The Kidney Hypothetical

by Lisa Yee

  I had made it.

  Monarch was chewing on a stick, and somehow made this look attractive. She didn’t say a word.

  “What?” I said, annoyed.

  “Nothing,” she said. She threw the stick across a bank of weeds. I was impressed by how far it flew. “It’s just that your fear of heights amuses me.”

  “So happy that I can brighten your day,” I remarked. While Roo sort of floated when she walked, Monarch clomped like she was killing cockroaches.

  “I’m on the track team,” I offered up as evidence of my manliness. “Varsity.”

  “Oh yeah, in what?”

  “High jump.”

  Monarch snorted again.

  “What now?”

  “Well, you’re scared of heights and yet you do the high jump? Aren’t you a sweet little package of contradiction?”

  There was some irony in that, I had to admit.

  “So what are you afraid of?” I asked.

  She got quiet as her walk slowed. I wondered if I had overstepped my boundaries.

  “Do you have parents?”

  She shrugged.

  “What do you do for food? For money?” I pressed.

  Suddenly, things didn’t seem so funny to her.

  “Look, Mr. Bing,” Monarch stopped walking. I felt like a Dinky Dick for getting so personal. “What I do is my business,” she said matter-of-factly. “Anything I tell you has to be kept secret. If you’re going to be my friend, you have to respect that, okay?”

  I felt warm inside. She called me her friend.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  Monarch smiled. Her smile could light up a room. Oh, shit. I was starting to sound like a greeting card, or Roo.

  “I haven’t done this with many people,” Monarch said, moving closer to me. My breathing quickened. Slowly, she unfastened the silver safety pin that kept the top of her dress together.

  Her bra was black.

  I could hardly breathe.

  “Higgs,” she said, leaning in to me.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Give me your hand.”

  I blinked back my surprise. Most girls waited for you to make the first move. I’d never been with someone like this before. I liked it.

  I placed my hand in hers and she drew it toward her breast as she stared into my eyes.

  “OUCH!” I screamed. “What did you do that for?”

  “To get the blood,” Monarch said, like I’d asked a stupid question.

  What???

  “Goddamn it,” I yelled, yanking my hand back. “What are you, some sort of vampire or something?”

  “A vampire?” she barked. “Hardly.”

  With that, she stabbed her own finger with the safety pin. Even though it was little more than a tiny drop, the sight of blood made me feel faint. “If we’re going to swear to keep each other’s secrets,” Monarch explained, “we need to do it with blood to make it official.”

  That was some crazy shit. That girl was crazy.

  “Come on,” Monarch insisted, lowering her raspy voice to a whisper. “Hold your hand up like this.” When I hesitated, she said, “Higgs, do it.”

  Begrudgingly, I mimicked her. She pressed our two bleeding fingers together, then wrapped her free hand around ours, bonding them together.

  “Repeat after me,” Monarch ordered. “I, Higgs Boson Bing …”

  When I didn’t do it right away, she stomped on my foot. “Ouch! Okay, okay. I, Higgs Boson Bing …”

  “Do solemnly swear …”

  “Do solemnly swear,” I repeated.

  “To keep Monarch’s secrets a secret.”

  “To keep Monarch’s secrets a secret.”

  “Good boy,” she said.

  “Whoa, wait,” I told her. “Your turn. Repeat after me. I, Monarch — do you have a last name?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Okay,” I continued, “I, Monarch, do solemnly swear to keep Higgs Boson Bing’s secrets a secret.”

  “I, Monarch, do solemnly swear to keep Higgs Boson Bing’s secrets a secret.”

  When we were done, it felt like something serious had passed between us. I stepped forward to kiss her, but before I could, Monarch started spinning. Her dress flared out around her.

  “Hey, Higgs Boson, wanna see something great?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “Follow me!”

  Monarch had a good head start, but I was fast. When I caught up to her, I jogged backward as she ran forward. She was in pretty good shape for a smoker.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. My finger still hurt where she stabbed it.

  “You’ll see,” Monarch said as she slowed.

  We walked in silence, again. I liked that. She was the anti-Roo. Still, there were so many things I wanted to ask Monarch, but I was almost afraid that if I pressed too hard, she’d disappear and I’d realize that I had only imagined her.

  Monarch stopped abruptly. Her face lit up and I followed her gaze. There, in the clearing, was a small patch of vibrant colors surrounded by a ring of trees.

  “Those are mine,” she said almost reverently.

  “The trees?”

  “No, the flowers. The flowers! Look at the flowers.”

  “Beautiful,” I said, not taking my eyes off of her. I turned to Monarch’s flowers. “How are these yours?”

  “Squatter’s rights,” she said.

  “So, what are you going to do with this?” I asked as she took my hand and pulled me into the center of the field.

  Monarch looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” She picked a daisy and put it in her hair, then reached over to put a pink flower in mine. I didn’t stop her.

  “Are you going to sell the flowers?”

  “No,” she said, sounding insulted. “This is a gift from Mother Nature.”

  “But you could make money,” I told her. “You could sell the flowers and buy stuff —”

  “Higgs, I’ve got things to do,” Monarch said suddenly. “You have to go now.”

  I’d blown it.

  “Okay, yeah. Me too.” I told her. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

  “One never knows,” she said.

  Then Monarch disappeared, leaving me alone in a field of flowers with a bleeding finger and unanswered questions.

  You would have thought the amusement factor I provided would have diminished by Wednesday. Not so. I was still hearing a smattering of “Dinky Dick” as I cleared out my locker. Plus, I was no longer “Higgs Bing, Valedictorian, Harvard,” but had morphed into “the jerk who broke poor Roo’s heart.” Not that it mattered that technically she was the one who broke up with me. Over a HYPOTHETICAL.

  What few knew about Rosemary “Roo” Wynn was that her bubbly personality masked a clingy, needy, and high-maintenance girlfriend. If I didn’t tell Roo how pretty she was at least three times a day, she’d actually start to wither. Seriously. Roo would get all pouty and then she’d hunch over and say, “Higgs, don’t you find me attractive anymore?”

  To which, I was to reply, “Really, Roo, how can you say that? You are the most beautiful girl at Sally Ride.”

  What Roo liked about me, she often said, was that I was steady and had a good future. “Fashion changes, music changes, but you, Higgs, don’t. With you I know exactly what I’m getting.”

  At first, I was insulted. Then I realized, that was why I was with Roo. I knew exactly what I was getting. My life was so hyperfocused on getting into Harvard, a school whose name gave a person instant credibility and confidence, that I didn’t have time to deal with the unknown. Dating around would have derailed me. I was comfortable with Roo.

  When I spotted Nick near the cafeteria, I instinctively headed toward him. I wanted to tell him about Monarch. “You are not going to believe this,” I began.

  Before I could get any farther, Samantha grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear. Nick nodded and offered an apologetic shrug before leaving with her.

  Okay. Okay, Nicholas Milgram, I
thought, if that’s how you want to play it, I can do that too. Forget that we were ever best friends. “Screw you,” I muttered as I strode past him. Nick started to say something, but Samantha shushed him.

  My cell phone vibrated. There was a text from my father. Call me, it read. Before I could hit delete, the phone rang. It was Dad.

  “Who died?” I asked, panicked.

  “No one died,” he said solemnly. “But I have bad news. Harvard called. They said they’re reevaluating your application.”

  I wasn’t sure if I had heard correctly. “What was that?”

  “They’re looking at your public service record and feel that you may have misrepresented yourself. It’s probably no big deal. They got an anonymous call —”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying.

  I texted Nick. Call me. It’s important, I swear.

  Almost before I finished, the phone rang. It was Nick.

  “Holy crap!” he shouted when I told him. It felt great that we were both on the same side again, even if we were looking at each other from opposite ends of the cafeteria.

  “Who would turn you in?” he asked. “Who would do something like that?”

  “A Dinky Dick,” I answered.

  “I’ll bet it was Rosalee,” he said. “She hates you.”

  “Really?” I answered sarcastically “You think so? Hey, Nick, you didn’t put SAP on your USC application, did you?”

  “No, I thought we were just doing it for Sally Ride Helps Week.” I could hear Samantha yapping in the background. “I’ll explain later,” he told her. “Higgs, I thought you were crazy to put it on your Harvard application. Samantha said it was a death wish.”

  “You told Samantha?”

  “Well, yeah, I tell her everything.”

  I shook my head. “Christ, Nick. It was probably her.”

  Now it was his turn to shake his head. “She wouldn’t do that,” he said.

  “Does she tell you everything?” I asked.

  “Lay off her, Higgs,” he warned. “She’s my fiancée.”

  The warning bell rang and students headed to their classes. No one rushed. It was, after all, the last week of school.

  Rosalee Gomez was watching me. She had a smug smile on her face. “Are you happy now?” I shouted.

  By then, she was across the courtyard. She let go of a loud laugh that sounded like it was in an echo chamber. Everything seemed surreal. Mr. Avis was spying on me from his office. Even though he was inside, I could hear him laughing too. I was having trouble standing. It felt like the earth had slipped off its axis.

  In the distance, Lauren Fujiyama was with Roo — when had they ever been friends? I wondered. They linked arms as they skipped in slow motion toward Nick and Samantha Verve, who were chanting, “Moral compass, moral compass …” Their voices echoed loudly and were slurred and deep. Zander Findley was playing the drums as Mr. French swept the quad, even though it was spotless. Wayward Hitler Higgs flyers whirled around me as if I were in the center of a cyclone.

  I started to run and knocked down several students. As I stumbled, I could hear them yelling at me, only it sounded like we were underwater, and I was drowning.

  I splashed more water on my face. Rehearsals were already under way and I was late. Mr. Avis glared at me as I ran onto the field like a forgotten football player. I had been hiding in the boys’ bathroom, the grossest place in the universe — that’s how badly I needed to be alone.

  Mr. Hermes had his eyes closed as he led the band in “Pomp and Circumstance.” I could see Charlie with her cello leaned up against her like a shield. The senior class marched single file up to the giant X on the field, then split off with every other person going to the left and to the right. It shouldn’t have been complicated, but it was. Students were colliding like bumper cars. So much for the future leaders of tomorrow.

  I said hi to Libby Bukowski as she let me cut in front of her. Libby was going to CalArts and Charlie was always talking about “Libby this,” and “Libby that.” Libby was SRHS’s resident bohemian artist and often wore tiny hats perched at odd angles on her head.

  “People … people, pay attention,” Mr. Avis barked into the microphone. “If the person in front of you goes left, you go right. GOT IT???” I almost felt sorry for him, until he added, “Thank you to everyone who managed to get here on time.” I could feel him smirking. “Commencement speakers, Zander Findley, Higgs Bing, and Lauren Fujiyama, as you march forward, instead of sitting with the rest of the senior class, you three will veer off and sit on the stage with Principal Kostantino and me.”

  My father’s phone call was still ringing in my ears.

  As Mr. Avis droned on about the importance of getting to graduation “on time, everyone,” I scrutinized my fellow seniors. Some were sitting rapt and listening to Mr. Avis. Lauren Fujiyama was even taking notes. Others were goofing off. Quite a few were texting, and a couple of the stoners were sleeping.

  One by one, I searched out the people on my list. Roo spotted me looking at her, and stuck out her tongue. Samantha was examining her fingernails. Zander Findley looked bored. Rosalee Gomez was staring right back at me. But where was Nick? I didn’t see Nick.

  Just then the Talky Boys’ one hit, “Heartless Empty-Hearted Heartbreaker,” blasted over the loudspeakers.

  You, you ripped my soul apart

  You, you are without a heart

  “Can someone turn that off?” Mr. Avis shouted.

  The song stopped abruptly, and an all-too-familiar digitized voice said, “We interrupt our musical interlude to bring you a special announcement…. Extensive studies have revealed that Higgs Boson Bing is a Dinky Dick.”

  Again? Seriously? Again?

  It wasn’t funny the first time, and it sure as hell wasn’t funny that time — but try telling that to the 398 graduating seniors. They were howling. I stood up and took a bow, when really I wanted to destroy every single person who was laughing at me.

  “Sit down, Mr. Bing,” Mr. Avis said. His head looked like it was about to explode. “Seniors, calm down.”

  It took a while to get everyone to shut up, especially when some of the stoners started a “Dinky Dick” chant. I knew one thing for sure — when I found out who was behind it all, I was going to make their life hell.

  I’m sorry, Jeffrey,” my mother was saying. “But this is for the best.”

  “Hey, Mom,” I said as I headed to the kitchen. I threw my backpack down. I’m not sure why I still carried it when we had no work the last week of school. Habit, I guess.

  “How was graduation practice?” she asked. Her back was to me as she stood at the fireplace mantel.

  I hesitated. Do I tell her that my life is unraveling? I wondered. That some sort of psychopath had me on their hit list, and that the entire school was turning against me? I still hadn’t told my parents that I didn’t get Senior of the Year, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to tell them about the girl in the woods.

  “Fine,” I said. “You look nice.”

  She was wearing her orange dress and there was no sign of the Robe of Depression.

  “Thank you, Higgs. I had lunch with your father,” she said by way of explanation.

  From the way she was acting, it was clear she didn’t know about my Harvard application. I was surprised my father hadn’t mentioned it. I started to tell her, but thought that it could wait. She seemed distracted. Well, more distracted than usual.

  There were no potato chips in the cupboard, so I grabbed a box of my mother’s ThinCrisp crackers and popped one into my mouth. It tasted bland. Thin and crispy, but bland.

  Mom came up and hugged me. Did she know? Maybe Dad told her after all. She didn’t let me go for a long time, and that was when I noticed she was crying.

  “Mom?”

  She wiped away her tears. “It’s nothing,” she said, fixing a smile to her face. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. It’s for the best. Trust me.”

  My
mother continued to cry as she rewashed the dishes. I wandered into the living room. Charlie was curled up on the couch. She had aimed the remote at the television and was changing channels nonstop. I was about to swat her with a pillow, when she looked up at me. Her eyes were all red. She’d been crying too.

  “Did she tell you?” Charlie asked.

  “Who? Did who tell me what?”

  “Dad’s moving out. Mom and Dad are splitting up.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I sank into the couch next to Charlie. She stared crying again, only no sound was coming out. I hesitated, then put my arm around her. I could see Mom standing in the doorway, watching us. Even in the Robe of Depression, I’d never seen her look so sad. Well, only once before.

  “Mom?”

  She didn’t respond, but instead just stood frozen like she was in her own world.

  Why was he doing this? I wondered. Was it Mrs. Taelo? Maya Taelo was always flirting with my father. She even used to tease Mom. “Elizabeth, if you ever get tired of this man, give him to me.”

  My mother gripped her stomach as if she was in severe pain. Charlie looked as worried as I was. For once, I was glad that my sister was there.

  “Mom?”

  “It’s for the best,” she said again, sounding unconvinced.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “This has been coming for a long time,” she struggled to explain.

  I used to feel sorry for Nick because his parents were divorced. When he was little, they’d shuttle him back and forth, and his mom and dad were always fighting over him. It was never truly about him, Nick claimed. It was about them, and who won and who lost. In a weird way, Nick said, he liked that they were fighting because, “At least that means they’re talking.”

  My parents had stopped talking years ago.

  Oh sure, they bickered all the time, over stupid stuff, like whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher, or whether to get unleaded supreme gas (Dad) or regular unleaded (Mom). However, when it came to me, they were a united front. Harvard. It was always Harvard. I knew that if I could get into Harvard, I could make them both happy. But there I was, heading to Harvard, and now they weren’t speaking to each other. They weren’t even going to live together anymore. Maybe getting me into Harvard was what had been keeping them together.