The Kidney Hypothetical

by Lisa Yee

  I slipped the necklace into my pocket.

  I put Monarch’s produce in the backseat, next to the Robe of Depression, then took the velvet box out of my pocket. The necklace was excessive. The kind of gift you’d give someone you were trying to impress. I wondered when my parents stopped trying to impress each other. Charlie slid into the passenger seat, and I quickly closed the box and tossed it into the backseat so she wouldn’t ask any questions.

  “This is our last morning driving to school together,” Charlie announced.

  It was Thursday. Seniors didn’t have to go to school on Friday.

  I turned the engine on. “Yep.”

  “Listen, Higgs,” Charlie said, getting serious. “You have to go to Harvard.”

  Her concern touched me.

  “Because, if you don’t,” she continued, “you’ll still be here and I won’t get Rolvo.”

  “I love you too, Charlie,” I said.

  “How did it feel when everyone called you Dinky Dick?” she asked.

  “What do you think?” I said. “It felt awful.”

  “Any idea who did the flyers and stuff?”

  “I thought I did at first. But now I’m not really sure.”

  “What’ll you do when you figure it out?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Charlie. Kill them?”

  The novelty of calling me a Dinky Dick seemed to have worn off. Most kids seemed to have other things on their minds that morning. The majority were giddy, a few looked sad. Zander Findley was talking to Roo. Both pretended not to see me. Princeton could have him. Saturday, I would tackle Harvard. Maybe I could talk my way out of my dilemma — I’d always been a good talker. Wait. That wasn’t true.

  “Hey, Higgs!” Zander said as Roo took off.

  My jaw automatically clenched. “What do you want?” I asked. “Besides my girlfriend.”

  “She’s not your girlfriend anymore,” he said, taking pleasure in reminding me. I crossed my arms and waited to hear what he had to say next. “Can you believe Lauren Fujiyama?” he asked. “I mean, seriously?”

  I knew what he meant. She was a long shot for Senior of the Year. Anyone could have predicted me winning, or even Zander. But Lauren?

  “Did you do it?” I asked.

  “Do what?”

  “You know.”

  “Listen, I would love to take credit for Dinky Dick,” Zander said, “but it wasn’t me. That’s not my style. I would have called you a douche, or an asshole, or a cretin. But ‘Dinky Dick’? No.”

  “What about Harvard?” I asked.

  “What about Harvard?” he asked.

  “You really don’t know?”

  He shook his head, and when I told him, Zander Findley was speechless.

  “I hate you, Higgs,” he finally said. “But I would never do something like that. Shit. Do you think they’re going to come after more people? God, I hope not. My parents paid a journalist to edit my personal essay. Everyone cheats. Everyone.”

  “Yeah, well I’m the only one being called on it,” I said bitterly.

  “That sucks,” he said.

  For once, Zander Findley and I were in agreement.

  We watched the kids buzzing around us. Mr. French was picking up trash over by the cafeteria.

  “Are you going to miss high school?” I asked him.

  “Parts of it,” he said. “But Princeton, that’s where I belong. My parents met there. So, what are you going to do about Harvard? Can you go somewhere else if they don’t take you?”

  “It’s too late, I’d have to wait a semester and then reapply to another college. Anyway, there’s still a good chance they’ll let me in. I just have to convince them of my innocence.”

  “You’re a great bullshitter,” Zander conceded.

  “Same to you,” I replied, returning the compliment.

  Zander Findley wasn’t so bad. Sure, he was smart, and arrogant, and competitive. In other words, he was just like me. Maybe that’s why I hated him so much.

  * * *

  The morning was spent in our final rehearsal for graduation. Even though it was blazing hot on the football field, we all had to practice lining up and marching in — this time in our caps and gowns. Lots of kids wore their gowns backward and carried their caps just to piss Mr. Avis off. No one was taking rehearsal seriously.

  Zander, Lauren, and I sat on the stage and were supposed to rehearse our speeches. I knew that Zander would probably say something about overcoming challenges, and that Lauren would probably get all mushy and thank the parents. My speech was your basic “As I stand before you today, I reflect on the morning I started high school, a short four years ago. In that time, I have learned … blah, blah, blah.” It was all bullshit. Everything was bullshit. My parents’ marriage. My reputation. Graduation. My Harvard application. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

  As Mr. Avis was unsuccessfully trying to get the class’s attention, I stood up.

  “Mr. Bing, where do you think you are going?” he asked.

  “Anywhere but here,” I told him as I continued walking. Suddenly, all eyes were on us.

  “Do not take one more step,” Mr. Avis ordered.

  I turned to face him.

  “You step off that stage and we will only have two senior commencement speakers on Saturday.”

  I took another step.

  “Mr. Bing, did you hear me?” Mr. Avis demanded into the microphone.

  Everyone heard him. The football field was silent. I could see Nick with his mouth hanging open. Samantha Verve gave me the finger. Roo blinked and stared blankly at me, like she didn’t know who I was.

  No one moved.

  No one but me.

  I had just walked my way out of a commencement speech that for years I had visualized myself giving. The last time we had graduation practice, everyone was laughing at me. This time, they were cheering. No one called me Dinky Dick when I stood up to Mr. Avis. For the first time in a long time, I felt free. Except for graduation, I was done with high school, forever.

  I had never been truant before, but what could they do to me now? Besides, I had promised Monarch that I was going to do an animal rescue.

  I sprinted across the gravel pit, carrying the bag of fruit and vegetables from my garden. Monarch wasn’t in her trailer, so I let myself in. I filled a battered pot with Bing cherries, then took out the tomatoes and placed them on a plate. I wished I had brought a loaf of French bread. There was no place to store the rest of the produce, so I left it in the bag and waited.

  A navy-blue backpack was tucked in the corner, under some newspapers. I looked out the dusty windows. With no Monarch in sight, and my curiosity getting the better of me, I unzipped the backpack. There was a jar of hard candies, several composition books, and a couple of fountain pens. I opened one of the books. Inside were sketches — bridges, old buildings, the Eiffel Tower …

  “HIGGS!”

  Startled, I dropped the notebook.

  “I … you … I thought.”

  Monarch’s eyes flashed. She grabbed the book off the floor before I could hand it to her.

  “I’m sorry,” I began.

  She wouldn’t let me finish.

  “I can’t believe you would go through my personal private things,” she said, managing to sound mortally wounded and like she was going to kill me at the same time.

  “I brought you a present,” I mumbled, reaching for a tomato and holding it out to her. “I grew it myself.”

  Monarch eyed the tomato and the cherries in the pot. I handed her the bag with the rest of the fruit and vegetables in it. “These are for you,” I said in a rush. “Everything. I picked them especially for you.”

  Still angry, she took the bag. “You really think a bag of vegetables can make up for invading my privacy?” She held up a zucchini. “Oh, look. This ought to equalize the fact that you were snooping.” Suddenly, Monarch’s voice broke. “What did you do, Higgs? What’s this?”

  “I grew everything myse
lf,” I repeated. “I’ve got almost a quarter acre of my own at home, and I’ve been growing things since, well, since I was a little kid.”

  Monarch shook her head. “This is what I was asking about,” she said, holding something up. Her voice went soft. “Higgs, is this for me?”

  In her hand was a black velvet box. Damn, I must have tossed it into the bag. Words caught in my throat, and when I didn’t answer, she opened it. Her eyes grew huge. “Oh my god! Is this for real? It can’t be real!”

  Before I could even explain that my father had bought it for his girlfriend or his mistress or his whatever, Monarch was putting the diamond necklace on.

  “Higgs,” she murmured. “Oh, Higgs.” She fished around her purse for a compact mirror and admired herself. That Monarch would be so thrilled with jewelry surprised me. “It’s beautiful. A diamond ‘M.’ Seriously, no one’s ever given me jewelry like this before. Thank you.”

  When Monarch kissed me on the cheek, I could feel my face burn red.

  I took a deep breath. Suddenly, my tomatoes and cherries seemed insignificant.

  Petty’s Pets was located at the far end of the Monte Vista Mall. I used to always beg my mother to take me there when I was little. Every time we’d go, I’d head straight to the hamster cages. I was mesmerized by the furry rodents running circles inside their exercise wheels. They always seemed to be in a hurry, but for what, I could never figure out.

  The last time I had been to Petty’s Pets was with Jeffrey. He took me there the day before he was leaving for college. It was exciting spending time with him, just the two of us. Yet it made me sad too. That he was going away.

  That morning, Jeffrey had made breakfast for everyone. But Dad was in a hurry and just grabbed a piece of toast. Mom was on a diet, and didn’t touch her eggs Benedict. Charlie was little and refused to eat anything other than Froot Loops. So, not only did I eat my entire breakfast, I tried to eat everyone else’s too, hoping that Jeffrey wouldn’t feel bad.

  I worshipped my big brother and would do anything for him. He was everything I was not — popular, handsome, smart, athletic. I was just your average forgettable skinny fourth grader with a debilitating stutter.

  Jeffrey had heard that Petty’s Pets had put in a reptile section and wanted to see the snakes. Near the entrance, huge waterless aquariums were filled with dirt and rocks, and branches. They looked empty. But Jeffrey showed me how you had to look carefully since the snakes blended in so well in the fake desert that they were practically invisible. “Things aren’t always as they first appear,” he told me.

  Just as we were about to leave, one of the Petty’s Pets clerks opened a nearby cage of mice. I thought that maybe someone was going to buy one, they looked so small and cute. The clerk reached in and grabbed a random mouse. I tugged on Jeffrey’s shirt. “He looks like Stuart Little,” I said, pointing. My mother was in the middle of reading that book to me and Charlie. I liked that Stuart could drive a car.

  Jeffrey started to say something but stopped when we saw the clerk lift the top of the snake aquarium and dangle the mouse over it.

  “Dinnertime!” the man announced before dropping the terrified mouse into the aquarium.

  Out of nowhere, a slender orange snake appeared. The mouse froze, and so did I. Then, in one lightning-quick move, the snake struck. I remember trying to scream, but no sound came out. To this day, I still sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, dreaming about the outline of the mouse’s body inside the snake.

  * * *

  “What are we doing at the mall?” Monarch asked as she parked Rolvo across two parking spaces. She adjusted the mirror to admire the necklace again. “I thought you were supposed to be rescuing animals, not shopping.”

  “Just follow me,” I told her.

  Petty’s Pets was still there. The familiar smell of wood shavings, and urine, and damp animals hit me on the way in. As Monarch cooed at the puppies in the front of the store, I scoped out the place. The hamsters and the fish were in the same location, but the reptiles had been moved to the back. Nearby was a cage full of white mice. A handwritten sign read “For pets or pet food.”

  “No way!” Monarch said from behind me. She leaned down and peered into the cage. “They can’t be serious!”

  “Here’s the plan,” I said, lowering my voice.

  Monarch started laughing so hard that several people stared at her. “Oh, Higgs,” she said, trying to compose herself. “If we pull this off, you’re going to be my hero.”

  I warmed at the thought of it.

  As planned, we waited until more people were in the store. There were only three clerks. Two girls gabbing at the register, and one guy roaming the aisles.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Monarch said to the clerk. He was wearing a “Petty’s Pets Expert Ricky” name tag. “Do you know where I could buy a bear cub?”

  “Uh, no,” Ricky said. He had a buzz cut and the unsatisfactory beginnings of a beard.

  “Hmmm, all right. Then what about monkeys? A friend of mine has a pet monkey, and I want one too so they can have playdates.”

  Ricky shook his head, “No, no monkeys,” he told her as he adjusted his collar. It was tight on his thick neck.

  “Okay, then what about turtles?” Monarch asked, taking a step toward him. “Ricky, please tell me you have turtles.”

  A slow smile crossed Ricky’s broad face. “Turtles we have,” he said triumphantly. “Follow me.”

  As Monarch went to look at the turtles, I went to look at the mice. The aisle was empty. The mice were so packed into the wire cage that they were climbing over one another. Carefully, I propped the door open. A little girl wearing a crown and holding a lollipop was watching me.

  “Go away,” I hissed.

  She shook her head.

  “Get out of here.”

  She still refused to move and didn’t until I growled at her.

  From across the store, I could see Monarch and Ricky. She was asking, “Ferrets? Do you have ferrets? What country are they from?”

  I pushed the cage to the edge of the counter so that it was hanging precariously over the ledge.

  “You don’t have sharks?” I could hear her ask. “No? Well, what about snakes? Do you have snakes?”

  As Ricky led Monarch to the snakes, I retreated. She looked into one of the aquariums and said, “Ricky, I know you’re teasing me, there’s no snake in there.”

  He smiled at Monarch. “No, I swear, there’s one in there, you just have to look carefully.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said coyly. “Show me.”

  Ricky removed the lid from the aquarium, reached in, and pulled out a corn snake. When he triumphantly held it out, Monarch released an impressive scream before backing into the open cage of mice and knocking them onto the floor. Ricky lurched toward the cage, dropping the snake, which immediately slithered after a mouse.

  “Save me!” Monarch screamed, throwing her arms around him.

  As the mice scampered around the store, chaos ensued and it was glorious. Holding hands, Monarch and I moved toward the door. That’s when I noticed a mouse, huddled up against a display. “You can go,” I told him. “Get out of here, you’re free!”

  The mouse was paralyzed with fear.

  “We’d better leave,” Monarch whispered above the screaming customers. “Ricky’s giving me a funny look.”

  I scooped up the mouse and slipped him into my pocket.

  Monarch and I were in the parking lot, laughing and congratulating ourselves.

  “So, am I your hero?” I asked.

  “Higgs Boson Bing, you are so my hero!” she exclaimed.

  We stared at each other, and in a romantic-movie moment, I brushed some hair out of her eyes and took a step toward her. I was about to kiss Monarch when she broke the spell by asking awkwardly, “So, what’s his or her name?”

  I was almost surprised to find myself holding a mouse. It was quivering in the palm of my hand and looked scared.

  “Stua
rt,” I said without hesitation. I straightened up, as if kissing her had never been part of the plan.

  “Stuart?” Monarch said, scrunching up her nose. “I was thinking of Annabelle —” She stopped and motioned toward the mall. Ricky was coming toward us with a grim look plastered on his face. Behind him was a heavy mall security guard speaking into a walkie-talkie.

  “Get in the car,” I told Monarch. “Hurry, before they catch us!”

  Monarch climbed into the driver’s side and fumbled to get the keys in the ignition.

  “Put it in gear! Put it in gear!” I shouted as Ricky and the mall cop began sprinting. “Goddamn it, put the car in gear!!!”

  “Don’t yell at me!” Monarch screamed, near tears. “I’m trying.”

  “Put it in gear,” I shouted.

  She pumped the pedal but we didn’t move.

  “Holy crap, put it in gear!” I was well aware that my screaming had reached new levels of shrill, but I couldn’t control it any more than I could control Monarch.

  She let out a yelp as the out-of-breath mall cop lumbered straight toward us and began pounding Rolvo’s hood. I couldn’t hear what he was yelling, but Ricky kept pointing and waving his arms. My adrenaline was in overdrive even though my car was not.

  “Put it in gear,” I shouted once more.

  “Oh, in gear,” Monarch purred. “Higgs, why didn’t you say so?”

  Like a female James Bond, Monarch threw Rolvo into gear and did a couple laps around Ricky and the mall cop before peeling out of the parking lot.

  Just as we were about to make a clean getaway, Monarch yanked on the emergency break and Rolvo did a 180. Then Monarch rolled up to the red-faced Ricky, who looked stunned. I doubt anyone had ever seen a Volvo station wagon perform like that.