wires, and other spare parts. “Let’s get to work. We have a PTA meeting Wednesday night. Whose turn is it for PTA duty?” Everyone looks at each other. “Marley?” Mr. Jiang says. “I think it’s you this time. Seven P.M. in the library.”
I zone out for the rest of AV Club. I just want to get to my Transporter Room. I wonder if the Gorn will be waiting for me after school to finish me off. I reach into my pocket to make sure my Bones action figure is still there. When I find him, I grip hard. The more I think about the Gorn, the tighter I grip.
The bell rings. “Marley,” Mr. Jiang calls out. “Please stay. I want to talk to you about the PTA meeting.” He waits until the door closes.
I take my hand out of my pocket. When I unclench my fingers from Bones, his shape has left an indentation in my hand.
“What happened to your face? Don’t tell me you had an operation too. Maybe those bruises are from a face-lift?”
I start to laugh, but it hurts.
Mr. Jiang gets serious. “Are you in trouble, Marley?”
I shake my head.
“Is everything all right at home?”
I nod.
“You didn’t have an accident, did you?”
I shake my head again.
Mr. Jiang looks pained. “Okay, well, if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jiang,” I say. “It’s good to have you back. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Breakfast tastes bland. I sprinkle more sugar on my oatmeal, but zilch. Nothing. When Dad’s not looking, I pour the entire sugar container into my bowl and push it around with my spoon. It looks like quicksand and tastes disgusting.
I dump it all into the sink.
“Take a jacket,” Mom calls out as I head toward the door.
I step out of the Rialto and it looks like I’ve walked into Sherlock Holmes’s London. It’s so foggy. I zip up my sweatshirt jacket and put on the hood. There’s a shadowy figure waiting for me at the corner. It’s not Dr. Watson.
