by Sarah Bumpus
Art doesn’t want me touching anyone’s cars because I’m not licensed, but I peek out see his steel toed work boots sticking out the underside of a Chevy Bronco and decide it’s safe. It’s a simple fix, and I tell her I’d be happy to do it.
After completing the task, I slam her hood shut. Mrs. G. and I start to walk back to the shop so she can pay. When we’re just about at the door, I hear a car pull in and turn to look. It’s Joy’s green Jetta. My heart stops for a brief moment, wondering why she’s here. I highly doubt it’s for any kind of car maintenance. The bell over the door rings, and Joy enters as I’m just giving Mrs. G. her receipt. She hovers in close proximity to the counter and sheepishly waves hello to me. Mrs. G. turns around to leave and when she sees Joy waiting off to the side, she turns back to me. “She’s a pretty one, must be a keeper.”
Joy and I both laugh feeling slightly awkward but not insulted, as only the way old people can make you feel. I lean both my arms down on the checkout counter, catch Joy’s eye and wink, then turn back to Mrs. G. “Don‘t worry, you’re a keeper too.”
She smiles as if my comment made her year and giddily makes her departure. Joy comes over and makes a joke, chiding me for flirting with customers. I hold my hands up defensively, “Hey, it’s not like I get tips or anything!” Then on a more serious note, I ask her what’s up and nervously start to fidget with display of rubber key identifiers.
“Sorry, I probably should have just called you, but I had to get the number changed on my cell and I was still in the area.”
“Oh, it’s OK. Obviously, I’m not that busy.” I stop playing with the display stand and gesture to the now empty store.
“Yeah,” she agrees, more to fill the silence. “So, I didn’t tell you this the other night, but I broke it off with Carver. I kind of knew from the beginning that there’s this different side to him. I think I just tried to ignore it because I liked him so much, and wanted to believe otherwise.”
I sign a breath that could fill a canyon with carbon dioxide. I’m so relieved that asshole can’t screw with her anymore. “He’s bad news. I know you made the right decision, Joy.” I wonder if I should tell her everything that happened between Carver and myself, but decide against it when I look at her. She’s got big watery eyes on the verge of spilling tears, and desperately trying to prevent them from falling.
She fails at the attempt, and swipes at a loose tear. “I’m sorry, Bryce. I was so stupid. I should have listened to you. Everything is so screwed up right now.” Her shoulders sag in defeat and she looks down at the floor. “Farah won’t talk to me and Seth hates me…and honestly I’m really scared of Carver.”
“Hey…Come here.” I walk around the counter with my arms open.
Joy meets me halfway and I envelope her in a hug. I rock her gently for a minute and can feel the fabric of my shirt getting wet from her tears.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, into my shirt.
I lightly push her away from me and place my fingers over her mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”
That’s what I say, but when I picture that look on Carver’s face in the bathroom, three years ago…That’s my job, is what I think. This game is officially on, and my mask is finally off for good.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Whoever decided that a dodgeball unit in Phys. Ed. was a good idea, must have been a sadist. I determine this as I look at list of teams hanging outside Coach Miller’s office before class on Thursday. Hey, I know, let’s give balls to a bunch of teenagers with pent up aggression and crazy hormones, and let them whip it at each other’s heads, nuts, or hot girl’s asses. Take your pick.
“Bryce, c’mon, let’s do some warm ups!” Quincy grins and pegs me in the side with a (not quite so soft) ball.
Everyone’s milling around the gymnasium in their shorts and t-shirts, instead of stretching out like we’re supposed to. The girl’s gym instructor, Ms. D. (everyone calls her that, not just me…I don’t even think anyone knows what the D stands for) makes the rounds, trying to get students moving. I bend down and do some quad and calf stretches. Then just to get my blood pumping, I do a couple sets of pushups. Coach M. comes out of the boy’s locker room and blows his whistle. Automatically, we all line up, and he takes a quick roll call. When coach calls Seth Rosenberg, I look over when I hear him reply.
I never really paid that much attention to him, other than noting that he was one of Joy’s good friends. A lot of the guys on the football team give him a hard time, but he seems to hold his own. I just try to stay clear of that sort of thing altogether.
A tall, lanky dude, but not definitely not weak, I’ve seen him carrying around a skateboard, and that sport takes definitely takes some athleticism. Seth’s the only one present wearing all black. Some band’s logo that I’m not familiar with is sprawled crudely across the chest of his shirt. It makes me think of the posters on Joy’s bedroom walls, and I feel a pang of jealousy as I wonder if they were ever more than friends.
Coach reads off the list of teams and the class divides in two on either side of the basketball half-court line, while Miss D. places five balls an equal distance apart down the center. Quincy and I are on the same side and he fist bumps me as we get set for the opening rush.
“That freak’s ass is grass,” Quincy says to me, just as Coach blows the whistle.
Wait…what?
Suddenly chaos erupts as booth teams sprint forward to claim possession of the balls. The squeak of sneakers on the polished wood floor, combined with the war cries of the game’s participants, create a maddening echo throughout the gymnasium.
With his speed, Quincy naturally grabs one first and tosses it back to me. I select an easy target, aim low, and it’s a direct hit. I glance over at Quincy and he’s making the most of his abilities, perfectly dodging and weaving, while making every effort to get his hands on a ball. He catches one that comes his way, and the thrower is out.
“Yeah, baby!” Quincy calls. “Here we go!” He grips the ball in one hand and stares down Seth, who stares right back. Quincy points to him, brings his arm straight back and releases a bullet. Seth ducks and it clips a girl in the shoulder.
Seth, understanding that it’s personal, runs back and picks up the ball. He whips it back at Quincy and misses.
Quincy’s smile is almost shark-like, his perfect white teeth glistening against the contrast of his dark skin. I can tell he’s getting really heated. Balls are flying in all directions and it’s hard to stay focused on the duel. I manage to catch one, and proceed to lightly bean a skittish looking girl in the feet, marking her as out. Play continues until there are only two guys left on the other side, Seth and another Sea Hounds teammate of mine, Nick Burton.
It’s Quincy, myself and a couple other students left on ours. With less competition on the other side, I take a moment to bend down, hands on knees, to catch my breath and think. Seth doesn’t have a chance. There’s no way Quincy is going to go for Nick. Eliminated classmates are now spectators cheering us on, and Quincy gets a purposely bounced pass from Nick. Again he pulls back and throws a bullet at Seth, who miraculously dives out of the way. Impressed, I wonder why this guy never tried out for the football team. Seth pops up and sprints after the ball. He grabs it before Nick can reach it. Then in one fluid motion, he runs, pulls his arm straight back and jumps, releasing a perfect Spartacus throw. Now Quincy is the one who doesn’t have a chance. It happens so fast, that he can’t react and the ball pegs him right in the face.
The gym becomes instantly silent. Coach blows the whistle, and declares Seth disqualified due to a head shot, who smirks as he walks of the court. Quincy yells some vulgar trash talk at him as his back is turned. Coach blows the whistle again, disqualifying him for poor sportsmanship. So, the game ends when after more of a ping pong match than dodgeball, I have no choice but to somehow eliminate Nick.
The bell finally rings. Walking off the court I give a half-hearted high five to Nick and we hit the locker rooms. I take a qu
ick shower, because some of us actually do break a sweat in gym class. When finished, I get dressed quickly, running a little behind schedule. Most of the guys have already left the locker room and I’m in the process of stuffing my dirty gym clothes in a bag, when I hear an outburst from the next row of lockers. There’s a loud bang against the metal, and it radiates throughout the expanse of the room’s vast openness.
“You think I can you can get away with that shit, fag?”
Its Quincy’s voice and I know without a doubt the other involved is Seth. There’s more rustling of the lockers and I can tell things are only going to get worse. Crap. I should have known this was going to happen.
Quincy continues, “Nice ear holes. Is that where your boyfriend likes to stick his…”
“Yo, Quince! C’mon, man. Let it go,” I call over, praying that he does. “We’re going to be late for class.” I grab my book bag and sweatshirt and walk around to the other side.
“You kidding me, right?” he asks, in disbelief. “You saw what this freak did.”
“Yeah, I did. And I’m sure you were trying to do the same. So, just let it go.”
Quincy looks pissed that I’m not taking his side, and turns on me instead. Seth grabs his backpack and leaves, which is actually a really smart thing to do, because suddenly I’m shaking with anger.
“Dude,” I accuse, “what is your problem? What did that guy ever do to you?”
Quincy gets right up in my face and with nostrils flaring, he taunts, “What are you a fag now too?”
I completely snap. Dropping my stuff, I slam Quincy into the very same row of lockers that he and Seth were abusing. He pushes me back and makes to throw a punch but he’s not quick enough, and it misses. Before things can escalate any further, Coach happens to walk out of his office door, and sees us at each other’s throats.
“Whoa! Whoa, guys! Knock it off!” He runs over and separates us. “I don’t know what the problem is, but save the aggression for the field, huh?” He looks at each of us as we both pant in anger.
“Yeah, sure Coach,” I agree disgustedly, and pull myself from his grip. I pick up my stuff and walk towards the door without looking back. When I reach it, I happen to glance down the first row of lockers, and I see Seth leaned up against them, in a position that implies he stayed to listen to the whole thing.
No words are spoken between us, he just watches me as I walk through the door.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
JOY
I spend Saturday night lounging on the couch with my mom and Devon watching some sci-fi flick that he picked out at the Red Box. I’m not really a big robotic-aliens-taking-over-the-earth kind of girl, so I only half pay attention. My other half is nagging me to call Farah or maybe go over there and demand to see her, though I doubt her mom would let me in. Apparently, Farah has conveniently come down with a highly contagious ‘flu’ and was absent all week. I still haven’t seen or talked to her since the incident at the party. Part of me wonders if I should just tell her parents what going on, but I know I owe it to Farah to talk to her first, if she’ll ever let me.
Feeling frustrated, I leave my mom and Devon to the mercy of the space aliens, making my way upstairs to my room. I locate my phone, and pick it up. I call Farah’s cell and of course she doesn’t answer. I scroll down through my contacts and my finger lingers over Bryce’s number. I stand there a moment absently staring at it.
What are you thinking, Joy?
Bryce probably isn’t even home. It’s Saturday night for God’s sake. What would I say to him anyway? Hey, Bryce! I take back what I said. I really did like kissing you and I want to do it again. Yeah…no.
I’m about to toss the cell down onto my bed in disgust, when it happens to ring. Startled I answer without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Joy, its Seth.”
“Seth! Hey, what’s going-” I’m so happy to hear his voice, that I don’t notice the serious tone in it until he interrupts me.
“It’s Farah. She’s in the hospital…” He pauses as if unsure to tell me what happened, but the math whiz in him should know, putting two and two together is an easy thing to do. “She, uh…had a drug overdose.”
I start to frantically search for my car keys. “Oh God, I’m on my way now.” I finally spot the keys on top of my desk and with the phone still attached to my ear, I tell him, “I knew, Seth…I fucking knew about it! I should have told her parents she was doing coke-”
Seth interrupts me, “Coke? No…Joy, she had a heroin overdose.”
When he tells me this I’m just at the top of the stairs and drop the phone in order to grab the railing. It’s either that or have a sudden, painfully intimate relationship with a hardwood flight of stairs. Oh, god. Please let her be OK.
“Joy? Are you still there?” I can hear Seth’s muffled voice coming through the receiver, telling me which hospital they’re at. I bend down and pick up my cell.
“Yeah, I’m on my way,” I tell him, and hang up before I get a reply.
I fly down the stairs and find my mom still sitting in the living room, though given up on the movie she’s now reading a magazine. One look at me and she knows something is wrong. I fill her in with what little information I have and she insists on driving me. I agree, realizing that I may be unstable behind the wheel right now, anyway.
When we arrive at the ER entrance, my mom offers to stay, but I tell her I’ll be OK on my own. She doesn’t insist and leans over to give me a hug, telling me that everything will be alright. I know that’s not certain, and though her lie is meant with good intentions, and the one I told her about the party suddenly tugs at my heart. I know that this incident could have been prevented if everyone had just been honest.
When I enter the waiting room, I see Charlotte alone, pacing nervously back and forth. “Charlotte! What’s going on?” I rush over to her.
She has tears in her eyes, but manages to answer with a steady voice. “She’s OK. They stabilized her a while ago.”
I feel the wind start to refill my sails slowly with relief. “Thank God. Do you know what happened?”
Charlotte nods and begins the story, “Farah came over last night and we were supposed to do something, just the two of us, but she had other ideas. She basically used me as a cover so she could see Derek all night.” Charlotte sits down in a rather uncomfortable looking chair and leans forward. “I told her I wasn’t cool with it. I don’t mind her going with me to the parties, but since I found out she was doing coke, I made sure I never left her anywhere on her own.”
She knew, I think angrily. I’m about to say something very un-Joy like when Charlotte continues the story. “Anyway, Farah got pissed and left my apartment. I tried to stop her…she must have called Derek, because the next thing I know, Mom calls, telling me she’s in the hospital.
“Where are your parents now?” I ask, looking around.
Charlotte wipes the rest of her tears away. “Now that Farah’s stabilized, they’re talking to a councilor about a rehabilitation center down on Cape Cod.”
Rehab? My best friend has to go to rehab? The sound of that word is so completely foreign when I think of Farah. And on top of everything that’s happened, I completely loose it. “This is all your fault!” I shout at Charlotte, who jumps not expecting the sudden outburst. “You knew this whole time and didn’t try to stop her, or tell your parents? What kind of sister are you?”
“Me!” Charlotte laughs bitterly. “You think this is my fault? What about you?” She stands up and walks over to me. “Her so-called, ‘best friend’? She’s been going to these parties since the beginning of the school year! Where have you been?”
Her words stab me like a dull blade, penetrating slowly, making it hurt even more on the way in. Not telling anyone about the drugs seems so minuscule when I look at the bigger picture. If I had been there all along, maybe it would have never happened in the first place. I was too busy selfishly, doing for me.
I shake my head rea
lizing that Charlotte is right or partially right, anyway. In one aspect it is her fault too, and because of that fact I can’t muster up an apology. All I can manage is the complete truth. “I want to see her.”
Charlotte informs me that she is able to have one visitor at a time and Seth is with her now. I turn and start walking towards the room, not caring if a nurse stops me, I just need to get away from her.
“There’s more.” Charlotte calls, reluctantly.
“What?” I pause and turn back around
“Sh-She was pregnant…with his baby…but she didn’t know.” Charlotte doesn’t have to say his name. I know she means Derek and that’s the least of my concerns right now. What hooks me is the use of the past tense.
“Was?” I somehow force out in barely a whisper.
“She lost it. She lost the baby, Joy.” Her tears return and knowing this new information, I wonder how they ever managed to leave at all.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
My heart can’t decide how many pieces it wants to break in. It feels as if it’s being butchered by a one hundred pound meat tenderizer, but instead of being pulpy and resilient to the blows, mine is brittle and dry. Every thwack of the mallet smashes it up into even smaller crumbling bits and pretty soon there will be nothing left but dust; the pain I feel for my best friend is that bad. Somehow I manage to locate Farah’s room without being stopped by anyone in scrubs. The door is cracked open and I’m about to knock, when I hear Seth muffle a sob. I freeze in place, not shocked by the fact that he’s crying, but simply because I have never witnessed it before. The sound resonates within me and it’s like witnessing a horrible accident unfold before you, and the trance you’re pulled into won’t let you move. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I picture the ones who saw my dad’s accident doing the very same thing. I try to erase the image when I hear Seth begin to speak.
