Misdirected

by Ali Berman

  “You wrote me a paper?”

  “You can thank me later.”

  “You’re the best girlfriend ever,” I say.

  “I know. Here, take it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s not your grade, Tess. It’s mine. And I don’t want to get it by lying. That’s not throwing it in his face. That’s telling the truth.”

  “But I’m a great liar, huh?” she says, dropping the paper to the floor.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “You think I don’t want to tell the truth too? Like it’s fun for me to lie to my family and sneak around? It’s hard and it sucks. I do it because I want to be with you.”

  “I’d lie to be with you too.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to my parents.”

  “You’re bringing that up again?”

  “Our whole relationship would have been so easy if you could have just said you believed in God. Or were interested in learning about it. Faked it. For me. You can’t even do it for a stupid paper?”

  “I know it sucks for you to lie to your family. If you didn’t you could get kicked out of your house. It’s serious for you. For me it’s a choice.”

  “If you had lied, my life would have been so much easier. Did you think of that?”

  “I thought your parents would be reasonable. If I could go back maybe I would lie. I never meant to make life hard for you. I just want to be with you and be who I am.”

  Tess crumbles and suddenly starts crying. I put my arm around her and she buries her head in my chest and sobs. Even though we just had a fight and she’s crying, it still feels awesome to say screw it and talk to each other in school.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “But you’re still going to turn in that stupid paper, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I say, kind of scared she’s going to start yelling again.

  “You are such an idiot,” she says, exhausted.

  “He can’t give me a bad grade. I used freaking citations on this mother. He can’t say I didn’t research it and give a good argument.”

  “We should go to class,” she says.

  “Just a few more minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I really didn’t mean to make your life harder. You’re the best person I know. And the bravest,” I say.

  “I just wish it was all easier. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I just can’t lose my family.”

  “Do you want to stop seeing each other?”

  She pauses. My hearts quickens. I didn’t think she’d pause. I thought she’d immediately say no, that’s stupid. But she’s silent.

  “Tess?”

  “Sometimes I think maybe we should stop.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I’m just tired of it being this hard.”

  “What could I do to make it easier?”

  “Just always be there for me okay? I need someone on my side.”

  I kiss her forehead. “I’m here.”

  Chapter 25

  Friends Help Friends Do Laundry

  For the next week, James and I just hang out at home, do our homework, and visit his mom in rehab. The doctor says she’s doing really well. James says that’s happened before.

  “I don’t want to go back,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask. Although it seems like a stupid question. Here he gets cooked meals, his laundry done, help with homework, and responsible adults who can get him to school on time.

  “She’s been sober for a few weeks before. Even three months once. But she’s been an alcoholic since before my dad died. It just got worse after that.”

  “You know how to handle yourself.”

  “It’s not just me having to handle myself. We’re in the system now. Child Services is going to check on us to make sure she’s not a mess. I don’t think she can do it.”

  “What would they do if she started drinking again?”

  “They could put me in foster care.”

  “Maybe this time she’ll really beat it. I mean, the doctors said it was serious, right?”

  “If she keeps drinking she’ll need a new liver. And they won’t give a liver transplant to an alcoholic who failed rehab this many times. And I think you need to be clean for a year or two to even qualify for one.”

  “She hasn’t failed this time,” I say.

  “No one can fail while they’re in rehab. It’s right after, when they can’t freaking handle the real world. I wish she could just stay there. She’s more of a mom right now than she’s ever been at home.”

  We sit there not saying anything. James looks like he’s thinking hard. Like he might cry or punch something. Then he says, “I never thought I could actually be better if I got taken away from my mom. Maybe I’d end up some place like this. Hot meals. A clean house. Someone who doesn’t drink herself to freaking death.”

  I just sit there not saying anything, because what do you say? Nothing. There is absolutely zero that I could say that would mean anything. For Tess and for James I’m useless. And then it hits me.

  “I have an idea. We’re going to your house.”

  “Why?”

  “Just trust me.”

  I grab my bike and James grabs Pete’s old bike and we ride to his house. It’s only a few miles, but James kind of drags behind me.

  When we get there James parks the bike and stands in front of the door.

  “So really, why are we here?” he asks.

  “Just go in,” I say.

  “It’s just . . .”

  “Come on. We’re here.”

  It takes him a second before he opens the door and walks in.

  It’s my first time in his house. Now I know why he didn’t want me to see it. There is stuff everywhere. Liquor bottles. Clothes. Food.

  James goes right over to the window and opens it to get rid of some of the smell. I can feel him looking at me so I try not to react.

  “It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” says James. “She’s usually too out of it to notice the mess and I got tired of cleaning up after her.”

  He starts picking up some paper plates with crusts and junk still on them and throws them in the garbage.

  “So why did you want to come here?” he asks. “To make me more depressed?”

  “I just thought we could get rid of the liquor in the house so the place would be okay for your mom to come back to. No temptations, you know?”

  “Yeah, okay” he says, relaxing a bit.

  I grab the bottles on the kitchen counter and the table. Empty beer bottles, vodka bottles, boxed wine, and some other stuff I don’t recognize.

  James goes into the cupboards, under his mom’s bed, behind the couch and even under the sink in the bathroom to grab bottles by the handful. Most are empty. Some are half full.

  He holds up a bottle of something brown and looks at it. I mean really stares the thing down. Then he opens it and drinks some straight from the bottle.

  He screws up his face like he’s just been fed rat pee and wipes his mouth.

  I don’t even have to say anything for him to know that I think he’s nuts. His mom is in rehab and he’s drinking her booze? That’s all kinds of messed up.

  “Shouldn’t I know what makes this crap more important than her own son? Hell, don’t I deserve it?”

  “You don’t drink. You told me that.”

  He takes another gulp. This time when he pulls the bottle away from his mouth his eyes are wet.

  “I don’t drink,” he says. He looks at the bottle. “It doesn’t even taste good.”

  “So put it down.”

  “Try it.”

 
I want to take the bottle. I want to try drinking it. I’ve never been drunk. But James looks so angry that I can’t do it.

  “We should be throwing this stuff out.”

  “We will,” he says.

  James sits down on the couch with the bottle.

  “This is where she sits all day. I’ve never had friends over. She walks around . . . ” James stops talking for a second and takes another drink. “She forgets to put on clothes. You know what that’s like? To be in a house all the time with someone so freaking out of it? With a mom who can’t even get dressed?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Just sit down and have a drink. I’ve earned it.”

  “Only if you promise me this is the only drink you’ll have. Once you’re done we’ll clean up and throw all this crap out.”

  James takes another gulp and passes me the bottle. I tip it toward my mouth. The second it hits the back of my throat I almost puke it back up.

  “That’s freaking disgusting,” I say, now knowing why James was gasping for air before.

  “It gets less bad the more you drink.”

  I hold on to the bottle so that James can’t have anymore. We just sit there not saying anything for what seems like forever.

  “I hate her.”

  “She has a problem. An addiction.”

  “It’s like she can’t stand being sober. When she’s clean she looks even more scared than when she’s drunk. Like making dinner is some big impossible thing to do. I hope she fails.”

  “Dude.”

  “It’s true. Then I could get out of here.”

  James is starting to look kind of dazed. He doesn’t even ask for the bottle back. He just sits there looking mad.

  “Are you drunk?” I ask.

  “Maybe. I’ve never been drunk before.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “Kind of like I want to cry, punch my mom in the face, and go to sleep.”

  “Why don’t you break something?”

  “Like what?”

  “This,” I say, handing him the bottle.

  “Break it?” he says with a hiccup.

  “Smash it.”

  James grabs the bottle and stands up, maybe a bit too fast because he sways a bit.

  “Get me the trash can from the garage.”

  I run out and grab the biggest trashcan out there and bring it back.

  James stands in front of it, takes another drink from the bottle, then looks at the booze with more hatred than I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face.

  “Do it,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder.

  Like he just woke up, he raises the bottle over his head with two hands and smashes it down into the bottom of the can. As soon as I hear the sound I slam the lid down to stop glass shards from flying out. James grabs more bottles from the kitchen. He smashes bottle after bottle, hurling them as hard as he can, getting more pissed off with each one. I try to cover the trash as best I can, but suddenly he lets out a small shout of pain and holds his arm.

  “What happened?”

  “Glass,” he says, holding his hand over a small gash on his forearm. “And I think I might puke.”

  I bring him over to the bathroom where he slumps down on the tile. He holds out his arm, not even looking at it.

  “It’s not bad. Just a cut. You have Band-Aids?”

  “Of course not.”

  I grab some toilet paper and say, “Hold this on it.”

  James stares off into space but does what I tell him.

  “I thought this was supposed to make stuff better,” he says. “I thought drinking made a person less sad or made them forget the crap they have to deal with. It doesn’t. It’s worse. So why does she do it?”

  “I don’t know.” He’s silent. “You stay here, okay? I’m going to clean up.”

  James doesn’t say anything. From the looks of it he’s going to cry, and he’s waiting for me to leave so I don’t see him. So I go.

  I start with the rest of the bottles. I find more under the sink, behind the bed, and in the laundry room. I empty them all and chuck them in the recycling. Then I start doing something I’ve never really done in my own house. Cleaning up. I grab dirty clothes and put them by the washing machine. I straighten the pillows on the couch and clean the dishes in the sink. I throw out old food from the refrigerator. I even vacuum.

  Once the living room is finished, I open a door to a room neither of us has been in yet. It’s James’s room. And it’s spotless. Seriously. The bed is made. Every pencil and pen is in a cup on the desk. Clothes are folded and put away. It looks like a grown-up’s room. Definitely the opposite of mine.

  Next to his bed is a picture of James and his dad at a park. James looks like he’s only seven or eight years old.

  “I don’t let my mom in here,” he says, walking up behind me.

  James’s eyes are bloodred, but he looks a bit better. More in control.

  “It’s a nice room,” I say.

  He hands me some detergent and says, “Mind starting the laundry?”

  “Sure thing.”

  James grabs the vacuum and starts sucking up all the dirt on the floor. Some glass too from the broken bottles.

  We spend three hours in almost total silence, both of us cleaning and taking it very seriously. James only stops once to throw up. He doesn’t even look drunk now. Just determined.

  When neither of us sees anything else that needs to be done, we sit on the couch and look around.

  “Someone could actually live here now,” he says.

  “Have you ever drank any of this stuff before today?”

  “No. Drinking is for losers,” he says, half laughing. Not like he really thinks it’s funny. It’s dark. Really dark.

  He looks over at the chair in the corner. “See that?” he says.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s where she passed out and almost died.”

  “Come on,” I say. “Tomorrow is garbage day. Let’s bring this stuff out to the curb.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  Chapter 27

  I Still Know How to Curse

  Tess and I have been texting and talking online every night, but it’s just not the same. I hate missing someone who walks by me in the hall everyday. By Thursday I just want school to be over so James and I can go home, read some comics or watch a movie, and wait for Saturday to come. Me, Tess, James, and Beth are all hanging out together. The way it should be.

  During study hall I leave a note in Tess’s locker. I write, “Can’t wait to see you.” Tess would have drawn a smiley face or something on a note to me, but I think she’ll get that I miss her.

  Beth nods to me in the hallway now, which is a nice change. It’s like I’ve got an actual group of friends. Even bigger than the group I had back at my old school. Of course I wasn’t ignored by the other 99% of the population at my old school like I am here.

  I think I’ll ask Tess if she wants to sit in the back of the movie theater so if the movie is bad we can just make out. Hopefully it will be bad. Plus, I’ve been waiting to tell her that I emailed Pete and he’s game for driving us to her brother’s wedding. She’s going to freak out.

  In science class Mr. Thompson hands back a whole bunch of papers and tests. Flipping through my papers, I see nothing below an A-. Until I get to the bottom. My extra assignment on science and the Bible. There is a big fat F written at the top in thick red pen. F as in Fail. F as in, you’ve got to be effing kidding me.

  Kenny is sitting next to me. He looks across at my paper and laughs hysterically, like my failing grade is the funniest thing he’s ever seen in his life. A few other kids turn and look at me, chuckling as if they’re all in on the joke.

  “That’s what you deserve, fag,” Kenny mutters to me.

  I feel my
face get red and my hands hold the paper so tight that it’s crumpling. I researched this stupid thing. I had evidence. People way smarter than Thompson backing me up.

  I want to throw it in Mr. Thompson’s face.

  I want to kick my desk over and throw acid on the floor.

  I want to take my stupid textbook and set it on fire.

  Once class is dismissed I wait for everyone to clear out. Kenny is the last one to leave and laughs at me one more time before closing the door behind him. I sit totally still in my seat until Mr. Thompson notices me.

  “Yes, Ben?”

  “You gave me an F.”

  “I did.”

  “I had footnotes. You can think I’m wrong but are you going to tell me that the greatest scientists of the time are wrong too?”

  “I told you exactly what I wanted from this paper, Ben. I’m sorry that you feel it’s unfair. But the paper is wrong. All of it. I can’t give a passing grade on something like that.”

  “Can I ask how this is going to affect my grade?”

  “I’m afraid it’s going to affect it quite severely.”

  “How severely?”

  “Well, let me see.”

  He takes out a calculator and his grade book and starts plugging in numbers like it’s nothing at all. He finishes, shakes his head, and looks at me.

  “That paper brought you down to a C+.”

  “You’re telling me I went from an A to a C+ with one stupid paper?”

  “I’m afraid so. And if you don’t start incorporating biblical evidence into your papers, you’re going to find that your grade will get even lower.”

  “I know the freaking science!”

  “I think you’d better watch your language.”

  “Screw that! I’m the best student in this class and you want to bring my grade down to a C+ because of one paper on something that isn’t even science? The Bible has nothing to do with science. They’re just stories! Fiction! The only class we should be studying it in is English.”

  Mr. Thompson stands, his face red. “You attend a Christian school whether you like it or not and we teach the truth based not only on science but also on what the Bible, the word of God, the truth, teaches us. You’re more than welcome to stay ignorant if that’s what you want. In this class the Bible is science and you don’t know the material. So yes, you get a C+. And if you keep up with this behavior I can’t even guarantee that.”