by Sandi Van
SENT AWAY
Leo. Dad’s voice. Somewhere between a whisper and a growl. Take Reina for ice cream. He hands me the keys. I only have my permit. But, Dad. Go.
SMALL TALK
I don’t want to talk about dolphins. Or sea turtles. Or sharks. I want to know what my brother is hiding.
THE WAY IT SHOULD BE
Reina and I drive home. Knuckles on the wheel, white with dread. I pretend it is all okay. Imagine it is all okay.
HOME
Sirens spin in an endless pattern: red blue red blue. A shadow steps onto our front porch. Hands on Jack’s shoulders, large and strong. The moment swirls around me like a snowstorm.
FAMILY DAY
I remember when Mom took us on her ship. Family cruise day aboard the aircraft carrier. The ship a city in itself. Jack had a toy plane that zoomed through the air to the sound of his buzzing lips. Reina gurgled in her baby carrier and pulled at Dad’s hair. I took it all in. The tight spaces and narrow stairways. Voices that rose above the steady sound. The smell— like Mom’s hugs when she came home. I thought about all the sailors. Wondered where they slept. What happened when they went to the bathroom. Wondered if the ocean made them sick. Where the food came from when they were out to sea. Any questions? Someone asked. Yes. Yes. Yes. But I was too shy to speak up.
QUESTION
I only have one question now. A question for Jack: Didn’t you know you’d get caught?
THEY’RE TAKING MY BROTHER AWAY
Dad’s in the doorway. Body propped against the wood to keep from falling over. Reina half asleep. Eyes blink slowly. Colored lights reflect onto her cheeks. I watch as my brother enters the back seat of a police car.
DOES IT?
I wait. Wait for the cops to leave. Wait until Dad slinks back inside. Does that make me a coward?
INSIDE
Dad paces back and forth. His feet a ticking clock against the floor. They took him in, he says. No prompt from me. They took him in for questioning. Questioning. Questioning. Three steady beats. Do they think—? I start to ask. But I know. I already know. They think he had something to do with the science lab. Did they—what did they find? Dad stops. His words spill out in slow drips. They found chemicals in his room. They think he— They think he plans— Oh God. My son. How could he?
AT LEAST ONE OF US WILL SLEEP TONIGHT
I bring Reina to bed. Tuck her in. Kiss her forehead. She shifts, sighs, falls deeply into sleep.
FIGHT
I don’t know what else to do. So I grab the game controller and shoot. I shoot and shoot and shoot. Anger spilling out of me. Sweat spilling out of me. My fingers like fireworks. The sounds in my headset drown out the sounds in my head. Dad’s words. His boots on the floor as he paced. Jack’s laughter. Plotting with his friends. I should have known it wasn’t innocent. I should have seen this coming.
MORNING
The day starts. Dad’s gone. Reina’s in the kitchen buttering her toast. Sharky’s in the place where Jack should be. Then I remember. My brother is locked up.
CHEERFUL
It isn’t enough to smile through the pain of Mom being gone. It isn’t enough to pull my lips back, bare my teeth. Tongue pressed. Adam’s apple firm in my throat. I must dig deep, find the joy. For Reina’s sake. But the joy sinks deeper with every passing day. The weight of Jack pulls it low down into a place with no light.
MESSAGES
To Dave: Cover for me. I’ll explain later. To Zen: Meet me after school outside the gate. I need your help. To Jack: (Even though I know he won’t see it.) Jack Attack. I’m on my way.
POLICE STATION
I sign in. Explain who I am. They know. Dad left an hour ago. He thought I’d be by to work things out. That’s what the cop says: Your father said you’d be able to work things out. Work what out? I want to ask. I can talk to him? My brother? The cop nods. Follow me. We’d like a confession, see who else is involved. But he’s not talking. Think you can loosen his tongue? Loosen his tongue. As if it is tied into a neat knot. And I have magic fingers that know how to work it. How to pull and pull until the words come out. My palms itch. Sweat walks down my back in a straight line. I’ll do my best.
PROMISES, PROMISES...
They lead me to a room. Rows of chairs tucked neatly into separate places. Like when we had to take tests in middle school. Smiley faces scribbled on the cardboard. Sometimes worse. Crude pictures. Words I learned on the bus. I sit. Jack watches me through thick glass. How has it come to this? We speak to each other on strange phones. No way, he says. As if we were in the middle of talking. They told me to do it. Told me it’d be okay. Nobody said anything about a b— The missing word hangs in the air, invisible. It wasn’t me, Leo. I swear. You’ve gotta have my back. You promised.
...SO HARD TO KEEP
My mind flashes back to the day with the ladder. When Jack refused to face life with a younger sister. How simple it was then. How easy to say the words, with no need to worry about backing them up.
WHAT I GET FROM JACK
Yeah. He was there that night. The night he and the other boys broke into the lab. Boys from our support group. Their support in the form of terror. Jack wasn’t forced to join them. But he was forced to hide what they stole. He swears he didn’t know the plan. I don’t believe him. But he is my brother. And I promised.
WHAT IF
What if I cover for him and he is lying? What if the scoutmaster learns what I did and kicks me out of the troop? What if the cops ban me from the one thing I want in life more than breath?
RESPONSES
I leave the station. Check my phone. Dad wants to know if I went to see Jack. Don’t skip school, he wrote. But make sure he’s OK. As if I could somehow do both. Dave sent a thumbs-up. Zen sent a concerned face and the words: I’ll be there. I feel less alone. But not less afraid.
3 P.M.
She stands outside the school gate. The blue in her hair like the deep ocean on a sunny day. For a moment I forget why I asked her to come.
UNKNOWN REASONS
Oh Leo, Zen says. Her head tilts the way Mom’s would when we spilled our cereal on the floor. Is everything all right? She reaches for my hand. Takes it in hers. I—we—Jack— Words jumble in my brain. I close my eyes and try to sort them all out. The lab, I say. Eyes open. It was Jack. And the guys, ya know, from group? Her mouth is an O. She nods. Knows exactly who I mean. Why? I shrug. The answer an itch I don’t want to scratch.
THRIFTY
Conserve. Be careful. Use only what’s needed. Use only what’s needed.
THE NOTE
Zen releases my hand. Reaches into her pocket. Pulls out a piece of paper. Crumpled lines smoothed straight and folded into a neat square. She stays silent. Passes me the paper. I am afraid of what will happen if I read it. But more afraid of what will happen if I don’t.
WORDS THAT HURT
Zen speaks. Her voice quiet and shaking. I found it in my locker. Her eyes stare down at her feet. Toes tap nervously. I unfold the square. Read. Words of hate. Words of fear. Slang against Zen for who she is and where her family came from. Are you the only one? I ask. She shakes her head. She saw other notes. On the ground. In the trash. Other students, Asian, like her. Huddling in corners sharing their crumpled slips. Now it is my turn to ask. Why?
QUILT
We are all a part of a unique people quilt. Some of us believe in the beauty of it all. But some choose to live in fear.
STUCK IN MY MIND
I don’t want to accept the truth. My brother’s theft, the letters left, are connected in hatred.
THE ONLY THING TO DO IS LEAVE
My defenses are up. The big brother in me, the one who promised to protect, steps in. No way, I tell Zen. Her eyes meet mine. No way my brother would use those words. Our dad—he’s from Cuba. He taught us to accept everyone. Jack’s not to blame. He’d never call you those horrible things. Zen starts to cry. Tries to speak. But I don’t stick around to listen.
I R
UN
And run and run and run. Because that’s what my body does to feel okay.
HELP
I want to call Mom and tell her what’s happened. To ask if she thinks Jack is innocent. But communication must be down. Her phone goes straight to voice mail. There are no new emails for any of us. Sometimes they do that to protect us, Mom said before she left. Don’t let it worry you. But right now, in this moment, with fear at my face like a cold wind, all I do is worry.
DOES ANYONE KNOW?
What it means to be safe? Protected? Kept from harm?
THE HOUSE IS QUIET
Too quiet. Dad is at work. Because that is how he keeps the family together. (I never understand what he means when he says that.) Reina’s at her friend’s house. Because that is where we sent her to keep her safe (and in the dark). Jack is at the police station. Because that is where people go when they don’t know how to behave. Me. All alone. Trying to figure out what went wrong.
ASK FOR FORGIVENESS
The things I said to Zen echo in my head like fireworks. I dial her number, hands shaking. Voice mail. The need to talk to someone grows inside me. A beast needing to be fed. Zen. It’s Leo. I ’m so sorry. Call me.
THE FIRST CALL
My phone rings. A number I don’t know. The station? Jack? Did he confess? One of the three. Leo Solis? A voice asks. Yes? This is him. Hello, yes, I’m calling to follow up on your summer academy application? Yes? I say again. My voice sounds strange, unknown. Right, everything looks good. We’d like you to come down to the station for an interview. I have to stop myself from laughing. From saying, I was just there. From asking if they’d seen my baby brother waiting in a cell. Sure, sure, I say. Let’s set that up.
MY HEART SINKS
They must know.
THE SECOND CALL
I hang up. The phone rings again. Before I even get the chance to calm my breath. Hey, Zen. Hey. I’m sorry, I say again. Your brother, I get it—it’s okay. I understand why you’d feel that way. But, Leo, one thing is really clear There’s something bigger going on here. I hear Zen’s breath on the line. In. Out. She steadies herself and continues. Look, I heard your brother’s friends planned to prank the Asian Cultural Club. Said they were tired of everything going on overseas. They want someone to blame— For our parents being gone? I ask. Yeah. I guess. But this, it’s serious, Leo. People are scared. I know. I’m one of them.
BRAVE
Bravery is when you do what is right what is needed despite the doubt that eats at your insides.
THERE ARE TWO WAYS TO DEAL WITH FEAR
One: You let it win. It crawls inside your brain, sets up roadblocks, freezes your feet in place. Two: You fight back. Fists raised, teeth bared, heart a drum in your chest. Either way it will force you to decide.
WHAT I DECIDE TO DO
Pull fear out by the tail. Stare it down. Tell it there isn’t room enough for both of us. Get on my bike and ride down to the station.
FIRSTBORN
I step into the garage as Dad’s car pulls into the driveway. Early. He’s never home early. But also, I can’t believe he went to work today. He stops the car and opens his door. Dad. Son. We stand. Me in the doorway Him half out of the car. I wonder. When he looks at me, what does he see? Leo. The responsible one. Leo. The dependable one. On my honor I will do my best to do my duty. Leo? Dad says. Yeah? You doing okay, son?
UNANSWERED
Dad and I ride to the station. Words sit on my tongue like wet clay. I want to tell him about the academy interview. About ranking into Eagle and ideas for my project. I want to ask him if he’s proud of me.
TRUST ME
When we arrive, I ask Dad to let me talk to Jack first. No problem, I trust you, he says. Think you can fix this? Leo. The reliable one.
HOW...
The clerk at the front desk tells me they’ve moved Jack. He’s in the next building over. A holding cell for at-risk juveniles. At risk. How did the little kid who used to race toy cars around the family room get here?
...DID WE GET HERE?
If only I knew how to stop you from falling down this fateful path. I’d hold your hand so tightly. You’d beg me to let go. Try to walk away. I can’t let you live this way anymore.
MOVING FORWARD
Dad and I walk to the holding center. Show our IDs. Wait in the lobby. Listen to the clock. tick tick tick An endless song. A woman calls us back. One at a time, please, she says. Dad nods. I follow her. Jack sits in a room alone. He looks tired and scared. I want to hug him. Instead I stand in the doorway. Jack Attack, I whisper. You okay, man? The word feels strange on my tongue. We are frozen in place. Yeah, he says finally. Can you bust me outta here? I didn’t mean to— I know, I say. But we need to fix this.
WHAT JACK DOES
I expect him to be angry. To lash out and blame the others. To tell me how unfair it is that Mom is gone. And how he hates everyone responsible for making her leave, for putting her in danger. I expect him to hate me for being there. For trying to convince him to do the right thing like I always do. Instead he stands up walks over to me puts his arms around my waist and his head on my shoulder. Thanks, man.
SOLIDARITY
A video camera watches us from across the room. I hug my brother tightly. And try not to cry.
WHAT JACK SAYS
He tells me the truth. What really happened the night he snuck out. How he met up with the guys from the support group. Got high and watched videos of soldiers overseas. How they started screaming and swearing until someone suggested they blow ’em up. I didn’t have to ask who. Jack stops at that part, remembering Zen. Your girlfriend, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t even— She’s not, I start to say. But yeah. Go on. He tells me about the plan. The lab. The chemicals. Some guy knew how to make a bomb. Just a joke, he says. It was just a joke. To scare them. I want to tell him how people could have been hurt or killed. And how he should know how serious schools take this sort of threat. But I bite my tongue. Do you think the cops’ll let me go if I confess? I don’t want to be a rat.
CLEAN
Physically strong. Mentally awake. Morally straight. As if the lines were perfectly clear, and no one ever had to step over them.
UDGMENT
We sit around a long table. Me and Dad on one side. Jack on the other. Next to him, some guy in his 20s who looks like he’s already tired of life. At the end, an older woman. She introduces herself: a judge. And the guy: a youth advisor. He asks who I am and where is Jack’s mother. Dad explains. The judge nods in the way people do when you tell them Mom is deployed. It makes my stomach turn.
FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN
I want to hold my brother’s hand the way I did when we rode our first roller coaster. He wasn’t the one scared that day.
CONFESSION
Turns out Jack doesn’t need to be a rat. The video cameras at school caught the other boys standing around, waiting for my brother to do their dirty work. The judge explains the danger and asks Jack to make his plea. Jack and I make eye contact across the table. I nod my head. His eyes look down. He sighs deeply. Like someone poked a hole in a balloon. Ma’am, he says. I’m sorry. And I want to make it up to the school. And those kids. And my mom. Mom doesn’t even know yet. Dad said he wanted to wait until the ruling. Jack bites his bottom lip. His hands shake. He looks at me. I nod a second time. Me and my brother, Leo, we got an idea. We hope it’ll make things right. He passes her the paper. She puts on glasses, clears her throat, and reads our words. The room is as quiet as a snowstorm. I stare into my lap and pray.
STEPPING STONES
The judge looks at Jack. Young man, she says. You are at a crossroads. Do you know what that means? Your anger can take you down a path of hate and crime. But what is to be gained from that? You will only end up hurting others, yourself, and your family. It seems to me that your brother here looks out for you. Don’t shut him out. Don’t shut out the people who want to keep you on the right road. As she speaks, I think about th
e stones in my path. About how life tries to stop you. Tries to stop you with floods, with moss-covered rocks. Tries to make you slip. About how sometimes we need to set down new stones. And sometimes we can’t survive life’s floods without the people we love holding our hands.
