The Similars

by Rebecca Hanover

  “I don’t,” Johnny replies defensively.

  “Then why do you care so much what he thinks? I’ve seen the way you act around him. Around all of them.”

  “They’re my friends,” he says. “So I humor Zeke. Or tell Booker what he wants to hear.”

  “Or compliment Bianca every chance you get? ‘Oh, B, you look really nice today,’” Jane mimics. “You know they’re not all that, right? They’re regular people, like you and me.”

  “Like you, sure. You’re one of them.”

  Jane stops and looks Johnny in the eye. “I guess it’s time,” she says.

  “Time for what?”

  “For me to let you in on the secret that no one else at this school will ever tell you, but that you desperately need to hear.”

  She’s got Johnny’s attention now. “I’m listening,” he says.

  “Ezekiel Choate, Colin Chance, Bianca Kravitz, and Booker Ward all have one thing in common.” She pauses dramatically. “They are the biggest bunch of insecure babies I’ve ever met in my life.”

  Johnny scowls. “Thanks. I thought you were going to share something useful.” He kicks at a rock with his scuffed sneaker.

  “Don’t you get it? They are clueless. They’ve been polished like precious gems but have never left the vault, except to be paraded around by Mommy and Daddy. They don’t have any idea what it’s like to live. Not like you do.”

  “Why? Because I grew up poor?” When Jane doesn’t respond, Johnny speaks for her. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it? My mother cleans houses for a living, Jane. Have you ever stopped to consider what that means to someone like Bianca Kravitz?”

  “I think it’s noble,” Jane says softly.

  “I detest that word, that tone. You’re really saying you pity her.” His next words are barely audible. “And me, by association.”

  “I could never…”

  “You absolutely could. Because you’re one of them.”

  “Somehow I don’t think you mean that as a compliment,” Jane responds.

  “It isn’t.”

  The two are silent for a moment as neither one knows what to say. Johnny appears sad. Heartbroken, even. And Jane’s no better. I sense she’s on the verge—of crying? Walking away?

  Then Johnny grabs Jane’s hand. But his voice isn’t sad, it’s full of passion. “You’re one of them, but you aren’t the same.”

  “You just said…” I notice tears filling her eyes.

  “You have empathy. Zeke and Bianca and the others don’t.”

  “They care about you, Johnny,” says Jane. “You’re their friend, even if you won’t let yourself believe it.”

  His voice is tight. “I believe I’m the friend they keep around to feel good about themselves. I’m their charity case. We all have our roles to play. I know what mine is.”

  “Then what’s mine?”

  Johnny drops Jane’s hands and stuffs his own into his pockets, not looking at her directly. “You know,” he mumbles.

  “Sorry, Johnny New Boy. I don’t.”

  “You’re the one they covet. The one those guys want to call their girl. The one Bianca wishes she were.”

  “Please,” Jane answers, her voice ringing with laughter. “If they all like me so much, why am I alone?”

  Johnny leans on the wall separating them from the woods and Dark Lake beyond. “Because you have your whole life ahead of you. Because you know you don’t have to choose any of them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

  Jane moves to stand next to him. Side by side in the moonlight, they breathe as one.

  “Maybe I’ll move to the country, live in a shack, and teach kindergarten to a bunch of snot-nosed kids.”

  “I could live in a shack.”

  Jane laughs.

  “But I could get us something better. Way better,” Johnny says, reveling in the fantasy.

  Jane smiles. “Can you imagine what my family would say? If I left all this?” She indicates Darkwood, but I know she means more than the school, and so does Johnny. She’s referring to all that a Darkwood education affords beyond graduation. “They’d drag me kicking and screaming back to their penthouse on Park Avenue.”

  Johnny stares off into the distance at Dark Lake. It’s shining like a black pearl.

  “I wonder what they’d think of me.”

  “Johnny…” She reaches out, but he jerks away.

  “Don’t.”

  “I was just going to say…”

  “What you always say. That I’m as good as them. That this is my legacy, if…”

  “It is, isn’t it? Darkwood was started by your ancestors…”

  He spins on her, fire in his eyes.

  “Ancestry only matters if you’re acknowledged in the family tree. My father got my mother pregnant, abandoned us, and left us destitute. Then he went on to have a real family. Albert is his son. Not me.”

  “You are still his son.”

  “Semantics, Jane. He’s never even spoken to me. That doesn’t exactly make him father of the year.”

  “Well, he’s missing out. I think you’re brilliant. Zeke and the others don’t have an ounce of the scrap you have.”

  “Good for me,” he snaps.

  “It’s good for me too,” she says. “I’d be worried if the boy I was with didn’t live up to my expectations. Luckily, he’s got the number-one stratum.”

  Johnny turns to her.

  “But I have the number-one stratum?”

  Jane smiles. “Exactly.”

  * * *

  We’re in a science lab. The equipment and white countertops all gleam like they’ve been wiped down with antiseptic spray. It only takes me a moment to recognize this as one of the abandoned research labs. Huddled in the corner are three figures.

  “Punch in the code,” says one of the guys. “Come on! It’s not that hard!”

  “Why don’t you do it yourself if it’s so easy?”

  The person who spoke first doesn’t reply. As I get a better look, I see that it’s Jaeger Stanwick. Even now, watching this fourth memory, it’s still surreal seeing them—our parents—as young Darkwood students.

  Jaeger squats, his knuckles white as he clamps his fingers into nervous fists. The second figure, the one fiddling with a keypad, is Johnny Underwood. Next to him is Zeke Choate.

  “Got it,” says Johnny as a loud beep rings out. He’s unlocked a steel box.

  A metal door swings open, and three animals peer out of a cage. I can’t tell what kind of animals they are at first; they look like a strange cross between a dog and a fox. They have foxlike snouts and bushy tails, but their ears lie flat like golden retrievers’.

  “Hey, little guys,” Zeke coos at them. “You’re free. Go on! You’re free!” The animals simply stare at him and sniff.

  “If anyone is having second thoughts about this, the time to voice them is now,” Jaeger says under his breath.

  “Too late,” says Johnny as the animals emerge from the cage tentatively. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not shoving them back in there. Let’s go! We’ll open the main door and let them out. Then I’ll double lock the front door from the outside, put the override code on, and we’ll make a run for it.”

  “Why are we doing this again?” Zeke whines as he prods the animals toward the door. They are docile and not particularly eager to run away. Now that they’ve made it out of their cage, they don’t know what to do.

  Suddenly, an alarm rings out. The three boys freeze in their tracks.

  “Run!” Zeke shouts to Johnny and Jaeger. Then the scene goes black.

  * * *

  We’re in the Tower Room of a Darkwood dormitory. Several stern adults—two men and two women—sit at the end of a mahogany table. At the other end, Johnny Underwood sits in a blazer and tie looking like he
hasn’t slept in weeks. Dark circles rim his eyes. His hair is greased back behind his ears. A few other students sit along the perimeter of the room, also looking serious. I immediately recognize Zeke Choate and Jaeger Stanwick. Jane Porter is there, and next to her, Booker Ward. My father is noticeably absent.

  “We’ve reviewed your classmates’ account of the evening of March fifteenth, and there were no discrepancies in your stories.” I’m stunned to see it’s none other than Headmaster Ransom talking. Gone is his gray-flecked hair and laugh lines. He is a relatively young man. “However,” Ransom continues, “there is one account of the night in question that we would like to review again. We’ve asked Albert Seymour to answer a few additional questions for the board. Albert?”

  There’s a shuffling at the back of the room, and I scan the room to find him standing up from his chair, dropping a notebook, and bending nervously to pick it up again.

  “Here,” Albert mumbles. “I’m here.”

  “Have a seat at the table, please,” Ransom instructs. “Next to your brother.”

  There’s a noticeable buzz in the room as that word is spoken. Brother.

  Albert drops his satchel on top of the shiny wood veneer. Johnny doesn’t look at him.

  “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Seymour,” says Headmaster Ransom. “Is it true that on the day and the evening of March fifteenth, you were not present on the Darkwood campus?”

  Albert shifts in his chair. “Yes. That is correct.”

  “And where were you at the time?”

  “In New York City,” Albert says quietly. “On a trip.”

  “A trip?” Ransom presses. “What was the nature of that trip?”

  Albert purses his lips before answering. “It was a family matter. I was in New York visiting my father.”

  At the mention of their father, it’s as though Johnny has been punched in the gut.

  “You were visiting your father,” Ransom repeats, making a note on the pad in front of him. “Ms. Fleischer? Do we have proof that Mr. Seymour was absent that day?” I turn my head to Ransom’s left, surprised I didn’t notice her before. Though she’s a good twenty years younger in the memory, and judging from the way Ransom just addressed her, probably still a Latin teacher and not yet the principal of the school, she is still every bit the Principal Fleischer I know. Her face retains that weathered, perpetually stern look I’ve always known. Maybe she never looked young.

  “Definitive proof,” she barks. “Albert missed a midterm exam. World history. Made arrangements to reschedule it for the next afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” Ransom says. “Mr. Seymour? You produced a train ticket for the administration, dated and time-stamped for March fifteenth?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And so, we can assume that it was not you who punched in the code that gave access to the animal laboratory on the eve of March fifteenth? The laboratory where you—and only you—were conducting an experiment by special permission from the science department. Can you tell us about this experiment?”

  Albert fidgets in his seat, shooting a look at Johnny, who continues to stare at the table. “I was working with those animals—the ones that were set free—on a lengthy study that had begun one year earlier. Because that laboratory houses top-secret experiments by Darkwood faculty and visiting scholars, it is usually closed to students.”

  “But your research was compelling enough to prompt the science department to give you a small grant to work in the east wing during after-school hours?”

  “Yes.” Albert is shaking.

  “What animals were you working with, Mr. Seymour?”

  “Canis vulpes canis,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Domesticated foxes. A cross between a wild fox and domesticated dog.”

  “And what were you attempting to accomplish with your research?” Ransom presses.

  Albert pauses a beat, his knuckles going white as he wrings his hands together, presumably to stop them from shaking.

  “I was attempting to clone them.”

  There’s a complete hush in the room.

  “And were your attempts successful?” Ransom continues.

  “Yes,” says Albert. It’s only now when he glances over at his brother that Johnny meets his gaze.

  “But you did not free the animals from the lab?”

  “No,” says Albert, never taking his eyes off Johnny. “It wasn’t me.”

  “We’ve already established that Albert wasn’t on the school premises at the time of the violation!” pipes in Fleischer. “It couldn’t have been—”

  “Mr. Seymour, one final question. It was your personal access code that was used to open the laboratory. Did you willingly give this information to any student?”

  The two brothers’ eyes are locked. I can sense an understanding pass between them.

  “No,” Albert says quietly. “I did not willingly give this information to another student.”

  The room is silent as everyone waits for Ransom to respond. My pulse pounds in my ears.

  “Is all this really necessary?” Fleischer interrupts. “Johnny Underwood was caught freeing those animals. It’s clear what happened. He stole the access code from his brother and released those animals as a childish prank. I’d recommend we proceed to the punishment portion of this session.”

  Ransom nods, shuffling through his notes.

  “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to add?” Ransom addresses the other adults in the room, the members of the Darkwood board.

  A woman to Ransom’s left—gray-haired, stiff, matronly—surveys Albert and Johnny. “The two of you are brothers?” she asks.

  Albert nods. Johnny remains silent.

  “They are half brothers, Helena.”

  “Ah yes. Mr. Seymour, you are a descendant of the Seymours who founded this school—am I correct?”

  “That’s right,” Albert mumbles.

  “And you, Mr. Underwood. You are also a descendant of those same Seymours?”

  Johnny clenches his fists, unclenches them. “Technically? You could say that.”

  “And yet,” Helena presses, “you are on a scholarship, while your brother comes from some of the greatest wealth in this school’s history.”

  “Your point, Helena?” Ransom interjects. “The boy’s background has no bearing on how this offense was committed, and certainly no bearing on the punishment.”

  “Respectfully, Ransom, I disagree—”

  Ransom cuts her off. “It is protocol that the defendant has one last chance to speak. Mr. Seymour, you can return to your seat.”

  Albert mumbles something I can’t make out, grabs his notebook and satchel, and gets up from the table, retreating into the shadows of the room. He doesn’t sit with Zeke Choate, Jane Porter, and the others.

  “Mr. Underwood,” Ransom goes on. “Are you prepared to speak?”

  “If you require it, sir.” Johnny looks over at Zeke, Jaeger, Booker, and finally, Jane. He meets her eyes, and only then do I see the desperation on his face. Jane shakes her head.

  “I don’t have anything to say beyond what’s already been reported by my friends,” says Johnny, looking Ransom in the eye. The acidity in his voice—especially on the word “friends”—is not lost on me. “I slipped out of my dorm room at eight p.m. on March fifteenth after telling my friends what I had planned. They thought I was joking, which is why they didn’t try to stop me. I used the laboratory key code I got from Albert without his knowledge, sneaked into the east wing, and liberated the animals in question. It was my idea, and I worked alone.”

  I hear a tiny gasp from the sidelines, and Jane has her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob.

  Ransom’s voice is stern. “So you don’t deny that you committed the infraction alone? And that it was solely your idea?”

  Johnny looks at
Jane. Booker is at her side. Next to him are Zeke and Jaeger, who looks like he’s about to be sick to his stomach. He whispers something to Zeke. Zeke shakes his head sharply. Then Jaeger stands. I’m wondering whether he’s about to confess that he and Zeke were, in fact, there that night—but he doesn’t. Instead, he strides out of the room.

  Johnny sags. “No,” he says, resignation in his voice.

  “Wait!” It’s Jane. She stands, her whole body trembling.

  “Sit down, Ms. Porter,” Fleischer barks.

  Ransom puts up a hand for decorum. “Was there something you wanted to add?”

  Jane and Johnny lock eyes again.

  “No,” Johnny says quickly. “She doesn’t know anything about that night.”

  “But…” Before Jane can say more, Booker grabs her by the arm, pulling her down into the seat next to him. “This is wrong,” she murmurs.

  “Jane doesn’t know anything,” Johnny reiterates. “She had nothing to do with what happened. I’m ready for my punishment now.”

  “So be it,” Ransom says, and I can tell he isn’t happy about this outcome.

  There’s a hush in the room. My whole body tenses. I’m being held captive by the very man—then a teen boy—who’s awaiting his fate. How will the outcome of this memory influence mine?

  “John Underwood,” Fleischer announces, “you committed four Darkwood infractions: breaking curfew, trespassing, breaking and entering, and interfering with a laboratory experiment. Though the administration has chosen not to press criminal charges, that does not lessen the serious nature of these crimes. We have no choice but to insist upon your immediate, and final, expulsion.”

  I hear weeping. Jane is hunched over, her head in her hands, sobbing. Booker puts a hand on her back, consoling her. I can’t see Albert.

  I only get one last glimpse of Johnny Underwood’s face before the memory cuts out. He is devastated.

  Reality

  The next thing I know, I’m in an armchair in a vast room with skinny glass windows that afford an expansive view beyond the compound—the rolling green down to the blue waters that meet the azure sky.

  Across the room from me, Levi is probably ten or fifteen feet away. I make a move to go to him, but apparently whatever force field there was on my bed is at work here too. I slam back in my seat.