King of the Screwups

by K L Going

  Suddenly Pete slams my back against the wall so hard the air thrusts out of my lungs. I close my eyes.

  “Pete, calm down.”

  “Petey . . .”

  “Shut up.” Aunt Pete pushes harder, pinning me against the wall. “What are you trying to do?” he says. “Are you trying to make me kick you out? Is that it?”

  I turn my head, but Pete moves until he’s in my face. “Well, I’ll tell you again that I’m not going to kick you out and I’m not going to let you throw your life away, so you can give it up. You got that? Now you’d better tell me right now that you didn’t sign a single goddamn paper.”

  I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. My breathing is shallow and I can barely shake my head. Aunt Pete loosens his grip and I slide down the wall.

  “Why do you care if I join?” I say, but it comes out choked. “Why would anyone care? I’m just going to fail at anything else.”

  Aunt Pete stops; he’s breathing hard.

  “How can you say that?” he asks.

  “Because it’s true,” I snap. “And I wish you’d quit acting like I have potential or something, giving me that stupid present . . .”

  Pete slides down the wall across from me. He reaches over and grabs my hand.

  “Liam,” he says desperately, “you do have potential. I know you do. I’ve never stopped thinking that from the moment you walked into my trailer. And I damn well do care if you throw your life away. You’re my nephew, for Christ’s sake. I love you.”

  I honestly can’t remember the last time anyone said that they love me.

  “But Dad doesn’t? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Aunt Pete’s face melts, but then he takes a slow, deep breath.

  “I never said that your father doesn’t love you.”

  I run my fingers through my hair. It’s hot in the trailer and the air is so still I can’t breathe.

  “I don’t know when things changed for your dad,” Pete says, “but somewhere along the line they did. Your father wanted to marry your mom for all the wrong reasons, and she wanted to marry him for all the wrong reasons, and he took it out on both of you . . .”

  Things are going way past maximum fucked up.

  “I don’t want to talk about this. You don’t know anything. Dad loves her. Us. You just hate him because he hates the band.”

  Pete closes his eyes.

  “Is that what Allan told you?” he asks. “That we stopped speaking because of the band?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Dad never said that. Mom said that.”

  This time Pete looks surprised. He runs his hand over the stubble on his chin.

  “Your father stopped talking to me because I told your mother to leave him,” he says abruptly. “It had nothing to do with the band. Ever. It has to do with how he treats both of you.”

  I bite my lip.

  “That’s not true,” I say at last. “He doesn’t . . .”

  Aunt Pete leans across the carpet. “Honestly, Liam, I’ve never understood why your mother lets him treat her the way he does, and I don’t know why you let him treat you that way, either. I’ve never understood.”

  My hands start to shake.

  “Get out,” I whisper.

  Aunt Pete moves until he’s sitting directly in front of me.

  “No,” he says. “I did that once. I’m not doing it again.”

  “Leave me alone,” I repeat. “Please.”

  “No,” Pete says again. “I won’t, because you’re a great kid and for the last five weeks I’ve watched you trying to turn yourself into someone else. Your father, maybe? I don’t know, but I know that everything you succeed at you tell me is worthless and everything you screw up you tell me was an accident, but there aren’t that many accidents in life.

  “I never should have let your parents push me away, but I did, and it was a mistake . . . So, if you think there’s a chance in hell I’m letting you go now, you’d better think again. Do you understand that? There is nothing you could do that would make me kick you out. Not a party or getting thrown in jail or some stupid radio show or even getting drunk and walking out on my boyfriend’s class.”

  He’s holding my hand tight.

  “Your father is wrong, Liam. He thinks he can treat you anyway he wants and you’ll never stand up to him. He thinks he’s better than you because he has a prestigious job, but that means nothing. Nothing. He doesn’t have the right to talk to you the way he does. Ever. And he sure as hell doesn’t have the right to tell you to join the army. That’s the bottom line.”

  Aunt Pete takes a couple slow breaths, but I don’t say anything. My chest hurts from trying so hard to breathe. The guys are gone now, and it’s just me and Pete sitting on the floor. Then he stands up.

  “I’m going into the living room so you can have a few minutes alone,” he says, “but that’s as far as I’ll go. Do you get that? I called in sick tonight, so I’m not going anywhere, and when you’re ready I want you to come talk to me.”

  Then he steps out of the room. He leaves the door open, and I want to reach over and shut it, but I can’t.

  49

  I WAIT UNTIL THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING before I leave my room. Aunt Pete is asleep on the couch, and both Dino’s and Orlando’s cars are gone from the driveway. It’s quiet. Really quiet. I walk through the kitchen and living room and open the front door without making a sound, then I walk across the lawn and tap lightly on Darleen’s window. When there’s no answer I tap harder. I have to knock three more times, but finally the window opens and Darleen sticks her head out. Her hair is messed up and she squints down at me.

  “Liam? What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I need to talk to you,” I say. “It’s important.”

  Darleen frowns. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

  “Please.”

  She rubs her eyes.

  “What’s the matter? You look terrible.”

  “Can I just come in? I could crawl through your window and your dad will never know.”

  She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I’m trying to sleep. You shouldn’t even be out there.”

  “I have to ask you something. Please.”

  Darleen sighs.

  “Fine,” she says at last. “You can come in for five minutes. That’s it. I don’t see why you can’t ask me whatever you’ve got to ask me from out there. And if my dad hears you, he’s totally going to freak.”

  I wedge my foot into the center of a bush, find a good spot, and push myself up. When I’m high enough I throw my leg over the window ledge.

  “You’re going to kill yourself,” Darleen mutters.

  I fall on the floor, then stand up, catching my breath.

  “What’s so important that you had to come all the way up here in the middle of the night?”

  I sit down on her bed, not sure where to begin.

  “I have to know . . .,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff and . . . I need to know if there’s something wrong with me or . . . Why don’t you like me?”

  Darleen scowls. “Right now I don’t like you because it’s three o’clock in the morning and you’ve woken me up to ask a stupid question that could have waited until—”

  Something in my face must make her reconsider, because she stops.

  “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

  I can barely nod.

  “Is there something about me that is just stupid or bad or . . . I don’t know . . .” The words catch in my throat.

  Darleen sits down beside me on the bed and pushes the hair out of my face, just like Mom does, and for a moment I think, Crap, I’m making a fool out of myself, again. But then she sighs.

  “I’ll admit,” she says, “that I despised you from the moment I first met you. I overheard your phone call with your friend, and you sounded like a typical womanizing jerk.”

  I cringe.

  “And then,” she co
ntinues, “I didn’t like you because you were instantly part of the most popular group at school, but even that wasn’t enough for you. You had to keep bugging me, as if I were some sport you needed to master. One more trophy to put on your shelf.”

  I stand up.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re right. I’ve been a total jerk. And now I just woke you up in the middle of the night so you could tell me this, which is even worse . . .”

  Darleen grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

  “Sit down, Liam,” she says. “I’m not done yet.”

  My stomach twists.

  “You want to know what I thought when I saw you sitting in your mom’s convertible that day she dropped you off?”

  I don’t.

  “I thought, This guy is probably just like every other shallow, popular moron I’ve ever met.”

  I close my eyes and drop my head in my hands.

  “And do you want to know what I think about you now?”

  I shake my head, but Darleen just laughs.

  “Too bad, because I’m going to tell you anyway.” She puts one hand on my knee. “I think you try too hard to please everyone, and now you’re ready to throw everything away just because there are people like me who judge you by what’s on the surface, without getting to know what’s underneath.”

  She pauses, watching me.

  “Do you think I couldn’t hear you and your uncle fighting tonight?” she asks after a while. “Your dad didn’t show up, you decided to quit school, and now you want to join the army. The army?”

  I flop backward onto her bed and turn away, but she won’t stop talking.

  “Liam,” she says, “we both know this isn’t about whether I like you or not.”

  “What do you mean?” I mumble.

  “Sure, when we first met I hated you. But it’s not me you’ve been trying so hard to impress. And you know what? Your father might not like you either, but you have to stop caring so much what he thinks of you and start caring more about what you think of you. Otherwise, you’ll always be looking for something you’re never going to find. I know this sounds harsh, but you’ve got to let it go.”

  I’m silent for a long time, and at last Darleen gets up and walks over to her jewelry box.

  “I’ve never shown this to anybody,” she says, pulling out a crumpled paper. “This is the letter my mom left on the kitchen table before she walked out.” She tosses it on the bed and I pick it up.

  I hold the letter tightly, then unfold the creases and read it twice.

  “I’m not showing this to you so you’ll feel sorry for me. I want you to read it because it’s all about how much she loves me. Can you imagine someone saying that as she walks out the door, knowing she’ll never come back?”

  “You don’t think she does? Love you, I mean?” My voice is sore and hoarse, and I can barely see Darleen shrug in the darkness.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “But it’s what I got and I’ve had to learn to live with that.”

  I lie back again and close my eyes.

  “Listen,” she says, “all those things I thought about you? I was wrong. I thought you were just like Joe and Nikki and everyone else, but you’re not.”

  “But I am like them,” I say. “I’m worse than them. Joe and Nikki aren’t that bad, once you get to know them, and at least they do things right. I’m popular and shallow and stupid and . . .”

  “. . . brave and talented and funny.” Darleen frowns. “Liam, your window display at Eddie’s shop was . . . Well, no one who’s stupid could’ve put that together.” She touches my arm. “Trust me,” she says. “You have talent.”

  She leans back on the bed so she’s lying next to me.

  “I’m going to tell you one last thing, and, if you ever tell anyone I’m being this nice, it will never happen again.”

  I open my eyes.

  “What?”

  “You’re okay, Liam,” Darleen says. “Don’t let your dad, or me, or anybody else make you think otherwise.”

  She reaches out and holds my hand tight, and for a while we just lie there, side by side, saying nothing. Then at last she stands up and pulls me off her bed, leading me to the open window.

  “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” she says, “but your living room light just went on. I think you should talk to your uncle. He really cares about you.” She pauses. “You can’t create love, Liam. You just have to take it wherever you find it.”

  I look out the window at Pete’s trailer, and know that she’s right.

  50

  THE NEXT MORNING I lie in bed replaying Darleen’s words in my head.

  You can’t create love, Liam. You just have to take it wherever you find it.

  I think about Dad and then I think about Aunt Pete in his glam-rock spandex, and the guys with their cliché clothes and their band still playing seventies hits.

  My head pounds, and finally the alarm clock beside my mattress blares. I reach over and turn it off, but I haven’t slept at all.

  “You up?” Pete asks. He’s standing in the doorway in his favorite green kimono and orange tube socks. I nod slowly.

  “I’m up.”

  Pete frowns.

  “You don’t look like you’re up. Haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

  I shake my head. “No. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “All right, then. We’ve got to meet your dad in an hour, so you’d better get a move on. I’m sure you need the world’s most perfect shirt for this occasion, and we haven’t got all day to pick it out.”

  I sit up and run my fingers through my hair. I wait for Pete to shut the door, then stand in front of my clothes rack. It takes a long time, but finally I pick out the right clothes. I lay everything carefully on my mattress, then take my time showering. I make sure my hair is just the right degree of disheveled, then pull on each item one by one. Coal black boxers by Turnbull and Asser, simple four-button worsted-wool suit by Pierre Cardin, paired with a classic blue button-down shirt designed specifically to accompany the suit, black patent-leather shoes by Helmut Lang. Cologne—Hugo Boss.

  I stand in front of my mirror, and this time I don’t see Mom or Dad. Just me.

  At twelve fifteen Aunt Pete and I climb into the Nissan and head for the school. The knot in my stomach tightens as we pull into the parking lot. Dino, Orlando, and Eddie are already standing on the school steps, waiting for us. I get out of the car and walk slowly.

  “Thanks for coming,” I tell them. “I wouldn’t have blamed you guys if you didn’t.” I meet Orlando’s gaze. “I’m really—”

  He puts one hand on my shoulder before I can say anything else.

  “Save it for inside,” he says, glancing at the front doors. “Shall we?”

  I nod and the five of us make our way to Principal Mallek’s office. The light is on and I can see Dad’s profile through the window.

  This is it, I think.

  I open the door and step inside. Mom’s sitting in one of the huge leather chairs that have been set up around the principal’s desk, and she’s fumbling in her purse for something, but she drops it when I step in. The contents spill onto the floor and she kneels nervously to pick stuff up. I kneel beside her, covering her hands with mine.

  “Here, Ma. I got it.” I lean in and kiss her on the cheek.

  “Christ, Li,” she whispers, straightening my collar, and I know exactly what she means. I turn to face my father, but Dad’s busy glaring at Aunt Pete.

  “I don’t believe you were invited to this meeting,” he says.

  I interrupt before Pete can answer. “I invited him. I want the guys here.” I speak directly to Principal Mallek rather than Dad, because I know Dad won’t push things when there’s someone else in the room. Someone who needs to be impressed.

  Principal Mallek nods. “It’s not a problem,” he says. “In fact, I’m glad everyone’s here. We’ll need to clear up the matter of setting off the school alarm with Officer Walters”—he nods
at Dino—“and I believe that no matter what decisions are made here today, Liam, you . . .”

  I don’t make him finish. “I owe Orlando, I mean, Mr. DeSoto, an apology. I know.” I turn to Orlando. “I want you to know I’m really sorry for . . .” I stop. I can feel the familiar sentences bubbling up, but I don’t want this apology to be like all the others. I start again.

  “What I want to say is that you’ve been really nice to me ever since I got here, and you didn’t deserve my showing up drunk, or making a scene in the hall, or any of that. I know you think I don’t care about what you teach, but that’s not true. I like your class and I know that we’re reading Hamlet, and I tried to read it, but I didn’t want you to think I was stupid for not getting everything, so I just never brought my book. You’re a really good teacher and I’m sorry I acted like I didn’t care. I’m sorry about yesterday and I really mean that.”

  I look up to see if Orlando is listening, but it’s Dad who responds.

  “You absolutely should be sorry,” he says. “The principal filled me in on your behavior, and as usual you’ve failed to show even the smallest shred of respect toward authority figures and—”

  Dad’s on his way into the zone, but Orlando interrupts. “Thanks, Allan,” he says, “but I believe that apology was directed to me.” Dad stops abruptly, and Orlando studies me from across the room. “I accept your apology, Liam. It means a lot to hear you say what you just said, and for the record I think you’re a smart kid. Hamlet is a hard book, but with some work you’ll get it.” He pauses. “And I mean that.”

  A flood of relief washes through me, but Principal Mallek clears his throat. “And the school alarm?” he says, looking at Dino. I’ve been waiting for this. Dino could go either way on this one. I wouldn’t blame him if he comes down hard; after all, he already let me off the hook once.

  “Well,” Dino says, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, “we take the setting off of a school alarm very seriously. This wasn’t a funny prank, or even an error in judgment. It was a deliberate act, so I can’t be lenient in this matter. I don’t think it’s necessary to file official charges, and it’s the school’s decision what repercussions they choose to impose, but I think community service should be a minimum.”