Jerkbait (6 page)

9

T
he best thing about living in North Jersey was that we could hop on any bus or train straight to New York Penn Station. We mostly walked around Times Square and the theatre district, coughing in the smog and hanging out by the stage door after the show for autographs. The last time we went into the city, we saw
Wicked.
That was Heather’s favorite musical. It was kind of growing on me even though at first I thought it was overrated. The time before, we saw
Rock of Ages,
which had kick-ass, old rock songs from the eighties. The time before that, we saw
Matilda,
which I said was only okay even though I loved it. Heather caught my bluff because she suggested we do Trunchbull and Miss Honey for Halloween at her party. Instead I went as Gabe from
Next to Normal
and wore just my underwear. Everyone was all over me, except Heather, so it was almost great.

I packed a toiletry bag and finished my hair, wondering how close to the chandelier we’d be able to sit, whether we’d get first cast or understudies, what sort of effects would be used.

On a hanger were my dress pants, a pressed white shirt, and a slim, burgundy tie. On another hanger, I had a navy sports jacket. I figured I could decide how dressy I should be at that last minute.

A loud crash came from downstairs, followed by shouting. I dropped my backpack and clothes before taking off down the steps. “Everything okay?”

Robbie stood in the kitchen looking wild. He gripped a kitchen knife. With his back against the sink, he rotated his arm, pointing it back and forth between Mom and Dad. “I can’t do it,” Robbie spluttered hysterically. “Don
’t make me. Please don’t make me do it.”

“Robbie, put it down,” Dad said, trying to inch forward. “Put it down.”

“Stay back!” he yelled.

Mom gripped her iPhone with her red fingernails. “Should I call 911?”

“Yes,” I said at the same time Dad said, “No. We’ve got this.”

My throat tightened. Did he really think it’d be better to risk getting stabbed than Robbie getting some help? I wanted to argue with Dad, to yell at him, but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t listen to me.

I inched closer. “Hey, Robbie? Look at me.”

I caught my brother’s eyes. They didn’t look right. He didn’t look like some crazed madman, or some psychopath. He looked . . . scared.

“Come on,” I said. “Put it down. You’re freaking me out.”

Robbie held the knife at me then dropped his eyes to his wrist. It was like I could hear him in my head.
It’d be so easy . . .

“Don’t,” I said firmly, stepping closer. “
Put it down.”

He whimpered.

“Put it down. Now.”

Robbie’s shaking hand dropped the knife to the floor. He covered his face, doubling over as he sobbed. I scooted forward and kicked the knife across the kitchen. Then I gripped Robbie’s shoulders.

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“I can’t do it,” he gasped.

“That’s a good thing. You don’t want to cut anyone—”

“No! I
can’t
do it. You’re not listening! No one fucking listens!” Robbie’s knees buckled. By instinct, I wrapped my arms around his waist, keeping him from hitting the floor. I glanced at my parents, both white as sheets and mute. I guess my silence was inherited if none of us could communicate.

I walked Robbie to the steps, helping him up one step at a time until we got to my room. I guided him to my lower bunk. He dropped heavily on it before curling on his side, shaking.

“I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“You know I want to, right?” he asked, desperately.

“Want to what?”

My brother couldn’t answer. I sighed, untied his sneakers, and pulled them off along with his socks, damp from sweat. He still hadn’t showered. His shaking body slowed when I pulled my blanket over him. With a sigh, I got out my cellphone and dialed up Heather.

“Hey, Tristan,” she greeted.

My chest ached. “I can’t go.”

There was a long pause on the line. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry—”

“I got you a ticket to
Phantom
and you can’t go.”

“It’s Robbie,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“What about him?”

I looked at the lump on the lower bunk. “I’ll explain later. In person.”

“Unbelievable,” Heather murmured. “I don’t know why I bothered inviting you. I should have asked Durrell from the start.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. What was all the fuss about Durrell? They hung out at one party.
One.
That didn’t warrant replacing me.

“It’s an emergency. I promise, I’ll explain later,” I mumbled. “Would you get me a playbill or something? Autographed would be awesome.”

“Yeah. Okay.
If
I have time.”

I swallowed hard. “See you on Monday?”

“Sure,” Heather said. Then there was silence. She hung up.

“You didn’t need to cancel your trip,” Robbie said softly.

“Yeah. I did.” Although Robbie was the last person I wanted to talk with, I needed to talk with someone. “Doesn’t matter. She’s freaking going to ask Durrell to go with her.”

“Durrell? Like our teammate Durrell?”

“The one and only.”

“Go with her where?” Robbie asked cautiously.

I hesitated. “
We were going to see
Phantom
on Broadway.”

Robbie wrinkled his nose. “What’s he doing going to a pansy-ass musical?” He paused, then added, “Uh. No offense.”

Offense taken.

“Uh, if it makes you feel better, he’s probably only going so he can get some,” Robbie said.

I stared at him. “How the hell would that make me feel better?”

“I don’t know.” Immediately after, Robbie added,
“Maybe he likes her for real or something. That’d be better, right? I mean, it was his idea to go to hers to party. I could see him going out with her for a long time. He’s seriously the type that would marry a high school girlfriend. I can picture it now—a glimpse into his life produced by TSN, him and Heather on a couch with three kids and a rescued Rottweiler saying that they fell for each other over a Broadway show.”

I gritted my teeth. “Robbie? Do me a favor?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything.”

“Stop talking.”

“But—”

“Just stop.”

I turned my back to Robbie. I didn’t want to think about Heather going on a date with Durrell when I was supposed to be going to that show. Durrell probably disliked musicals as much as I disliked him at that moment, though that dislike would fade. Durrell was too cool to stay angry at. He probably didn’t even know I liked her. After all, I didn’t exactly tell him when he asked. If I had, he probably wouldn’t have bothered. He had integrity.

So why didn’t I tell him, “Actually, I like her. A lot,” when I had the chance?

I hugged my arms around my waist. I thought about Miss Maroney telling me to make my characters fall in love. For a moment, I pretended my arms were Heather. That we weren’t best friends so we could get together.

Yeah, right.

10

H
eather wasn’t at her locker Monday morning. She didn’t answer any of my texts either, not even the ones where I asked how the show was. I didn’t like using my cell during school, even though most of the kids at Briar Rose did without consequence—I guess that’s a perk of a private school geared for young professionals—but I peeked right after World Civilizations IV. Nothing.

I glanced toward Robbie’s locker. He kept his head ducked, jerking out a textbook before heading to his next class. Beneath hooded lids, his eyes were flat and lifeless as buttons. He hadn’t been himself—not that I was any expert on what that was anymore—since the knife incident. He wouldn’t talk to me; and yet more than once, trapped so close in our room, I’d been startled out of daydreaming or some menial task, certain he’d been screaming at me.

Turning off my phone, I went to my next class.

Calculus was easy. I liked having foolproof formulas to work on. I was able to think about other things as I filled in the numbers and figured out the solution. I wanted to think about the dolphin people in my story, or maybe start a new one.

Instead, I thought about Robbie.

Identical twins were supposed to share so much, but we might as well have not been related. Sure, we came from the same split egg, but we were water and oil. We looked the same under a rolling boil, but we didn’t mix.

If he were thinking about hurting himself, would I even know? A hundred times already I’d convinced myself he was fine, that if he wanted me to stick my nose in his business, he’d say something. I’d pretended everything was okay when Robbie laughed, ignoring how plastic his smiles could be.

“Is everything all right?”

My teacher, Mrs. Benedict, stopped by my desk. I looked around, unable to remember what I was just working on. It took staring at the pencil I gripped tightly to realize that I hadn’t stopped after the nine assigned problems, but went through the next few pages of work as well.

“Yeah, sorry.” I felt the sting of something acidic in my throat. “Um. Just . . . a lot on my mind.”

“If you need a moment . . .” Her voice trailed off. Mrs. Benedict wasn’t a kind woman by disposition. She was always fair to me and basically left me alone because I did what I was told and did well on exams, but she was never as warm as she was now. It was kind of pathetic that my teachers were more concerned about my well-being than my own parents.

“
It’s better that I keep busy, if that makes sense?”

She seemed to understand. At least her eyes seemed like they did. Mrs. Benedict patted me on the shoulder. “If you need anything . . .” Again, her voice trailed off.

I nodded, for a moment wishing she would hug me the way Mom wouldn’t. I wondered how much attention I’d get if I broke down and confessed that something was seriously wrong with my brother. He kept saying I wasn’t listening, but I was, I just didn’t understand. Something happened at that practice, something more than losing a stupid drill.

I zoned through all my classes except for acting. Heather wasn’t there. Had she called in sick? Ms. Price approached me. “I hope I’ll see you at the auditions this afternoon, Tristan.”

My stomach dropped. The audition.

Of course, I’d been preparing something half-against my will, telling myself it was okay to practice because I didn’t have
to show up. Somehow, with
Phantom
and Robbie and everything else, I’d forgotten it was
this
Monday. Heather hadn’t mentioned it at all—but there was no way she would miss it, right?

By lunch, I figured she had to be sick. Still, I sent her a text that said,
I think I’m really gonna do the audition today.
No response. Unusual.

I went into the cafeteria and saw the Gay-Bros eating their lunch. Craig caught my eye and waved before turning back to the others, clearly in the middle of a heated discussion, maybe another one about whether Hugh Jackman was secretly gay or not (spoiler alert: no one cares). I thought about sitting with the Gay-Bros, but some of those debates were draining and I didn’t want anyone on the team to get the wrong idea. I’m pretty sure everyone knew I was straight, but locker room homophobia could make anyone’s life miserable.

Finally, I sat down at the normal table—it was empty. No friends, no Heather, just me. It was . . . weird.

Halfway through lunch, I spotted her. She was sitting with some of the girls next to Durrell and some of the guys on the team. I dumped my tray without finishing my lunch, then walked to their table. “Hey,” I greeted with a smile and wave. Immediately, Durrell put his arm around Heather’s shoulder.

“Oh. Tristan. Hi.” Heather smiled, but it seemed strangely icy.

“I didn’t know you were in school today. You weren’t at our table,” I said, gesturing over my shoulder.
“No one was.”

“Oh . . . well, yeah. Just seemed kind of silly to not be eating with Durrell since we’re together, you know? I mean, that’d be weird,” Heather said, words smooth as silk, like I should have known this would happen. My eyes honed in on Durrell’s thumb as it rubbed her shoulder. “I mean, wouldn’t you eat lunch with your girlfriend if you had one?”

Uh, ouch?

“Didn’t save me a spot?” I tried to joke. “Not like I’m not on the team.” She shifted in her seat, rubbed the back of her neck, twisted a curly lock of hair around her index and middle fingers.

“It’s cramped,” Durrell said abruptly, putting his backpack on an empty chair. I took a step backward. The hell was going on? Durrell was always the cool guy. And now, all of my teammates were giving me weird looks. I’d rather they treated me like I was still invisible.

Keisha interrupted, “We could pull up another chair if we all scoot in—”

Heather looked at Keisha, lips pursed together, eyes narrowing. A silent language between girls. Keisha withdrew and looked at her lap.

I cleared my throat. “Did I do something?”

No one answered. That usually meant yes.

My eyes moved two tables over. My brother turned his head and caught my eye. I saw his lips move, but couldn’t read them. I looked away from him and at Heather. I tried to shrug it off. “It’s uh . . . it’s fine. Just was saying hi, you know? Let’s uh . . . let’s talk later.”

“Yeah. Okay,” she said hurriedly.

“I really want to—”

“I heard you the first time.”

Double ouch. I gave a closed-mouthed smile before I made to leave.

“Wait,” Keisha murmured, extending her hand toward me, but Heather slapped it down. I pretended I didn’t notice as I left their table and returned to the empty one, just like how I pretended not to hear Keisha say, “It’s not right, and you know it.” Or Durrell say, “He’s lucky he’s on the team or I’d take care of it.”

Maybe it was just one off-day, I tried to convince myself. Just one day of weirdness that I didn’t understand. But even then I knew it wouldn’t be the same.