Ricky squeezes my shoulder. “But we made it. Now we need to steer McNeil in the wrong direction. If he ever figures out a computer, we’re fucked.”
“Fucked is right.” The voice makes us all jump. We turn, and leaning up against the wall is Trevor Culin, Ricky’s enemy. Trevor moves toward us. Under the lights he looks worse than the last time I saw him. He’s more gaunt, as if he’s anorexic, and decked out in his ultrastylish tight jeans and black T-shirt.
“What do
you
want?” John asks.
Trevor ignores him and keeps staring at Ricky. They go way back. We all do, but it’s different between the two of them. There’s more history that even I don’t know.
“I think it’s more a matter of what
you
need.” Trevor flicks his head toward us but stares at Ricky.
“And what’s that?” Ricky’s smooth tone is gone, and the sound that’s emerged is ragged.
“Please, you whisper like a drunk chick. ‘If he ever figures out a computer . . .’” Trevor smirks. “Nice job, by the way. Seems like your editing skills have come a long way.”
Ricky slams Trevor into the lockers across the hall. I look around, but no one’s seem to have heard.
“Listen, you piece of shit. I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, so either say what you mean or I’ll shut your mouth for you.”
Trevor should be petrified and start begging for forgiveness. Ricky’s no joke. I’ve seen him throw down and win against guys way bigger than him. And Trevor’s small, fragile, but he reaches up and pats Ricky’s hand. “That’ll do, Ricky. That’ll do.”
I wait for the punch, but Ricky shoves Trevor hard and steps away. Trevor rubs his neck. “Seems like we may need to have you cool down before we can talk. I’ll meet you after school.”
Trevor turns on his heel and walks down the hall. He’s the quintessential computer geek: stooped shoulders, tight face, with an aura of constantly being the only one aware of some inside joke. Little bastard.
“What the hell?” I can’t tell if John’s question is directed at Ricky, Trevor, or himself.
Ricky waves a hand at him. “I’ll deal with it, whatever it is he thinks he knows. I’m not losing this opportunity because of
him
.” He watches Trevor disappear down the hall and then moves away from us.
Opportunity.
Why that word? What we’re doing is fun, and yeah, I guess getting paid makes it like a job. But opportunity?
John bumps me and we follow Ricky and I think I should start helping him with his linguistics.
CHAPTER 8
T
he rest of the day
is a blur. In fact, every class has been a blur since I started this year. I don’t know what I’m learning, if I’m learning. Between the dares and my impending move, and now this nonsense with McNeil and Trevor, it’s unlikely my head will clear anytime soon.
I pull into the parking lot and check my phone. I’ve got a text from Ricky:
Took care of shit with Trevor. We have a new cameraman. We’ll talk later.
He’s got to be joking.
Trevor?
Our cameraman?
“Doc, you on the phone or are you up to something else?”
I hold up my phone. “Text.”
“You’re probably ambidextrous. Get out here and help me with this trash.”
I slide my phone into my pocket and get out of the Jeep. I’ll get the details on this development ASAP, but for now, I grab two bags and haul them to the trash can. Chuck watches me toss them in like a coach critiquing the shot put. I finish and he stands there, mustache twitching. “What?” I finally say.
He grabs his chin, rubs it in his palm, and nods. “No other way to say this. I know about those dares at your school.”
“How’d you find out about all that?” Listening to myself, I sound relaxed, but that could be wishful thinking.
“I may sell pizzas, but I’m not stupid. I hear things and I had Bobby, the cook, do some digging for me.”
“Sure,” I say, not sure where he wants to go with this.
Chuck drops his hand from his chin. “I want ad space.”
I don’t even know how to answer. “You want to advertise on YouTube?”
“No, nothing fancy like that. I want you to give those boys some of my shirts. People are watching that shit, and if they do that, all the kids from your school will be in here. I could even run some kind of special.”
Oh, hell no, he can’t do that. I mean, he can, but . . . shit, how do I get out of this one? “But I don’t know who they are.”
Chuck frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, making his belly protrude even more. “Your school ain’t that big. Find out for me, will ya?”
“Yeah, give me a week.”
“I can already see the steam coming out your ears, Doc. You’ll figure it out in no time.”
I say, “Thanks,” and stagger inside.
“Ben, hey. I was just thinking about you.” Alexia bounds over and throws herself around my neck. This has become a very adorable pattern. She squeezes me and smells like fruit. I go from feeling nauseous to tingly in a fraction of a second. She slides off but grabs my hand. “Those guys. The ones you found, they’re like the hottest shit right now.”
I blush. I feel it creep up, and it’s embarrassing. But the cooks look over and seem to appreciate what she’s saying. “Crazy, huh?”
“Completely. How awesome?” Alexia grabs me around the neck again. I must appear to be like some life-sized doll she can tussle with. I don’t resist now, nearly as much as I did back then. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten I owe you a party. Maybe this weekend?”
She lets go and we straighten. I think,
Perfect opportunity
, but catch myself at the words. What
opportunity
? What the hell do I think I’ll find at the cool kids’ party? And after what Chantel said about Jesse and Alexia, I’m not sure I want to see.
“Enough, you two. You’re making me sick. Alexia, get the Doctor some prescriptions and get him out the door. His mere presence isn’t making me any money.”
Alexia pouts at Chuck and rolls her eyes at me. She walks to the counter and Chuck comes up behind me. “A party? With her? If you can’t find out who’s trying to kill themselves, at least you’ll have some eye candy.”
“Chuck, come on! It’s Alexia. We’re friends. Besides . . .”
“
Besides
what? Don’t tell me I can’t look. I’m not dead, yet. Like with those kids. It’ll happen, just not today.”
I sigh and shake my head. I can’t fix Chuck. I can’t produce some daredevils for McNeil. I have only a notion of what’s up with Alexia, and my home and dad’s job are on shaky ground. Which, in turn, makes my college plans and the future quite unstable. That and the fact that I’m terrible at school this year.
So how do I make sense of any of this? What would Newton do? From the pictures I’ve seen, probably go curl his hair.
—
I’m sitting in my driveway,
afraid to walk through the door. Everything that’s happened today makes me feel as if our secret’s been revealed. Too many people are curious for this to stay underground.
I have this feeling that someone has called my parents, or they bumped into someone while running “errands” or whatever it is they’re doing these days, and they know and I’m dead. All I want to do is take a shower and check in with Ricky, because John’s been blowing up my phone asking if I’ve heard from him. Apparently, he didn’t bother to tell him about Trevor.
But I know I’ll go in and my parents will sit me down at the dining room table, and this time they won’t tell me about moving—which I might welcome over the punishment. Instead, they’ll tell me how
disappointed
they are. That they’ve seen the dares and they know it’s me and that they
expected
so much more.
I slide out of the Jeep and stare at my feet as I walk to the door. Their voices carry through the air. I stop and listen. They’re high-pitched and giddy. I turn the handle and step through.
Laughter. Mom’s laughter is echoing off the walls in the dining room, followed by Dad’s. The hell? I turn the corner and hear, “So I told my professor, that he should check the one slide because of the typo, but he didn’t believe me. I insisted. He got all angry, but then he did, and sure enough, it was
shit your booklet when finished
, not
shut
.”
Ginny raises her hand in an I-told-you-so shrug and my parents laugh again. They’re all drinking wine, including my sister, who’s not twenty-one, and I focus on this for some reason. “You’re drinking? With Mom and Dad?”
They all turn to me and have the same frown. I can read the message loud and clear:
Really, Ben?
“Hi, bro. How are you? Long time, no see. Yes, this year is going well, so nice of you to ask.” Ginny’s face is almost as flushed as the wine she sips, and I feel like cracking her upside the head. Some things never change.
Dad clears his throat. “Ben, Ginny’s home for the weekend. Came home a day early, even. Please, let’s not start off this way. We, uh, have a lot to discuss.” He looks at Mom.
“Your father’s right. We have a lot to talk about, so that’s why we asked Ginny to come home. Okay?”
I wish I had a damn glass. I’d down the contents and ask for a refill. If this means we’re going to have a “family powwow,” as they like to call it, I should be intoxicated. The prospect of moving sucks, but add to it the fact that my annoying sister is going to throw in her opinion on the matter, and I may run myself over with the Jeep to get out of this.
“Okay,” I say. “I just need to go shower.”
“Take your time. We’re getting caught up.” Mom and Dad look back at Ginny. They’re already absorbed by her, and I haven’t even left the room.
—
I return and
it’s as if they’ve decided my therapy session with Ginny should begin. She nods at the chair across from her and I sit.
“Ben, Mom and Dad have explained the situation to me, and there’s no reason for you to be afraid.”
I turn to my parents, but they nod like she’s some amazing guru.
“Why should I be afraid?”
She rolls her eyes, like I’m being cute.
“Benny, it’s okay to be honest about your feelings. The more you repress them, the worse you’ll feel and that may manifest in some pretty terrible behavior.”
Dad says, “Huh?” Exactly what I was thinking.
Ginny runs a hand through her long hair and whips it over her shoulder. “It’s basic psychology, Dad. I learned it in class. Ben is very introverted and that could be dangerous.”
I want to strangle her with her own hair. She’s like all the kids in class with me, who are on every club that exists, work every community service project, play twelve instruments, and train blind horses. I can picture her at college, Miss-know-it-all, asking questions she already knows the answers to.
“To be fair, we haven’t told Benjamin everything. We’ve been waiting for the right moment,” Mom says.
“Everything?”
I ask.
Mom sighs. “We’re selling the house and are looking at apartments or possibly a condo. Your father may not agree to the transfer.”
This takes a moment to process. My day has been out of control, and this, shit, I don’t know. So I ask the only logical question, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Jesus, Ben, watch your mouth!” Dad shouts.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, what do you want me to say? You all seem to have this figured out.”
Dad frowns. “I understand how it must feel to you.” He leans forward in his seat. “Here’s the situation: we’re moving, one way or another. Either to save money or to take advantage of an
appropriate
opportunity. I refuse to get stuck in something that doesn’t make sense for us all.”
“So we’ll be across the country, or across town?”
“It all depends on the plant’s next move.”
“It’s going to be so hard to say good-bye to this house,” Ginny says and looks around, as if at someone’s deathbed. “The memories.”
She and Mom embrace, and I stare at my father. He shrugs and looks out at the night.
I sit for a moment longer and then say good night, pat Dad on the shoulder, and head to my room.
I hop online, hoping for distraction, but there’s a Facebook message from Ricky.
Benny. So all I can say is that some shit has changed. We’re gonna have Trev as our cameraman. He’s nasty with computers, so this is prolly good, but please go along with it, cuz if you do, John will be down. O. P. says the check is on the way and that he’ll send the list tonight, too. Cool?
I don’t know how to respond—at this point I have no energy for anything more—so I shut down my computer and close my eyes and concentrate on breathing.
When I was eight, Mom had me take a course with her on dealing with anxiety. The only takeaway was the deep breathing. Couple that with a quiet room and I’m usually good to go.
Ten minutes later and I’m calm, almost asleep. I pull myself out of the chair and head to the bathroom. Ginny’s standing in it, sniffling. I take another deep breath.
“Sorry, finishing up.” She blows her nose and wipes her eyes and I lean against the wall.
My exhaustion takes over, and I may fall asleep right here.
“You okay, Benny?”
I open my eyes and she’s hovering, looking not like the semi-adult from downstairs, but the red-eyed, puffy-faced sister I remember. I sigh. “Yeah. It’s a lot all at once. You know?”
“That’s it. Exactly.” She steps into the hall.
I don’t know what else to say, so I shrug and mumble, “Good night.” I piss and when I come out, she’s gone and her door is closed. I shut my own, kill the light, and plow into my bed. I think I’m asleep before I even shut my eyes.
CHAPTER 9
T
he first thing I do
when I wake up is check my phone. Text from Ricky, sent at 3 a.m.:
Check fb. List.
My heart takes a wild gallop as I untangle from my sheets and head to the computer. My brain is fried and I need some serious caffeine. At least my parents will have a pot of coffee brewing since they’re probably hung over, along with my sister.
I read Ricky’s message. The next options are: