The Chamber of Five

by Michael Harmon

  “Yeah. For drunk driving.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. He’d been drinking vodka tonics all night.”

  “So what? Is Carter that neurotic to think that’s what the bottle meant?”

  Woodsie’s eyes met mine. “He’s not being neurotic.”

  “Why?”

  Woodsie stared across the grounds. “Because the name of the bar he was drinking at before they nailed him was The Blue Sapphire.”

  I whistled, remembering the shot glass. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah, whoa. That’s the closest I’ve ever seen him to going ballistic, Jason. He’s on the edge.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “He thinks you did.”

  “I didn’t even know.”

  He shrugged. “What you know doesn’t really matter, Jason. What I know, on the other hand, is that you and Carter have issues. Big ones.”

  I stared off across the street, watching traffic pass. “The only reason I’m in the Chamber is because of my dad getting this school money for the new wing.”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know why I’m in the Chamber, too.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  He sighed, facing me. “Jason, what you’re not understanding is that what I’m okay with and what you’re okay with doesn’t matter. We have absolutely no way of controlling what happens here. Our parents do, and they control it through the list.”

  “You know about the donation list?”

  “Yes. The Chamber president picks new members from it each year. It’s tradition.”

  “So that’s why Carter doesn’t like me?”

  He nodded. “See, Carter has to pick the highest on the list, so he had to pick you. And you represent a threat.” He looked away. “You’re different.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “If you could change the Chamber, would you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Would you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I almost spilled my guts out to him, but I decided I wasn’t ready. Not yet. I had something to take care of first.

  “Why, Jason?”

  I blew it off. “No reason. Just sucks what we have to do sometimes, you know?”

  “Sure does.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I SAT ACROSS THE CAFETERIA table from Thomas and watched him eat a bologna sandwich. I’d been sitting there for minutes, and we’d not said a word to each other. Bite, chew, swallow. Nothing else. We were playing a game. His eyes never left mine. I cleared my throat, finally tired of the game. “I might have come on a bit strong the other day.”

  He set his sandwich down, meticulously dabbing crumbs from the table with his finger and flicking them at me. I ignored it. He burped. “Get a new windshield yet?”

  I shrugged. “I know you did it, and I don’t blame you. But I didn’t have anything to do with the food drive.”

  He smiled. “If somebody screwed with my car, they’d pay. Big-time pay.”

  “You’re not me.”

  “Thank God. I’d hate to be a coward,” he said, opening up a baggy of Fritos.

  I sighed. “You hate this school, right?”

  “No. I love it. And I love you. In fact, I think I’m gay for you. Want to make out?”

  “I’m serious, Thomas.”

  “Me too. I want your tongue in my mouth.”

  I cleared my throat. “I want you to run for student council with me.”

  He chuckled. “Why would I do that?”

  I looked around, lowering my voice, knowing I was taking a big chance. If word got out too soon, I’d be smoked. “Because I’m running for student council president and I need a majority vote if we win.”

  “Majority vote on what?”

  “To get rid of the Chamber and make it so that regular students are in control of the Youth Leadership Group.” I paused. “And so crap like the food drive doesn’t happen anymore.”

  He hesitated, his hand stopping for just a moment as he grabbed a chip. “You’re part of the Chamber.”

  “I know.”

  “And you want to get rid of it.”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled again. “Didn’t take you for emo. You like hurting yourself?”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “So you choose a guy who hates you.”

  I smiled. “You hate me because of what I am.”

  “True.”

  “I’m trying to get rid of what I am at this school.”

  “You aren’t as stupid as I thought.”

  “We don’t have to be friends to achieve a common goal, Thomas.”

  “You sound like a politician already.”

  “Comes with the territory. Are you in?”

  “So you have a master plan, huh?”

  “Yes. And it’ll work.”

  “Tell me one thing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Most people don’t enjoy kicking themselves in the face. You really want to hurt yourself?”

  I cocked an eye at him. “You really want my tongue in your mouth?”

  “No.”

  I nodded. “Then we’re mutually agreed.”

  “So you want me to help you kick yourself in the face.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m in.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I’M DROPPING THE CHAMBER.” I almost barfed when I said it, and two hours of sitting in my room trying to find the guts to do it hadn’t made anything easier. It would start raining bombs now.

  He didn’t turn. “No you’re not.”

  I took a breath, careful with my words. “I don’t fit in with it, Dad. It’s not me.”

  He did turn then, and clasped his hands across his belly. He clenched his jaw, and those sheet-metal eyes, hard and impenetrable, blocked everything. “It’s not you? What does that have to do with what I say?”

  I looked away. I could never look him in the eye when I knew he was really going to get pissed, and I hated myself for it. “Dad, it’s just—”

  “It’s JUST NOTHING!” he bellowed, his neck flushing instantly, like a thermometer stuck in a pit of magma. He stood, jabbing a finger at me. “You sit in this house surrounded by everything a teenager could ever want, and you have the nerve to pull this?” He pointed out the window. “There are people out there with nothing, and you just don’t get that, do you? You don’t get that the world isn’t a nice place, Jason, because you’ve never lived on that side of things, have you?” His eyes seared my soul, and his voice boomed through the house. “HAVE YOU?”

  I sighed. “No.”

  “Then shut your mouth.”

  I looked away. “I just—”

  He cut me off. “Why do you think I do this? Why do you think I’m down your throat all the time? You think I like it?”

  “No.”

  “Then why? Tell me, Jason. I know what you see when you look at me, son, so why don’t you tell me why I put myself through this.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He sneered. “Well, I know. It’s because you don’t have courage. I have a coward for a son.”

  “I’m not a coward.”

  He came close, towering over me. “Then look me in the eye and tell me what you think of me.”

  I couldn’t do either. “I just want to go to a regular school.”

  He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “You’re staying in the Chamber.”

  Carter flashed through my mind, and Thomas Singletary tailed along behind him. I felt sick, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. His breath hit my cheek. I swallowed. “No, I’m not.”

  The slap, harsh and sharp and hard, echoed through the silent room. My eye watered, I saw stars and blackness, and my cheek burned with a numb and deep throb. I tasted blood, wondering as I stared at the floor if his hand hurt. Brooke had nothing on him.

  His presence was like a huge and dark cloud over me. “You will remain in the Chamber. You will maintain your grades. You will do
exactly as I tell you to do, Jason, or God help me, I’ll put you on the street.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I GOT UP EARLY the next morning, padded downstairs, and lifted my keys from the kitchen counter.

  “Jason?”

  I turned, and Mom stood in the entry, clutching a robe around her. “Hi.”

  She looked at my face, at the busted lip, and glanced away, just like every other time it had happened. If I got a sliver she’d be all over it; making sure I was okay, getting the tweezers and finding the alcohol to make sure it didn’t get infected. She was the queen mother bee hovering over me, and always had been. Unless my dad hit me. Then she ignored it. Just like she ignored it when he hit her.

  When I was little, I didn’t understand. I thought she didn’t care. I wondered why she didn’t tell him to stop. To never do it again. But now I knew. She was just like me. Afraid. But it still pissed me off. She fake-yawned. “It’s early. Do you have a makeup test or something?”

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  She strode forward. “Here, let me get you something to eat,” she said, taking a box of cereal down from the top of the refrigerator.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  “You should really have a good breakfast before—”

  “Why the fuck do you care about what I eat?” I touched my lip. “See this, Mom? See it? I can’t eat because Dad busted it open, and you know what? I don’t want a fucking thing from you or anybody else anymore.” Then I grabbed my bag and left her standing there, the horrified and hurt look on her face haunting me as I walked out.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “CAMPAIGNING BEGINS TOMORROW, election in a week,” Elvis said as we walked. “That’s forty-two school hours to win, but the equivalent of three brains working on it triples the efficiency factors.”

  “Uh, sure. Cool,” I said, still preoccupied with why I’d spoken to my mom the way I had. We passed a section of the hall where a candidate was taping up a poster. VOTE KILKENNY FOR TREASURER. MAKE YOUR MONEY WORK FOR YOU.

  “Are you sure about this, Jason?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. We can do it. Have you been making your posters?”

  “I have. I’m scared to put them up, though. People will draw on them or something.”

  “We’ll do it tomorrow. Together,” I said. Brooke and I were meeting after school to make our signs, and I was looking forward to it. “Did you register?”

  “Yes. So did Brooke.”

  “Cool.”

  He hesitated. “Uh, you saw her boobs?”

  I remembered what I’d said in the library. “It wasn’t a good thing, Elvis.”

  He nodded quickly. “Well, yeah, of course not. But you saw them?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  “Wow. Were they …” He stopped when I glared at him, then thought better of it. “Wow.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “You like her?” He smiled.

  “Yeah, I do. Not just because of that, but yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  I chuckled. “Never seen live boobs before, huh?”

  “Nope. Just in the movies and stuff.”

  I hadn’t, either, and a knife of guilt sliced through me as I thought about her. I was supposed to be sickened by it, and I was, but not all of me was. “It wasn’t a good way to see ’em for the first time.”

  He screwed his eyes up. “You’re kidding, right? I’m a math genius with the social skills of a toad, Jason. Unless I go to some strip joint, I’ll never see any.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure there’s a few math-genius babes out there,” I said, then noticed a group of people gathered in the hall. We walked up to them, and I stood, staring at the wall, stunned.

  There, taped to the wall, was a two- by three-foot poster board. Half of it was plastered with a blown-up photograph of Judge Logan, father of Carter Logan. He was behind his bench, regal and stern in his black robe, gavel in hand, sentencing a criminal. Below it, the caption read: JUDGE LOGAN SENTENCING A DRUNK DRIVER.

  Beside that, covering the other half of the poster board, was the mug shot of a very drunk and disheveled Judge Logan. It looked like his crumpled collar was stained with vomit, and drool glistened on his chin. Below, the caption read: FORMER JUDGE LOGAN, DRUNK SCUM.

  Elvis shook his head. “Is that Carter’s dad?”

  I nodded, shocked to silence. My stomach squirmed.

  “Holy shit!” A voice came from behind us.

  I turned, and Kennedy stood there, smiling as he stared at it. He looked at me. “You must have a death wish. I hate your guts, but, man, you’re my hero. Your balls must be so big—”

  “I didn’t do it,” I interrupted.

  He chuckled, studying the poster with his finger under his chin. “What’cha think? The left or the right look better? I personally like the mug shot. The grainy quality and the stupor seem to dig deep into personality. Puke is always good, too. Adds depth. There’s a human quality to it.”

  I sighed. Trouble. This was big-time trouble.

  Elvis shuffled. “Maybe you should take it down, Kennedy.”

  He crossed his eyes, mocking Elvis. “Why? This is art, my geeky and freaky spaghetti noodle of a person friend. Weatherby’s got quite an eye for it.”

  From behind, another voice. This one a sinister slither. “Do as he says, Kennedy.”

  We turned, and Carter stood there, his face flushed, his hands clenched into fists. Kennedy took it down, not a little fear in his eyes. “Dude, I was just about to take it down. Malicious stuff.”

  Carter looked at me, his eyes black as night. He said nothing, just stared. “The Chamber at four today,” he said, finally, then turned, walking away.

  I had planned, gladly and with extremely nervous pleasure, to drop two bombs in the Chamber today. One was to quit, which I wouldn’t do because I couldn’t deal with my dad right now, and the other was to announce my candidacy for student council president. Neither would happen, though. Not yet. I had an inkling of an idea, and if it worked, I could do this. I could make it work.

  Today, I knew, I’d have a hot iron put to me. I saw that look in Carter’s eyes, and there was no question who he thought was after him. Me.

  When I entered the Chamber, everybody but Carter was present. Woodsie sat silent, his chiseled jaw set impassively; Steven slouched, his ferret eyes darting around; and Kennedy, of course, split his face open with a toothy grin when he saw me. “ ’Sup, Weatherhead. I was just thinking of what your obituary would read.”

  I shook my head. “Save it, Kennedy.”

  He laughed. “For what? The only thing I’m saving is to give to your mother. Man, I’d like to—”

  I lunged forward, grabbing his collar with both fists and ramming him back in his seat. His head snapped against the cushion of the leather chair, and he grunted in shock. Silence filled the room. “I’m going to break your face if you say one more word about her, Kennedy. Got it?”

  He smiled. “Dude, you did not just assault me, did you? You did not just do something that you will regret in a big way, right?” He swiveled his head to Steven Lotus. “Have I just been assaulted?”

  I stared into his eyes, still clutching his shirt.

  He sighed, a crestfallen look coming to his face. “Okay. Fine. I crossed a line about your mom and I’m sorry.” Then he grinned. “But can I talk about your new girlfriend and her booby show? It’s like a movie caught on replay in my mind, and I don’t even have to throw a dollar on the stage.”

  Rage coursed through me like a flash flood in a thunderstorm: lightning-strike images of my father hitting me, my mother cowering like a scared kitten, Carter and his goddamn eyes staring into mine as Elvis skulked from the Chamber. My stomach clenched in shame even as my veins pumped with hate. I let go of Kennedy’s shirt and stepped back. “Stand up.”

  Kennedy blinked, licking his lip.

  I nodded. “Stand up, Kennedy. Now.”

  He smiled. “This isn’t the place for—”


  I swung, smacking his face so hard the firecracker slap of it echoed against the walls. His eyes glazed over for a moment, blood running down his chin. Seconds passed. He did nothing, just sat there, blinking. He touched his lip, then tasted his blood.

  In another second, he lunged from the chair, barreling into me like a linebacker crushing a practice pad. We crashed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, his weight pinioning me to the carpet as he pounded my ribs. I twisted, grabbing the sides of his head and slamming his face to the floor as I slithered from underneath him. As he rose, I swung, landing a solid shot against his ear. Then Woodsie was on me, yanking me away.

  “Enough,” he said, standing between us. My ribs ached even as Kennedy’s broken lip sent a shiver of ugly pleasure up my spine.

  Kennedy stood as I got up. He clenched his teeth, his chest heaving. “You’ve had it, Weatherby.”

  “Keep your mouth shut and we’re fine, bitch.”

  “We’re not fine.”

  “Looks like I missed something,” a voice said.

  We turned, and Carter stood at the door. He leaned against the hinges. “Kennedy, you’re dribbling blood on your uniform.”

  Kennedy wiped his mouth.

  Carter entered. “I’d say a mediation session was in order, but being that I wouldn’t mind watching you kill each other, let’s at least keep the bloodshed outside. These carpets are expensive.”

  Kennedy grunted. “Asswipe bitch-slapped me.”

  Carter took a seat at the table. “Stop being a bitch, then.” A moment passed. Silence. He spoke as we joined him at the table. “The business at hand is this: The student council campaign has begun, and as I had planned, most of the candidates will be compliant to our wishes. I’ve interviewed them, and some are already in the Youth Leadership Group, which plays to our favor. There are five who are not compliant, but they shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve got people on it.” He paused. “I’ve also arranged for William Hennessy, a member of the Leadership Group, to run for president in opposition to Steven here. He’s quite popular, and has agreed to pull out of the race at the last moment.…” Carter smiled. “Call it an insurance policy on Steven’s success.” He went on. “Jules Tupper, the other presidential candidate, is not a part of anything and won’t be a problem. If he is, Kennedy will take care of the problem.”