darius
©2010 The Angst Guy (theangstguy@yahoo.com)
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me,
whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com
Synopsis: Imagine Daria with a Y chromosome. What might have
happened if the eldest child of Jake and Helen Morgendorffer had been born a
boy? Here is an alternate-history might-have-been, or a parallel-universe
might-yet-be, with all the fallout.
Author’s Notes: This story merits an R rating for strong
language (f-word, etc.), intense family conflict, sexual situations, and abuse
issues.
This alternate-universe tale
parallels events in the first two episodes of the first season of Daria (“Esteemsters” and “The
Invitation”) under the assumption that Daria was born a boy instead of a girl.
No other initial changes were used, though chains of predictable consequences
have been worked into the story so that it has a flavor entirely different from
the known series. Cadet Michael Ellenbogen and Colonel Armstrong of Buxton
Ridge Military Academy (and the plot thread connecting them) are my own
inventions, but they elaborate on established themes from the original “Daria”
series.
This
idea bounced around inside my head for many months, and the chance to explore
the effects of a single gender change could not be missed. The story forced me
to think a lot about what it means to be a certain gender, and what it means in
particular to be a man—a good man.
While writing chapter three, it suddenly
struck me that I was listening to music that perfectly fit Darius and Jane as a
couple: “Rachel’s Song,” from the Vangelis soundtrack for the movie, Blade
Runner. If you have a chance to listen to this music, at least you will
hear what I hear when I think of the two of them. For Darius himself, a theme
song is more difficult to come by. The best fit, perhaps, is “Movement I,” from
Vangelis’s El Greco. I also listened to Bruce Springsteen’s “Streets of
Philadelphia” about a million times to get into a really angsty mood for
writing, but that’s another story. “Going Under,” by Evanescence, also helped.
Acknowledgements: This story was originally posted as two
serial tales to the Sh33p’s
I wish
to thank the following beta-readers, in no particular order: Brandon League,
Kristen Bealer, Thea Zara, Renfield, MMan, Ray, James “CINCGREEN” Bowman,
Renfield, Steven Galloway, Brother Grimace, TerraEsperZ, Galen “Lawndale
Stalker” Hardesty, Beth Ann, and Ranger Thorne. They made the story much better
than it was, and I am in their debt.
Thanks
specifically to Thea Zara for the “frog thing” with Brittany, to Brother
Grimace for suggesting the gazebo scenario in another story he wrote (the idea
for which I stole without shame), to Renfield for his invaluable suggestions on
the Grand Canyon back story, and Galen Hardesty for his epilogue ideas. Thanks,
too, to everyone who asked for more. It kept me going when things got hard, as
they often did in writing this very long tale.
Finally, the ultra-cool Stereo Hifi font that so looks like the Daria logo on TV is ©1997 by Cathy Davies. Thanks!
*
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
to mould me man? Did I solicit thee
from darkness to promote me?
—John Milton, Paradise Lost,
quoted by Mary Shelly at the beginning of
her novel, Frankenstein
“Now,
listen,” said the businessman as he drove his blue Lexus through morning
suburban traffic, “I want you to know your mother and I realize it’s not easy
moving to a whole new town—especially since we’re also adjusting to being a
family again, right?”
The
youth slouching in the back seat of the Lexus knew his father was talking
directly to him. The brown-haired teenager wore black, from his short-sleeved
shirt to his trousers to his dull leather boots. He adjusted his glasses and
continued to look out the window, saying nothing.
“Darius?”
said his father, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
“Weren’t
we always a family?” asked the teenager, still looking out the window. “In
theory, I mean.”
His father
glared in the mirror, but the boy missed it. “That’s not what I meant!” he
snapped. “Listen up! What I’m saying is, we’re going to give this togetherness
thing another try. Darius, I’m counting on you to show some respect and—Quinn,
damn it, turn the radio down!”
“Please, let’s don’t talk! Okay, Daddy?” said the red-haired girl in the front passenger seat. “Let’s not fight right before school.” She looked back to include her older brother in her plea. Darius glanced at her and shrugged agreement.
“We’re
not going to fight!” said her father angrily. “I’m not, anyway! Any fighting
that happens is up to him!” He nodded toward the back seat. “I’m being
reasonable. But we need to talk a little, honey. It’s the first day of school
for the two of you, together, in almost three years. And we want to make it a
great day, don’t we?”
Darius
looked out the window with an impassive face. Quinn gripped the book bag
between her knees, her face tight. She crossed her arms over her stomach and
hunched forward as if holding it in.
“Darius?”
said their father in a loud voice, looking in the rear-view mirror.
“Sure,”
said the brown-haired boy.
“Sure
what?”
The boy
sighed. “Sure, it’ll be a great day.”
His
father nodded in dark satisfaction. “Damn right it will,” he said. “Don’t screw
it up for everyone this time, okay?” He turned the car into the broad
half-circle leading to
Darius
opened the side door and got out, taking his time. He slung his backpack over
one shoulder, shut the door, and walked into the school without a word.
The day
went quickly.
“Public
school might take some getting used to,” his mother had warned the night
before. “You’re in with every kind of student there is.” She was dead on about
that. When he could, Darius sat in the back of each class so he could see what
sort of students he’d be with for the next three years. He watched the girls in
particular. Years had passed since he’d been to a school with girls around. It
surprised him to find that he liked it. It was hard to concentrate on class
work, having girls around, but that was okay. He was smart enough to get by.
The guys at Buxton Ridge military school had talked about nothing else but
girls when they had the time. You want a wild time, said the guys, find
yourself a wild chick. Party girls were the best, the girls who drank a lot.
They’d do anything and never remember it. Some of the guys at the academy knew
that for a fact.
Darius
shook his head when he thought of that. He was of a better cut than his former
classmates. He didn’t know if he had any appeal to the girls here, but if not,
it wasn’t the end of the world. Public school was different, but it wasn’t bad.
It beat the hell out of Buxton Ridge, also his dad’s alma mater. Darius could
live out three more years at Lawndale High easy. He’d have to watch himself,
though; he didn’t want to be jerked out of Lawndale High the same way he was jerked
out of Highland Middle School, back in Texas, and sent out of state to a
military academy. It was his only real fear.
Darius
went home after his first day of school thinking it would be far better than
livable. Home early from his consulting business, his father tried to pick a
fight with him over finishing his homework, but Darius wasn’t in the mood to
yell back the way he once did. Maybe that was why I was packed off to Buxton
Ridge, he thought, because of all the yelling. Dad couldn’t handle it and
he flipped out big time. Who knows? He’s always flipping out. After a
moment, though, he remembered what had happened at the
He shrugged and went to his room like his father told him, did his homework, and then checked out the local television channels while his parents screamed at each other downstairs. Unlike his sister, he kept the door to his room open, so he could hear the goings-on. It was important to know his parents were suffering. He didn’t want to miss it.
On the
second day of school, a girl caught his eye in history class—a slim, leggy
chick dressed in black, with a red jacket, old Army boots, and a vague air of
hostility. She sat near the middle of the room and drew in a sketchpad during
every class in which he saw her. Her short black bangs covered her face as she
worked on her drawings with single-minded intensity. Darius got the impression
she was just making time, waiting for graduation like he was. He liked that. He
wondered what her name was.
The girl
glanced back at him once or twice. Her eyes were the deepest blue Darius had
ever seen. The second time she looked back, he smiled at her. She smiled back
but turned away and kept drawing. He wondered if she was interested in him. He
was certainly getting interested in her. She wasn’t beautiful like so many
other girls were, but she had character and attitude, and it grabbed him. She
was an undiscovered continent, a whole world on two long legs. Darius wondered
how it would feel to run his hands through her jet-black bangs, whether that
fire-engine red lipstick would come off if he kissed her hard.
It
wasn’t likely that he would find out, he knew. She was a cool chick and
undoubtedly seeing someone else.
During
Phys Ed, Darius asked the football coach if he could run a few laps around the
track after school. The coach didn’t mind. When the last bell rang, he waded
through the flood of students fleeing the campus, changed into his running
clothes in the boys’ locker room, and carried his belongings out to the track.
The air was warm as he jogged. He was sweating in moments, but it felt good. He
was not a fast runner; endurance interested him most. Running gave him time to
be alone. Buxton Ridge had taught him that, among other things. He had no
homework today and didn’t have to be home with his parents again until five.
His sister would manage without him for a little while.
He began
thinking about the leggy chick. He’d never dated before, but he wanted to try
it. The bad thing was, he did not think he could stand the embarrassment if
anything went wrong. It was safer to keep people away and stay alone. His feet
thumped against the track in rhythm as he thought about it. He was safe—but
missing out on life. Was that what he wanted? He didn’t know. He didn’t know
anything anymore, except for one thing:
But he
couldn’t go back there. Not after everything that had happened. And he had
Quinn to think of, too.
On his
twelfth pass around the long track, Darius saw the leggy chick in the red
jacket walk out of a side door of the school building. She glanced back and saw
him. She stopped. He looked at her, and she looked at him, and he knew it was
time.
Breaking
his jog, he walked off the track in the leggy girl’s direction, picking up his
backpack on the way. He had no plan, no clear idea what he was doing. It didn’t
matter. Meeting the girl in the red jacket was all that counted.
“Hey,”
Darius said as he walked up to the leggy chick. He was soaked with sweat and
knew he smelled of it.
She
didn’t seem to care. “Yo,” she said. “Did you mind if I watched?”
“Huh?
Oh, it wasn’t that. I was done, that’s all.” He gave her a nervous smile. “I’m
Darius Morgendorffer. Weird name, I know. I’m new here.” He glanced behind him.
“Just running a few laps.”
“Darius,”
said the girl, trying out the name. “Sounds Roman.”
“It’s
Greek,” he said. “My parents liked history at one time, I think. Maybe they named
me after Darius the Great of Persia. I never thought to ask.”
What the
girl did next—rather, what she didn’t do—was important. She didn’t say, “Darius
who?” or “Where’s
“Nah.
Just like to run. Helps me think, clears my head out.”
“I run
for the same reasons,” said Jane, “but I tell myself it makes me more creative,
too. Don’t know if it works, but it gets me out of the house.”
“You
like being creative?” said Darius.
“Yeah. I
paint, sculpt, stuff like that.”
“You’re
an artist.”
“Or a
bum. Hard to tell some days.”
“That’s
cool.” Darius looked around. They were alone. “Where you heading?”
“Home.”
Jane waited.
“Mind
some company?”
Jane
smiled broadly, her wait over. “If you don’t mind my company, sure.”
Darius
looked into her blue eyes. It was hard to think. “I’m all sweaty,” he said.
“I don’t
mind,” she said. “I get sweaty, too. We have something in common.”
They set
off together at an unhurried pace. “You live close by?” asked Darius.
“A few
blocks that-a-way, on Howard,” said Jane. “I don’t have my license yet, and
walking’s nice. Also, my brother’s car tends to catch fire now and then. When
it does, he borrows a van from a friend of his and drives it a couple blocks
until it breaks down.”
“Not
much use for seat belts, I see.” He pointed. “We moved in a few days ago over
on Glen Oaks. Red brick house.”
“Hmm,
then we’ll pass your place on the way to mine.”
Darius
looked up at the blue sky, then back at Jane. “Good day for a walk. Mind if I
see you all the way to your place?”
“You can
come in if you want,” she said, looking at the sidewalk instead of at him. “My
brother’s home, but he’s probably sleeping.”
“Big
brother?”
“He’s
twenty-one. Plays in a local rock band, Mystik Spiral.”
“Haven’t
heard of it.”
“Join
the club.”
“I’m a
big brother, too. My sister’s Quinn. She’s fourteen. Long red hair, sorta cute.
You may have seen her.”
“Yeah,
in fact I think I did. She had quite an entourage following her around.”
She
said “entourage,” he thought. A smart one. Smart girls turned him on. “That’s Quinn, the
popularity queen.”
“Sorry
to hear it.”
Darius
shrugged. “Eh, it’s okay. Whatever floats her boat.”
Jane
nodded. “So, what floats your boat?”
He
adjusted his glasses. “I goof off. I read, run a little, watch TV, write.”
“Poems,
novels, short stories, plays?”
“Stories.
I gave up on poetry. Don’t have any ideas for a novel or a play yet.”
“You
watch TV a lot?”
“No. Just Sick, Sad World.
I think it’s on here—”
Jane
caught his arm and pulled him close as they walked. “I love that show,” she
said in a deeper voice. “I never thought I’d meet someone who liked it as much
as I do.”
Her
touch was electric. He could smell her, too. She had a sweet flowery scent he
couldn’t identify. A woman’s soap, he guessed. His brain began to shut down.
With the
few neurons he had left, he checked his watch. “The show’ll be on in twenty
minutes,” he said, and he almost added, You want to come over to my house to
watch it? He remembered just in time that his father and mother might be
home together this afternoon. That would be bad.
“Come
over and watch it with me?” asked Jane. She still had a grip on his upper arm,
just above the elbow. “
“
“Yeah.
I’m the youngest of five. The others grew up and ran off. Just me and Trent
now, and sometimes Mom and Dad. You wanna come over?”
“Sure,”
he said, unsure if this was a good idea. “That would be great.”
“Don’t
eat anything out of the refrigerator unless I clear it first,” Jane added.
“Some of the food’s gone bad, and some of it’s not really food.” She squeezed
his bicep. “You work out, right?”
“A
little. Got in the habit at my last school.”
“Where
was that?”
He
grimaced. “
“So you
kind of dig the Army life, is that it?”
“No,” he
said. He forced the pain down. “I was sent there.” He shrugged, uneasy now.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“Don’t
want me to ask about it, right?”
He
nodded. “Maybe another time.”
“Okay.”
Jane’s hand squeezed the muscles of his arm again. “Military school. I can’t
complain about the results.”
“Were
you helping some teachers after school?” he asked.
“Me? Oh, no. I’m in a special class to build up self-esteem. I have to go for a few weeks.”
Darius
almost stopped. “That ‘Self-Esteem for Teens’ workshop they were telling me
about?” he said. “You’re in that class?”
“Yup.”
“What, are
you teaching it?”
Jane
laughed. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “Oh, no! I’m in it. I don’t pay enough attention in
class, so the school shrink thought I had problems.”
Darius
gave Jane a long look. “The school’s got its problems,” he said at last, “but
you don’t.”
“Mmm,”
said Jane, pulling him even closer. “I can feel my self-esteem rising already.
There it goes! Off like a balloon!”
He
smiled. They weren’t talking about anything important, but every word she said
was changing the world. “You like to draw?” he said.
“I said
I’m an artist. Wanna come up and see my etchings?”
Darius
felt a hot prickling on the back of his neck. There were several ways to
interpret her offer. “Sure,” he said. “Catch some Sick, Sad and check you out. Your drawings, I mean,” he added
quickly, turning red. “I can check out your drawings.”
Jane
smiled as she walked, humming a familiar tune.
He
thought quickly. “That’s from that movie about the ship, um, The Poseidon
Adventure, isn’t it?”
“Yup. My
favorite song.”
“I like
it.” If she had hummed the “Barney” song, he would have liked it.
He told
her a little about his family, Buxton Ridge, and his former home in
Darius
heard the fighting half a block away. He stopped to listen. Jane stopped as
well. “Is that your folks?” she asked softly.
“I’d
better go,” he said, his face lined with anxiety. “I should check on Quinn. She
doesn’t handle this real well.”
“I’ll
wait for you.”
“I don’t
know if I’ll be back out for a while,” he said. “See you.” He hurried into the
house and shut the door behind him to keep the neighbors from hearing.
“What
you think about it just isn’t that Gah-damn important!” he heard his father
shout as he came in the living room.
“Where’s
Quinn?” Darius called. “Is Quinn here?”
His
parents paused in their argument to look guiltily at him. They had been
fighting about him. He could tell.
“She’s
gone over to a friend’s house, Sandi someone,” said his mother. “She’s in some
kind of fashion club. She’ll be back at six. Why don’t you go out for a while,
okay? Come back for supper.”
“I’ll be
back at six,” he said.
“You’ll
be back when I tell you to come back!” roared his father. “Gah damn it, you’ll
show me a little respect, or else!”
Darius
fell silent and waited. He wanted so much to give his father a taste of what
he’d been dishing out for nearly sixteen years—but I can’t be sent to Buxton
Ridge again, Darius thought, forcing himself to do nothing, I just
can’t. Hold it in, hold it in just a little while longer—
His
father wiped his face with a red hand. “Come back at five-thirty, and not a
second later,” he said at last.
“Okay,”
said Darius. “I will.” He waved and left at a careful walk. He could hear his
parents start up on each other a moment before the front door closed behind
him.
He
walked back to Jane as if nothing had happened, except that he couldn’t look
her in the eyes. They walked in silence until Jane began to tell a story about
a local house where no kid ever passed a test to graduate from high school and
escape Lawndale, because of a ghost that lived there. Her voice quavered, but
it was a good story, and he was grateful.
“You
should be the writer, not me,” he told her. She smiled and colored a bit. She
bumped into him as they walked. He put his arm around her waist to steady her. Violets,
he thought, she smells like violets. They walked like that all the way
to her place.
Jane’s
home was a pale yellow two-story, obviously one of the older houses in the
subdivision, with a scraggly, overgrown lawn and a large, weird metal sculpture
near the front door. The mailbox said LAZE, the N having fallen over on its
side. The front door was slightly ajar. Random guitar chords drifted out. Jane
went inside first. “
“Kitchen,
Janey,” came a deep, slow voice. Jane motioned for Darius to follow her in. He
shut the door behind him. The house was moderately unkempt. The living room was
dusty; pizza crusts and used tissues littered the floor. The unplugged TV set
was being used as an extra table to hold a collection of small kiln-fired pots.
All the furniture fabric was threadbare, and the couch had holes in two
cushions. A burnt spot on the living room carpet showed where someone had tried
to build a campfire years earlier. A child had drawn on all the walls with
crayons. The brilliant drawings were still intact, though the wall paint was
cracked and yellowed.
The
kitchen wasn’t much better. It had an off-white and stainless-steel décor
popular in the 1960s and was more littered than the living room. Flies buzzed
around the dish-filled sink. At the kitchen table sat a tall, lanky man in his
early twenties, with calm dark eyes, uncombed black hair, and a goatee. He
stopped playing his guitar when Jane came in, but his noncommittal gaze jumped
to Darius.
“Yo,”
said
“Darius.
I’m her new parole officer,” said Darius with a straight face.
“Didn’t
know she had an old one,” said
“That
was two weeks ago,” said Jane. She opened the refrigerator, took out the carton
of Chinese food, and put it on top of an overflowing garbage can. After pushing
some of the refrigerator’s contents aside, she took out a fast-food box of
fried chicken and set it on the table. “We can eat this while we watch the
show,” she said.
“Dead
on,” Darius said as he looked around the room. “Cold fried chicken, the food of
the gods.” The kitchen was filled with homemade crafts—pots, wall hangings,
painted pictures, landscape and animal photographs, and small clay sculptures
of monsters. The curtains appeared to be handmade, too.
“
“Came in
the mail,” said Trent, who was playing his guitar again. “Forget when. Found it
when I woke up a while ago, and I didn’t know if it was impor—”
“Oh, bloody
hell!” Jane thrust the letter at
Jane
threw the letter down. “They sent this letter two weeks ago!” she shouted.
“Didn’t you call Mom or Dad?”
“I don’t
know where they are,”
“
“Lock up
the house,” said Darius in a flat voice. He was already on his way out of the
kitchen, heading for the front door. He checked the locks and found that only the
knob lock worked—but the knob was loose. He looked around as Jane came into the
living room. “Grab that wooden chair,” he said, pointing. “I can jam it under
the knob and brace the door shut.”
Jane did
as he asked. “I can lock the windows,” she said.
“Yeah,”
he said. “Lock everything and pull the shades and blinds down, too.” He
remembered entombing himself in utility closets and his barracks room at Buxton
Ridge, avoiding late-night raids by drunken older cadets bent on tormenting the
underclassmen. “They can’t foreclose in this state if there’s no one here they
can serve papers on. Weird loophole. They have to go back and mail a certified
letter, and if no one answers in five business days, the foreclosure goes
through. My mom’s a corporate lawyer. She yells about this stuff all the time.”
He laughed. “Usually, she’s on the side of the people trying to foreclose.”
In
minutes, Darius and Jane had barricaded the entire first story of the house,
even the kitchen and garage.
“That’s
just what the bank people will need,” she said firmly. “The house looks like no
one’s home, but someone’s upstairs playing ‘Come As You Are’ with the windows
open. It gives the whole thing away, all right?”
“Oh,
man,” said
“Come
watch TV with us in my room,” said Jane. “We’ll keep the volume down.”
“Nah,”
said
“Sure,”
said Darius, waving. “We’ll let you know if there’s been a hull breech and we
have to send out a distress beacon.”
“Hmmm,”
said
Jane’s
bedroom was that of a tireless and devoted artist—not a dabbler, but the real
thing. Paintings hung from every wall, and an easel with a half-finished
abstract work in oils was set up next to her queen-size bed across the room.
Dark blankets hung on nails covered the far windows in place of shades.
Sculptures in every medium lined the shelves. Jane turned on the TV set at the
foot of her bed as Darius walked around, taking in the room and its myriad
artistic contents.
He bent
down and studied a sheet-metal sculpture of a human reaching upward, jumping
from a mountaintop. “Damn,” he said, “this is really good.”
“You can
stop working on my self-esteem now,” she said, punching the channel-changing
button. “School’s out for the day.”
“I’m not
kidding,” he said. He crouched to look at the sculpture more closely. “I can’t
believe this. Did you weld this yourself?”
“Yeah.”
Jane sat on the edge of her bed, watching the tube. “You’re not saying that to
get into my pants, are you? ‘Cause it’s working.”
He
turned to her and waited until she looked at him. “No,” he said. “I mean it.
This is brilliant.”
She was
the one who looked away first. “Just a joke,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t
go that fast, anyway.”
He
looked at the sculpture, aching to touch it. “It looks like this guy’s jumping,
hands out, reaching for something maybe he can’t see. I can feel the jump, the
effort to get that invisible thing.” He stood. “I wish I could do things like
this.”
Jane
swallowed. “Thank you,” she said.
Someone
knocked on the front door downstairs. The sound echoed up from the staircase.
Darius and Jane both froze. After a moment, Darius glanced at his watch. It was
four o’clock.
Jane got
up from the bed and turned the television set off. The knocking came again,
much louder this time. Darius went to Jane’s door and peeked out to make sure
that
When
Darius came back in the room, Jane was near the door. They looked at each other
and waited.
A minute
passed. The knocking came from the kitchen door next. Jane moved next to
Darius. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Her head pressed
against his shoulder, her mouth next to his neck. “Don’t get in,” she
whispered. “Don’t get in.”
The
knocking came once more from the front door, then did not return. Ten minutes
had passed since the knocking had started. It felt like hours had gone by.
“They’re
gone,” said Darius softly. “They can’t do anything for a week. Can you get your
parents to get the mortgage in?”
“I can
forge a check,” Jane whispered. “I’ll have it in the mail tomorrow.”
“That’ll
do it. We won.”
“You
won,” she said. “Thank you.” And she kissed his neck.
He
turned his head so his mouth met hers.
Her hair
was fine black silk and smelled of violets. Her fire-engine red lipstick came
off everywhere.
Quinn got home at five-forty that
evening. Darius heard her open the front door quietly, shut it almost as
quietly, then run upstairs. He sighed and turned off his computer monitor to
hide what he’d been writing. Sure enough, she opened his door and peeked into
his bedroom before going to her room. She wore her pink, midriff-revealing
butterfly tee, too-tight jeans, and sandals.
“Hi,” said Quinn. She looked pale. “How
did—oh!”
“What?” said Darius, frowning at her.
All business, Quinn walked in and took
Darius’s chin in one hand, turning his face from left to right.
“Looking for my good side?” he asked in
annoyance.
“Yeah, but it’s not good enough,” said
Quinn. She rubbed her thumb over a spot on his cheek. “Did Mom or Dad see
that?”
“What?” Darius moved her hand away and
got up, heading out into the hall for the bathroom they shared. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” said Quinn under her
breath. She followed Darius into the bathroom and closed the door behind them,
snapping on the lights. She pointed to a lipstick mark on his cheek. Darius
could see Jane’s mouth perfectly. He groaned aloud. He knew better than to hide
anything from Quinn, but it still drove him crazy. She had a sixth sense about
him that he could not fathom. It wasn’t fair.
“You’ve got to be more careful,” said
Quinn. She got a washcloth and wet it under the faucet. “Dad would blow a fuse
if he saw that. Mom might blow one, too.”
“I can do this,” Darius grumbled,
reaching for the washcloth.
“Shut up,” said Quinn, pushing his hand
away. “Hold still.” As she wiped off his cheek, she said, “Who is she, Dari?”
Her childhood nickname for him was pronounced like “dairy.”
He looked angry and didn’t answer.
“Well, whoever she is, watch yourself,”
said Quinn. “You can’t go off and jump the first girl who looks at you. Use
your head, okay? You think everything else out. You’d darn better think this
stuff out, too.”
“Christ, don’t lecture me! I don’t tell
you who you go out with.”
“That’s because you don’t need to,” said
Quinn softly. “Turn around. Come on, turn around! I can’t believe you actually
got a girlfriend on your second day in school. I’m going to have to change my
opinion of you.” She squinted at his face and neck, then nodded. “Okay, you’re
good. Make her clean you up next time. Or tell her to wipe the lipstick off her
mouth beforehand.”
“Cut it out.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear me
say it, but you’ve really got to watch it, you know?”
Darius swallowed back his anger. She was
absolutely right, which infuriated him all the more. Why was she always right?
Why was he always so clueless? “Whatever,” he said in defeat.
“I’d like to meet her,” said Quinn. “Not
here, though.”
“What? Oh, jeez, Quinn!” Darius rolled
his eyes and opened the bathroom door, walking back to his room. Quinn followed
him. He sighed and sat down at his desk as his sister closed the door behind
him. She wouldn’t leave until she’d had her say. “What is it?” he said in
surrender.
“Dari,” said Quinn, “I can’t take the
fighting anymore. This afternoon I went over to the house of a girl I just met
yesterday, and I got so scared thinking about coming home late, I threw up in
her bathroom. I don’t know if she’ll ever have me over again. It’s too much,
Dari, and I can’t take it. Please, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for
me. Don’t fight with Dad anymore, okay?”
“I didn’t start a fight!” he
hissed. “I didn’t even have a fight with him, remember?”
“Well, don’t do anything to start
one! I can’t take it!” Her voice cracked.
This was the worst. He couldn’t stand to
see her cry. “Shhh! All right!” he said, angrier with himself than with her. “I
won’t start anything, I promise!”
“Good,” said Quinn, wiping her eyes.
“Just be careful, okay? I know how Dad gets when he thinks you’re challenging
him, but just let it go. It isn’t worth it.”
“All right, already!”
“Okay.” Quinn became more composed. “Oh,”
she added in her normal tone, “I meant it when I said I want to meet her. If
she means something to you, and I’d guess she does, then let’s get together.”
“Sure, whatever,” he mumbled, not sure if
he meant what he said. “Sometime, yeah.” He hesitated. “She’s all right. She’s
cool.”
“Of course she is,” said Quinn. Footsteps
sounded from downstairs. Quinn turned, startled, and vanished from his room in
a second. Darius heard her door shut and the lock click only one second later.
“Quinn?” called their mother from the
bottom of the stairs.
“She’s in her room,” Darius called back.
He raised a finger and held it by the computer’s power button in case his
mother came upstairs. Better to make the system reboot than to let anyone read
a story he was working on. He hated that.
“When did she get home?” his mother
called. “I was in the bathroom.”
Darius glanced at his desktop clock, did
some quick math, and lied. “She got in early, fifteen or twenty minutes ago.
She said she had a good time.”
“I have to go back to the office for an
hour or two to clear up some paperwork about a case,” said his mother. “Your
father’s meeting with a client downtown. He won’t be back until late. I want
the two of you to stay home and be in bed by ten. There’s some frozen lasagna
in the refrigerator, or you can order pizza out. You hear me?”
Heavy sigh. “Sure, Mom.” He wanted to
give a biting, sarcastic answer, but any smart remark could set his parents
off.
“Don’t call me unless it’s important. And
call me, not your father. He’s very busy.” His mother hesitated as if there
were something more she wanted to say, but she then opened the front door. It
thumped shut behind her a second later.
Darius waited a few moments longer,
listening to the silence that filled the house. He then got up and went across
the hall to knock on Quinn’s door.
“What?” she called after a pause.
“Mom and Dad are both gone,” he said.
“Don’t call them.”
“Oh, right, as if. Can we have pizza?”
“I’ll call in the usual at seven.”
“Okay. Can you get me the cordless phone?”
Darius started to say no, but then
thought of Jane. He had her number now. “Can I call out for a few minutes
first?” he said. “You can have it after that.”
“Okay,” she said. “Don’t... oh, are you
calling her?”
Darius went downstairs without a reply. Duh,
he thought, like that was a real brain-strainer. He got the portable
phone in the kitchen and brought it upstairs to his room. Quinn’s door was
open. As he walked into his room, she left her room and went into his again.
Darius looked at her in agonized
frustration. “Quinn, can I have a little privacy here?”
She seemed undecided. “Okay,” she said.
“I’ll go do my homework, but see if I can meet her at school tomorrow.”
“Why? Why in the hell do you need to meet
her?”
Quinn stared at him and didn’t look away.
The irresistible force.
“Fine!” he said, giving up. “Whatever!
Just give me a few minutes, then you can have the phone.”
“Okay,” she said. She walked slowly back
to her room, leaving her door open. Darius shut the door to his room and took the
phone to his bed. He dialed the number he had memorized and waited.
The phone rang seven times before someone
answered it. “Yo,” said a low, feminine voice.
“Jane?”
“Oh, hey. Darius?”
“Yeah. How are you doing?”
She laughed. “Fine since you left here an
hour ago. Are you home?”
“Yeah. The two wardens are out for the
evening, and I’m watching Quinn.”
“She needs a sitter?”
“It’s not that. I’m just here with her.
It’s not like I’m really babysitting or anything.”
“Do you and your sister get along? I
wasn’t sure from what you said about her.”
He sighed. “We don’t hit each other with
bats most days. We’re doing okay. Probably nothing worth writing about in a
tell-all book later.”
Jane’s slow breathing rose and fell on
the other end of the phone. “I’m really glad you came over today,” she said. “I
think you saved our house. I don’t know what I’d have done if we’d had to move
out.”
He was pleased and relieved to hear this,
but he shrugged it off. “No problem. It was nothing. Hey, if you did get thrown
out, you could move in with us and share Quinn’s room. You’re an artist. You
could do her makeup.”
“Yeah, and
“On the other hand,” he said, his sense
of humor fading, “I doubt you’d like it.” He was instantly sorry he’d said
that, but there was no going back.
“What do you mean?” said Jane. “What’s it
like there?”
He hadn’t expected she would ask, though
in a way he had hoped she would. He thought over his answer. “Sort of like one
of those bad disaster movies,” he said at last. “My parents fight a lot. We try
to stay out of the radioactive areas.”
“Oh.” A silence followed. “Can you get
out much?”
“Oh, yeah. They usually want us back about
six, but after we’ve been in town a while, they might stretch that limit. Mom
got Dad to—well, anyway, I can go places after school, as long as they’re still
in town. Quinn wants to stay out after nine when dating, but she has to get
past Dad on that first. He’s been pretty strict—wait a minute.” He took the
phone from his ear, positive he’d heard a floorboard creak outside his door.
“What is it, Quinn?”
The door to his room opened and his
sister came right in. “Is she on the phone?” Quinn whispered, pointing to the
handset as she walked over. “Can I talk to her?”
“Wha—no!” Before he could say or
do more, Quinn wrestled the phone from him. “Hello?” she said into the
receiver, walking away. “This is Quinn, Darius’s sister.”
“Hey!” He jumped off the bed, but Quinn
bolted into her room with a giggle and threw the deadbolt when she shut her
door. Popping the doorknob lock with a paperclip would be useless. He pounded
on her door. “Quinn! Damn it, give me
the phone! Quinn!”
It was hopeless, and he knew it. “Shit,”
he said, and he pressed his forehead against the door, feeling stupid. This was
worse than simple defeat—this was complete personal ruination. God only knew
what she would tell Jane. Since he’d gotten back from Buxton Ridge, Quinn had
twisted him around her little finger. It would be a miracle if he didn’t go
insane in a few more weeks. He pitied any guys she got for boyfriends. Those
poor bastards would be quivering jelly when she got her brightly colored
fingernails into them. Being her brother, he should be above all that.
But he wasn’t. He cared about her, which
made him vulnerable, and thus he was doomed.
He walked away and sat down at the top of
the stairs. Trying to listen in on the conversation in Quinn’s room proved
impossible. He felt more like Quinn’s slave than her brother. It wasn’t her
abundant natural cuteness, to which Darius thought he was immune. It was like
she had some kind of mind control over him. She knew he looked out for her and
would never hurt her, and she walked all over him as a result.
Well, he admitted, she didn’t really walk
all over him most of the time. Maybe. She just knew when to insert herself into
Darius’s life to make sure she wasn’t forgotten. He remembered how excited she
had been to see him when he got out of Buxton Ridge in June. She had been
practically glued to him for weeks after that. Things had settled down over the
summer, but today, she was just... since she’d seen that lipstick on his cheek,
she was... what was it with her? Was it the lipstick? Was it Jane?
Darius covered his face. He could just
imagine Quinn sabotaging things with Jane so she could make sure Big Brother
would always be there to serve her needs. Or, more likely, to make sure Big
Brother didn’t get into trouble and screw up things in the family. Didn’t she
trust him? It wasn’t fair. Nothing in life anymore was fair.
Quinn had changed a lot since he had been
sent away to Buxton Ridge. When he was shipped off, she was eleven and
collecting Barbies and accessories. When he got back, she was a taller, thinner
Quinn with a fashion model look but a shockingly fragile personality. Life must
have been hell for her without him around to run interference between her and
the ‘rents. If she was throwing up just worrying about getting home late, things
were still pretty bad inside her. Worse, he had no idea what to do about it. It
didn’t excuse her screwing up things with Jane, but if she didn’t get herself
straightened out, this would never stop.
Quinn’s bedroom door opened. She came out
with the phone in her hand. “Here,” she said without apology. “You’re right,
she is cool. She has to go, but she wants to talk to you for a moment first.”
Quinn went back in her room, leaving the door ajar.
Darius put the phone to his ear. “Jane?”
“Hey.” Jane’s voice was light and easy.
“I had a great talk with your sister.”
“Yes, she is quite the evil gremlin,
isn’t she?”
“Nah. You know, she’s not at all what I
thought she’d be like. We’re going to meet tomorrow at school at lunch, about
twelve-fifteen, you and me and her. If you don’t mind, I mean.”
“Jesus.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. I really want
to meet her.” Jane laughed. “She’s really lucky to have you around, you know.”
He wasn’t sure if he was angry to hear
that or, secretly, a little pleased. “I can’t imagine why. Look, I just wanted
to talk to you for a little while. Do you have to go?”
“Unfortunately, I do,” said Jane. “
“Fine,” he said in a sullen tone. “Don’t
call after... ten thirty. My parents might be home. Best not to get them
started.”
“No problemo. And I promised Quinn I’d
wipe you off next time.” She snickered.
Darius reddened. “Jane,” he said, and he
paused to think of the one thing he really wanted to say to her. “I want to see
you again. Before the next Ice Age. After school tomorrow, if you have time.”
“Hey, you can walk me home from school
anytime you want,” she said. “And maybe next time, we’ll actually watch Sick, Sad World. If we
can manage that. We missed their special on UFOs today.”
“UFOs,” he said. “I remember the one that
brought Quinn. I didn’t think she’d be staying for this long.”
“Oh, you like her, and you know it.”
“I like you, Jane.”
There was a pause. “And I like you, too,”
she said at last. “I like you a lot. I don’t know how you learned to kiss,
being in an all-male military school, but you kiss damn good. I hope it’s
because you practiced on your pillow. Look, I’ll call you back, okay? After
Romeo here finishes making up with Juliet, I mean.”
“Okay,” he said. “Listen, have a good
night.”
“I already am,” said Jane. “Bye, Darius.”
“Bye, Jane.” The phone clicked, and the
dial tone came on. Darius turned off the phone and continued sitting on the top
step, arms resting on his knees, looking down the stairs and wondering what
Jane and Quinn had been talking about. Women—he would never figure them out. He
got up and went into Quinn’s room to give her the phone.
“What did you and Jane talk about?” he
asked.
“Stuff,” said Quinn. She lay on her
stomach on her bed, reading a girls’ fashion magazine. “Now, shoo. I have to
make a lot of calls.”
Darius went back to his room and shut the
door. He locked it this time and went back to his computer, turning on the
monitor. The short story he’d been working on swam into view, and he read the
last few lines. They sucked. The whole story sucked.
In disgust, he saved the document and
shut down the computer. He wasn’t up to finishing and editing the tale, which
was about an intelligent flesh-eating bacteria. The chaos over Quinn and Jane
had ruined his mood. Darius shook his head and thanked God he had not been born
a girl. Who knew what he’d be doing right now if he had been? He went to his
bed, picked up a book entitled, When Bad Things Happen to People Who Deserve
It, and began to read. It never failed to cheer him up.
This time, however, he couldn’t follow a
single word. All he saw in his mind was Jane’s face close to his. He remembered
the soft touch of her lips against his mouth, how the scent of her filled his
head with nothing else but the moment she was in his arms, when she was his.
After many long minutes, he put the book
away and lay back on his bed, looking at an interesting crack in the ceiling,
and waited for Jane’s call.
“I’ll
bet you didn’t know,” said Jane, pointing a chicken finger at Quinn, “that it’s
not just Lawndale High that does it. Every single high school in Lawndale
County plays football all year round.”
“Does
that have anything to do with pesticides in the drinking water?” asked Darius.
No one paid any attention to him. He sat beside Jane at the cafeteria table,
facing Quinn, but for all that he might as well have been invisible.
“No
way!” said Quinn to Jane. His sister beamed like the morning sun. “Don’t they
do anything else besides football?”
“Oh,
sure, lots of stuff,” said Jane, “but football is played in yearly quarters.
Lawndale High even has a football team to play the other schools during the
summer. It’s like a religion, only the football fans are more fanatical.”
“That
should be on Sick, Sad World,” said
Darius. “‘Football addiction: Can it strike your—”
Quinn
cut in. “You know, I was thinking about becoming a cheerleader, but they have
only that one outfit, you know? How fashionable is that?”
Jane
waved away the idea. “You wouldn’t like it anyway. I hear that cheerleaders are
required to date only football players.”
“And
fail a reality test,” mumbled Darius.
“Oh, no
way!” cried Quinn, laughing. “That’s so, like, restrictive! What it I wanted to
date, like, some rich kid who didn’t play—”
Jane
drew a finger across her throat and made the sound of someone’s head being cut
off. “Off the team,” she said. “They don’t allow it. They’ll repossess your
pom-pom.”
Quinn
laughed hysterically.
Darius
sighed and checked his watch. Twelve thirty-two. His new girlfriend and his
sister were hitting it off like gangbusters. What was next on the agenda—giving
each other makeovers and going shoe shopping together at the mall? He felt so
far out of the loop, he didn’t even know where the loop was.
Quinn
wiped her eyes. “Oh, my God, you are so funny! This has been great!”
“You
have class in eight minutes,” said Darius blandly.
“Oh, I
know. I’m just having so much fun. Whew!” She reluctantly got up from her seat.
“I’d better get to my locker and get ready for math.”
“Hey,
quick question,” said Jane. She pointed at Quinn’s face. “What color do you
call that, your eye shadow?”
“What?”
Quinn stopped laughing and leaned close to Jane, her eyes wide. “Is it smeared?
Is it running?”
“No, no,
no!” Jane said quickly. “I just like that color and wanted to know what it is.
I’d like to use something like that in a painting I’m doing, a portrait.”
“Oh,
sure! Um, this part—” Quinn pointed to the area below her eyes “—is your basic
Perfect Peach, and the eyelids are Desert Rose, with a dusting of Gold
Starburst. I sometimes use two colors together on the same spot to get a
different effect, and maybe smear them together, but these are pretty much
right out of the box.”
“Desert
Rose with gold,” said Jane. “Thanks!”
“Oh,
you’re welcome!” said Quinn. “Dari, would you take my tray back? Thanks! Bye!”
She waved as she hurried off.
Jane
waved back, but Darius merely lifted a finger and wagged it. He turned to Jane.
“So, feeling enlightened after your talk with the Zen master?”
“She’s
got a fantastic color sense,” said Jane with clear admiration. “It’s amazing.
No wonder she looks so good.”
“Jane,
we’re talking about makeup here, not Rembrandt.”
“Color
is color. Hey, are you going to eat those fries?”
“All
yours,” said Darius, pushing his tray over. “I’m taking a five-minute break
from fat.”
“You
look glum.”
He
shrugged. “I’m not glum,” he said. “I’m... I’m...”
“Bull,”
said Jane, her mouth full of fries. “You’re pouting because Quinn and I are
buds now and we don’t need you anymore.”
“Except
to carry your trays back.”
“Oh, get
over your damn cheap self,” Jane said cheerfully. “She worships you, you know?”
Darius
looked Jane in the eye. “The acoustics in here are bad. I thought you said—”
“She
does. That’s why she wanted to meet me. She needed reassurance that evil slut
Jane wasn’t stealing away her dependable but naïve big bro. That’s all that was
up.”
“Excuse
me? Naïve?”
“As far
as women are concerned, yeah.” Jane said it as a statement of fact, but without
a trace of insult.
He
looked away, mortified. Did both Jane and Quinn know more about him than he
did? Was there any justice in the universe at all? Why was he even bothering to
ask? “I wasn’t always that dependable,” he muttered, changing the subject. “She
and I used to fight a lot, years ago when we were little kids back in
“That
was before your dad sent you off to that army school because he was fighting
with you so much, right?”
“Yeah.”
He then frowned and turned his head to Jane, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t
recall mentioning why I was sent there.”
“Oh,
Quinn told me all about it last night. I’d sort of figured it out for myself,
but she put the final pieces in place.”
“What,
did you tell you what kind of underwear I wear, too?”
“No, but
she did tell me she used to make you carry her piggyback so she could pretend
she had a pony. She said she used to call you Tornado.”
Darius
dropped his head in mock shame. “I’m going to burn all of her scrunchies.”
“Dari,”
said Jane, lowering her voice, “Quinn is hungry for your acceptance. Maybe
‘desperate’ is a better word. I think more than anything she wants to be sure
you don’t forget her. I can’t be more analytical than that, or I’ll lose my
armchair psychologist’s license.”
“How could
I forget her?” said Darius, looking at the table. “I mean, every time I turn
around, there she is, poking around in my life.” He sighed. “It’s not so bad,
really, I guess. I missed her a lot when I was at Buxton Ridge. I did a lot of
thinking then about her and me. A lot went on in her life while I was gone, and
I think a lot of it was bad. It really bothers me.” He looked off into space.
“I can’t believe how much she’s changed. She’s like a whole different person.
The little Quinn who wanted me to play pony is gone.” He broke off and
swallowed.
“She is
something, isn’t she?”
Darius
nodded as he picked at the remains of his food. “I don’t see why she needs my
acceptance, though. She’s friends with half the planet, and the other half just
hasn’t met her yet. She doesn’t have to do anything to be a boy magnet. Being
popular is part of her genetic code. I’m surprised the Fashion Club didn’t make
her president for life.”
“All
that’s surface stuff,” said Jane softly. “Surface stuff is easy. I’m guessing
now, and maybe I’m poking my nose into a place it doesn’t belong, but you’re
probably the only person who really knows her who doesn’t yell at her all the
time.”
Darius
stared at the tabletop and said nothing. He had not thought of that. A pang of
guilt shot through him for all the times he had yelled at his sister.
After a long moment, he grimaced and checked his watch. “We’d better go,” he
said, pushing back from the table. “Mr. O’Neill’s probably dying to tell us
about Hamlet’s self-esteem problems.”
They
stood and collected their trays. Darius stacked Quinn’s on top of his own.
“Speaking
of self-esteem,” said Jane, “I’m getting out of that after-school class.
O’Neill teaches it, by the way.”
“How are
you getting out?”
“Oh, I
have all the answers to the release test. I can take it at any time and drop
the class.”
Darius
stopped, almost spilling the contents of both trays he carried. “You what?”
“Sure!
I’ve taken this self-esteem class six times before, mostly in my freshman year.
It hasn’t changed a bit.”
Darius
stared at her. “If you could’ve gotten out,” he said, “why didn’t you?”
“Because
having low self-esteem makes me feel special.”
“I think
that’s the heroin talking, not you. No, seriously. Why didn’t you?”
Jane
shrugged. “I didn’t have anything else to do after school. No one’s at home
most days except
“So,
what are you going to do with all your new-found free time?”
Jane
smiled, not looking at him. “Well, I thought I’d ask you for ideas. Got any?”
The rest
of the week passed without serious disruption, other than flare-ups between
Darius’s parents. Friday afternoon found Darius and Jane walking into Pizza
King, reputedly a better-than-average restaurant near the high school where
many of the students congregated.
“Great self-esteem
speech at the assembly,” said Darius to Jane, waiting for her to take a seat at
the booth he’d found for the two of them. “I liked the part at the end where
you ran off crying. That was Oscar material. It got my vote.”
“It’s
what Mr. O’Neill gets for making me get up in front of everyone and talk about
how I beat negative self-esteem,” said Jane. She picked up a menu, glanced at
it, and threw it down again. “I’m bloody starved.”
“Tut,
tut, language.” Darius picked up the menu and squinted at it. “You learn that
in
“I
learned it from my dad,” said Jane. “He went to Wales for four months when I
was a kid, and when he came back he kept saying ‘bloody this’ and ‘bloody that’
when he was developing his film.”
“You
know, about the assembly speech, you could have just faked laryngitis and
gotten out of it.”
“Nah.
I’ve got theater in my veins. If it’s art, we Lanes do it.”
“Is
sleeping an art? Say yes.”
“Some
people think so.
“Hmmm.
You wanna split a giant pizza?”
“Sure.
Let’s get the garlic bread, too. They make fantastic garlic bread here. We’ll
need extra napkins.”
“Okay,”
said Darius, still reading the menu. “My treat.”
“Let me
split the bill with you.”
“Nah.
Isn’t done.”
“Isn’t
done by whom? I’ve got money.”
Darius
winced. “It... just let me pay for it. I’m good.”
“Good
you are, but is this guy-always-pays thing something they drilled into you at
the academy?”
Darius
didn’t answer. A muscle tightened in his cheek. He suddenly thought about
things he had hoped he never would again.
He
sighed and put down the menu. Easy way out, he decided. “I just don’t
think about it when I can. I’m not like Dad, going on and on about it. Mostly
he tells me how it made him a man and all that, but he complains about it at
other times. His own dad forced him to go there all through junior high and
high school. Dad got to go home only on short breaks.” Darius shifted in his
seat, looking uncomfortable. “My dad really hates his own dad. He gets so angry
when he talks about Grandpa Morgendorffer, who’s dead now. I think Dad feeds me
this line about how Buxton Ridge was good for him just for my benefit, not that
he really means it. It had a bad reputation in the sixties and seventies. It was
cleaned up after that, but it was kind of a snake pit before then.”
“Ah,”
said Jane. “Then—”
“Hey,
I’m Artie,” said a voice beside them. Darius and Jane looked up. A freckled,
bucktoothed young man with a weak chin and unkempt hair stood by the table in a
Pizza King waiter’s outfit. “Can I take your order?”
“Hi,
Artie,” said Jane in a tone of familiarity. “We’ll take an order of garlic
bread and a giant... what sort of pizza?” she added in Darius’s direction.
“I
dunno,” he said. “This Meat-Monster Special looks—”
“Do you
know anything about UFOs?” asked Artie out of the blue.
Darius
looked up in confusion. “What?”
“Artie—”
Jane began in a warning tone.
“You
know, flying saucers, the messengers from those in the Great Beyond,” Artie
said with great earnestness. “Back in 1947 in
“The
Meat-Monster Special!” Jane interrupted. “Definitely, the Meat-Monster Special!
And two large Ultra-Colas!”
“Oh,”
said Artie, writing this down. “Okay. I’ll be right back unless I have to take
out the garbage or something.”
As Artie
walked away, Darius gave him the eye. “He looks familiar.”
“He was
interviewed on that Sick, Sad World
episode on UFOs we missed on Monday,” Jane said. “I saw him in the commercial
bits. You probably saw him there, too. He works around
“
“What’s
your Mom like?”
“Mom?”
Darius looked at Jane. “I dunno. I don’t feel like I know her really well.
She’s driven, a workaholic. Not real friendly, probably from fighting with Dad.
She isn’t home much. She used to get frozen lasagna in bulk and microwave it
for dinner, but since we got to
“You
cook?”
“Sure. I
run the microwave and call for carryout. I’m experienced at dialing for pizza
and Chinese.”
Jane
looked thoughtful. “I imagine that would get expensive.”
“Mom
gives me extra money to take care of Quinn when everyone else is out.” He
played with the menu on the table. “They don’t... never mind.”
“What?”
said Jane in a low tone.
Darius
looked around. “Oh, Mom and Dad don’t like each other much anymore. Sort of
like Hitler and Stalin didn’t like each other much. They started off with this
fake alliance, and then everything unraveled and there was that long party at
“Are you
talking about Hitler and Stalin, or your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.”
Jane scratched her left ear around the three silver-wire pierced earrings she
wore there. “My folks aren’t around enough for me to figure out what historical
figures they’re like. I’d have to say Dad’s like the Invisible Man, and Mom’s
like one of those grown-up hippies in the movies, the kind that can’t focus on
the present, so I’d have to go more with fictional models than historical
ones.”
“So,
“With a
little help from everyone else. I wonder sometimes if I was the one who raised
him.”
“Couldn’t
have been too hard caring for a guy who sleeps all day.”
“Exactly,”
said Jane. “Exactly.” She looked to one side. “Here comes our garlic bread. Oh,
and there’s your sis and the Fashion Banditos.”
Darius
looked over as Artie delivered their order. Quinn and three other girls her age
were coming into Pizza King. Quinn spotted Darius and Jane and waved, grinning.
An attractive brown-haired girl with a superior look glanced at the couple and
scowled before turning away. A thin Asian girl in a blue dress looked blankly
at them before following her friends to a table, and a brown-haired girl in
pigtails waved at Darius and Jane for a half-second, then looked embarrassed
and ran to catch up with the others.
“How
special,” said Darius. “I bet she raises their collective IQ by thirty points
when they get together.”
“I bet
that...” Jane began, then shook her head.
“What?”
“Oh,
forget it. I doubt they’ll ask you for a date. They only go out with popular
people.”
“Thank
God,” said Darius, who wasn’t in the least offended. “That’s all I need to do
is date my sister’s friends.”
Jane
cleared her throat.
“I
didn’t mean you,” Darius said with a wounded look.
“Heads
up,” said Jane, looking over Darius’s shoulder.
He
turned to see Quinn walking over. “Hey!” she said to Darius. “Listen, I have to
ask you a favor—oh, don’t look at me like that! I haven’t even told you what it
is yet!”
“He’s
crabby today,” said Jane. “That time of the month.”
“It’s
always that time of the month with him,” said Quinn, playfully punching Darius
in the shoulder. “Look, word got out that one of the cheerleaders is having a
big party at her house a week from this Saturday. Can you talk to Mom or
something and see if I can go over and maybe stay out past nine? I need you to
go to base for me.”
“To bat
for you, you mean.”
“No, to
ask Mom if I can stay out till maybe eleven for once. Get with it, Dari.”
Darius
sighed. “Were you invited over?”
“Not
really, but yes. See, cheerleaders have to invite the whole football team when
they have parties, and so she had to invite these three guys on the team who
keep asking me for dates, so they asked me to go with them, but then they got
into a fight over who was going to—”
“Okay,
okay! Stop! I’ll ask!” said Darius. “I can’t promise anything, though. I’ll ask
tonight.”
“Thanks!”
said Quinn. “Isn’t he great?” she said to Jane. Quinn punched him in the
shoulder again before walking off to her friends.
“She’s
getting stronger,” Darius mumbled, rubbing his arm. “I’ll have to cut back on
her vitamins.” He looked back at Jane. “I’ll bet I have to go along and
chaperone her. Mom’s mentioned that to me before. She wants to keep a close eye
on where Quinn goes and who she’s with. Probably afraid of a lawsuit.”
“You
know, most parents around here don’t mind if their kids are out for a bit. Take
me, for instance. My parents are in
“Beats
me. Anyway, Mom and Dad have a major ongoing discussion, to use the term
loosely, about whether Quinn and I are living up to their standards. Dad
usually starts the discussion by yelling about my—” He broke off suddenly.
“Wait, sorry. Starting to channel Dad there. Pick a topic for me, any topic.”
Jane
sipped at her Ultra-Cola and reached for a piece of garlic bread. “The topic is
food,” she said. “Eat.”
Halfway
through the pizza, Jane raised a finger as she swallowed a bite of the
Meat-Monster Special. “If you have to chaperone Quinn,” she said, “would you
like someone to chaperone you?”
“Who?”
he said, confused.
Jane
kicked him under the table and stared at him with too-large eyes.
“Oh!” he
said. “Uh, definitely! Absolutely! And I can chaperone you, too.”
“We just
have to get me invited first.”
“Well,
Quinn can’t go unless I go, and I can’t go unless you go, so you have to go,
right?”
“I hate
to say this,” said Jane, “but that kind of logic might actually work on a
Darius
looked pained. “I hate meeting people.”
“I can’t
blame you,” said Jane, “but this is for your sister. Go over there and beat
your chest and throw things. It works for chimpanzees.”
Rolling
his eyes, Darius wiped his hands and got up. “If I’m not back in five minutes—”
“—I’ll
finish the pizza by myself,” said Jane.
He
walked over, looking as dull as possible. “Excuse me,” he said to the blonde, big-breasted
girl in the cheerleader outfit and double ponytails, and the muscular,
dark-haired guy sitting across from her wearing a Lawndale Lions football
uniform. “I—”
“Hey!”
said the guy. “I’m the QB, and this is my girl!”
“No
doubt,” said Darius. “I wanted to ask—”
“She’s
taken, okay?” said the football player. “Beat it.”
“Kevvy,
wait!” squealed the cheerleader. “Let him finish! He’s that new guy, okay? He
doesn’t know how things are done here!”
“Oh,”
said the football player. He motioned to Darius. “Go ahead and ask her out, and
then I’ll tell you why you can’t go out with her.”
“My
sister said she was invited over to a cheerleader’s party next weekend,” he
said to
“Oh,
that’s my party!”
“She’s
the girl with the red hair, sitting over there,” Darius said, pointing across
the dining room. “She says some football players asked her to the party, and—”
“Whoa,
babe!” protested “Kevvy.” “It wasn’t me! I’d never ask out a girl who was cuter
than you!”
“What?”
shrieked
Her
boyfriend wasted no time in running after her. “Wait! Babe!” he shouted. “Let
me explain! It’s not what I said it sounded like!”
Darius
stood by their table, watching them run out of sight past the pizzeria window.
He turned around, saw everyone looking at him, and walked back to the booth
with Jane. “That went well,” he said as he sat down again. He noticed Jane was
counting out some bills in her hand. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Paying
for the meal,” she said. “That was the best floor show I’ve ever seen. It was
worth every penny.”
“Jane—”
“Shush,”
she said, dropping the bills on the edge of the table on top of the check.
“Now, tell me your secret for sowing discord.”
He
thought carefully. “I try to be myself,” he said.
“Crap.
That sure won’t work for me.”
Quinn
reappeared at their side. “Wow!” she said to Darius. “What did you say to
them?”
“He
asked Kevin out for Saturday night, but he wouldn’t let
“Ewww!”
said Quinn. “Dari, we have to work on your people skills.”
“I asked
“Oh,
that’s fine.” Quinn turned to Jane. “Don’t be jealous of him and Kevin,” she
added. “It won’t last. It’s all the fault of that military school, you know.”
“I’ll keep
a stiff upper lip,” said Jane.
“Goodbye,
Quinn,” said Darius loudly. “Sorry you had to run off so soon. See you next
week during visiting hours, and tell the staff hello from me.”
“Bye,”
said Quinn. She started off, then dodged back and punched Darius in the arm
again before she left, snickering.
Darius
drummed his fingers on the table, looking after her. “Tell me again how much I
like my sister,” he said.
“Mmmgg,”
said Jane, chewing a mouthful of pizza. “Mgl bg mg zg’mtz zb’btz.”
He
nodded and picked up a slice himself. He wondered how he was going to present
the party story to his mother for maximum beneficial effect for Quinn—and, of
course, for an evening out for himself and Jane. The arguing might go on all
weekend, but he couldn’t let it get out of hand. It would have been a better
weekend if he’d had his driver’s license by now, so he could have driven Jane
to Middleton for that UFO convention on Saturday. He wouldn’t be sixteen until
mid-November, though. Maybe next year, if they were still together. He hoped
they would be. Jane was one of a kind. He’d never find her like again.
When
Darius got home that evening, his father was in the kitchen, mixing a pitcher
of margaritas. The kitchen smelled of tequila and limejuice. Darius walked in
and knew it would be a difficult night when he spotted the empty tequila
bottle. His plans to talk about Quinn and the party went up in smoke.
“It’s
almost six,” said his father, looking up. “When I was your age, my father made
me get home every night at five thirty, so I’d never miss getting home by six.
Old Mad Dog, that’s what he did.”
Darius
nodded carefully and went to the refrigerator.
“That
it?” asked his father. “Nothing for the old man?”
“Hi,”
Darius said, looking his father in the eye with one hand on the refrigerator
handle. “Good to see you.”
His
father grunted and returned to stirring the margaritas. “Old Mad Dog would’ve
beaten me good if I’d come home and not been respectful to him.”
Darius
took his hand off the refrigerator. “How was your day?” he asked. It was a
gamble, but an open-ended question had a chance to derail an outburst—or
trigger one.
“How was
my day,” said his father. “I’ll tell you how it was. I had two clients who
didn’t show, one client who showed and said no to my proposals, and one client
who took my proposals home to think about it. Didn’t call me back. That’s how
my day went. Big waste of time.”
A
possible path appeared before Darius. He took it. “You’re doing better than
your father did, aren’t you?”
His
father looked up. “Doing better? I’m doing better than old Mad Dog
Morgendorffer?” He grunted and looked into the pitcher. “That could be. He was
dead by my age now. Heart attack killed him. I was already in
Darius
opened the refrigerator and looked inside. He took out a gallon jug of milk and
shut the refrigerator, walking over to the cabinets to get himself a glass.
“It did
make a man out of you, didn’t it?” said his father, looking at him.
Darius
looked back when his father spoke. The margarita glass his father held was now
empty. Darius nodded. “Yes,” he said.
“Yes, sir!
You should say, yes, sir, to me, like you did in school to those jackals
running around in their holier-than-thou drill uniforms! God, I hated them.”
His father refilled his glass. “Damned if I know where the salt is around
here.”
Nothing
remained to do but wait and see where this went. Darius leaned against the
countertop and ignored the milk and glass behind him.
“What
did you think about them?” his father asked.
His son
licked his lips. “The drill sergeants and officers?”
“Of
course!” yelled his father. “Who the hell do you think I’m talking about? JFK
and Camelot?”
Darius
stared at his father for a few moments. “They were just doing their job,” he
said. They weren’t that bad, he thought. It was the other students
who sucked, but the staff was mostly tolerable.
“Doing
their job,” said his father. “Doing their job, hell. They were jackals.” He
pointed at Darius. “You know what jackals are, don’t you? They’re these little
doglike things that live in the desert. They come out at night and attack
wounded beasts, biting them and running off until the prey can’t fight back
anymore. They wait until it’s almost bled to death, and then they close in for
the kill. That’s what jackals are.”
His
father drained his margarita glass and nodded sagely to Darius. “Don’t let that
fool you, though. It made a real man out of me. I’m proud of that school, proud
my rotten old man sent me there. He knew it would take a lot to make me a man,
and he was right. I hated him, hated him more than death, but he was right. I
still hate him, but it was the right thing to do. I know it now. And I was
right to send you there, too.”
Darius
heard a noise from the living room. It was the front door opening, very slowly
and quietly. Quinn. He glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was 6:04 p.m.
She was late.
“You
were right,” said Darius loudly. “You were right, too... sir.”
His
father looked at him in confusion and a little anger. “What was that?”
“I
said,” said Darius just as loudly, hearing soft footsteps run upstairs, “you
were right to send me there. It did the right thing for me. I can go on with my
life and... do the right things now. It did make a man out of me.”
His
father stared at him for a long moment, then looked down at the pitcher of
margaritas.
“Want me
to help you find the salt, sir?” Darius asked.
His
father snorted. “It’s around here somewhere,” he said. “Your mother hid it. She
hides everything around here. I can’t find anything. If I wanted to cook
something, I couldn’t do it. Just let her cook, then. See if I care.” He shook
his head and looked around the kitchen. “Bitch,” he muttered.
Darius
opened a few cabinets, then opened the one in which he knew the saltshaker was
kept. He took it out and put it on the counter in front of his father. “There
you go, sir.”
His
father stared at the shaker and did nothing.
Darius
turned and picked up the milk. He took it back to the refrigerator and put it
away. His hunger was gone. “I have homework to do, sir,” he said. “Have a good
night.”
His
father nodded, still staring down at the saltshaker.
Halfway
across the living room, heading for the stairs, Darius heard his father call
for him. He sighed and walked back, stopping in the kitchen doorway.
“I want
you to know who gave you your name,” said his father, pouring another glass
from the pitcher. “That was me.”
Darius
waited. After a moment, he realized a response was called for. “Thank you,” he
said.
His
father raised the glass. “It was my idea. I wanted you to have a great name, so
I named you after an ancient king. I think he was Roman. I liked his name.
Darius the Great. Your mother said I could do it only if we could call you
Daria if you came out a girl. Good thing that didn’t happen.” His father
chuckled. “Glad that didn’t happen. God only knows how things would have gone
then.”
“I like
the name,” said Darius. “Thanks.”
His
father nodded. Darius turned to go.
His
father threw the glass at him. It smashed into the wall by Darius’s face and
exploded into a hundred shards that sprayed across the room.
“Call me
sir, God damn you!” roared his father. “You call me sir! SIR!”
Shocked,
Darius didn’t react right away. He then slowly straightened and faced his
father. How curious, he thought, that he felt no fear at all—just an infinite
tiredness and a vague disappointment.
I
can’t go back to Buxton Ridge and leave Quinn here alone again.
“Thank
you, sir, for giving me my name,” he said.
His
father stared at the huge splash that ran down the wall by Darius, at the
sparkling glass flung over the floor in every direction. His face colored,
possibly with shame, possibly because he was angry and wished he had the drink
back.
“Clean
it up,” said his father, looking away. “I’m going out somewhere where people
respect me.” He walked out of the kitchen through the laundry room, heading
into the garage. The laundry room door slammed shut behind him. After a moment,
Darius heard the garage door open, then his father slam the door on his Lexus
and start it up.
He
waited until he was sure his father was out of the driveway before walking to
the laundry room where the vacuum sweepers were stored. He checked the garage
and closed the garage door, then grabbed a push sweeper and headed back into
the kitchen with it. A shower would have to wait until—
Quinn
screamed.
Darius
shoved the sweeper aside and ran for the living room. Dressed in shorts and a
long tee, Quinn was crying her head off on the sofa, grasping one of her bare
feet. Blood ran down her foot and dripped on the carpeting.
“God!”
said Darius. He started to grab her foot, then realized he still had glass
splinters on his hands and arms. “Wait! Stay there!” He ran back in the
kitchen, washed his hands off, and ran back with the first aid kit and a
dishtowel.
“Hold
still!” he told her. He dabbed at her foot, then grabbed it to keep her from
jerking it away. “Hold still! Just hold still! I know it hurts! Let me fix it!”
He quickly picked out all the shards of glass he could see, then wiped her foot
with alcohol swabs and threw them aside on the carpet. Quinn alternately
shrieked and choked on her sobs, her face bright red and streaked with tears.
It took three large bandages to stop the bleeding in different places on her
right foot. He taped over the bandages to make sure they wouldn’t come off.
Darius
took his wet, splinter-covered shirt off, then wiped his face and arms with the
towel. “Come on,” he said, putting his arms under Quinn’s thighs and across her
back. “Let me get you out of here,” he said. “There’s glass all over. I was
getting the vacuum to clean it up.”
Quinn
nodded and put her arms around him. She buried her face in his chest. He stood
up with her and slowly took her out of the living room, mounting the stairs
with care. At the top, he carried her to her room and then to her canopied bed.
He checked her bandages. The bleeding had stopped. He’d have to wash her foot
later to make sure all the glass was out of it, then put on some antiseptic.
Her left foot seemed fine.
“I have
to go downstairs and clean up, okay?” he told her. “Before Mom gets home. You
stay up here until I’m done, all right?”
Quinn
nodded. He reached over and grabbed her princess phone and put it on her bed
beside her, stretching the cord out. “Here. Call one of your friends for a
little, when you can. I can’t get the cordless phone right now. I’ll be right
back.”
He went
downstairs and vacuumed the living room and the kitchen, wiped off the kitchen
wall, and checked for any remaining glass. It took a half hour to finish. He
put everything away, then went back upstairs and checked on Quinn again. She
lay back on her bed, an arm over her face. She took her arm away to look at
him. Her injured foot projected over the edge of the bed.
“How’re
you doing?” he asked.
“My foot
hurts a lot,” she whispered.
“I have
to shower off real fast. I’ve got stuff all over me. You stay here. I’ll get
you some painkillers.”
“Lock me
in,” said Quinn. She didn’t have to say why.
“Sure.”
He punched in the knob lock, then pulled her door shut until the lock clicked.
He went down the hall to their common bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he walked
out with a towel around his waist and his clothes wadded into a bundle inside a
beach towel. He went to his room and changed into a plain gray sweat suit he
had used at the academy for exercising. Sneakers on his feet, he went
downstairs. No one was home. On impulse, he vacuumed the kitchen and living
room a second time, then checked the refrigerator.
He
realized then that he still wasn’t hungry. Why he’d even bothered to look was a
mystery. Habit, perhaps. He picked out a container of fat-free fruit-filled
yogurt for Quinn, got a spoon and a bottle of ibuprofen, and went back
upstairs. He popped Quinn’s doorknob lock with a paperclip after telling her
who it was.
They
ordered Chinese. As she ate her yogurt, Quinn rang up all her girlfriends in
the Fashion Club using conference calling, but she said nothing about the
incident to any of them. Her voice was as cheery as it ever was, talking about
sweaters for the fall and clever things to do with scarves. Darius locked her
in her room again, then went back to his own bedroom. He left the door open to
hear the Good Times Chinese Restaurant deliveryman knock downstairs.
As he
sat down at his computer, he realized he wanted to call Jane. It was Friday
night. Other guys were out with their girlfriends. He was home guarding his
sister from his parents. He’d call Jane when the food arrived, while Quinn was
eating. If Jane was home, they could talk. She’d said something about working
tonight on a painting that was bothering her. Maybe she wouldn’t want to talk.
Sometimes she didn’t, and he could handle that—but maybe she would want to
talk.
What would
he say? What would he tell her about the evening? He shook his head. He’d say
nothing, of course. It was just another Friday night—better than some, worse
than most because Quinn got hurt. It was just another day.
“This is
messed up,” he whispered. “God damn it. This is just so messed up.”
He
turned on his computer, let it warm up, then stared at the screen—and turned it
off again. Nothing was on that he cared about. Over six billion channels, but
nothing was on. The books on the shelves, the CDs by his bed, the backpack with
his homework—none of it mattered. Nothing was on.
“This is
so messed up,” he said. He put his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and
waited for the deliveryman.
Awakened
by his alarm, Darius showered and made his way downstairs the next morning at
seven o’clock. The early start became a reluctant habit in military school, but
getting out of the house was a priority now. On this Saturday, his outfit
consisted of a black-and-white Nirvana T-shirt, black shorts, and worn but
comfortable track shoes.
As he
descended the stairs, he heard rustling noises from the kitchen and the chirp
of the microwave signaling it had stopped. His father would not be up until at
least ten on weekends, so there was nothing to worry about on that count. The
problem now was entirely different.
His
mother was reading papers from her open briefcase and drinking a cup of coffee
when he walked into the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said.
“Just a
minute.” His mother frowned at the papers to keep her concentration.
Darius
went to the refrigerator and got the milk, then picked out a box of cereal, a
bowl, and a large spoon and carried the whole lot over to the table. He glanced
at his mother several times, but she was focused on the paperwork. He was most
of the way through his first bowl of cereal when her cell phone went off.
“Helen,”
she absently said into the phone. “Hi, Eric.” She paused. “I’m looking at them
now. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. It looks fine to me so far.” Pause.
“Let me deal with that when I get in. That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve already
talked with the witnesses. Okay.” She pushed a button to break the connection
and lay the phone beside her papers. Not once did she look away from her
reading.
“I have
to ask something,” said Darius, putting down his spoon. “It can’t wait.”
His
mother lowered her papers and frowned at him. “What?”
“Quinn
wants to know if she can go to a party a week from today. I can go along to
keep an eye on her.”
“Fine.”
His mother lifted the paperwork again.
“She
wants to stay out past nine, if that’s possible.”
“Darius,”
said his mother, “I’m trying to get through the paperwork for this case before
I go in today, and—”
“I’ll
stay with her,” Darius interrupted. “We’ll be back before eleven.”
“Fine,
fine,” she said, looking at her papers with an annoyed expression.
“We’ll
be out today, but not—”
She
abruptly dropped her papers and hammered the tabletop with her fist. “Darius, please!
If I don’t get this deposition right, I’m out of a job, okay? Can I have some
time to myself now? The money I make is practically all we’re living on! It’s
for your own good!”
He
nodded and finished his cereal. His mother gulped down her coffee, then grabbed
her papers and stuffed them into her briefcase.
“Tell
Dad when you see him,” Darius added as she got up from the table.
“Why
can’t you tell him?” she snapped.
“He
doesn’t want to hear about parenting issues from me.”
His
mother looked furious, but she bit back a reply. It wasn’t hard to imagine what
it was. If you wouldn’t fight with him so much, maybe he would listen to you,
she might have said. Or, I don’t have time to listen to all of this. You
deal with it and let me get this done, okay? This is more important than Quinn
going to a damn party.
In any event,
she said nothing and strode out of the kitchen and into the laundry room, then
opened the garage door and slammed it behind her. A few moments later, Darius
heard a car door bang shut, the engine of the SUV start up, and the garage door
open and close. She wouldn’t be back until late. He knew the routine.
After
finishing a second bowl of cereal and two Pop-Tarts, Darius cleaned up the
kitchen and went upstairs to his room. He listened at Quinn’s door first and
heard gentle snoring. She usually got up at nine, but she rarely came out
unless she was sure she wouldn’t meet anyone. He thought about her injured foot
and felt a rush of guilt. If he’d been quicker with the vacuum or had thought
to warn her, she wouldn’t have walked right into the broken glass. Nothing he
could do about it now. She was able to get around before she went to bed,
anyway. In a subdued mood, he went to his room and began stretching for his
morning run. It would empty his mind and get the day going.
And
today there would be a bonus. He checked his watch to be sure he was on time.
Whether his running partner would make it out was another question. She wasn’t
a morning person.
Ten
minutes later, he walked out the front door and set off. He picked up a steady
pace heading west down Glen Oaks. Few people were out this morning. It was one
of those late summer days when autumn makes its presence felt with a cool
breeze and yellowing leaves. The prediction was for rain that evening, but few
clouds drifted overhead. The air smelled of cut grass. A neighbor mowed her
yard, a small dog yapped at a window, and children called to each other on a
nearby street. What the hell are they doing up at this hour? he
wondered.
Darius
turned north on another street, looking ahead for the turn left onto Howard
Drive, Jane’s street.
Jane
jogged slowly east on Howard toward the intersection. Her hair was pulled back
in a stubby ponytail, and she wore a red T-shirt, red running sneakers, and
gray running shorts with the words LAWNDALE HS on one side. She turned and saw
him, immediately breaking her stride to walk. She covered her mouth and yawned,
but grinned at him after that. Darius crossed the street, trying to hide his
smile.
“Why the
hell are you making me go running at this ungodly hour?” said Jane as he walked
up. “I told you last night I was going to sleep late.”
“Hey,
you told me you’d try anything once.”
“Don’t
play your sick, twisted mind games on me, Morgen—” Their lips met for a long
kiss “—dorffer.”
His left
arm went around her slim waist. His right hand played with her silver earrings
and stroked her left cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “The sun comes up
every morning just to see you.”
“You’re
blind even with those glasses on,” Jane whispered back.
“I’ll
use Braille, then,” said Darius, and his mouth covered hers again.
She
broke away after the third long kiss. “We’d better run before I fall asleep
standing here,” she said, yawning again. “No offense. Where to?”
“You
pick the path,” he said. “Show me your usual route.”
“Hokay. Lezgo,”
said Jane, and she took off at a respectable jog heading back the way she’d
come. Darius caught up to her and they ran together.
A third
of the way back up Howard, Jane indicated a left turn, and they ran northward
on Bernstein Way. “There’s a running path through the woods ahead,” she said.
“I circle around the mall on the other side, then come back down Tomasik to get
into the subdivision again. I think it’s about three miles.”
“How did
your painting go last night?”
“Ah, not
so good. I’m working on something new. It’s... I don’t know how to explain it.
It’s sort of a self-portrait series, I guess.” She ran a block before adding,
“I don’t know what else to say about it.”
“It’s a
nonverbal thing.”
“Yeah,
actually, it is. I can’t talk about some things I’m doing, not because I don’t
want to, but I can’t... I can’t think of the words for it. I can see it in my
head, but I can’t say it.” She shrugged. “It’s art.”
“Oh, I
got the go-ahead for Quinn to go to that cheerleader’s party next week.”
“Was it
a problem?”
“Getting
permission? Nah, not this time. It went fine.”
Jane
nodded. They ran in silence until they got to the tree line, then Darius
followed Jane into the woods along a yard-wide dirt path that appeared to be
well used. The forest was quiet and appeared to extend to the north for some
distance. The path curved off to the west before long and began a series of
gentle ups and downs as it curved around low rolling hills.
Thanks
to his position behind Jane, Darius soon became intrigued with her gray running
shorts and the way her butt jogged beneath the loose material. After he almost
stumbled the third time from not watching the path, he forced himself to look
away.
“This is
beautiful!” he called ahead, catching a quick look at her rear end again.
“Isn’t
it great?” she called back. “I don’t really come out here that often by myself.
My regular route is through the subdivision, really. Didn’t mean to lead you
astray. Much.”
“Do you
get other people out here to run with you?”
“Uh...
not for running, no.”
“Sightseeing?”
Jane
didn’t answer. After a moment, she pointed to her right. Darius saw a large
pond through the trees.
They
jogged at a good clip for ten minutes before coming to a fork in the trail. The
right branch ran off to an area where the trees grew sparse. Darius thought he
saw a parking lot beyond the tree line. Jane ran to the left, on into the
trees. Darius looked back at the parking lot and figured they would be curving
around the entire lot instead of running through it. That made sense. He hated
running long distances on blacktop and concrete. It killed his feet.
Gradually,
Darius let his mind go. The air was cool and the earthy smells refreshed his
mind. He stopped glancing at Jane’s athletic behind and instead watched the way
the sunlight flickered down through the thick leaves. He listened to blue jays
screech and thrushes whistle, and he was startled to see a deer bound across
the path ahead of them, disappearing moments later into the woods. Jane slowed
to look back at Darius with a broad grin, then forged ahead. Both were
perspiring, but Darius felt better than he had in weeks.
Rounding
a low hill, Jane slowed and pointed ahead. Darius looked. The path became
arrow-straight for perhaps a tenth of a mile ahead.
“Bye,”
said Jane, and she was off like a gunshot, legs flashing down the path.
Stunned, Darius kicked it into high gear behind her, but she was clearly in her
element. Jesus Christ, he thought, she’s a damn track star! He
clenched his teeth and sprinted after her with all he had.
It was
hopeless. Jane could run like a Greek goddess. She slowed and stopped at the
end of the straightaway, where the path took a curve to the right, and she
waited for him with the smirkiest smirk he had ever seen on another human
being.
He
staggered up a handful of seconds later and threw himself down on a grassy
patch by the path, flopping on his back with arms and legs spread out. It was
impossible not to pant.
Jane
pretended to check a nonexistent watch on her left wrist, making tisking
noises. “Gosh, I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at him, “but I have sex only
with men who can catch me.”
Darius
put a hand over his face and groaned. “You are sick and evil,” he said, “and
those are your good points. You are the most wicked of all sick and evil
dominatrixes.” He paused. “Wait, what’s the correct plural of that? Let’s see.
Um, dominatrices? Domina—damn you! You’ve given me writer’s block!”
“And you
call yourself a real author.” Jane kicked him in the foot with a red sneaker.
“Recite poetry for me, weakling slave.”
“What?
Oh, okay. Uh... ‘The sun was shining on the sea, /
Shining with all his might: / He did his very best to make / The billows smooth
and bright— / And this was odd because it was / The middle of the night.’”
“That’s
from that
“You’re
the dominatrix. You’re supposed to know.”
“Insolent.
I should whip you, but you’d probably like it.”
“Promises,
promis—” Darius lunged up from the ground and grabbed Jane by one leg, pulling
her down on him as she shrieked.
“You bastard!”
she yelled, wrestling with him. “You touched the royal me! I really am going
to—” She burst into peals of laughter and jerked violently. “Augh! Stop! No!
Don’t tickle me there! Augh! No, stop! No! Nottherenottherenot—no! No!
Stopstopstop—AAAAHHHH!” She became incoherent, wiggling on the ground as his
fingers worked into her sides and lower back.
“Stop
fighting it!” he said, letting go of her. “You’re getting all dirty!”
“You!”
she gasped. “You got me all dirty! I’m going to kick your ass!
Who do you think you are? Who do—mmph!”
It was
difficult to talk with their mouths pressed so tightly together. They slowly
rearranged themselves to lie side by side on the ground, their legs interlaced.
Darius rolled Jane so she was slightly under him, encircled by his arms as they
kissed.
After an
eternity, they broke apart for air. Darius kissed her face and hair, and
smelled the way her body scent changed from moment to moment. She was getting
turned on. He knew he was, too, but he was in no hurry. He wanted this moment
of paradise to last forever.
“Cheater,”
Jane gasped. “Go slower.”
“I am.”
“I
don’t—” She took a deep breath. “I don’t—mmm, wait a minute. Wait.” He pulled
back until their faces were a hand span apart. They were breathing like steam
engines.
Jane
swallowed and buried her face in his soiled shirt. “Let’s not go too far,” she
mumbled. “I’m sorry. I know I’m really awful to bring this up right at this
extra-special moment when we’re practically—”
“You’re
beautiful.”
“Yeah,
and you’re drunk or stoned or both. Maybe you really are blind.” She spit out a
piece of grass, stuck out her tongue to peer at the tip, and sighed, looking
into his eyes. “What’s your vision again?”
He took
his glasses off and laid them aside with care. “You look great,” he said,
deliberately looking at a spot in the forest away from her face.
“Oh, you
ass.” She tried to push him away.
“Slower,”
he said. His fingers ran through her silken black bangs and brushed out a leaf
and a twig. The band holding her hair in its ponytail had fallen out. He
massaged the back of her head. This seemed to calm her. Her blue eyes started
to close.
“Slower,
yes,” she whispered, “and not... too... whatever.”
He bent
his head and kissed her neck and shoulder. The taste of her skin filled his
mouth.
“I don’t
care if you are blind,” she said, eyes closed. “You’re a dynamite kisser—but
I’m still faster than you. Don’t forget it.”
He
didn’t answer.
She
stopped talking.
Darius
came home alone just before ten that morning. He ruffled his hair again to get
more leaf fragments out of it, then took off his muddy sneakers and went in the
front door. The house was quiet. He went upstairs and headed for the bathroom.
Quinn
was already in there. Fully dressed, she sat on the toilet with the lid down.
She had taken the water-soaked bandages off her foot and was inspecting the
cuts on her heel and arch. Her hair was still wet from the shower.
“Hey,”
he said, stopping in the doorway. “Can I see?”
“Yeah,”
she said, then got a good look at him. “Ewww! What did you do, roll in the
dirt? Look at you!”
“I fell
down a couple of hills,” he said, kneeling and inspecting her foot. The cuts
did not appear infected, but he didn’t want to take chances. “Let me get
cleaned up, and then I’ll put more antiseptic on that. Or you can put it on if
you want.”
“No,
you,” she said quickly. “I can’t stand it. It stings too much.”
“Okay.
Let me shower first.”
Quinn
got up and limped to the door, but as she glanced at him something caught her
attention. “Tell me one thing, okay?” she said from the doorway.
“What?”
“Tell me
the two of you are using protection.”
Darius
flinched and looked his sister in the eyes—but only for a second. He looked
away and peeled off his T-shirt, throwing it on the tile floor. “Cut it out,
sis.”
“You’ve
got lipstick on your—”
He
exhaled heavily, feeling his self-control slip. “What we’re doing is no damn
business of yours!” he hissed. He still couldn’t look at her. He ran a hand
over his face and felt like a heel. What did Jane say about him being the only
person who didn’t yell at his sister?
“I’m
sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I’m just tired.”
“Dari?”
“What?”
Quinn
tried to speak, but it didn’t come. “Forget it,” she said. She turned to go.
“Quinn.”
She stopped but did not look back. “Quinn,” he said, “we’re not... we’re not
doing it. I mean, we’re not doing anything that would be a problem. We’re not.
Man, I can’t even believe I’m saying this to you.”
She
nodded, then went on to her room.
“I’ll be
there in a little,” he said, looking at the floor.
“Okay.”
She left her door open.
He
showered and was back in his room in fifteen minutes. He’d forgotten to leave
his own bathrobe in the bathroom closet, so he had to borrow Quinn’s, which was
mildly embarrassing but would send Quinn up the wall if she found out. He
hurriedly changed into a green Army T-shirt, black jeans, and tall
black-leather boots—his favorite hang-around outfit—then returned both
bathrobes to the bathroom, got the antiseptic bottle and a bandage box and
tape, and went into Quinn’s room.
“Wait,”
she said, lying on her back on her canopy bed. She grabbed a pillow and pressed
it over her face with both arms, then stuck her injured foot in his direction.
He held her foot steady as he put the medicine on. She jerked and screamed into
her pillow each time he touched her, even if it wasn’t with antiseptic.
“Quinn,”
he said, putting down the bottle, “as much as the idea of torturing you appeals
to me, I can’t do this with all the sound effects. Does it really hurt that
badly?”
“Sort
of,” she said, her voice muffled under the pillow. “Not really, I guess. I
thought if I just screamed, it wouldn’t hurt so much. You know, like if you
overreact to something, it isn’t as bad?”
“I don’t
think I’ve ever heard of that,” he said. “Did someone in the Fashion Club tell
you this? Is this how they handle morning bed hair?”
“No,
dummy. It was in last month’s issue of Waif. They were talking about
stress or something, like if you scream into your pillow when you’re totally
freaked out, how that’s supposed to—”
“Okay,
enough. I get the idea. I don’t think it works in this case, though.”
“How
would you know? I’m not putting that stinging stuff on your foot!”
He
finished the task to the accompaniment of several more low-volume shrieks, then
wrapped up her foot again. “Can you get around on it?” he said, getting up.
Quinn
sat up and looked her bandaged foot over. “Oh, shoot,” she said. “I can’t wear
my sandals with that thing on. I look like the Mummy.” She got up
experimentally, steadying herself with one hand on a bedpost and one on
Darius’s arm. Any pressure on her foot caused her to wince. She didn’t appear
to be overreacting.
“Too bad
we don’t have crutches,” Darius said. “If we could get them in pink, they’d go
with your shirt.”
Quinn
took her hand away and punched him solidly on the arm. “Yeah, that would look
really super with my outfit, though it is true that a good pair of crutches can
jack up the sympathy response in most guys. It’s a last-ditch thing, though.”
She looked at her injured foot. “This sucks. I wanted to go over to Sandi’s
this afternoon and try some of my blush on her, and I also wanted to show her
that I don’t throw up every time I go outside my own home. I’m on probation
with the Fashion Club until Sandi decides I’m mentally stable enough to join.”
“You’re
kidding me.”
“She
says they have standards, and what good are standards if you don’t use them on
people?”
“You
can’t imagine the level of irony in what you said,” said Darius, shaking his
head in disgust. “Those twits have more air in their heads than the Hindenburg,
and they have the gall to say you’re not mentally fit to join their ranks?
You’re the only one of them who has an IQ in the three-digit range.”
“Oh, you
don’t understand,” said Quinn.
“Yeah, I
think you said something about me not understanding—oh.” He winced. “Forget
it.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, you
mean what Jane told you the other day about you being sort of naïve about
women?”
He did a
double take and stepped back from her in shock. “Jane told you that?”
“Last
night, yeah. She was right, but I already knew it.”
“But you
didn’t talk—” He blinked. “You called her?”
“I can
call her if I want!” Quinn swung a fist at his arm, but he sidestepped and she
missed. Off-balance, she grabbed the bedpost, standing on one foot. “It’s not
like you’ve got a lock on her time, you dork! She’s my friend, too!”
“What
the hell did you tell her?”
“Nothing
about you,” she sneered. “Not a lot about you, anyway. God, I don’t know
what she sees in you. She thinks you need a sense of humor, or more of one, but
she says you have potential.”
Darius
stared at Quinn, aghast.
“Dari,”
Quinn said in a different tone, and she hopped close enough to him to grab him
by the arm. She raised a finger and poked him hard in the chest, looking him in
the face as she spoke. “When the two of you start doing it, you’d better get
your butt to a drugstore and get some protection. I got your little joke about
falling down a couple of hills this morning—real cute, like you must think I’m
in kindergarten or something. I know Jane will be smart about this stuff, but
you’d better be, too. I swear to God, if I find out you and she are doing it
and you’re not being careful, I’m going to kick you right where guys don’t like
to be kicked, I swear I will. You—Dari! Hey! Come back here! Dari! This is
important! Damn it, I can’t chase you like this! Hey, open your door! Don’t
lock it! Dari!” She hopped up to his
bedroom door in the hallway and grabbed the knob, but she was too late.
Darius
walked over to his bed as his sister pounded on his bedroom door. He sat down
on the edge and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. It was bad enough that
his sister and girlfriend were spilling all of his innermost secrets to each
other, but to have his fourteen-year-old sister lecture him on birth control
was just too much.
That she
was right made it intolerable. That wasn’t the point, though.
We
didn’t do anything she should be worried about, he thought. You can’t
get a girl pregnant by feeling her up her shirt. He fell backward on the
bed and put the pillow over his head to block out the sound of Quinn lightly
hammering on the door with a nonstop rhythm. And I wouldn’t do anything
stupid to hurt Jane anyway. I couldn’t do that. It would be totally insane to
hurt her. She’s everything to me. She doesn’t even want to go that fast when we
make out, although what we’ve starting doing is already making my head spin.
All I know about what people do when they love each other comes from reading
sex manuals in bookstores or watching those weekend movies at the academy
theater. I don’t have any real experience at love, and I’m sure not getting anything
from my parents. I’m just making it up as I go along, copying whatever I see
that looks good. I don’t know what people really do when they’re in love. I
don’t even—
That was
when a new thought entered his head and erased everything else.
I
love her. I love Jane. I really do. Oh, shit.
He took
the pillow off his head to stop thinking about it. His head felt light and his
ears rang, though it was quiet except for Quinn’s drumming on the door. She
stopped when he opened it.
“Can I
come in?” she said.
He stood
there for a moment, then shrugged and walked over to his bed. She hopped in,
closed the door behind her, then sat down at his desk and wheeled his chair
over to the bed near him.
“You’re
worse than the Furies,” he said without looking at her.
“Was
that some kind of car or something in a movie, or what?”
“Nothing.
Just say what you’re going to say and get it over with.”
“Hey.”
She reached over and poked his knee. “Listen. Mom and Aunt Rita and Aunt Amy
have been talking to me about sex since I was eleven. When you went off to
military school, I—”
“I
didn’t go there of my own free will,” he growled, his face tight.
Quinn
hesitated. “I know.” She started to say something, then shook her head and went
on. “When you were sent away, Mom had Aunt Rita come over and take care of me
for a couple weeks while she and Dad went on this retreat and tried to
straighten things out between them. Aunt Amy took me for a while after that on
weekends. Things were all screwed up at home and—never mind. Anyway, what my
point was, was that everyone’s talked to me about sex since I can remember, but
I don’t think anyone’s talked about it with you, unless they had classes at—”
“Christ,”
said Darius. He quickly got up from the bed. Quinn grabbed his arms and pulled
him back.
“Wait!”
she said. “Just hear me out, Dari! One minute, okay? That’s all!”
He sat
down again and covered his reddened face with his hands, elbows on his knees.
Quinn
leaned down so her head was close to his. “I know Dad’s not going to say it,
and I’ll bet Mom won’t, either. I care about you, Dari. All I want is for you
and Jane to be careful. I don’t care what you do. All I know is that I want us
to stay together as a family, and I don’t want anything to blow up that might
cause—that might—you know. I want Dad to get over his control thing, whatever’s
making him do it, and I want Mom to pretend like we’re really here, and that’s
all I want. That’s it, everything. If anything happened to tear us up as a
family, I don’t think I could handle it. Aunt Rita wanted to call child welfare
about Dad, because of that stuff that happened between you and him and—and
everything when we were at the Grand Canyon, and I had such a fight with her
over it, you wouldn’t believe. I’d never have seen you again if she’d done
that. I want us to be a family, do you understand? Do you get it? That’s—”
“I get
it, I get it,” Darius said, not looking up. “I know.”
“Look, I
don’t even know how much longer Mom and Dad are going to be together, you know?
It scares the hell out—”
Darius
looked up, startled. “What was that?”
“Mom and
Dad,” she said. “I don’t even know if they’re going to stay together. They
don’t even sleep together much, you know? Dad was sleeping on the sofa half the
time back in
Darius
frowned. Her news disturbed him profoundly. “He hasn’t been down there that
much,” he said, his voice low. “Dad only does that if he and Mom have had a
fight. Jeez, Quinn, we just moved to
“You
haven’t been home with us that long, just since the end of June. They weren’t
together all that much before we got here, and I’m afraid it’s getting worse. I
keep telling Mom to—oh, skip it, forget it. We’re way off topic. All I started
out to tell you is that... I don’t want to lose you again. That’s all.”
He
sighed, all the air running out of his lungs, and lowered his head.
Quinn
reached over and took his hand. He let her do it. He gave her fingers a gentle
squeeze.
“I don’t
want to lose you, either,” he whispered. He choked when he said it. His eyes
burned.
They sat
in silence and listened to the autumn wind outside the house.
“Don’t
ask Jane about this morning,” he added, wanting to change the subject. “Just
don’t.”
A faint
smile curved Quinn’s lips. “Hmmm,” she said. “Okay.”
“I’m
serious. Please stay out of it.”
Quinn
was silent.
“And for
God’s sake,” Darius added, “don’t tell me about your sex life, or I’ll
go in the garage and drink battery acid.”
Quinn
giggled. “I don’t have a sex life yet, so that’s easy to do. God, after Rita
told me about her life, I thought I’d join a convent and be a nunnery or
something. Amy said Rita was a one-woman traveling porn circus.” She shut her
eyes and shuddered. “You can’t even imagine what she’s been up to. You just
can’t imagine.”
“I
can’t, and I don’t want to hear about it,” said Darius. “And you mean nun, not
nunnery.”
“None of
what?”
He
squeezed her hand again and let go. Though comforted by the contact, Darius’s
mind reeled. What was all this about Mom and Dad? How could they even be
thinking about divorce? We just moved together to
Except
that Quinn is usually right about people-related things.
Well,
she isn’t right about this, Darius decided. She couldn’t be.
“I’m
going to check my e-mail,” he said in a sullen voice.
“You
okay with this?”
“I’m
okay.” He reddened again. Anything, he’d do anything to get away from this
conversation. He thought of Jane.
Does
Jane love me, too?
He
flinched and stood up. “I need some alone time,” he said. “Need help back to
your room?”
“Sure.”
She got up and held onto his shoulder as he led her out. “I’ll call Sandi and
see if she can get her mom to come by and pick me up. I hate doing that, but
what can you do?”
“I’ll be
in my room the rest of the day.”
“As
usual. Why don’t you go see Jane or something?”
“She’s
asleep by now.” Is she thinking of me? “She doesn’t get up until noon or
one on weekends. Today was just something different.”
“I’ll
bet.”
“Quinn.”
“I
didn’t say anything!”
“Give it
a rest.” He pulled her door almost shut, leaving her to reach for her princess
phone and make her cycle of phone calls.
Do I
really love Jane? Do I have any idea what love is? How could I? What if she
doesn’t want to see me again? What if she doesn’t love me, and she wants to see
someone else? How many other guys has she taken into the woods with her to make
out? Is she still seeing them? What if she wants to break up? How could I
handle being alone again after I’ve finally found someone in my life I really
care about? Does she even want to share her life with me? Why can’t I figure
all of this out? I should go out somewhere and just get away. I have nowhere to
go. Does Jane love me, too?
For a
moment, lying there in the woods, she had seemed so small in his arms. It was
miraculous that so much life could exist inside someone he could hold in his
own hands. He had kissed her forehead and her face and her hair and given
thanks that she existed, that he had found her, and that the world was forever
changed.
He loved
her. He knew it. But nothing except the thought of losing Quinn could have
frightened him more.
He shut
the door to his room and found his CD player. Putting on a particularly loud
alternative rock band, he lay down on his bed, put on the earphones and set the
CD player to maximum volume, and closed his eyes.
Monday
morning found Darius walking up to the door of the Lane home forty-five minutes
before school began. The weather was threatening rain, so he had a collapsible
umbrella tucked under his arm, the largest one he could find at home. The
temperature was on the cool side. He knocked on the door and waited.
“Just a
minute!” came Jane’s voice from inside. “
Darius
looked around the neighborhood. The sun was barely up, and most cars had their
headlights on as they passed by on Howard Drive.
The door
opened. “Come on in,” said Jane. She ran up the stairs and disappeared. “
“Need help?”
Darius called.
“Can you
go out in the garage and see if my backpack is in
“On the
way.” Darius left. He came back a minute later. “Got it! It was in the back
seat under a pizza box!”
“Great!”
Jane’s feet pounded down the stairs. She bounced up to Darius and gave him a
heartfelt kiss. “Lifesaver,” she said. “Are we late?”
“We’re
fine,” said Darius, “but I wouldn’t take the scenic route. It’s going to rain.”
He held up his umbrella. “Built for two,” he said.
“You
think of everything,” said Jane, who then leaned back and shouted upstairs, “unlike
some people!”
They
left, shutting the front door behind them. It had not yet started raining. They
held hands and felt the cool wind on their faces.
“Sorry
about the weekend,” said Darius. “The part after Saturday morning, I mean. We
couldn’t get out.”
“It
wasn’t a total loss for me, anyway.” Jane kicked at a pile of leaves. “My Muse
decided to speak to me again Sunday morning, and my painting is coming along.
Um, I’m sorry if I made anything worse when I called Saturday afternoon after I
woke up. Your dad didn’t sound too happy to talk to me.”
Darius
grimaced. “It was a bad weekend. Dad got up and interrupted Mom at the office,
and it spilled over into Sunday. The short form of it is, Dad’s angry with
Quinn for wanting to stay out late at that party next Saturday, Mom’s angry
with Dad for being angry about it and calling her at work over nothing, and
then Quinn got dumped from the Fashion Nazis Club for being unstable and
unreliable, on account of having an injured foot and throwing up once, and so
on and so forth. On the good side, I guess, Dad and I settled everything out
yesterday afternoon. Quinn can stay out to eleven at the party, but I have to
be there with her. I also can’t have a date with me, because then I won’t be
able to keep an eye on Quinn. Quinn can have a date, though. I think she has
about twelve of them to that one party.”
“You
can’t have a date? Where does that leave me?”
Darius
gave a dry laugh. “My parents haven’t met you. We’ll go there together anyway.”
“Won’t
that cause a problem?”
He
shrugged. “My parents aren’t going to the party. They won’t even be around. Dad
will be at an out-of-town seminar that weekend. Mom’s tied up in some big
corporate lawsuit, and she doesn’t care where we go or what we do, as long as
no police, fire trucks, or ambulances are involved.”
“Sounds
like it’s party time, then.”
“Hope
so. Dad thought you were one of Quinn’s friends when you called, by the way—and
not a friend of mine. I don’t think he or Mom know about us. I thought about
keeping it like that as long as I can, but if the news gets out, it gets out.
Whatever. Maybe it won’t be a problem.”
Jane
nodded. “How did Quinn take getting dumped from the club?”
Darius
hesitated. “Eh,” he said at last. “She didn’t say anything right off. The club
president called her and gave her the official dump. I thought she was okay
with that at first, but she stayed in her room the rest of Saturday and didn’t
eat dinner. I think it really got to her. She couldn’t get around with her foot
all bandaged up, and it drove her crazy.” It was my fault she got hurt, too.
I could have prevented it. He tried to shake the thought away, but it
wouldn’t leave.
“She hurt
her foot from stepping on a broken glass?”
Darius
glanced at Jane, then nodded in weary acceptance. “She told you about it?”
“She
said it had something to do with a fight between you and your dad and a broken
glass, and she walked into it at the wrong time, but you fixed her up.” Jane
paused. “Dari, are you okay?”
“Yeah,
fine,” he said. “The other good news is that Sunday, some guys came by the
house and took Quinn out for a drive. It was sort of funny. There are these
three football players whose names begin with J, and they’re all in love with
her. I think they want to start a new religion with Quinn as the high
priestess. They found another football player who drives, and they all took her
to the mall and bought her a lot of stuff. She looked loads better when she got
home. She’s talking about joining the pep club now.”
Darius
and Jane walked in silence for a few moments.
“Jane,”
said Darius, “what the hell’s a pep club?”
“It’s
got cheerleaders,” said Jane, “but they’ve got other people in it and they do
something else. It’s real important, big stuff. I forget what it is, though.
They fluff the pompoms, maybe.”
A pained
look crossed Darius’s face. “So, my sister might become a cheerleader?”
“No, I
think the pep club is in charge of doing anything that perks up the sporting
events. That means pretty much anything you can think of, and I mean anything.
Around here, football is a god, so your comment about Quinn as a high priestess
was on target.”
“Do I
have to sacrifice a goat to her, or what?”
“I’m
sure she’d take monetary donations.”
Darius
rolled his eyes. “You have no idea,” he said. “Or maybe you do, if she’s told
you about her shoe and purse collections.”
“You
didn’t answer my other question.”
After a
long pause, Darius rubbed his nose. “Quinn can walk this morning,” he said.
“She kind of walks on the ball of her right foot, but she can get around. The
three J-guys are her escorts for the week.”
Jane
frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m
fine,” said Darius, looking at the sidewalk, “but I am wondering what joys the
day will bring.”
“Quinn
said that Friday night—”
“Nothing
happened.”
“Hey!
She said you had bits of glass all over you when you were trying to get her
foot—”
“It was
nothing. Just let it go, okay? I’m fine.”
Jane’s
red lips became a long, flattened line. “That’s not right. You should call
someone.”
“You
should—” he snapped, but he bit off the rest of the sentence and jerked his
face away from Jane. He took a deep breath, feeling his face flush from the
rush of anger. “I’m sorry.”
“No,”
said Jane quietly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. My fault for pushing it.”
They
reached a corner and crossed the street to another sidewalk. Rain began to
splatter the concrete. Darius stopped to put the umbrella up. He put one arm
around Jane’s waist and held the umbrella between them with the other.
“That
was stupid of me,” he said. “It was a long weekend.”
“I
missed you.”
“I
missed both of you, too.”
She
rammed her knee into his butt as she walked. “Oops,” she said.
“That’s
not fair,” he said in a wounded tone. “I read in Waif magazine that
girls like to hear romantic stuff like that from guys.”
“
“Hey,
what did I do?”
“Everything,”
she said, but she didn’t seem angry about it.
They approached
the Morgendorffer house on Glen Oaks Lane. Darius fell silent, but he kept his
arm around Jane. The rain increased.
“We
dissect frogs today in science,” he said when they were well past the house.
“Put
some cotton in your ears before you go into class,” Jane advised.
“Why?”
“Cheerleaders.”
“Oh,
right.”
They
waited at the corner of Glen Oaks and Nicoll Street for traffic to lighten so
they could cross. Darius turned his head and gave Jane a lingering kiss on the
temple. “You smell good,” he said.
“Really?
What do I smell like?” she asked, her voice deepening.
“Life.”
She
turned to look at him. Her eyes closed as her head tilted back. They missed two
opportunities to cross the street, and the rain blew under the umbrella over
their legs, but they never noticed.
Science
class was all that Jane had warned about. Janet Barch, an angry forty-something
teacher, rapped on her desk with a ruler for attention. “Class!” she screeched
in a voice worse than dragging a knife blade across sheet metal. “Today we’re
going to study the internal anatomy of the frog. We’re going to use male
frogs of course, because the female frogs have enough trouble with reproducing
and carrying the entire fate of amphibians everywhere on their shoulders, while
the damn male frogs are jumping around the pond humping anything that moves
like so many worthless little ex-husbands, may his miserable soul rot in Hell!”
Darius
blinked and glanced around the classroom, but no one else appeared disturbed by
this rant. Indeed, most of the class appeared bored. Several students yawned.
Jane, who shared a lab table with him, was sketching a picture in her notebook
of Barch chasing a panicked frog with an axe.
Ms.
Barch had several male students hand out the trays with the dead frogs on them.
Squeals of horror and despair rose across the room—not all of them from
feminine throats.
“Now,
stop that!” Barch cried, rapping the desk again. She pointed to a huge wall
chart showing a frog with its abdomen split open from throat to tail, displaying
all of its internal organs. “This is what I want you to have in your trays by
the end of class today—one slashed-open, stone-dead, nicely cut-to-pieces male
frog. Are there any questions? Good,” she said, ignoring the forest of hands
across the class. You have your scalpels on your table—and you over-muscled,
testosterone-addled androids of the masculine gender are not to use them for
anything except—”
The
intercom crackled. “Ms. Barch, please come to my office,” said Ms. Li, the
principal. “We have a budgetary problem we need to resolve.”
“We’re
about to dissect frogs!” she cried. “Can’t it wait?”
“It’s
your budget. If you want to use those same frogs again next year, go right
ahead and stay in class.”
“Oh,
fiddle,” Ms. Barch grumbled. “I’ll be over. Very well, class, you’re all on the
honor system while I’m gone—and I want the girls to report to me if any of the
boys fool around with those scalpels! I can have you sent to prison for
anything you try, you little hooligans! Now, get to work! I’ll be back as soon
as I can.” Ms. Barch left. The door slammed shut behind her.
Low-order
chaos took over in the room. Some of the students gamely went ahead and began
dissecting. Several football players tried using their scalpels to play
mumbly-peg on their frogs, drawing cheers and shrieks from everyone around
them. Everyone talked.
Darius
and Jane looked at each other and shrugged. They leaned forward and prepared to
cut into their specimens.
Someone
tugged Darius’s sleeve on the side opposite Jane. He looked up.
“You’re
a guy. Can you help me?” said Brittany Taylor, the cheerleader he’d seen at
Pizza King. She was as buxom now as she was then, but her face was pale and her
lower lip trembled. “I can’t do this! Upchuck was supposed to be here to work
on my frog for me, but he’s late.”
“Where’s
your boyfriend?” Darius asked. Don’t look at her boobs! shouted a
panicked voice in his brain. Don’t look at her boobs! Don’t look at her
boobs!
“Football
practice,” she said, and then she glared. “Or at least he’d better be if he
knows what’s good for him, and not under the bleachers making out with another
cheerleader.”
Darius
looked at Jane. She gazed down at her frog, trying to hide a smile. He sighed
and looked back at
“Okay!”
“So,”
murmured Jane, making her first incision, “you like the big jiggly ones.”
“Cut it
out,” he whispered back.
“Guess
I’d better go in for implants if I want to stay competitive.”
“That’s
not it at all. Stop it.”
“Just
remember,” she said, pulling open the incision in the frog with her tongs,
“anything more than a mouthful is wasted.”
His face
got hot. “Jane, damn it—”
“Here it
is!” said
“Okay,”
he said, holding his scalpel over his frog. “Just do what I do. First—”
“
“But
maybe it doesn’t know that!” she said, on the verge of tears.
Darius
put down his scalpel. Next to him, Jane hummed an old country music song that
he recognized: “Your Cheatin’ Heart.”
“
“No,”
she said, a little less pale. “I want to be like my mom—my birth mom, not my
stepmom—and be a movie star!”
“Your
mom is an actress?”
“In
“Okay,
hold that thought. Now, if you want to be an actress like your mom, you’ll have
to work with special effects, right?”
“Okay,”
he said, “suppose you were in this movie in which you were a doctor or
something, and it’s one of those animal movies, like, um—”
“Jaws?” said
Jane
suddenly coughed to prevent herself from laughing.
“No,”
said Darius, “I was thinking of a movie about a veterinarian.”
“Oh, I
don’t watch war movies. Kevvy likes them, though.”
Darius
looked blankly at her for a moment. “Oh,” he said, “not veteran. I meant
veterinarian—an animal doctor.”
“Oh,
like Doctor Doolittle! I love him! He saves kittens!”
“Right,”
he said, pointing at her frog. “So, let’s say this is not really a frog, but
special-effects model in a movie. You’re the heroic doctor who must operate on
the world’s only talking frog, only you’ll be working on this fake frog made of
plastic. You pretend to operate on the frog—” He pointed to the frog anatomy
chart at the front of the room “—by doing just what’s shown up there, and the
camera people will take great pictures of how intensely you’re working. This is
your big moment.”
“One
other thing we’ll do, though,” Darius went on, “is what real doctors do in
operating rooms. They talk about stuff while they’re working, but they
sometimes don’t talk much about what they’re really doing.”
“What?”
“You
ever watch ‘M.A.S.H.’ on TV?”
“A
little. Is that the one about the Vietnam War?”
“What
I’m trying to say is that the surgeons on that show talk all the time while
they’re operating on people, right? They do that because it takes their minds
off what they’re doing. Lots of doctors do it in real life.”
“Oooh.”
“Like
this,” said Darius, picking up his scalpel. “You remember my sister, Quinn?”
Darius
cleared his throat, interrupting her. “Anyway, Quinn tried to join the Fashion
Club here, and you know what happened?”
“They
dumped her.” Darius gently poked at his frog with the scalpel. “They let her
join, and then they dumped her. You know why?”
“Why?”
“She cut
her foot on a piece of glass last week, and they decided that wearing a bandage
was unfashionable, so they threw her out of the club. She was depressed about
it all weekend. Her foot hurt so much she could barely walk, and for that they
screwed her over good.”
Darius
pointed to her frog.
“They
did,” said Darius blandly. “And they told her she was mental, because she had a
virus for a couple of days and got sick. It wasn’t her fault, but they
humiliated her, and all she really wanted to do was contribute something good
to the school, because she really likes Lawndale High.”
“She was
really upset,” Darius went on in a deadpan tone. “Luckily for her, the same
football players who invited her to your party—their names all start with J—”
“Jeffy,
Joey, and Jeremy—I know them.” She gasped. “They were the ones who asked
Quinn over, and not my Kevvy? Oh, no! I have to apologize to him for kicking
him in the—”
“Finish
your frog first,” said Darius.
“Before
you go,” said Darius, “my sister was thinking of joining the pep club.”
“She
wants to be a cheerleader?”
“No, no.
She knows she can’t quite reach your level there, but she has loads of school
spirit, you know? She really wants to help you and the other cheerleaders any
way she can, and—”
“I’ll
take care of it!” she said. “The pep club would just die to get her to join up!
They might even make her president! No problem!”
“And can
I bring someone with me to the party?”
Darius
subtly pointed to Jane. Jane looked up, sensing the topic had shifted to her.
The look
of astonishment on
Darius
nodded. “Uh, yeah, I do.”
The
chatter in the science lab dropped to nothing. Everyone turned and looked at
“Can she
come with me?” Darius whispered, feeling his face burn.
“You
bet! Come on over!”
“You
haff done a goot chob, Zigmund,” whispered Jane in a fake German accent. She
went on in a normal voice. “I’ll make you your own armchair psychiatrist’s
license when I get home.”
Darius
looked down at his pristine, undissected dead frog. He lifted his scalpel with
a sigh. “I guess I’d better get going before—”
“What
have we here?” screeched Ms. Barch, right behind Darius. He jumped and
dropped his scalpel on the floor. Ms. Barch took
“Ms.
Barch,” said Darius in desperation, “I swear that I wasn’t—”
“Were
you dissecting
“No,
ma’am! She knew how to do it! We were just—”
“You
were just trying to get into her panties, is that it?” She pointed to the front
of the room. “Go to the board and write, ‘I will keep my degenerate animal lust
to myself,’ fifty times—or else you can go to the office, and I’ll call your
parents!”
“Wait,
Ms. Barch!” said Jane earnestly. “Really, he wasn’t—”
“I’m not
talking to you,
“Ms.
Barch, no!” cried
“Quiet!” yelled the teacher. “I’m talking
to this hoodlum who wants to act like he’s just had a midlife crisis and dumped
his faithful wife so he can sew his wild oats as if he were a teenager again! Go
to the board, Mister Morgendorffer!”
Totally
shamed, Darius picked up his scalpel and put it on the lab table. I can’t be
sent to Buxton Ridge again. I can’t be sent away from Quinn, not ever.
After a moment, he walked to the front of the room and looked for a piece of
chalk, then began to write.
When he
got back to his lab table at the end of class to get his backpack and books, he
found two folded notes. Everyone else had left the room for the next class. He
opened the first note.
HOW
COULD YOU BE SO NOBLE? it read in Jane’s trademark all-capitals printing.
“Tom
Sawyer,” he mumbled. He put it away and opened the second note, written in a
florid script with a purple felt pen.
Did I
save the talking frog? it read.
“That
was a tesseract you were drawing, wasn’t it?” Darius asked Jane at her locker
after art class that Wednesday. “I couldn’t see from where I was. There were
too many people around me.”
“You
shouldn’t have started telling people about one-point perspective,” said Jane.
“It’s like leaving milk out for kittens. Pretty soon, you’re up to your butt in
furry little monsters that pee on your carpet and try to smother you when you
sleep.”
Darius
snorted with amusement. His gaze wandered down Jane’s slim body.
She
noticed that and smiled. “What happened, anyway?” she asked. “I missed how that
whole thing got started.”
He lost
his smile. “My fault,” he said irritably. “Brittany brought some other
cheerleaders over to ask how to draw Defoe’s cube model, then the football
players came over, and it was downhill from there. I couldn’t get anything done
on my drawing with everyone bugging me to help them on theirs. Then Ms. Defoe
told me I could skip my own drawing if I’d go around and talk about that
perspective thing. I thought it was the easy way out, but it just went on and
on and on.”
“And you
had explain it twice to Kevin, you lucky dog.”
Darius
rolled his eyes. “He still thinks I’m trying to make it with
“Oh?”
Jane looked at him with concern. “And you still helped him?”
He shrugged
it off. “It worked out okay. He liked my help so much, he said he wouldn’t
crush my head until after the party this weekend. It was sort of weird. He even
blames me for the news of
“Just
what is it with you, anyway, Morgendorffer?” said Jane. “Haven’t people
suffered enough?”
Darius softly
bumped his head against a nearby locker door. “I feel like I’m doing everything
half right and half wrong all the time. I don’t mind helping a little, but when
everyone wants you to do their homework for them... well,
I guess I could charge for it. Ten bucks a page... no, forget it. I have to
draw the line somewhere. Everything after school is my own time.”
“Word
gets around, you know,” said Jane, closing her locker. “Everyone wants a
helpful big brother, especially one who works for free.”
“I
should have stuck to my 1984-model Big Brother personality.”
“I don’t
think you have one,” said Jane, setting off with him to American History. “You
might be in danger of becoming popular. Kinda scary, don’t you think?”
An
attractive brown-haired girl passed by them both in the hallway. Darius
remembered that she was Sandi Griffin, the president of the Fashion Club. She
shot Darius a venomous look that should have crippled him for life, then walked
past without a word.
Startled,
Darius turned to watch her go. “Touchy, isn’t she?” he said.
“I take
back that part about you becoming popular,” Jane said, looking ahead as if
nothing had happened. “Did any of the cheerleaders ask you out after you helped
them?”
“What?
Jeez, no, of course not. They ran off as soon as they could.”
“No
problem, then. You’re just as popular as the teachers are.”
He gave
a single dry laugh. “So much for my self-esteem. You didn’t answer my question
about the tesseract. Where did you pick up that stuff about hypercubes?”
“Oh, I
saw a painting by Salvador Dali in a book once, and he used an unfolded
tesseract in it as the cross in a Crucifixion scene. It caught my attention, so
I looked tesseracts up on the Internet and some other books. Kinda cool. I
think I can make it work in my head, folding it up in four dimensions, but that
last fold is a bitch.”
“Are you
planning to turn out any four-dee sculptures?” He heard some students hurrying
up the hall behind him, a familiar sound at Lawndale High. He did not turn
around.
Before
Jane could answer, someone jumped on Darius’s back. He stumbled forward, the
wind knocked out of him.
Quinn’s
laughter rang loud in his ears. “Thanks!” she yelled, and she let go of him and
jumped off. She skipped down the hall ahead of him with a slight limp. Her long
orange-red hair waved like a battle pennant behind her.
“Thanks,
dude!” said an excited male voice behind him, and a hand slammed him in the
middle of his back as Jeffy hurried by.
The blow
almost sent Darius stumbling. “Ow!” he howled, a second before Jamie and Joey
also happily punched or smacked him as they ran past, following Quinn.
“You
rule!” Joey called back, waving.
“Word!”
said Jamie, and the Three J-Guys went around the corner Quinn had taken and
were gone.
Darius
stared after them. “What was that all about?” he said, grimacing as he flexed
his back.
“Beats
me,” Jane said in surprise. “They don’t count for popularity purposes,
however.”
They
reached the door to Mr. DeMartino’s classroom, but Jane stopped before going
in. “Oh, there’s something I wanted to let you know,” she said, catching Darius
by the arm. “Wait up.”
“What?”
Jane
appeared anxious as she went on. “Ms. Defoe asked me when I was leaving if I’d
help out with her advanced art class. It meets when Barch’s science class is
going on. She talked about it with Barch, who gave her go-ahead.” Jane coughed.
“I, um—it’s not that I don’t want to be with you twenty-four seven, okay? It’s
just that this is a really cool opportunity to—”
“I
know,” said Darius. He felt his stomach drop out, but he went on. “I
understand. She must have gotten the idea from me helping out in art today.”
“Um, no.
Actually, she’d mentioned something like this to me a week ago, but there
wasn’t anything definite about it until now.”
Darius
nodded agreeably, though he wished he’d heard about this earlier. He knew Jane
was Defoe’s favorite student and for good reason. “So, do you get credit for
this? Is this like a teacher’s aide position?”
“Yeah,” said
Jane. “Extra grade credits that should keep me at a C average when I get those
math classes later. Barch said I didn’t need this year’s science class to
graduate, but I can’t flunk any of the later science courses, or I’ll be in
trouble in my senior year. The changeover is just for this school year.”
Darius
struggled for the right words. “You don’t need me to okay it,” he finally said.
He smiled, though he didn’t feel it. “Go for all the gusto you can.”
Jane
beamed in relief. “Thanks. I’d kiss you, but DeMartino’s watching us.”
“I can
wait.”
“Great!”
Jane’s hand gripped his bicep, and he followed her into class. I’m not
losing her, he told himself, but the fear remained. My whole family was
taken away from me once, or rather me from it, so anything could happen. I
could lose it all at any moment. It’s happened to others, it could happen to
me.
He shook
himself as he took his seat next to Jane. Relax, said a voice in his
mind. Fear no evil. You let her be free to do what she wants. She won’t love
you if she’s kept in a cage. She’s an artist, for God’s sake—you knew artists
were on the fringe, didn’t you? Let her do her thing. You did right. Keep it
going.
Darius
swallowed, feeling hollow inside. I hope I did the right thing, anyway.
Please, let that have been the right thing for us both.
He
shoved his gloomy thoughts aside. Mr. DeMartino was walking around his desk to
face the class, a sure sign the lesson had begun.
“Great
EVENTS,” said Mr. DeMartino in a voice that carried above the noise of papers
rustling and whispers exchanged, “sometimes turn on comparatively SMALL
affairs.” His bad eye enlarged notably when he emphasized words, which Darius
found disturbing at the same time it impressed him. The background noise in the
room settled down to nothing.
“We are
at
Darius
glanced to his right, where an African-American student named Jodie Landon sat.
Darius knew she was brilliant, probably smarter than he was, though he
suspected he was one of the smartest kids currently at Lawndale High School.
Jodie had straight As and was active in more clubs and organizations than
Darius could possibly remember. She was every parent and teacher’s dream. The
implications of DeMartino’s words were brought home at once. Jodie sat and
watched DeMartino’s every move.
DeMartino
swung around, pointing to a large, detailed map of a small town and the rolling
countryside around it. The map was labeled “
“Great
EVENTS,” he repeated, “sometimes turn on comparatively small affairs.” Silence
restored, he began pacing again.
“We’ll
skip the details of the battle itself to look at a pivotal MOMENT, one bloody
fight among many on July THIRD. We are at a hill called Little ROUND Top. All
day, fifteen THOUSAND Confederates attack Union positions on the hill. If the
Southerners take the HILL, they can drive into the Union army itself, winning
the hill and the
Mr.
DeMartino held himself straighter. “The Union officer on the hill is a COLLEGE
professor from
In the
silence in the room, Mr. DeMartino looked slowly about. “One moment in which
one man must ACT, and all the FUTURE lies in his hands! This is HISTORY. When
some brain-dead imbecile tells YOU that history is boring, that history is
DEAD, you remember Joshua CHAMBERLAIN, the college professor who caused a
BATTLE to turn, and in so doing SAVED the—”
The
intercom squawked. “Damn it!” muttered Mr. DeMartino, shaking his head. The
class snickered in nervous relief, the spell broken.
“Mr.
DeMartino?” said one of the officer staff. “Can you send Darius Morgendorffer
up to see Ms. Li?”
“As you
WISH!” he called, and he nodded to Darius. Darius glanced at Jane, who shrugged
and whispered, “Have fun!” He got up, collected his backpack, and left the
room. At the door he glanced back and caught Jane’s smile, and then he walked
into the empty corridor to the office. It was useless to imagine what this was
all about, so he softly hummed a Springsteen tune, “Streets of Philadelphia,”
and listened to the echo of his boots on the linoleum.
He
opened the office door and walked in, his gaze crossing the room to rest on the
tall man in the dark-green military-style uniform on the other side by Ms. Li’s
office. The officer’s black nameplate said “ARMSTRONG,” and on his shoulders
were silver eagles. Ms. Li stood at the officer’s side, looking self-important.
Darius came to a stop, his hand still on the doorknob, mouth open and eyes
wide.
Darius
knew right then what it was all about. His heart stopped.
“Mister
Morgendorffer,” said the uniformed man. His tone was steady but friendly.
“Yes,
sir,” Darius whispered. After a moment, he regained a little of his composure.
“Welcome to
“Thank
you,” said the man. He indicated the door to Ms. Li’s office. “I’d like to
speak with you for a few moments. Your principal will be with us.”
“Sure,”
said Darius, dazed. He knew exactly what this was about. He couldn’t believe
it. Swallowing, he walked forward around the main office desk, aware that all
the office workers and students present were watching him. He waited for Ms. Li
and Colonel Armstrong to enter the office, then he walked in himself. Putting
his backpack by the door, he went to stand by a chair across from Ms. Li’s
desk.
“Have a
seat,” said the colonel. Darius did, but he sat on the edge of the chair.
“I’m
afraid I’m, uh, not aware of the reason for your visit, Mister Armstrong,” said
Ms. Li, seating herself at her desk.
“Colonel
Armstrong,” corrected Darius automatically. He flinched. “I’m sorry, I spoke
out of turn.”
“Young
man!” began Ms. Li angrily.
The
colonel’s chuckle cut her off. “Old habits die hard, don’t they, Mister
Morgendorffer?” he said with a soft smile. The colonel’s gray eyes glittered.
“Yes,
sir,” Darius said.
“I am a
retired Army colonel, but the title’s an honorific only, except to our
students,” the colonel said to Ms. Li. “My apologies for not calling ahead.” He
ran a hand through his short gray hair. “I’m making a swing through the area on
a recruiting drive for our school,
“We’ve
had our eye on Mister Morgendorffer since he got here,” said Ms. Li quickly.
“He knows better than to start any kind of... I’m sorry, what was that you said
about, uh, distinguished?”
“Darius
Morgendorffer,” said the colonel, looking Darius over, “was two years in a row
the winner of our school prize in academics, the Laurel of Archimedes. His
scores in mathematics are still unequalled, though we might get lucky with
someone in our current fall class. I was fortunate enough to hear his report on
the Mirror of Archimedes and see the demonstration. That was the most
impressive thing I believe I’ve ever seen from a student in all my years.”
“He—oh,”
said Ms. Li, backpedaling. “When I spoke with his mother a couple of weeks ago,
I rather, um, got the impression that Darius was sent to Buxton Ridge because
of certain behavior and disciplinary—”
“I don’t
give a goddamn why our kids come to us,” said the colonel tightly. “All I care
about is who they become once they reach us. Mister Morgendorffer is one of our
best.” Looking Darius in the eyes, he said, “You are much missed, son, even if
you don’t happen to miss us.”
Darius
felt like he was in a dream. “Thank you, sir,” he said, and he left it at that.
“For
what it’s worth,” the colonel went on, “we cleaned the place up over the
summer. Some of the out-of-control students were expelled or put under
restrictions. You’d find the place to be rather different if you were to go
back.”
“That’s
good to know, sir.”
The
colonel grinned. “You like it on the outside, I can tell. Don’t worry about
it.”
Darius
took a deep breath and nodded. And waited.
The
colonel leaned forward and looked at Ms. Li. “I’d appreciate it if nothing I
said here today went beyond this office, ma’am. There are strong legal reasons
for my asking this.”
“Oh!”
said Ms. Li. “Of course! We’re nothing if not discrete!”
“Good,”
said Colonel Armstrong. He looked back at Darius. “There’s another inquest
beginning into the death of Cadet Michael Ellenbogen,” he said. “It’s a civil
matter. I am allowed by our legal counsel to inform you that you will likely be
deposed on the issue within the next month or two. I’ve already been in contact
with your parents about it. I called them this morning and talked with them
individually for about a half-hour each. There’s nothing you have to worry
about. Just do whatever you’re doing, and when the time comes, someone will
call your parents or their attorney and arrange the particulars for the
deposition.”
Darius
felt himself deflate. He had been right. It was about Mike. “Who’s conducting
the deposition?” he whispered.
“An
attorney for Ellenbogen’s parents,” said the colonel. “We don’t know anything
more about it than that, and if we did, I doubt we could say anything about
it.”
“Darius
was involved in another student’s death?” asked Ms. Li in horror. She pressed
herself back in her chair.
“No,
ma’am,” said the colonel testily. “Cadet Ellenbogen committed suicide. He was
Mister Morgendorffer’s roommate at the academy. He died this spring.”
Ms. Li
stared at Darius. Darius felt he’d become unreal, an imaginary thing floating
through the room and watching people interact around him without seeing him.
“You
don’t know how sorry I am to bring you the news,” said the colonel to Darius.
“It can’t do anything but bring terrible pain for you to even hear what I’ve
said, but I want you to put it aside as much as you can. It won’t take long,
God willing, and then you can put it behind you. I have every faith in you that
you will do your duty and do it well.”
“Thank
you, sir.” Darius’s voice was barely audible.
The
colonel nodded and stood. He reached into a pocket and produced a card, handing
it to Darius. “This is my number at the academy and for my personal cell phone.
You call me at once if you have any questions about anything. Would you do
that?”
Darius
nodded dumbly and got up from his seat, taking the card. He glanced at it, then
stuffed it in his pants pocket. After a moment, he put out his hand. “It was good
to see you again, sir,” he said.
The
colonel shook hands solemnly. “And good to see you, too,” he said. “I am sorry
it wasn’t under better circumstances.” He turned to Ms. Li, who was also on her
feet. “I’d best be going,” he said. “I have a meeting in Oakwood in a couple
hours, and I can’t afford to miss it.”
“Certainly,”
said Ms. Li, still staring at Darius.
Darius
didn’t look at her. He looked down at the carpeted floor, then inhaled and
looked at the school principal and the commandant of Buxton Ridge. “Is that
all?” he asked.
“That’s
it,” said the colonel. He looked at Ms. Li. “He’s a good young man,” he said.
“He can’t be questioned by anyone about this matter except the proper legal
authorities, you understand.”
“Of
course,” she said.
“And, again,
no one is to know the details of this meeting. If word gets out, it could cause
considerable trouble for everyone involved in the case, and it will drag the
high school into it as well.”
Ms. Li
bristled at that. “I assure you, Colonel Armstrong, that will never
happen. Whatever secrets we have here, we keep.”
The
colonel gave Ms. Li a twisted smile. “Of that, I have no doubt,” he said. He
nodded to Darius. “Good day to you, Mister Morgendorffer,” he said with warmth,
and he left the room.
Darius
looked back at Ms. Li. Profoundly distracted, she waved at the door to dismiss
him. He left but almost forgot his backpack, picking it up at the last moment.
The office staff peered at him secretly as he left. No one dared look directly
at him.
He found
himself in the hallway, walking back to class, but the corridor looked
unfamiliar. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Darius slowed to a stop and
leaned against a row of lockers by a window. He looked out at the trees and
passing cars for a while, then closed his eyes. Just like that the months fell
away, and again he was walking into his room at the academy on a cold, cloudy
day in March, and what he saw as he came in was as real to him now at Lawndale
High School as it was when he saw it, and it hung above his world like a dead
sun, damned and eternal.
He heard
his name called. Turning, he saw he was in a hallway, like in a school. It was
not the dormitory-like barracks of Buxton Ridge. He felt disoriented. Where was
he? What was he doing here?
A girl
with long orange-red hair ran up to him, crying his name. She flung herself at
him, almost knocking him down. Her arms clamped around his neck, her feet
hanging above the floor.
What?
he said. He could barely hear his voice.
They
can’t take you, they can’t take you back there, the girl cried into his
neck. They can’t take you away from me ever.
Confused,
he clutched her to him. Aching sadness filled his heart. Where am I going?
he asked. Where—
He
jerked, back in reality. Quinn clutched him, bawling her eyes out.
“I’m
okay!” he said loudly, but without shouting. “It’s okay! Calm down!”
“They
can’t take you!” Quinn shouted in hysteria. “They can’t! They can’t!”
He tried
to put a hand over her mouth, fearful someone would hear. “Shhh! No one’s
taking me anywhere! Nothing’s happening! Calm down!”
“That
army guy! He can’t take you away!”
“Oh—no,
he won’t do that! He came by for a visit! It’s all right! He’s not taking me
anywhere. Calm down! Please, calm down, for the love of—”
“Don’t
let them do it, Dari!”
“It’s
okay,” he said in a lower voice. “I love you. It’s all okay.”
“I love
you, too,” she said, coughing. “Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m
staying, Quinn. He just came for a visit. Don’t worry about it, all right? It’s
okay now.”
Quinn
sobbed into his shirt.
“I’m not
leaving you,” he said to her. “I’ll never leave you.” He still felt dizzy.
“Let’s go sit down somewhere.”
They
went to the cafeteria. Lunch was just starting. Darius explained that his old
academy commandant was in the area on business, but he came to
“He
can’t take you back,” said Quinn, her voice too high.
“Right,
and he knows that,” said Darius. He kept his voice slow and steady. “He’s okay,
Quinn. I got along with him pretty well. He’s a good guy. Don’t worry about
him.”
“I was
so scared. God, I was so damn scared when I heard about it.”
He held
her hand until her breathing slowed and she sniffled less.
“So,”
said Darius, “I guess someone saw the colonel and said something, right?”
“Stacy
Rowe,” said Quinn. Her voice was hoarse. “She’s in the Fashion Club. She saw
you in the office with that army guy and she told me.”
Darius
groaned. “Great, so the Fashion Club’s screwing things up again.”
“No, she
wasn’t doing anything wrong,” said Quinn in a low voice. “She’s okay. I think
she wants to be friends with me.”
“Hell of
a way to do it. Where were you?”
“The
girls’ room.” She sighed and wiped her eyes with a tissue. “I was fixing my
makeup. God, just look at me.”
“Where
are you supposed to be now?”
Quinn
checked her watch and exhaled. “I’m almost late to a pep club meeting.” She
turned to Darius quickly. “Oh, I was going to tell you earlier, but I was in
sort of a hurry. I’m the president.”
Darius
blinked. “President of the pep club?”
“The
Lawndale Pride Pep Club,” she said. “Student President Quinn Anne
Morgendorffer.”
“No
fuh—uh, I mean, no way!”
Quinn
gave a half laugh. “Yeah, way. And watch your mouth.”
“Are
those three J-guys in the club, too?”
“No,
dummy. They’re on the football team. They’re sort of like my personal
cheerleaders, you know? They’ve really helped me out when I was down. They
dragged my butt right up. I’m thinking of giving them an official title, but
we’ll see how it goes.” She blew her nose in the tissue, then stuck it in a
pants pocket. “I’d better go. Club’s waiting. I look like crap, but a good
smile covers almost everything.” She got up from the table, as did he. “Thanks,
by the way,” she said, sniffing.
“For
what?”
“Brittany
Taylor told everyone to have emergency elections and vote me in as president.
She said she heard about my situation from you. The old president was sort of
overwhelmed. I’m going to put him in charge of fluffing the pompoms. He can
handle that, I think.”
Darius
smiled in relief. “So, you’re better off now than with the Fashion Club?”
Quinn
snorted and laughed. “You could say that. I’ve got a twelve thousand dollar
budget and fifty-six people under me. Sandi Griffin can kiss my ass. Before the
year’s out, she probably will, too. That’ll be a Kodak moment.”
When her
words registered, Darius’s mind froze. “Good God!” he said in a strangled
voice. “You’re kidding me!”
“I owe
it all to you, but don’t ask me for a handout,” she said. “The money’s going
for decorations, food, uniforms, transportation, and parties, and I know you
hate sports. I’d better get Mom’s permission to stay out late for the away
events.” Quinn started to go, then came back and gave Darius another hug. “I’m
sorry I flipped out,” she said. “I just lost it.”
“It
happens,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead. “Go knock ‘em out, okay?”
She
pulled away and lightly punched his shoulder. “I will,” she said.
After
she left, Darius looked at his watch and realized he was supposed to have gone
back to American History. It would let out in five minutes, so it didn’t matter
now. He elected to wait for Jane in the cafeteria. Exhausted, he dropped into a
chair and rubbed cold sweat from his face with his hands. When he lowered his
hands, he noticed that they shook. He put his arms on the table in front of
him, fingers interlaced to hold them still, and watched the lunchroom doors for
Jane.
Jane
came in a few minutes later. He got up and waved to her, but she saw him at
almost the same moment and waved back with a grin. Her grin faded the closer
she got to him. He stood as she approached, and they walked together to the
lunch line.
“Hey,”
Jane said softly, looking him over. “What happened?”
“Oh,” he
said, “my old commandant came by from Buxton Ridge, Colonel Armstrong. He was
in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi. It was nothing.”
Jane
didn’t respond. He looked up into her blue eyes and instantly knew from her
expression that she wasn’t buying it.
He
looked away. “Later, okay?” he asked.
“Sure,”
she said. She moved closer to him. Her body pressed lightly against him from
behind. They pretended nothing was happening. He closed his eyes and felt his
self-control slip away.
“I’m not
hungry,” Darius said. “Sort of lost my appetite in the office.” He stepped away
from her. “I’m sorry. Too much going on.”
“Let me
grab an apple,” she said. “We’ll go for walkies. I hear they’re repainting the
bleachers at the football field. Let’s check it out.”
He
nodded. “Okay.”
Two
minutes later, they were walking together across the high-school campus. A scrimmage
game was being held on the athletic field. Darius and Jane chose a section of
bleachers not yet being repainted and settled back in a spot upwind of the
paint fumes, watching the Lawndale Lions in action. Darius told her about
Quinn’s new job.
“You’d
think she could at least buy you a new car,” said Jane, tossing her apple core
into a trashcan. “I love Trent, don’t get me wrong, and he’s been there for me
lots of times, but sometimes I wish he was a little more proactive, like with
paying bills and making sure the house doesn’t get repossessed. Quinn’s lucky
as hell to have you around.”
“I
wonder about that sometimes,” he said. He pointed to the field. “One thing I’ll
say about Kevin—he ain’t bright, but man, he sure can throw that ball.”
“Idiot
savant. Amazing what they can do.” Jane tapped her boot against Darius’s boot.
“So, you were telling me about the colonel.”
“Yeah.”
He was silent for a bit. “You’re going to want a new boyfriend soon.”
“Let me
be the judge of that.”
“Well,
screw it, then.” He rubbed his mouth, watching the coach give orders to the
football players. “My dad sent me off to Buxton Ridge just before I started
seventh grade. He and I were arguing a lot, about every day. I couldn’t do
anything to make him happy. A lot of stuff got said that shouldn’t have been
said. He whipped me sometimes. His dad whipped him, so it was good enough for
me, too. It all sucked.” He exhaled. “One day when we went on this family trip
to the
They sat
in silence. Kevin threw another pass on the field and did a victory dance.
“Mom
took Quinn and ran off to her sister Rita’s. Dad took me home and signed me up
for Buxton Ridge right away. I left on a bus two days later. They put me to
work at the academy until the fall semester started. The first year I was there
was hell for everyone. I was sort of crazy, fighting everybody. I didn’t care
anymore. I gave up.”
Darius
stared at his knees as he slouched back on the bleachers. “Colonel Armstrong
and some of the staff there, though, they didn’t give up on me. I fought them,
but they got me straightened out. When I was in eighth grade, I started doing
pretty well again. I used to like math and science and history and all that
stuff, and they got me back into it. I won some stuff. I missed Quinn a lot,
but it was okay otherwise.”
He
brushed off his knees and was silent again for a minute. Jane waited.
“Ninth
grade,” he said, watching the field, “I got a new roommate, a kid named Michael
Ellenbogen. Talk about irony. His dad and my dad were at Buxton Ridge together,
back in the sixties. They hated each other. Michael told me his dad always
thought my dad was a screw-up, always complaining about everything and not
listening to anyone. He wasn’t a team player at all, had some kind of big stick
up his ass about authority and life and everything.” Darius gave a tight smile.
“That’s my dad.”
The
smile faded away. “Mike said his own dad wasn’t any better. Drank a lot, beat
up his wife and kids. Mike was all messed up. He was doing drugs and
everything. His dad sent him to Buxton Ridge to straighten him out.”
“How old
was he?”
“Thirteen.
What was funny about it was that he and I got along okay. You couldn’t really
get to know him, but he was okay. I liked him. He was smart.”
The
silence drew out. Jane cleared her throat. “What happened?”
Darius
took a deep breath and let it out. “He killed himself.”
Jane
turned to him, her face draining of color. Time passed.
“He hung
himself in our room,” said Darius. “I found him. Couldn’t do anything for him.”
He leaned forward, hunched up to rest his arms on his knees.
“When
did this happen?” Jane whispered.
“March.
Middle of the month.”
“March
of this year?”
“Yeah.”
He thought. “Just over six months ago.” He stared at the players, who were
leaving the field. “I came back from class and he was hanging there from the
ceiling light. He’d taken off the plastic dome and wound some neckties around
the light bulb fixture. I held him up until I could cut him down with a pair of
scissors, but he was dead. You could tell. That’s all.”
Darius
exhaled, then slowly stood up and stretched. “So, now there’s another
investigation into it, and they’re going to call me in for a deposition, ask me
questions about it, and then his parents are probably going to sue the living
shit out of me and my parents and the school and everyone else in the universe,
just for the hell of it. The colonel called Mom and Dad this morning, so I know
they’re probably nuts by this time and waiting to get hold of me when I get
home, and I don’t feel like doing anything anymore. I don’t know what’s going
to happen or anything. You should find another boyfriend.”
He
looked down.
Jane was
wiping her eyes and breathing very hard.
He
swallowed and reached down for her. She sniffed and took his hand, then stood
up. Her arms went around him and his arms around her, and they pressed together
as if they were one person.
“I love
you,” he said, which wasn’t at all what he had wanted to say.
“I love
you, too,” she said, choking back tears. “I don’t want anyone else.”
She
smelled faintly of some kind of flower, he noticed. Not violets or roses. He
couldn’t place it.
“It’s
not going to be any fun,” he whispered. “Being with me.”
“Oh,
shut the hell up,” she said. She hugged him tightly. “We’d better go. I think
we’re late for class.”
“Okay.
Don’t tell Quinn any of this, okay?”
“Doesn’t
she know?”
“I don’t
want her to know any more than she might already,” he said, “though Mom or Dad
will probably spill it all anyway. Quinn’s scared to death I’ll be sent away
somewhere again, and I don’t want to get her any more wound up about it than
she already is.”
“Okay.”
They
walked back to the main school building. No one was about. They were obviously
late.
“What
perfume are you wearing?”
“Something
I borrowed long ago from one of my sisters. It’s supposed to smell like
crocus.”
“Crocus.
Those little colorful flowers that come up under the snow in the spring.”
“Yeah.”
“I like
it.”
“I’ll
wear it more often.”
“I love
you.”
“I love
you, too.”
They got
to their English literature class ten minutes late. Mr. O’Neill sighed when
they walked in, interrupted in the middle of reading Hamlet’s soliloquy aloud
to the sleepy, post-lunch classroom. He reached for the tardy slips on his
desk.
“Sorry
we’re late,” said Darius, eyeing the tardy slips in O’Neill’s hand. “I was
walking around thinking about entropy when I realized that the negative, which
is the nothingness of being and the annihilating power both together, was
itself nothingness, and I just lost track of the time.”
Stunned,
Mr. O’Neill dropped the tardy slips. “Good Lord!” he gasped. “I imagine you
would, thinking about such weighty matters!” He looked at Jane. “Were you
thinking about the nothingness of being, too?”
“I’m
painting a picture of it,” Jane said. “It’s mostly black, but in different
shades.”
“Goodness!
Please, just take your seats!”
“Thanks,”
said Darius. “It’s so depressing to deal with it all, you know.”
“I
should think so! A little Hamlet should cheer you up,” said Mr. O’Neill. He
frowned at his book. “I’ll start over again at the beginning.”
Several
students groaned aloud. “Mercy!” one of them cried. “Have mercy!”
Darius
sat and listened to the “To be or not to be” speech. None of it registered. He
played with his pencil on his desktop instead of taking notes, and he listened
to Jane breathe beside him.
Next to
him, Jane sat with her sketchpad open before her to a blank page. A pencil was
poised over it in her hand. She drew nothing.
Mr.
O’Neill had just gotten to the part about “the dread of something after death,
/ That undiscovered country from whose bourn / No traveler returns,” when
someone knocked on the door. He sighed and set the book down, mumbling, “Excuse
me!” to the class, then went to find out who was there.
At the
door were Darius’s parents, Quinn, and the principal, Ms. Li. His mother
spotting him right off and motioned for him to come with them.
Darius
looked at Jane, then slowly got up and collected his things. She touched his
arm before he went.
He went
to the door and faced his parents. “Let’s go,” he said.
“What’s going on?” asked
Quinn once they were out of the school building.
Darius
made a shushing noise to her under his breath. Before he could say more, their
mother interrupted. “We’ve got an appointment to see an attorney, dear.”
“What?”
Quinn’s voice rose. “What about?”
“Quinn,”
said Darius in a low voice, “it’s just—”
“Darius,”
said his mother, “I want you to shut up and stop upsetting your sister.”
“Mom,
what’s going on?” Quinn’s voice quavered. “Mom, talk to me!”
Darius
glanced at his father, who looked different for some reason. After a moment, he
realized that his father did not seem upset. In fact, the old man looked... pleased.
The four
of them reached the family’s blue Lexus, parking near the school entrance.
“Mom!”
Quinn cried. “Tell me what’s going on?”
“Damn
it, Quinn!” shouted their mother, spinning around, pointing at the Lexus. “Just
shut up and get in the car!”
Quinn’s
face slowly scrunched up. Tears streaked down both her cheeks.
Darius’s
father unlocked the car. After putting their backpacks in the trunk, Darius and
Quinn got in the back seat and buckled in. Darius reached over and took Quinn’s
hand in his. She bowed her head, biting her lips. Their mother got in the
passenger seat and almost immediately opened her briefcase and began rummaging
through it. As their father started the car, Darius saw his mother pull out a
cell phone and punch in a number. She put the phone to her ear and waited.
The sound
of humming was in the car: “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.” Darius realized
after a moment that it was coming from his father.
“Jake,
please,” said his mother. “I’m—hi, this is Helen Morgendorffer. We have an
appointment at two. Right. We’re on our way.”
Darius
looked at his sister and tugged on her hand. She didn’t look up. He leaned over
to her. “We’ll be okay,” he whispered. She made no sign that she had heard.
“Darius,”
said his mother, snapping the cell phone shut. “I warned you. Don’t make me
have to say it again.”
He
subsided and sat back, still holding Quinn’s hand. His mother looked back and
noticed. “Darius, let go of her,” she said.
“Mom,
I’m just holding her—”
“Let go
of her, damn you!” his mother yelled. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
“Helen,”
said his father mildly.
Stung,
Darius pulled his hand back. Quinn immediately reached for his hand again.
“Quinn,
stop it!” His mother turned to her husband. “Jake, pull over. I want Darius to
ride in front.”
“We’re
in traffic, Helen,” said his father. “Nowhere to pull over.”
His
mother swore and gave Darius a smoldering glare. “Just keep your hands to
yourself! And stop that, young lady! You keep your hands to yourself, too. We
should have brought the SUV.”
“We’ll
be there in fifteen minutes,” said his father in a relaxed tone.
Darius’s
mother turned around and looked out the front window again, but she glanced
back several times to check on her children—always glaring at Darius.
What
the hell is going on? Darius wondered. Mom hasn’t gotten upset about
anything like this in years. He then remembered that his mother didn’t want
Darius to touch his sister after the big fight at
The rest
of the ride passed in silence. They drove through
“That
one,” said Darius’s mother, pointing. “DeMarcus and Rawlings.”
“I see
it,” said his father, turning the car.
Darius
looked at Quinn’s white face. She had shut her eyes. Her hands rested in her
lap, clasped together with her fingers interlaced. Only her lips moved. After a
moment, Darius realized his sister was whispering the Lord’s Prayer to herself.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil, for Thou art with me....
When the
car was parked, everyone got out. Darius’s mother took Quinn and maneuvered her
away from Darius as they walked toward the building entrance.
“Mom?”
said Darius, “what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s
going on,” said his father, both hands in his pockets. He looked as if the
family were out for a stroll. “Everything’s peachy-keen.”
“Jake,”
growled his mother. She grabbed the door into the law office and jerked it
open, walking through with Quinn but letting the door fall shut behind her. It
would have nailed her husband in the shoulder, but he was quick and grabbed it
in time.
“Damn
it, Helen!” he said in a loud voice. He was pissed, but still not up to his
usual level of spite.
She
ignored him and walked up to the receptionist’s desk. Darius grabbed the door
after his father walked through. He noticed an elderly woman behind him, and he
held the door open for her. She murmured her thanks and walked on through the
waiting room toward a back office.
Darius
listened as his mother argued with the receptionist about the appointment time.
They were twenty minutes early, and she wanted to be seen as soon as possible.
“I’ve got to get back to my own office,” she told the receptionist. “I’m sure
you can appreciate just how important that is. Just buzz him and let him know
we’re here!”
“He’s
not to be disturbed,” said the middle-aged woman in a level, well-practiced
tone. “He’s still with his one o’clock client. Please have a seat, and he’ll be
out as soon as he can.”
“I’ll
have a talk with him about this.” Darius’s mother walked across the empty
waiting room to where her husband and children were sitting in a row: Jake,
Darius, Quinn. “Darius,” said his mother, “go sit over on the other side of
your father. I’ll sit next to Quinn.”
Darius
got up. A fight in a legal office would a very bad thing, especially with both
his parents acting so weird. He wondered again what was really going on.
“Mom,”
said Quinn firmly, “sit next to me here. Darius can sit where he is.”
“Quinn,
stay out of this,” said their mother. “Move, Darius.”
Quinn
reached out and grabbed her brother by a pants leg with one hand. She patted
the empty seat by her with the other. “No,” she said. “Let him stay. You sit
here.”
“Young
lady,” hissed her mother, leaning in close, “you are right on the verge of
making serious trouble for yourself! Now stop it! ”
“I don’t
care anymore!” said Quinn, glaring back. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”
“Hey!”
said Darius, feeling the cold touch of fear. “It’s okay, Quinn! Look, I’m just
moving over—”
“Don’t
you talk back to me!” said his mother to Quinn. “Don’t you dare talk
back to me when I’m looking out for your welfare!”
“You’re
not looking out for anyone’s welfare!” Quinn said in a loud voice, and she got
up and walked toward the seats on the other side of the waiting room, where
Darius was just sitting down.
Her
mother grabbed Quinn by the arm and jerked her to a stop. Quinn spun around and
slapped her mother’s arm away. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted.
“Jesus!”
said Darius, leaping from his seat. “Stop! Please stop it!” He heard a beeping
noise from the receptionist’s desk. He realized she had triggered a hidden
alarm. Holy shit!
Quinn
dodged to avoid being grabbed by her mother again. Darius stepped between them,
hands up. Furious, his mother struck him open-handed across the face, knocking
his glasses off. “Get back in your seat!” she shouted. “Sit down! Quinn, you
get back here!”
Darius
staggered backward, his face on fire. He hit a row of empty chairs and sat down
abruptly, holding his face and staring at his mother in shock. Quinn grabbed
his glasses from the floor and ran over to give them back to Darius.
“Quinn!”
shouted their mother.
“Excuse
me!” said a tall, portly man in a business suit, walking into the waiting room.
“Is there a problem here?” Two other tall men in suits came behind him. They
all looked like lawyers, but without his glasses Darius found it impossible to
tell. He blinked up at them through tears in his eyes, but he stayed in his
seat and carefully put his glasses back on. Quinn sat down next to him and
checked his face.
“I’m
having difficulty with my children,” said Mrs. Morgendorffer quickly. “Do you
have a room where I can put my son?”
“Certainly,”
said the portly man. “Right down the hall here. Which one of you wants to stay
with him?” he added, looking from Darius’s mother to his father.
To his
astonishment, Darius realized that his father had been completely uninvolved in
the entire altercation. When the portly man turned to him, his father made a
wide-eyed, open-handed gesture that clearly said, I have no idea what’s
happening here, and I have no control over it.
“Me,”
said Quinn. “I’ll stay with him.”
“My
daughter will stay with me,” said their mother, looking daggers at
Quinn. “Jake, you stay with Darius.”
“Sure,”
her husband said sourly. He got up, making a face, and motioned for Darius to
follow him.
Darius
got up. Quinn got up beside him. Darius noticed and turned to her. “Wait for
me,” he said in what he hoped was a quiet, confident voice. He wanted her to
listen. This entire episode was scaring the daylights out of him. “I promise
I’ll be right back. Everything will be fine.”
Quinn
stared at him, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. She gave him an impulsive hug,
then sat down as Darius followed his father out of the waiting room.
They
were escorted down the hall to a small storage room filled with shelves, each
jammed with banker’s boxes full of legal documents. Darius took a seat in a
folding chair. His father sat in a chair by the open door. “Any chance of
getting a drink?” his dad asked the lawyer who escorted them there.
“We have
Cola Blast, regular and diet, and Ultra-Cola, plus canned ice tea, fruit
juices, or just plain old coffee,” said the lawyer.
“Oh,
coffee for me, then,” said Mr. Morgendorffer.
“And
you?” said the lawyer to Darius.
Darius
shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said. He was thirsty, but too shaken to deal
with it just yet. His fingers were trembling and his face still ached from
where his mother had struck him. He leaned forward and put his head in his
hands, elbows on his knees. Too much had happened. It was time to regroup, but
he just couldn’t do it.
What
the hell just happened? he thought. Quinn went off just like I used to
do, when Dad was riding me really bad years ago. And Dad just sat there! Why
didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t he try to stop Mom from freaking out? And
what the hell is eating Mom, anyway? She acts like I’m beating up Quinn or
something! What’s happened? Is something else going on here besides the
deposition? Mom acted like I was poisonous. Does she really believe that? Did
the deposition do something to her, or what? Is she snapping from stress? Are
we all going crazy? What the hell is going on?
A few
feet away, his father sighed. Darius looked up. His father was savoring a hot
cup of coffee.
“Dad?”
he asked.
“Hmmm?”
said his father, lowering the cup.
“Why are
we here?”
“Legal
stuff,” said his father.
“Is this
about the deposition? About my roommate at Buxton Ridge?”
His
father shrugged.
“Come
on, Dad! Don’t you know?”
“Just
relax,” said his father, and took a sip of his coffee again.
Darius’s
head fell. He put his head in his hands again, his palms mashing into his eyes.
They sat in the room for what seemed like an hour.
“Mister
Morgendorffer?” said a woman’s voice. “Mister Rawlings will see you now. Your
wife’s already in the room.”
His
father got up and turned to Darius. “Just wait here for now,” he said. “Amy
should be by in a few minutes.”
“Aunt
Amy?” Darius shook his head slowly. “What’s she doing here?” Darius hadn’t seen
his mother’s youngest sister since he was in elementary school, back in
“She’s
going to look after Quinn for a little, till things calm down. I think she’s
got a hotel room in town. Helen’s paying for it.”
“Is
something going on, Dad?”
His
father shrugged. “Just stay here and keep out of trouble,” he said. “We’ll call
you.” He walked off with the coffee cup.
Darius
got up and looked down the hallway. Seeing no one around after his father went
into an office, he went back to his chair and sat down again. He tried to get
comfortable so he could fall asleep, but it was impossible. The chair dug into
his back. He finally put his head in his hands again and just waited, thinking
gloomy thoughts.
An age
later, he heard a door open in the waiting room and someone walk in with quick
steps. He wondered if the visitor was his Aunt Amy, or if he’d recognize her
after all this time. Did she still wear those big round-lens glasses and baggy
sweaters?
“Hi,” he
heard the visitor say—a woman. “My sister asked me to meet her here, Helen
Morgendorffer. Is she here yet?”
“She’s
with her attorney,” said the receptionist. “Do you want me to call her out?”
“Could
you, for just a minute?”
“Sure.
Who should I say is here?”
“Amy
Barksdale.”
“Okay.
Just a moment.”
“Thanks.”
Darius
almost got up and went out in the hallway, but decided not to. If his mother
was the one who had gotten in touch with Amy, who knew what Amy thought of him
now?
A door
opened. “Oh, Amy, I’m glad you’re here,” Darius heard his mother say. “I need
to talk to you.” A door shut.
“What’s
going on?” Amy asked.
“Wait,”
said his mother. Footsteps came down the hall, sounding louder. They stopped
abruptly not far from the door to Darius’s room. A door opened. “Let’s go in
here for some privacy. It’s a conference room.”
It
occurred to Darius that the conference room might be adjacent to the storage
room. He stood up and looked at the wall that he guessed connected the two
areas. Should he listen in?
The
choice was a no-brainer, really. He walked across the room and nervously stood
by the wall, waiting.
A door
shut on the other side. “Helen,” said Amy, “what’s going on?”
“Darius
is in trouble again,” said his mother. “He’s going to be deposed next month
about his roommate at that military academy Jake had him sent to.”
“His
roommate?” said Amy. “The one who killed himself?”
“They’re
still sorting that out.”
“Wait,
what are you saying? You think Darius had something to do with that?”
“I don’t
know, damn it! I don’t know what the hell’s going on! I’m about to go crazy and
I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore with him!”
“Well,
don’t yell at me about it! Don’t you believe Darius about this? I mean, the
academy investigated the whole thing and cleared Darius, right? Didn’t they?
How could he have done anything?”
“Trouble’s
been following him around since day one. He’s taken after Jake in every way
possible, and I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t even know if I want him around
anymore. Quinn’s starting to turn out just like him, mouthing off at me and
threatening me and just behaving like a little monster!”
“Helen,
listen—”
“We’re
going to be sued, Amy! That boy’s parents are going to find some way to claim
that Darius either caused their son’s death or contributed to it, and we’re
going to be soaked for millions! Millions, do you hear me? Can you possibly see
what the problem is now? What do I have to do to spell it out for you?”
“Do you
know that you’re going to be sued?”
“Why the
hell else are they deposing Darius? They’re going to sue the academy for sure,
but they’ll go after us, more than likely. They all do, everyone in that
position would do it. They don’t care.”
“Then,
from what you’re saying, this isn’t Darius’s fault.”
“He’s
tearing us apart, and Quinn’s suffering from it! Jake told me Darius broke a
glass in the kitchen the other day and didn’t clean it up, and Quinn stepped on
it and cut her foot! He’s totally irresponsible, and now he’s getting Quinn to
be just like him, fighting us at every step of the way! I will be damned in
Hell if I’m going to have her put us through all the trouble he’s put us
through!”
“What
are you planning to do about Darius?”
“In the
long run or short run?”
“Right
now.”
“He’s
going to talk to the attorney about the deposition, but not in any depth in
this meeting. This is just an introductory thing, a hand-shaker. We’ll set up
another appointment for him to come back and talk about what’s involved in a
deposition, how he should answer the questions and all that. It scares me to
death to think of what he might say, but we can’t get out of it.”
“What
could he say? I mean—”
“He
could say he and his roommate didn’t get along, they were enemies, he told his
roommate to kill himself—come on, Amy, can you possibly be any thicker?”
“I don’t
have to take this. You can fix your own damn problems.”
“Amy,
wait! Amy! I need your help with Quinn!”
A door
opened, then there was a pause. “What about Quinn?”
“Amy,
shut the door.”
The door
softly thumped shut. “What?”
“Amy,
Quinn listens to you. She looks up to you in a way she doesn’t to me, thanks to
Darius. Can you—I’m trying to think of what you could do—can you talk to her?
Can you see her on weekends, just for a few hours for a while? Maybe take her
out for ice cream tonight or something.”
“How is
she doing?”
“She was
fighting me in the waiting room here not half an hour ago, actually hitting me.
I think Darius put her up to it.”
“Look, I
have to be honest with you. Darius has never been a favorite of mine, but I
can’t see him doing what you’re saying he’s doing.”
“The
apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.”
“What?
What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s
Jake’s son.”
“Helen,
for the love of God, he’s your son, too!”
A short
silence followed. “I wish I’d never had him, after all the hell he’s put us
through. I wish he’d... I don’t know, died, or I’d given him up for adoption or
something. I’m worn out worrying from all the shit we’ve been through over
him.”
Darius
stepped back from the wall. He stared at it with vague astonishment, as if
someone had just cut him in half, but he had not yet felt the pain from the
blow.
“My God,
Helen, I can’t believe you said that.”
“What,
you want him? You can have him. I’m sick of all this.”
“Have
you talked to him yet about the deposition?”
“No. We
just got here. Jake and I are talking with the attorney about our liability in
case we get sued with the school. It doesn’t look good. I guess if worse comes
to worse, we can declare bankruptcy. It depends a lot on what Darius says in
the deposition, though if that boy’s family wants to sue us, they’ll do it no
matter what.”
“You’re
supposed to just tell the truth in a deposition, right?”
“There’s
more to it than that, but it’s the truth that scares me to death. I don’t know
what Darius did to that boy. He says they were friends, but who knows what the
truth is?” A pause. “I’m sorry, Amy. I’m just about to go insane. I have to get
back in there with Jake and go over a few more issues.”
“Where’s
Quinn?”
“In the
room across the hall. Darius is down the hall that way somewhere.”
“Okay.
I’ll drop in on both of them and see how they’re doing.”
“Just
look after Quinn for me, if you would. Someone else is supposed to be looking
after Darius. And don’t put them in the same room together. I don’t even want
him home with us tonight, but the attorney says we have to go on like nothing’s
wrong, for the sake of the deposition. If we do anything like put Darius out of
the house, it makes it look like he might be out of control, and it gives
weight to the other side’s claims against him. We have to go on right now like
nothing’s wrong.”
“So,
he’s going to be with you anyway, right? Until the deposition, at least?”
A long
sigh. “Yes. I don’t know about afterward. Jake’s just about beside himself with
glee right now. He’s had it in for Darius for years, and he’s screwed that boy
up to the point that I don’t think we can save him. You should have seen
Quinn’s foot after she cut herself.”
“I don’t
get it. Why’s Jake so happy, then?”
“Jake
knew that boy Ellenbogen’s father at the academy, and he hated him. I think
he’s tickled to death that the boy killed himself. He keeps saying, ‘Well, my
boy’s still alive! Guess I showed him who was the better father!’ I could
puke.”
“God,
Helen, are you serious? You can’t be—”
“I’m
divorcing him as soon as all of this is over. I’m staying in
A long
pause. “Well, it’s about time. I think Jake’s the only thing that you, me, and
Rita agree on.”
“Probably.
I’m sorry I let it go this long.”
“And
Darius? What’ll happen—”
“Look, I
have to go. We’ll talk later. Just check on Quinn.” A door opened.
Darius
turned like a robot and walked back to his seat. He had a distinct memory at
that moment of reading an adventure book about a robot when he was a little
boy, and how he had walked around the house stiff-legged for days pretending to
be a robot just like the one in the book. Now he was a real robot, one without
a heart or soul, and he walked stiff-legged back to his chair and sat down. It
was purely mechanical. He felt nothing inside him.
Footsteps
clicked down the hallway and stopped at the door to the storage room. “Oh,”
said his Aunt Amy.
Darius
looked up. His aunt was there, long wavy brown hair and all. Amy was looking
into the room and staring at the wall where Darius had listened in on the
conversation. It was obvious at that moment that his aunt knew the whole
conversation with her sister had been overheard. Behind her big, round-lens
glasses, her brown eyes were enormous with shock.
“Hi,
Aunt Amy,” he said. He remembered from his courtesy classes at Buxton Ridge
that he was supposed to stand when a woman came into a room, so he stood. “It’s
good to see you.”
“Um,”
said Amy, looking from him to the wall and back, “good to see you, too.” She
pulled down the hem of her baggy beige-and-maroon sweater over the top of her
jeans. “So, how have you been, Darius?”
“Okay,”
he said. “Did Quinn tell you her good news?”
Amy
looked blank, still reeling from her discovery. “What good news?”
“She’s
the president of the
Something
slowly changed in Amy’s brown eyes as she looked at Darius. “I’ll do that,” she
said. “Are you okay?”
He
opened his mouth but hesitated, wanting to say so much. In the end, he said
only what was important. “Please take good care of Quinn for me, whatever
happens.”
Amy blinked. “Uh, of course. I will.”
He nodded. “Okay. Thank
you.” After a moment, he swallowed. “It was good to see you again.”
Amy
stared at him, then pulled back from the door. “It was good to see you, too,
Darius,” she said.
He
nodded once more, then sat down and looked at the floor. The robot was finished
with its work and was shutting down for the evening.
Someone
slowly left the doorway and walked back up the hall. Darius took off his
glasses in a mechanical way and put them in his shirt pocket, then leaned
forward and covered his face with his hands.
A door
opened up the hallway. “Well, hi!” said Aunt Amy, her voice echoing in the
corridor. “How’s my favorite niece?”
The previous owner of the
Morgendorffers’ house had remodeled one of the upstairs bedrooms to house her
schizophrenic mother (paranoid type: visual and auditory hallucinations,
delusions of grandeur, delusions of persecution—in short, the works). The room
had a light gray ceiling, medium-gray reinforced padded walls, and a wooden floor
painted brick red that smelled faintly of urine. Bars ran across the windows to
prevent the owner’s mother from trying to jump from the second floor naked
during the full moon to get the attention of God. A long metal support bar ran
across one wall near the door, allowing the mother in her last two years of
life to get out of her wheelchair and be walked down the hall to the bathroom
that Darius and Quinn now used. The owner had no money with which to remodel
the room after her mother’s death, so she sold the house as it was to a family
that needed to move in immediately. The schizophrenic’s bedroom was morbid and
depressing, an atrocity of interior design that would have been greatly
improved by blowing it up with dynamite.
Darius
took it because he saw his sister’s look of horror when she first peered into
that room, and he feared one of his parents might stick Quinn with it.
Personally, he also thought it was sort of cool to have a room once occupied by
a psychotic. Being a guy, he had not decorated much—a poster of William
Shakespeare over his desk by the door, a very nice edge-on color shot of spiral
galaxy NGC 4565 (courtesy of the Hubble Space Telescope) over the head of his
bed, a blueprint of the B-2 stealth bomber on the wall over the support bar, a
large oval rug from their Highland home that didn’t fit anywhere else in the
house, his bed, and three small bookcases overstuffed with new and used
paperbacks and hardbounds picked up from a variety of sources. A telescope, a
boom box, a CD player with earphones, and a computer were scattered around the
room among articles of used clothing and bathroom towels. More books were
stored under the bed with the dust bunnies. After checking with an electronics
supply store, Darius was able to locate a remote that worked for the color
television set mounted on wall brackets in a ceiling corner, and he watched Sick, Sad World lying on his bed in the
afternoons after school when he wasn’t with Jane. A good ammonia-and-water
mopping and a box of baking soda scattered over the floor eliminated the urine
smell almost entirely.
On the
first day he moved his things into his new room, Darius mused for half a minute
over how a girl would have decorated the place. Certainly, after she finished
screaming, she would have torn out the wall padding, put real curtains over the
windows instead of beach towels, carpeted the entire floor to hide that awful
maroon color, and repainted everything else. The wall bar would go, flower
vases and mirrors and fashionable dressers would come in, and the walls would
be covered with Guys2Guys posters. The violent rambling poetry carved into the
closet walls by the psychotic mother would have been covered over with
wallpaper, and the sawn-off bars in the windows—well, no more need be said.
This
line of thought led Darius to wonder for a few seconds more how the rest of his
life would have changed if he had been born a girl. Though he liked alternate
histories, he did not waste much time thinking about this as the very idea
overwhelmed him, but he supposed as a girl he would have gotten along better
with Quinn—doing the sisterly thing, as he thought of it. It was hard to
imagine being friends with Jane, as they really had so little in common—Jane
being an artist, and Darius being a writer—so they’d have ignored each other in
school. Being so different, at least they’d never have had to worry about
dating the same guy. Darius’s parents would probably not have wanted two
girls, so life, as difficult as it was, would surely have been even worse than
now. As a girl, he would have dressed better than he did as a guy, as women
invariably dressed better than any guys that Darius knew, and he (she) would be
dating all the time and shopping for wonder bras and planning her future
wedding and standing at the bathroom mirror every morning before school with
Quinn, applying eyeliner and blush.
Only in
this time-space continuum, he knew, would anyone in his place have kept a
padded room like this. His room was more than his castle—it was his safe and
secure refuge from the world, at least until Quinn banged on the door needing
something.
Tonight, he lay on the floor looking up at a long, interesting crack in the light-gray ceiling. He had lost the will to get to his bed halfway across the room from the door. The faceless things reaching for him could not be kept away by the padded walls or nauseating décor. Quinn was still out with Aunt Amy, so she could not distract the demons’ attention, and neither could his parents, who had left the house for their respective workplaces to either catch up on missed projects in the evening hours (in his mother’s case) or sample a bottle of whiskey in a desk drawer and stare at the walls (in his father’s).
After half an hour lying on
the floor, Darius stirred and got to his feet. He moved in a daze, as if he’d
just received the walloping dose of Thorazine that the room’s former occupant
regularly got. His feet shuffled over the floor to one of his ramshackle
bookcases. At random, he picked a book off the shelf—Stanislaw Lem’s Solaris,
one of his favorite science-fiction novels. He flipped the book open to the
final page and read the first passage that met his eyes.
The age-old faith of lovers and poets in the power
of love, stronger than death, that finis vitae sed non amoris, is a lie,
useless and not even funny.
His gaze ran down the page to the last words in the
book.
I did not know what achievements, what mockery, even what tortures still awaited me. I knew nothing, and I persisted in the faith that the time of cruel miracles was not past.
The book flipped shut in his
hands, and he tossed it back on the shelf on top of the rest. He stared at the
book for a long while, then put on a light jacket and walked out of his room
and out of the house. It was about half past six.
When he
left he did not have a clear idea of where he was going. Sundown was over an
hour away, and traffic was moderate. He walked west along Glen Oaks in the
direction of Jane’s house, but he did not want to see Jane. When he reached
No one
was on the path in the woods when he reached it. It was still light enough to
see. He was overdressed for a long jog, but it was not important.
He saw a
long, gnarled branch that had fallen from an oak. When he reached it, he broke
stride, picked it up, and smashed it into rotting splinters against the nearest
tree. He picked up the largest of the pieces and smashed that to nothing as
well, then walked on. He seized a large rock from the ground and flung it as
far as he could, then picked up another branch and beat it on a sapling until
both the sapling and the branch were shattered.
He
continued moving like this through the woods, destroying anything he could get
hold of with his hands. Before long his palms were bleeding, but this was good.
The pain took his mind off everything he had heard in the law office a few
hours earlier. Images from across his life floated through his mind, and he
gazed at them and tossed them aside as he did the broken limbs and rocks he
encountered on his way.
When he
reached the long straightaway where Jane had beaten him in their run, he ran
again as hard as he could to the end. He slowed down and walked the last few
steps until he reached the place on the ground where he had held Jane in his
arms and realized the miracle of her, and here he knelt and put down his head
and cried.
Ages
later, when his weeping had subsided and he was merely kneeling and staring at
the ground, he heard a noise behind him. He knew it was some jogger who had
happened upon him, and he got up to walk off the path and be alone again.
“Darius?”
He
turned. Jane stood there on the path, about twenty feet away. He looked at her
for a long moment, then wiped his face with a bloodied hand and looked away. He
had no energy left to run from her, not that it would have mattered.
She took
a step toward him.
“Don’t
touch me,” he said, turning toward her but not looking into her face.
“What
happened?”
He shook
his head. She started to take another step toward him, but he backed up. “Don’t
touch me,” he repeated.
“Why?”
“Just
don’t.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He was filthy, but he didn’t mind.
It was as it should be.
“Quinn
called and said you weren’t home when she stopped by.
He
shrugged, not looking at her.
“Please
tell me what happened.”
“Call my
Aunt Amy. She knows everything. Ask Quinn. Ask someone, anyone, but just go
away.”
She
didn’t go away. Darius looked down. He was still standing by the spot where he
had held Jane.
“Quinn
said she was staying the night with her aunt,” said Jane. “They’re in a hotel
somewhere around here.”
“Good.”
“What
about you?”
“Go to
hell.”
“What
happened?”
“Nothing,”
he said. He exhaled heavily, and his strength left him. He sank to his knees
again by the place he thought of as sacred. “It doesn’t matter,” he repeated.
“My parents are getting divorced, and Mom’s throwing me out after she throws
out Dad. It just doesn’t fucking matter. Just go away.”
Jane
walked closer. He shook his head and raised a warning hand. “Don’t,” he said.
“I can’t take it.”
She
knelt on the ground next to him.
He felt
tears start to run down his face. He wiped them off on his sleeve. Crying in
front of Jane was the worst thing imaginable. It was just wrong.
“I don’t
want to be like my dad,” he said. He felt very tired. “I can’t deal with it. I
can’t deal with anything anymore.” He wiped his face again. “If you loved me,
you’d kill me. I wish to God you would.”
A few
moments later, he lay on the ground, his head in Jane’s lap.
He told
her everything.
“Don’t
tell Quinn,” he said. It was dark now. The woods sang, the crickets and night
birds and cicadas in chorus. “Don’t tell any of this to Quinn.”
Jane
stroked his hair. “She already knows,” she said. “Your mom’s voice carries, and
the walls were like tissue paper.”
He got
home an hour later. As he walked in the door, he heard someone in the kitchen.
It was after nine.
He
walked into the kitchen. His father was pouring a glass of whiskey at the long
center counter.
“You’re
late,” said his father, looking at the clock.
Darius
walked around the counter until he stood within two feet of his father. His
bloodied, filthy fists balled up, and he felt every muscle he had knot into
readiness.
“Do your
worst,” he said softly.
His
father stared back at him, whiskey glass in hand. Seconds passed.
His
father started to raise the hand with the glass.
Darius
drew back his right fist and waited. He was almost eye-to-eye with his old man
now, and he could see how the years had eaten his father away inside until
nothing was left but the shell.
His
father took a step back. The amber liquid in the glass swished and spilled over
his shirt front. He put the glass down on the counter, his hand shaking.
They
held their positions for a few moments longer, then Darius lowered his fist.
“All right then,” he said, and he turned to go. He stopped, however, and he
turned and walked back to his father. The old man backed up another step.
Darius picked up the whiskey glass and emptied what was left of its contents
into the sink, then put the glass in the dishwasher. He took the whiskey bottle
and emptied it out as well, throwing it in the garbage under the sink.
“You
throw something at me again,” he said, turning back to his father, “and I’ll
break your arm off at the shoulder. And you ever hurt Quinn, I swear to God,
you’d better run and never stop.”
He
waited until he saw understanding in his father’s eyes, and then he left and
went to his room to sit on the edge of his bed and stare at the floor. He left
the door open.
It was
very quiet in the house that night.
When his mother came down
for a quick cup of coffee the following morning, Darius was waiting for her at
the kitchen table, showered and dressed. His mother was startled because it was
5:31 a.m., and Darius did not normally get up for another half hour. The
coffeemaker was already turned on, filling the air with its aroma, and a pot
was full and ready.
Darius
rose to his feet. He was bleary from lack of sleep and truly dreaded starting
this fight, but he remembered what she had said about him and what she’d put
him through.
“Good
morning,” he said. “I need to talk to you while Dad’s out cold in the guest
bedroom.”
“I have
to go to work now,” said his mother in a tight voice. “I’ve got a ton of things
to do today.” She had trouble looking him in the eyes.
“It can
wait,” he said steadily. “We need to talk first.”
“Darius,
for Christ’s sake, I don’t have time to listen to this stupid—”
“When
you divorce Dad, I want to stay here with you and Quinn—until I graduate high
school, that is. After that, I’ll be out of your hair for good, if you want it
that way.”
His mother
stood stock-still, her mouth falling open.
“You
should also get a new attorney,” he added, “one with thicker office walls.”
She
closed her mouth, but her eyes burned. “You want to stay here, is that it?”
He took
a breath and nodded once.
“You can
get out now,” she said, her face hardening. “Get your things, get out, and stay
out. You can go live with your father. He can get out today, too.”
Hearing
this from his mother frightened him, but it was now or never. “When is the
deposition?” he asked in a loud voice. His throat was dry with fear, but he
drove on. “Just a month from now? What do you think they’ll ask me when I’m in
there? What’ll I tell them? Think about it, Mom! Think hard!”
Her
expression changed from anger to shock, and then to white-hot rage. She walked
slowly over to her briefcase on the kitchen table beside Darius and played with
the locks. “That’s extortion,” she said.
“I’m
talking about me killing Mike!” he said angrily, knowing he was now being
recorded. “I’m talking about the kind of family life I’ve had with you and Dad
that’s screwed me up so much that—”
His
mother made a sudden motion with her hands on the briefcase locks halfway
through his speech, gazing at him in a fury. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Just stop
it!”
Darius
put out his right hand. A taped-down bandage covered his palm. “Give me that
cassette,” he said.
His
mother stared at his hand, but she remained motionless.
“Give me
the cassette,” he repeated. “I’m not kidding. Give it to me.”
A muscle
twitched in her cheek. She snapped open the briefcase, reached in, popped open
the miniature tape recorder inside, and threw the tiny cassette tape on the
tabletop so hard it bounced into the air. He barely managed to catch it with
his injured hands, and then he stuck it in his pants pocket, grimacing from the
pain radiating from his palms.
“Do you
want me to put you through college and graduate school, too?” his mother asked
through clenched teeth.
“That’s
up to you,” he said. “I can get jobs and put myself through if I have to, but
Quinn—yeah. You’re going to put her through the best schools on the planet, and
screw the cost.”
Her
glare deepened. “You have a lot of nerve telling me that.”
“Well,
you and I have something in common there,” said Darius. “You have a lot of nerve
saying what you did about me yesterday. At least we both love Quinn, too. I
want the best for her in everything there is, and trust me, I’ll see that she
gets it, any way I can. Just like you would.”
“You
care only about yourself. You don’t care about anyone else but you.”
He
glared, his self-control wearing thin from exhaustion. “Dad broke that glass
that Quinn cut herself on. I was getting the vacuum to clean it up when she
stepped in it. Ask Quinn.” He paused and went on in a quieter tone. “I should have
warned her about the glass first, though. I’ll know better next time.”
“Jake
said it was you.”
He
snorted. “Did the whole kitchen stink like tequila when you got home that
night? Get with the program, okay? You’ve trusted me to take care of her since
I got back from Buxton Ridge, and I have!”
His
mother’s eyes flashed. “You’re doing a rotten job of it. Your sister’s turning
into a rebellious little—”
“You
were driving her nuts last night, not telling her what was going on with the
lawyers!” Darius interrupted, his patience near its end. “She was scared to
death, and you wouldn’t talk to her! She was fighting you, not me!”
“She
doesn’t need to know everything that’s going on!”
“She
needs to know something! You have to talk with her so she has something
to hang on to! It’s not that hard!” He forced himself again to lower his voice.
“You spend literally all day at the office, and I’m not going to roast you for
it, but if that’s how you want it, then I’m the one who has to look out for
her, and I do! Amy and Rita can’t ride in like the cavalry every single day. I
helped get her that job as president of the pep club at school. Did she tell
you about that?”
For the
first time that morning, his mother looked confused. “You helped her do what?”
He
slowly let out his breath. “Talk to Quinn tonight. She’s got something she
really wants to tell you. If you want only the best for her, believe me, she
just got it.”
His
mother looked at him reflectively, though her eyes still burned. “President of
the pep club.”
“I
swear,” he said, his voice calmer. “Ask her when she gets home. I assume she’s
coming home tonight, isn’t she? Or is Amy keeping her for a few more days?”
“I
haven’t decided.” She stared at him coldly. “I’m really pissed about you
holding the deposition over my head for this.”
Just
like that, he lost it. He suddenly leaned close to her face as she recoiled.
“My roommate killed himself!” he shouted in a fury. “I had to cut down
his body from where he hanged himself in our room, and all you’re crying about
is getting sued! The nerve of
you! Then you told Amy last night you wished I was dead, and then you went and
hit me in front of Dad, Quinn, and that office receptionist! They might even
have it on a security tape! I could go downtown to Lawndale County Child
Protective Services today and nail you to a fucking wall! I’d hammer you out
with the CPS in a heartbeat, except we need your goddamn paycheck! ”
His
mother stepped back, a trace of fear in her eyes. There was a long silence.
“You try
hitting me again if you feel really lucky,” he said. “That one yesterday was
your freebie. Next time, Quinn and I will take our chances with child welfare.
Maybe Amy or Rita will get us, but that’s a gamble. How lucky are you? You
wanna find out?” Just barely, he pulled back and stopped himself from ranting
on.
She gave
him another long, stony look, then swallowed. “I’m sorry for what I said about
you. I was at the end of my rope with everything. I shouldn’t have said it, but
I did, and I don’t know what else to tell you except I’m sorry.” She sighed and
looked away, shaking her head. “It probably won’t matter what you say at the
deposition, anyway,” she said quietly. “I’m sure they’ll sue.”
“I’m
almost sure they will, too, but I can probably make the final judgment a lot
better or a lot worse, depending on what I say.” He gritted his teeth. “God, I
hate doing this, I really do. I feel like a total shit. Mike was a good guy. I
liked him, and using him like this is just—all I can say is, you earned it!
Don’t you ever screw me over again!”
She
looked him in the eyes for a long time. Neither flinched. “I don’t see how
we’re going to make it work,” she said at last. “I just don’t see it, you
staying here after we’ve gotten off on this foot.”
“You
lived with Dad for years,” Darius said, his voice lowering. “I’m a lot more
reasonable than he ever was, and you know it. I’m not dictating how to run the
house. You’re in charge—but you’re not throwing me out. Not yet. And I do care
about Quinn. She’s my sister, and I love her. You’ve got sisters, you know what
it’s like.”
His
mother snorted softly. “You are your father’s son,” she said.
“Wrong,”
he said softly. He pointed at her, his eyes boring into hers. “I’m your
son, through and through. Congratulations, Mom.”
A moment
passed. His mother’s mouth twitched. She almost smiled. Almost. “Perhaps you
are,” she said.
He
grinned without humor. “This is what family is all about: looking out for each
other.” He stepped back and rubbed his face. The grin vanished, replaced by
exhaustion. “That’s all I’ve got.” He dropped his hand. “Have a good day at
work.”
She
stared at him a moment longer, then turned to leave.
“Don’t
forget your briefcase,” he said.
After
she drove away, Darius turned off the coffeemaker, emptied out the unused pot,
and got a box of Pop-Tarts to eat on the way to school. He checked on his
father in the spare bedroom—still snoring and likely to be massively hung over
when he got up—then put on his jacket and left the house. It was still dark
out, the night sky over
He
walked to Jane’s home in a cool, light wind and sat on her front step, an hour
early. After he took out the Pop-Tarts, he found he couldn’t eat them. His
stomach was cramped all to hell. He put the box in his backpack again, then
huddled down on the step and lay his head on his crossed arms, resting on his
knees.
Terrors
assailed him. What if his mother threw him out anyway? Would he really screw up
the deposition just to get her back? He thought he would at first, but now he
didn’t know. It would be an evil thing to do, without a doubt. Would that make
him like his dad after all? And what if he did have to go live with his dad?
Was she really going to throw his father out today? It made sense, now that she
knew her plan was discovered. What would his dad do? And what if his dad
decided to take a punch at him? Darius would have to turn his dad in to the
CPS, and what would happen then?
Darius
was furious with his father, but the thought of tearing up the family, even to
save it, made him sick to his stomach. He took off his glasses and tried to
think everything out clearly.
Jane
found him asleep like that on the porch when she came outside an hour later. He
woke up hearing someone singing the opening lyrics to “There’s Got to Be a
Morning After.”
“I’m
hallucinating,” he muttered, peering at Jane’s face and wondering why it wasn’t
in focus.
“Let’s
find out,” she said. “How many fingers am I holding in front of your face?”
“You’re
very funny,” he said in a deadpan, staring at her upright middle finger. He
remembered his glasses, put them on, and stood up to stretch.
Jane
kissed him when he was done. “How long have you been out here?”
“I
dunno,” Darius mumbled. “What day is it?”
“September.”
“Stupid
watch,” he said, frowning at his bare right wrist.
“Your
watch is on your left hand. Are you okay? You look like the bad side of one of
those ‘This Is Your Brain on Drugs’ posters.”
“It was
a long night. I feel lousy. What time is it, really?”
“Same
time I usually come out here looking for you.”
“Oh. I
got here an hour ago.”
“You’re
going to tell me why, right?”
“No.
Forget it. I don’t even want to think about it.”
Feeling
lightheaded and not in the best of judgment, he told her anyway as they walked
to school. “I hardly think anything’s really settled,” he said, “so don’t tell
Quinn any of this—although she probably already knows thanks to that telepathic
link the two of you share.”
“I think
I’d better keep this stuff to myself,” Jane said. “I don’t think even I believe
it. And like you said, it’s probably not over yet anyway. Sort of like that
movie, Hell House, where the ghost comes back after everyone thought it
was dead and it starts killing all those—”
“Oh,
shut up. ” He yawned and squinted at the passing traffic. “I should have
drunk the damn coffee myself instead of throwing it out. I just want to go back
to sleep.”
“Let’s
go in this gas station and you can get an Ultra-Cola or something. And one for
me. And a doughnut—no, two doughnuts, a cruller and one of those glazed ones
with sprinkles. Oh, look, they have those gummy things!”
They had
to hurry to make it to the school before the first bell rang. They got to the
door with three minutes to spare. Before they went in, however, Jane grabbed Darius
and pulled him back into a corner near the entrance.
“What?”
he said. “Okay, here, take the bag of gummy things. I don’t like them anyway.
They stick to my teeth.”
“Idiot,”
she said, and she pulled his face to hers.
“I love
you,” she said when they came up for air.
He put
down the food sacks and held her to him. He buried his face in her silky black
hair.
“Crocus,”
he whispered. “You are the flower that ends the winter, the color that
breathes, the sunlight on the face of the world.”
“You are
the blind one,” she said. “And I’d better wipe you off, or Quinn will kick my
butt.”
They
went into the school together, and the closing of the doors turned the cool
autumn wind away.
Among
other articles on the floor of Jane’s bedroom closet that Thursday afternoon
was a battered blue sneaker with no mate. Darius stuck the shoe’s toe under the
bedroom door, wedged it solidly into place, and checked the doorknob once more.
The doorknob lock was broken and likely had been for years.
“I’ll go
to a hardware store for a new one,” he said, straightening again and tapping
the knob with a finger. “Get you a deadbolt, too, like Quinn’s.”
“Get me
a what?” said Jane. She banged on her television set with a fist, then pushed
the channel button again.
“Door lock,”
he said, walking over to her bed. He had to step through a maze of oil-based
paint tubes, scattered on newspapers spread out over the hardwood floor. No
painting was visible, but he figured Jane either didn’t want it to be seen or
it was drying somewhere else in the house.
Jane
banged on the television set again as he sat beside her. “Why do I need a door
lock?” she asked, frowning at the TV picture. “
“Having
no lock might be inconvenient.”
“He
knows to stay out of my room.”
“How
about your mom and dad? Your sibs? The meter reader?”
“Mom and
Dad are still in
“Watch
us or the TV?”
“Whatever.”
She sat back on the bed, her eyes on the TV. “Perfect. Don’t touch it. It’s
been acting up lately.”
“Like
its owner? Ouch!”
“Sorry. My elbow slipped.”
Their
T-shirts and shorts were still damp, and they both reeked of sweat from their
after-school run. Jane pulled the hair tie from her stubby ponytail, letting
her shoulder-length black bangs swing free, and tossed the tie into a corner of
the room. Darius pushed his running shoes off with his feet and scooted back on
the bed to the pile of pillows they’d built. Jane kicked off her shoes and
climbed over beside him. She nested against his chest, his arm around her
shoulders, and they looked at the foot of the bed where the TV showed the
barf-green Sick, Sad World show’s
logo between their sock feet.
“He made
the world’s largest origami alligator out of hotel bed linens—but now the
Hilton wants them back!” cried the TV. “One big croc of
sheet, coming up next on Sick, Sad World!”
“You
doing okay?” Jane asked softly.
“I’m
okay. Just tired.”
“It’s
been a long week. I’m sorry it was so hard for you.”
“It’s
okay.” The scent of her hair was distracting him from the TV. “I love you.”
She
nestled closer to him. “I love you,” she whispered. “The show’s starting.”
He
kissed her hair. She looked up at him with eyes of the bluest blue.
Five
minutes later, Jane gasped and licked her red lips. “I don’t know why we
bother,” she mumbled.
“Hmmm?”
“Having
the TV on at all. We’re never going to watch this show.”
“Mmm.”
“Next
time I’m out, maybe I’ll get a T-shirt with a fur-lined bottom to keep my neck
warm.”
“Mmm.”
“Not
that I’m complaining or anything.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m
sorry I talk so much. I thought you’d be the talker since you’re the writer.
Everything in my head’s coming right out my mouth. La la LA la la!”
“Mmm
hmmm?”
“Yes,
keep doing that. Just like that. Keep going! Don’t stop!”
His
fingers circled the smooth skin of her stomach and toyed with her belly button
before slipping southward under the elastic waistbands of her running shorts
and white cotton underwear. Her thighs parted as she inhaled sharply.
The
doorknob rattled and turned. The door was then shoved opened an inch before the
blue sneaker stopped it.
“What?”
Jane shouted at her older brother as she kicked her bra under her bed.
“Phone,”
said
Jane
groaned. “Crap, I forgot that I turned the ringer off. No wonder we didn’t hear
it.” She walked over and reached for the white cordless phone at the head of
her bed by the stereo system.
“It’s
Quinn,” said Darius, looking at the floor. “I just know it.”
“Yo,”
said Jane to the phone. “Hi. Yeah, he’s here.” She handed the phone to Darius,
then walked through the oil-paint minefield to her closet by the bedroom door.
“What
were you guys doing?”
“Watching
TV!” Jane snapped. “What did it look like?”
“It
kinda looked like you were just standing around,” said her brother.
Jane
grabbed some clothes and stalked out of the room past
While
this was going on, Darius sat down on the bed with the cordless phone. “What’s
up?”
“Dari?”
came his younger sister’s voice over the line. “Did I interrupt anything?”
“We were
watching TV,” he said, scratching the back of his head. He heard
“Were
you watching the tube in her living room or her bedroom? Did you have the door
open?”
“Quinn,”
he said tiredly, “just tell me why you called.”
“Well,
Mom called a few minutes ago and told me not to go home for the rest of the
week.” Quinn’s voice rose with anxiety. “I think something’s going on, Dari.
She talked to Amy for a while and Amy made me go out in the hall, so I know
something’s happening. Do you know anything about this?”
Darius
groaned and closed his eyes. He could easily guess. The previous night, he had
overheard his mother tell her sister Amy that that she planned to divorce his
father as soon as possible. Now that she knew Darius had overheard the
conversation, it was entirely likely his mother had advanced the timetable and
had already served his father with divorce papers and some kind of legal
eviction notice from the house, which was in her name. Darius wondered how long
it took to get a restraining order, which she would undoubtedly toss onto the
bonfire as well.
“Dari?
Answer me!”
“Quinn,”
he began, struggling for the right words. “I’m not positive about this, but I
think Mom started divorce proceedings against Dad today. I’m sorry, I know—”
“Oh, shit!”
Quinn yelled. He heard her sobbing a moment later. His heart sank.
“Quinn,”
said Darius, keeping his voice calm. “Quinn, listen to me. Are you listening?”
She
continued crying, but in a more subdued tone. He took that as a yes. “Quinn, we
both knew this was coming. I know you knew it, okay? All I can tell you
is that I love you, and I’ll do anything I can to help you through this if
that’s what’s really going on. You got that?”
“Okay,”
she squeaked, still sobbing.
“You
mean everything to me, Quinn. You’re the best sister in the world. We’ll get
through this, I promise you we will.”
“Okay.”
She coughed and sniffed, the outburst largely passed.
“Are you
with Aunt Amy? Is she there? Put her on, would you?”
“Okay.”
Bumping noises came through the phone. A moment later, someone else picked up.
“Well,”
said Darius’s aunt in disgust, “whatever it was you told her, it seems to have
done a good job of screwing everything to hell and gone. Thanks loads.”
He held
back his temper, but only just. “Amy, did you talk to her about Mom getting a
divorce from Dad?”
“Of
course not! Who the hell gave you the right to talk about it and upset your
sister, anyway?”
“She
already knew!” Darius said back in a louder tone. “She heard everything that
went on between you and Mom at the law office yesterday, just like I did!”
After a few seconds of silence passed, he went on. “I talked to Mom this
morning and told her I’d heard the whole thing at the lawyer’s. From what she
told me, she was going to start the divorce today. Is that what’s going on?”
“You
don’t need to know about anything yet,” Amy snapped. “Just do what—”
“Damn
it!” Darius got to his feet and began pacing around Jane’s bedroom. “You and
Mom are treating Quinn like a little mushroom, keeping her in the dark and
feeding her shit all the time! Tell her the truth, would you? She can handle
it!”
“You’re
not her father!”
“And
isn’t that a damn good thing, now? Amy, do you really love Quinn? Tell me the
truth! Do you care about her?”
“Of
course I do! What the hell kind of question is that?”
“Then
trust her! She can handle it! You don’t have to dump everything on her at once,
but just trust her!”
He heard
Amy exhale heavily. “Look,” she said, “Helen asked me to tell you and Quinn not
go back to the house today. Quinn’s going to be with me for a while. I think
Rita’s coming down for the weekend, too.”
“Well,
that tears it,” said Darius in resignation. “She really is dumping him. She wouldn’t
get all three of the Fates together for anything else.” He wanted to say
“Gorgons” instead of “Fates,” but Amy would probably hang up on him. She read a
lot, he recalled, and she almost certainly knew Greek mythology.
“Stay
out of it, would you?” his aunt said in irritation. “Let us handle this!”
“Stay
out of it?” He tried not to shout, but he was furious. “My parents are getting
divorced, we have to abandon our house barely two weeks after we move into it,
and you want me to stay out of it? Am
I in this family or not? What is it with you? Quinn’s my sister and I’m trying
to help her like you’re helping Mom! Stop trying to shut me out!”
Silence.
“Okay,”
said Amy, still steamed, “let’s drop it. Do you have somewhere to stay? I can’t
take you in, we don’t have the room here.”
Darius
burst into sarcastic laughter. “Of course there’s no room for me at the
inn! Fine, look, all I care about is that you take care of my sister. Where are
you two staying, anyway?”
“I’m not
going to pass that information along, if you don’t mind,” Amy growled.
“Oh,
what, so I can’t tell Dad where she’s at? Amy, I’m not the Antichrist. Give me
a break! Can’t I get a phone number for your room or your cell phone or
something, so I can call you if I need to?”
After a
moment, Amy came on again in a calmer tone. “I’ll think about it. Just tell me
where you’re staying.”
“Where
I’m staying?” Darius looked around and realized Jane was standing in the
doorway fully dressed, listening and watching. “I don’t have any idea where I’m
staying. I can’t go back to the house until when?”
“Probably
until after the weekend.” A pause. “Quinn’s in the bathroom. Okay, listen to
me. You spill this to Quinn, and you’re toast, you got it?”
He shut
his eyes and silently counted to three. His mother’s two sisters had never been
particularly friendly with him before now. They both apparently thought he was
too much like his dad, whom they hated with a passion. “What?” he said
through his teeth.
“Helen
served your father with divorce papers at his office this afternoon, and he
apparently went ballistic and pushed the server around, and now he’s downtown
at the police station. She’s having him thrown out of the house. He won’t even
be able to collect his things until after a cooling-off period this weekend. I
think she’ll probably get a restraining order, too.”
Darius
let out his breath and sat down on Jane’s bed again. “Is Dad under arrest? Is
he in jail?”
“I don’t
know. Helen took the day off from work for this. She was going to do it later,
but when she found out you knew about it, she was afraid... she just thought it
would be better not to wait.”
“Well, I
didn’t tell Dad,” Darius said in a flat voice. “He obviously didn’t know it was
coming, so there’s your proof. I don’t happen like him very much, if you didn’t
already know.”
“Okay,
okay, already! Look, you need to avoid him for a while if you can, particularly
if he tries to see you at the high school. Helen thinks he might try to get one
or both of you to stay with him as a bargaining chip or something.”
Darius
gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Like that would ever happen.”
“Quinn
doesn’t want Helen and Jake to break up. I don’t really know what she’d do if
Jake tried to talk to her. We have to be careful.”
“I
know.” Darius felt the bed shift. Jane sat close and gently put an arm around
him. “Amy,” he went on, lowering his voice, “I’m sorry I got all hot about this
stuff, but I’m worried for Quinn and I want her to get through this. I really
appreciate you being there with her. You’ll do a better job of getting her
around than I could.”
A pause.
“Thank you,” she said. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Quinn’s told me
a lot about you, about what you’ve done for her since you got out of military
school. Look, Darius, I think maybe you and I are getting off on the wrong
foot. I didn’t like it that you told her about the divorce coming, but you’re
right, it’s all underway. Given what Quinn’s told me about you helping her out
with everything, though, I—”
“Forget
it,” said Darius. He didn’t want to hear an apology, if she was leading up to
one. “Just take care of her. I don’t care about anything else. Mom wants to
throw Dad out, fine, whatever. I don’t have any more clothes, though. All the
rest are in my room.”
“Well,
you can’t go home. Stay away from it completely. Helen’s there right now with...
with some other people.”
He
exhaled and stared at the floor. His mother probably had rent-a-cops with her.
It figured. His dad had a lousy temper and was prone to stew about things
forever and a day, particularly if he’d been drinking. It was hard to say what
he’d do.
“You can
stay here,” Jane whispered.
Darius
turned to her. “What? Amy, hold on for a moment.” He covered the phone’s
mouthpiece.
“You can
stay here,” said Jane. “We have lots of space. You can use my sister Penny’s
room, down the hall. I think Wind’s got some old clothes here, or
Darius
stared at Jane. She tilted her head and stared back, widening her eyes and
looking innocent. “You have to fix the lock on my door, after all,” she added.
After a
long moment, Darius raised the phone to his mouth again. He continued to look
at Jane. “Amy, I can stay with the Lanes. Did Quinn give you the number here?”
“Yes,
I’ve got it. Um—” Amy cleared her throat again “—Quinn said you have a
girlfriend. Does she live there?”
Darius
gave in to the inevitable. He handed the phone to Jane. “My Aunt Amy,” he said.
“May as well join the
“You can
change in here,” said Jane, her hand over the mouthpiece. She smiled.
He gave
her a tired smile in return but shook his head no. “Way too weird now,” he
said, and he left the room. Halfway down the hall, he noticed he was tracking
brown spots from one sock. He’d stepped in a puddle of burnt umber oil paint on
his way out of Jane’s room.
When he
returned fifteen minutes later after dressing and cleaning the hall, Jane was
still on the phone. “Oh, here he comes,” she said. “Yeah, good to talk to you,
too, Amy.” She handed the phone to Darius.
“I’m
back,” he said, sitting down again. “Sorry to break up the coffee klatch.”
“I’ll go
ahead and give you my cell phone number,” said Amy. “Got a pencil?”
Darius
looked around but saw nothing. “Pencil?” he whispered to Jane. She jumped from
the bed and grabbed one from a desk drawer with a scrap of paper, and Darius
wrote down the number Amy gave him.
“I was
thinking,” Darius said as he wrote, “that it’s probably better after all if you
don’t tell me where you’re at. I’d hate to say something out in public and have
Dad overhear it. This will be fine, as long as you’ve got your phone on all the
time.”
“I
always do.” A pause, then she sighed and spoke in a low voice. “Darius, I was
sorry to hear about your roommate at the academy. I can’t imagine what it must
have been like for you to—”
“Drop
it,” he interrupted quickly. He fell silent, remembering, then shook it off. “I
don’t want to talk about it, but thanks anyway.”
“Okay.”
“Oh,
Amy?”
“What?”
“If
Quinn’s got some things she has to do for the pep club, help her out with that,
would you? If she’s busy, she won’t have time to think about all this.
“Yeah,
she was telling me about it. She’s in charge of a pep rally tomorrow afternoon
or something. I’ve never been the school-spirit sort, and pep rallies gave me
hives, but maybe I’ll do that. And... and thanks for
helping her get that job. She really likes being the president, and I think the
pep club likes it, too.”
“That’s
our Quinn. Just get her working on something. It’ll perk her up. She can handle
things. Just let her prove it.”
“Okay,”
said Amy in a subdued tone. “I’ll check in with you later. Hi to Jane for me.
She sounds special. I hope to meet her soon.”
He
nodded. “We’ll save a seat for you at the wedding on Sunday, no problem. If
it’s a girl, can we name her after you?”
“What?”
Jane shouted. She grabbed for the phone, but Darius kept it from her.
Amy
laughed. “You almost got me with that one,” she said. “Goodbye, Darius. I hope
Jane lets you live.”
“Bye,
Amy.” He pushed the button to hang up the phone while Jane tried to wrestle him
down. “We may as well get up,” he said, resisting her efforts without a lot of
trouble. He pulled up her T-shirt as they wrestled and kissed her bare stomach,
then relaxed. “I’m not in the mood after all that.”
“Damn
it,” said Jane. She let go of him and flopped on her back on the bed. “You were
really getting somewhere, too, before
“Good to
know it.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Hungry?”
Jane growled
like a great cat, her eyes locked on him.
“Pizza,
I meant.”
She
subsided and got off the bed. “Pizza will have to do,” she grumbled, then
groaned aloud when she looked at the TV. The end credits to Sick, Sad World were
scrolling by. “Oh, damn it!” she said, pointing. “We missed the second
half of the show, about the psychic lady with the huge boobs! It was perfect
for you, too.”
Jane
showed Darius the spare bedroom that had once belonged to her sister Penny, and
he put his backpack there, dropping his running clothes in a pile beside it.
“Right
next to my room,” said Jane. “How convenient.”
“Not
without a lock.” He stopped and looked at Penny’s door. “This one’s got...
three locks?”
“She
sold pot in high school.
“Oh.” He
flipped one of the two deadbolts back and forth. “Problem solved. Maybe.”
On the
way out of the house, Darius gave Jane the gist of the conversation he’d had
with Quinn and Amy. “Knowing Amy and Rita,” he said, “they’ll take Quinn out to
every five-star restaurant and spa within fifty miles. Her weekend’s all cut
out for her. She could probably use the break.”
“I
thought she was going to
“Well,
you and I can, but I don’t know if Quinn will make it. Maybe it’s better if she
didn’t.” He pulled the front door closed as they left the house. “I don’t know
what’ll happen. I don’t trust my dad to do anything smart. If you happen to see
a dark blue, late-model Lexus driving around, tell me right away—and don’t get
near him. I don’t want you involved in this.”
“You
think he’d start a fight?”
Darius
grimaced. “We’ve had enough of them. Amy said he roughed up the guy who served
the divorce papers on him, so I dunno. You haven’t even seen him yet, which is
worse. I wish you knew what he looked like so you could avoid him.”
They
walked a block, hand in hand, before he spoke again. “How do your parents do
it?” he asked.
“Do
what?”
“Stay
together without killing each other.”
“Hmmm.
Part of the secret is that they don’t stay together. They usually run
off to opposite ends of the earth for weeks or months at a time. This thing to
the A-name country is sort of an exception, though I’d bet only one of them
will come home, and the other will stay a while longer or run off again.”
They
walked another block before Jane kicked at a pebble and said, “You or Quinn
have told me practically every awful secret you have, I think, so I guess it’s
my turn. My parents aren’t married. I mean, it’s a common-law marriage now, but
they never made it official. They’ve been together thirty-odd years, and every
now and then they pop out a new kid out of the kiln, between running off to the
ends of the earth on those artistic missions from God.”
“So, not
getting married and not seeing each other are the secrets to making a marriage
work.”
“I don’t
know. They smoke pot, too, so maybe that helps.” After a pause, she added, “I
don’t, in case you were about to ask.”
Darius
looked at her, but she was looking at the ground. He put his arm around her
waist and pulled her close as they walked.
Jane
shook her head, then spoke. “My oldest sister, Summer, she’s been married
twice, but I think one of her kids was with some guy she had a one-nighter
with. Wind, my oldest brother, he gets married now and then, but he always gets
dumped. He’s one of those hypersensitive guys who’s like a big soggy noodle of
‘feelings, nothing more than feelings.’” She sang the last few words in an
off-key voice, then went on in a normal tone. “Penny, the one whose room you’ve
got, she’ll never get married. I wonder sometimes if she’s gay. She’s in
“Funny.
Same with me, I guess.”
“I never
knew how the Cosbys did it. I used to think they were really married and that
was their real family, and I thought that was so cool. Then Penny told me they
were just TV actors and they were married to other people. Boy, was I bummed. I
never believed in Santa Claus, but I believed in the Cosbys.”
Half a
block went by in silence. Rush hour traffic continued to build on the streets.
“So,”
said Jane, “you want to marry me, or was that a joke, what you said on the
phone?”
Darius
gave a faint smile. “I’m trying to remember the age of consent in this state. I
think it’s seventeen. Ask me next year on November eleventh.”
“Okay.”
She sighed. “I guess we have all those wild oats we have to sow first, though.”
“If you like
wild oats,” said Darius, “you can have mine. I’m not much for nature food.”
“Penny
used to give me oatmeal for breakfast before she drove me and Trent to school.
I wouldn’t eat it until she put food dye in it. I liked green oatmeal best.”
“You’re
my green oatmeal, Jane.”
Jane
leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. “That was almost
romantic,” she said. “Better than anything I’ve ever heard from anyone else.
You know, I have to tell you something. Almost every other guy your age, we’ll
say sixteen since you’re almost there anyway, none of them are like you. Or
you’re not like them, whatever. I don’t get it. You’re sort of like... older.”
“Older?”
“Mature.
It’s kind of weird. Good weird, not run-away-screaming weird.”
“Oh.” He
thought a while. “Probably from military school. I always looked up to the
commandant, Colonel Armstrong. I wanted to be like him. He had it all together.
And the staff really put the screws to you. You had to make choices all the
time and live with what you picked, and if you picked badly, you knew it. A lot
of the other guys were jerks, too, and you had to deal with them all the time.
It was hard. I guess I grew up some while I was there.”
“I don’t
think I could do that, go to military school. I’d run off in the first five
minutes.”
“I tried
that three times the first month. It didn’t work. I’m glad it didn’t, now.”
Jane
laughed. “We’re a weird couple, you know?”
Darius
grinned. “You’ve got a nice couple. Nothing weird about them, though.”
Darius
expected Jane would kick him for that, but she didn’t. She looked away and
didn’t speak for a few seconds. “I was with this guy once,” she said, her voice
low, but she stopped there.
He
glanced at her. From her tone, he guessed this part would not be good. “Go
ahead,” he said after waiting a while.
“Some
guys don’t like hearing stuff about me being with other guys. Fooling around.”
He
shrugged. “It’s up to you. If it’s important, just tell me.”
“It’s
not that important.” A muscle twitched in her cheek. “I was with this guy last
year. We were out in the woods, sort of checking each other out.” She was
silent a few steps more. “He laughed when he saw my boobs. He said they weren’t
worth the trouble of looking at them.”
Darius
took a slow, deep breath and made mental notes about what he would do if he
ever met this particular guy. “I hope you kicked him where it hurt,” he said.
“No,”
said Jane in a sullen tone. “I ran off. It doesn’t matter.”
“Anyone
I would know?” Darius asked. His mouth was dry. He was thinking of breaking
someone’s fingers, one by one, with his bare hands. It would be fun.
“Forget
it,” she said. “It was all a big mistake.”
He filed
away his revenge fantasy. It could wait. He remembered something his literature
instructor had said about Shakespeare. “There’s so little beauty in the world,”
he said, quoting, “and so few who appreciate what beauty there is.”
“I think
I look good, but I’m not beautiful.”
“There
is no beauty anywhere without you.” It slipped out of his mouth, made up on the
spot.
Jane
slowed and stopped, so he did, too. They stood by a small park with a lot of
trees and grass; people walked by on the sidewalk without looking at them.
His arms
encircled her waist, and he touched his forehead to hers. “You have your head
together about everything,” he said softly. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you do
your own thing, and you don’t care what anyone else thinks about it. You are
the coolest person in the whole world.”
“I
know,” she whispered. When she raised her head, his mouth found hers. She
tasted like gummy bears. She’d eaten a handful before they’d left her house.
He
pulled away, about to say something else or maybe kiss her again.
“Uh-oh,”
she said. He opened his eyes. She was looking to his right as if she’d seen
something bad.
He
turned and saw the dark blue Lexus pulling up by the sidewalk right behind him.
His dad was inside, glaring at him as he opened the door, the car still
running.
“Oh,
fuck.” Darius caught Jane by the shoulders and tried to direct her away. “Get
out of here now. I’ll see what he wants.” Jane didn’t move, staring at the
Lexus with wide eyes. “I’m not kidding!” Darius half-shouted at her. “Go!”
Startled,
Jane took off, but she didn’t run. She jogged away, then turned around and
stopped when she was forty feet into the park, looking back through the row of
trees.
Darius
took a deep breath as he faced his father. The old man was livid. It was just
like the old days, when his dad came home from work, boiling for a fight.
“Do you
know what your mother did?” his father shouted as he rounded the car. “Do you
know?”
Darius
didn’t answer. He felt his hands balling up into fists again, arms pulling up
slightly to strike out.
“I asked
you a question, goddammit!” his
father shouted, stopping on the sidewalk about eight feet away. Pedestrians
immediately turned away, walking into the street or through the park to avoid
getting between the two of them.
“I
haven’t been home today,” said Darius in a level voice.
“You
don’t about any of this? She’s pulled the most goddamn stupid stunt of her fucking
life! She got me served with divorce papers and almost got me arrested! She’s
trying to break up the family! Didn’t you know she was doing this? You didn’t
know anything about this?”
Darius
just waited and watched. He knew everyone was staring at them, but that didn’t
matter.
“Answer
me! Are you covering up for her? Are you a part of this shit, too, or are you
just plain fucking stupid?”
“Take
your pick,” said Darius, his patience eroding swiftly.
His
father’s look changed to pure rage. He started forward with his right hand out
like a claw, ready to grab his son by the left arm.
“Don’t,”
said Darius, half turning without thinking about it. Presenting his left side
to his father, he measured out a haymaker with his right fist that would take
his father down if it connected at all.
His
father stopped short, perhaps sensing what would happen if he took another
step. “Think you can take me on?” the old man snarled. “I’ll beat you like
you’ve never been beat.” He pointed, his finger jabbing toward Darius’s chest.
“I’ll teach you to laugh at me, you cowardly little turd!”
Darius
waited. It wasn’t worth talking back. It would only distract him from laying
the old man out if he took one more step and tried to grab him.
“You
ungrateful shit!” his father hissed, finger still jabbing at Darius. “I did
everything I could to make a real man out of you, and you treat me like this. I
hope you rot in hell! I should call that school and make them take you away for
the rest of your life! I should call the police, better yet, and have you
thrown in jail and let them beat the shit out of you, the other convicts. I
think I will, in fact. How do you like that, boy? How dare you do this
to me! Do you hear me? You’re not my son anymore! You’re nothing! You’re
nothing to me, period, forever! Do you hear me?”
Seconds
passed after the last outburst. Darius’s father dropped his hand. “You’re a
coward,” he said. “I knew it. You’re just like your mother, doing everything
you can to ruin me. Well, I won’t be ruined by you or her! She’s destroying the family, not me! But she won’t get me,
no sir! And neither will you! You’re going to regret that I ever let you live,
you—”
Flashing
blue-and-red lights suddenly distracted both Darius and his father. A white
“Hey!”
he heard his father shout. “Come back
here, you fucking little shit! Hey! He’s getting away! God fucking damn it, he’s—” His dad’s voice was
suddenly cut off, and onlookers began shouting and cheering with excitement. It
was clear that a fight had broken out.
“Keep
moving,” said Darius in a low voice to Jane. “Don’t look back. Just walk.” He
stiffly put his arm around Jane’s waist, and they left the area as if they were
any other teenage couple taking a shortcut through the park.
They
walked down a residential street that Darius did not recognize. He dropped his
arm from around Jane’s waist, but she caught his arm and pulled him close.
“Well,”
said Darius in a strained voice, “that was Dad. That wasn’t too bad, I guess.
We’ve had worse.” He tried to swallow. Only now did he realize how afraid he’d
been. His hands trembled as he dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet,
glanced inside it, and put it back. “Can you tell me where Pizza King is from
here? I’m lost.”
“I never
heard a guy ask directions before,” said Jane, sounding equally strained.
“Yeah,
we had a class on it at the academy,” said Darius, his tension easing. “It was
a last resort after you’ve used your compass and the stars and moss on trees to
figure out where you were. The last resort after your primal male gut
instincts, I mean. Once you know you’re really lost, it’s okay to ask, but not
before.”
“Spoken
like a real guy,” said Jane. “Go that way, to your left and around the old
church. It’s not a church anymore, it’s the town hall, but everyone still calls
it the old church.”
Darius
rubbed his mouth. “Sorry about all that, back there.”
Jane’s
fingers squeezed his arm for a moment. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
He
started to say something, but he stopped himself and just walked. He put his
arm around Jane again.
“We need
to see a bad movie tonight,” he finally said. “Something really awful. Attack
of the Killer Tomatoes.”
“Hmmm,”
said Jane. “Night of the Lepus.”
“Reptilicus.”
“Plan
Nine from Outer Space.”
Darius
snorted in amusement. “Why is it that all the really bad movies are science
fiction?”
“Xanadu.”
Both of
them winced.
“Battle
Beyond the Stars,” said Darius.
“Um, Krull.”
“How
about Destroy All Monsters?”
Jane
thought. “Flash Gordon was pretty bad, in a good way.”
“Actually,
every movie we just named was pretty good.”
“Yeah.”
Pause. “Except Xanadu.”
“Jesus.”
Darius shivered and crossed himself. “Let’s get that one. My treat.”
“You
really are the original incurable romantic, aren’t you?”
“I had a
class on it at the academy, right after Machine Guns 101. You have a VHS player
at home?”
“Yeah,
but sometimes it eats the tapes. I think
Pizza
King came into view around the next corner. “I guess asking directions works
sometimes,” said Darius. “If I’d had my compass with me, though, things would
have been a lot different.”
A police
car drove by on the street. Darius looked after it for a moment, then forced
himself to look away. “My treat for pizza tonight, too,” he said. “No good
reason.”
“That’s
the best reason of all,” Jane said. He noticed she was watching the police car,
too. It turned a corner around a building and was gone. Darius exhaled, feeling
light on his feet. Luckily, they had reached the restaurant by this point. He
held the door open for Jane as they went inside.
“
Darius
blinked as his eyes adjusted to the interior of Pizza King. Standing right in
front of them was Jane’s brother—now dressed in an old T-shirt and jeans, with
an arm around an attractive twenty-something brunette with a nose ring and a
bare midriff. The four of them looked at one another in surprise.
“We took
her car,” said
Jane
nodded and sighed. “Hi, Monique,” she said with a certain lack of enthusiasm.
“Good to
see you, too, Jane,” said the brunette. She gave Darius a quizzical look, then
shrugged. “You guys up for a double date?”
After
hearing Monique’s offer, Darius glanced at
“Jane
and I wanted to talk about stuff,” he said. “We were—”
“Oh,
come on!” said Monique. She turned to
Jane’s
face colored. “I don’t think—” she began.
“Well—”
said
“Jane,
come on. It’ll be fun!” Monique motioned to Darius. “You can tell me about your
friend, too. Is he from around here?”
“Oh...”
Jane visibly gave in and gestured at Darius. “This is Darius. He just moved
here. He’s—” She appeared to reconsider what she was about to say “—he’s in a
lot of my classes at Lawndale High, and we run together.”
“Is he
an artist?” Monique asked, leading the way to one of the side booths with
teal-green seats.
“I can
paint walls and ceilings,” Darius said, remembering spring fix-up days at
Buxton Ridge. “That’s about the limit of my artistic ability.”
“You write,”
Jane reminded him.
“Oh.
Yeah, a little.”
Monique
made
“I
haven’t seen it yet,” said Jane. “He just got here.”
“I’d
rather be unrecognized and bitter,” said Darius. “I’m a lot more fun at parties
that way.”
“Oh,
it’s a line,” said Monique, winking at Darius. “Guys used to tell me stuff like
that all the time when they found out I was in a band and they wanted to go out
with me. Make him show you his stuff so you’re sure he’s not pulling your leg.”
The wink
made Darius uncomfortable, though he didn’t really believe Monique was
interested in him. He turned to Jane. “What kind of pizza do you want?”
“Anything,”
said Jane, scratching glumly at the edge of the tabletop with a fingernail.
“You pick.”
“They
have that Southern Barbecue Bonanza Special,” he said. “We can have them take
off the peanuts this time.”
“Whatever,”
she said. Darius began to wonder if she was worried about Monique making a play
for him—or, worse, worried that he would make his own play. His discomfort
grew, but he wanted to make the best of it.
“That
sounds good to me,” said Monique. “We can get the super-giant size. Thin crust
okay? What do you say,
“Mmm... whatever.”
“Split
the check?” asked Darius, looking from Monique to
“Sure,”
Monique said. “I was buying for
Lipstick,
Darius realized, and he groaned. I’ve got Jane’s lipstick on my face.
“He
knows his bad movies,” Jane said, becoming animated. “We’re going to rent Xanadu
for tonight, assuming we can keep the VCR from eating it like it did Duel.”
Darius
looked at Jane and raised an eyebrow. “Duel? You didn’t tell me that you
liked good movies.”
Jane
drew herself up. “You never asked,” she said primly.
“You
were both probably busy with other things,” Monique said with another glance at
Darius’s mouth. “So, Darius—is that like a Roman name or something? What do you
think of
He stole
a glance at Jane. “Beautiful,” he said. “Full of surprises.”
“I was
talking about
The
waiter arrived, the meal was ordered, and the talk turned to Monique’s band,
the Harpies. It turned out she had once played bass guitar for
When the
pizza and bread sticks were demolished and the bill taken care of by Darius and
Monique, the foursome wandered outside and stood near the door. It was early
evening, and rush hour was well underway.
“Maybe
we should head back,” said Darius, glancing at Jane. “We have homework to do.”
“Mmm-hmmm,”
said Monique, looking them over. “I’ll bet. Wanna walk back or ride with Trent
and me?”
“S’okay,
we’ll walk,” said Jane. “We’ll stop by the video store on the way.”
“Not a
prob.”
“Oh.”
Jane caught
“You
like her?” Monique said. Darius turned, then nodded. “She’s something,” she
went on. “She’s her own quirky little world. I mean that in a good way. You two
go running a lot?”
“Two or
three days a week,” he said. “She should run track. She’s fast as hell.”
“Ah. Has
she taken you running through those woods south of Cranberry Commons Mall?”
Darius
sensed the conversation had taken an unwanted turn. “We go running a lot of
places,” he said carefully. “Just around.”
“Well,”
said Monique with a grin, “if she really likes you, she might take you for a
nature tour. I think she’s kind of a tease, though. She might run off and leave
you there in the trees.”
Darius
scratched his nose. Suddenly it all fell into place. “That guy Jesse’s little
brother said so?”
Monique
laughed. “Oops, didn’t mean to give that away! She doesn’t hang around him
anymore. Don’t tell Jane I said anything. She’d be really pissed.”
“I
won’t,” said Darius with a little smile. Time to change the subject. “It’s her
business, not mine.”
“Well,
you’ll probably meet him anyway. Danny goes to
Danny
Moreno, moron. Darius filed it away just as he noticed Jane and Trent
returning. “Good to talk with you,” he said to Monique. “And you were right.
Jane really is something.”
Monique
gave him the first genuine smile he’d seen on her all evening. “I’m glad she
finally found someone who thinks so.”
“Have a
nice chat?” Jane asked, walking up.
“We were
comparing sex-change operations,” said Darius. “I think hers came out better
than mine.”
Monique
shrieked with laughter. Trent looked pained. “Too much information,” he
muttered.
“I
dunno,” said Jane, smiling at Darius. “At least he kept his sensitive side.
Tell them about your pink flamethrower.”
Monique
and Trent waved as they walked off toward a white Sunbird parked on the street
nearby. Darius and Jane watched them go.
“Is she
staying over, too?” Darius asked. “I was thinking this could get sort of
crowded.”
“Sometimes
she does, but if you turn up the stereo, you won’t notice anything. And Penny’s
room has locks,” Jane reminded him. They set out, talking about their
schoolwork, and with Jane’s navigational directions found themselves at the
video store fifteen minutes later.
“Xanadu
is in,” said Jane. She picked a video box off the shelf and handed it to
Darius.
“No
surprise there,” he said, reading the back of the video. “I just know that song
is going to stick in my head for weeks, though.” He looked around the store,
his thoughts adrift. “I should call Amy and tell her what happened. I probably
should have called about it earlier.”
“What
happened with your dad, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
The memory of the fight came back to him, and he stood in the aisle with the
video in hand, not noticing anything going on around him.
Jane
gently bumped against him and broke the reverie. “You okay?”
“Oh.
Yeah.” He went to the counter and paid for the video, signing up for a teenage
membership card as well, then he and Jane walked out into the evening air. It
was still warm from the day.
“Twenty-two
years,” he said after they crossed the street and were heading for Jane’s home.
“What?”
“How
long my parents were married.”
Jane
took his hand as they walked.
“I’m
still sorry you saw that,” he said. “Dad doing his rant thing out in the
street. He just loses it and doesn’t care where he is or who’s watching.”
“Was he
always like that?”
“Yeah.
He gets clueless when he gets mad. I wonder what happened after we left.”
Darius tried to push the issue out of his head. He noticed a drugstore on the
next block. “Want some more gummy bears?”
“Oh. I
guess I could use another bag. We’re low on movie snacks at home, too, so maybe
we could get some microwave popcorn. My treat.”
“Okay.”
They
separated as they went inside. Darius cruised down the candy aisle and picked
up a few things, including Jane’s gummy bears. He continued down the aisle,
searching for Jane, then took another aisle and walked down that to the back of
the store. In moments he found himself looking at a display for feminine
hygiene products. Looking around, he spotted a nearby rack with condoms and
pregnancy tests.
Jane
wanted to go slowly in the lovemaking department, but Darius wasn’t stupid. The
last few times they’d been alone together, things had moved quickly into
make-out sessions of increasing intensity. Good intentions were drowning in
hormones. It was only a matter of time.
He
peeked around the corner of the aisle and spotted Jane with an armload of chips
and microwave popcorn boxes at the pharmacy counter. He quickly walked back up
the aisle, picked up a small box of three condoms (in assorted neon colors—he
hoped it would make her laugh), and went to the checkout counter at the front
of the store. The cashier rang up his purchases without comment. Seeing no one
else around but the cashier, he took the condoms out of the box and stuffed
them in a back pocket. The box itself went in a trashcan. When Jane walked to
the front of the store again, Darius had only the bag with the candy inside. He
took the snack bag from her and carried it as they went outside, hand in hand.
Neither said anything as they walked to Jane’s house together until they were
just a couple of street away.
“So,
what do you want to do when you get out of high school?” Darius asked.
“Be rich
and famous and live in
“Don’t
want to travel the world like your folks?”
“Only if
I’m paid to. What do you want to do?”
“Write.
Be a famous author. I don’t know if that will work, though, because I’ll have
to drink a lot to be a famous author, and I don’t drink. I’ll have to get a day
job, then. Janitor, maybe a fry chef.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “Come to
think of it, with everything else going on, I’ll probably have to get a job
anyway pretty soon. I don’t think I’m going to get the same allowance I used to
get.”
“If you
get a job, I can go back to my art again while you’re working,” said Jane.
“Frankly, I haven’t had much time for it lately, what with having my clothes
pulled off every five minutes—well, my shirt pulled off, anyway. I’m not saying
we should stop, you understand, but—”
“You
gotta do what you gotta do,” said Darius.
“Yeah.”
Jane reached around and stuck a hand in one of Darius’s back pants pockets.
Plastic crinkled when she did.
A moment
later, she pulled out the packet of three condoms and held it up in front of
her face.
Darius
felt his heart stop. “Uh—” he said.
Clutching
the condoms, Jane turned to Darius, but she began laughing so hard it was
impossible for her to speak. She pointed to the condoms, then doubled over on
the sidewalk and howled.
“There
something wrong with neon?” he asked, his face burning.
Laughing
even harder, Jane fell over on her side onto a freshly mown lawn. She pounded
her thighs and rolled away from him in hysteria.
“Does
this run in your family?” he asked. Unable to stop laughing, Jane tried to
crawl away, then lay on her stomach and beat the grass with her fists.
Darius
sighed and looked in the snack bag. “You want some chips while you’re down there?”
he said, but Jane was coughing now and paid no attention. He lowered the bag
and looked in: corn chips, popcorn, cheese puffs, a jar of hot salsa, the Xanadu
video in its plastic bag—and, at the bottom, a small box.
He
reached into the bag and took out the box. Three condoms—prelubricated, ribbed
“for extra pleasure,” and in patriotic designs of red, white, and blue.
“You
bought your own,” he said in astonishment.
Jane had
almost gotten control of herself, but when she saw Darius holding the box, she
shrieked and fell over on her back, laughing uncontrollably once more.
It took
twenty minutes more for them to negotiate the ten-minute walk to Jane’s house.
They arrived during early twilight with their arms around each other, still
chuckling and wiping their eyes. Grass was stuck to Jane’s red jacket and the
knees of Darius’s black jeans, where he had tried to pick her up while she was
rolling around for the second time.
The
chuckling ended when they heard Monique’s high-pitched voice from somewhere on
the second floor. Darius and Jane stopped at the end of the driveway beside
Monique’s white Sunbird. They let go of each other as they listened.
“What’s
wrong with you?” Monique shouted. “Why can’t you get up just a scrap of
ambition and set up regular practice for the band? You’re never going to get
anywhere if you don’t set yourself some goals so you can take Spiral to the
next level!”
“You are
just so completely full of bullshit, it’s a miracle your eyes aren’t brown
instead of gray!” Monique yelled back. “If you tell them to do it, the guys
will do it! Jesse, Max, and Nick look up to you! They’ll whine, but they’ll do
it! Just do it,
Jane
sighed. “There goes the mood,” she said, scratching her stomach under her black
V-neck shirt.
“Can’t
go to my place,” said Darius. “Can’t stay here, until they leave.”
“Speaking
of here, have I ever shown you our most excellent gazebo?” asked Jane. “It is a
treasure without peer anywhere on this block, or so the sages tell us.”
“I don’t
believe you have,” said Darius, trying to ignore Monique’s next profane
outburst. “Lead on, milady.”
They
walked around the side of the house. The Lanes’ backyard was fenced in with a
solid-board wall eight feet high. In the middle of the yard was a white wooden
gazebo, ten feet across and perhaps fifteen feet high, with a unicorn
weathervane on top. Darius looked around and noted the old tractor parked by
the back fence in a flower bed, the curious sculpture of an artist’s palette
supported by what appeared to be the titan Atlas on the other side, and a
mirror ball on a pedestal nearby. The yard was overgrown but not horribly so.
The sky was still illuminated, though the sun was down behind the fence and
surrounding houses.
Darius
put the grocery bag on the gazebo steps, and he and Jane sat down on the bench
on the gazebo’s far side. The air was a little cool. The windows of the house
facing the backyard were all dark except for those to the kitchen, but the
shades were drawn. Crickets chirped and a few evening birds sang. They could
hear truck engines grind, a horn beep, tires screech as someone braked at a
stop sign.
“I hope
we don’t turn out like that,” said Jane. “Like Trent and Monique. Or our
parents.”
“We’ll be
much worse, I’m sure.” Darius turned his head and kissed Jane’s hair.
“I hope
so.” She was quiet for a minute. “Can you buy a flamethrower, a real working
one? For artistic purposes, I mean.”
“Probably
not on the open market. Damn gun-control laws.”
“I was
thinking how that would look as part of a sculpture—you know, like a big fiery
fountain on top of a waterfall of fire in a burning lake. It would be really
cool for evening parties.”
“Yeah,
but it would stink to high heaven. Flamethrowers use jellied gasoline. It
smells awful, sort of like napalm.”
“Oh.
Hmmm. I could make everyone put clothespins on their noses.”
The
front door of the Lane home slammed. After a few moments, a car started up and
backed out of the driveway. Tires squealing, it raced down the darkening street
and was gone.
“Farewell,
Monique,” said Jane, “until next week. Or month.” The sounds of the suburb at
dusk returned.
“I love
you,” said Darius.
Jane
covered her mouth, pretending to yawn. “Tell me a poem, slave,” she said.
He
thought. “Okay.” Remembering his favorite sonnet of Shakespeare from his
literature classes at Buxton Ridge, he began speaking in a normal tone, as if
he were not quoting but was instead saying what he really thought.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
“Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
“And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
“Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
“And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
“And every fair from fair sometime declines,
“By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
“But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
“Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
“Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
“When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
“So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
“So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
By the
time he finished, it was dark outside, only a faint illumination left in the
sky. Jane leaned against him, her face turned away, her breathing so low he could
barely feel her move.
After a
long silence, Jane pulled away and turned around. Her face seemed to glow in
the night. “Thank you,” she said.
His
fingers touched her cheek, bumped against her silver hoop earrings. The
distance between them closed to nothing, and their lips met.
It was
hard to do more than that on the narrow bench. Jane broke away after a few
moments and stood up. She took off her jacket and tossed it over a railing,
then pulled her shirt over her head. Darius got up and kissed her shoulders and
chest as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off him, then reached down to
unbutton his pants as he undid her bra in back. They moved slowly but
deliberately, mouths kissing and fingers exploring bodies as their clothing
dropped away. No one was looking for them. They were alone.
They
were down to their socks, both packs of condoms on the bench and ready to be
opened, when Jane leaned against one of the six support pillars of the gazebo.
Darius pressed against her. His hands slid down her smooth back and cupped her firm
buttocks, lifting them. On impulse, she jumped and wrapped her legs around his
waist, arms tight around his neck. Their mouths locked together, condoms
forgotten, seconds from fitting themselves together as one. They fell against
the rounded pillar with their full weight.
The top
of the pillar broke free of the rotting roof supports, and the poorly fitted
railing and bench connections lower down snapped off. The falling pillar took
Jane and Darius with it, limbs flailing in fright, and dumped them safely on
the long thick grass with the wind knocked out of them. Wooden beams squealed
as two more pillars broke free, and the high pointed rooftop of the gazebo
tilted and collapsed upon the elevated floor and shattered pillar stumps,
smashing everything beneath it flat.
Jane and
Darius lay naked on the ground clutching each other and gasping for air. They
stared at the ruins of the gazebo.
“Are you
okay?” Darius whispered.
“I think
so,” said Jane. “You?”
“What
the hell.”
The sounds
of the night returned as if nothing had happened. When they got to their sock
feet, they were able to find their clothing and pull it free, with the
exception of their boots, which had been dropped in the middle of the gazebo
floor. They got dressed, retrieved the condoms and the undamaged sack of
snacks, and stood back.
“It’s a
sign from the gods,” said Jane.
“Fuck,
man,” said Darius. “Can’t they just send an e-mail?”
“Maybe
this was their e-mail.”
Darius
nodded. It made sense. “I owe you a gazebo,” he said, wondering how he would
pay for it.
She
waved it off. “Worry about it later. It was falling apart anyway.”
He
sighed. “Guess this means we have to watch a movie after all.”
“I guess
so.”
“And
maybe I’d better sleep in Penny’s room by myself.”
“Yeah, I
think that was what the e-mail said.”
“Damn.”
He put an arm around her and they kissed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered.
“Thank you again for the poem.”
“You’re
worth it.”
“I love
you.”
“I love
you, too.”
They
went inside the house and made popcorn. The movie was worse than they’d
thought, even with their animated running commentary, and the theme song became
stuck in their heads. Olivia Newton John’s voice ran over and over again
between their ears until they thought they would go mad.
And when
they went to bed in their separate rooms, each lay awake for an age, looking at
the wall that separated them, the air between them heating up until everything
between should by rights have caught fire and burned to ash. The e-mail from
the gods was understood and followed, however—at least for now.
And
Trent, of course, slept through it all and knew nothing.
The
following morning found Darius and Jane outside, again inspecting the jumbled
pile of broken timber and shingles with a unicorn weathervane on top that had
once been the Lane family gazebo. In addition to their usual school
clothing—Darius looking grubbier than usual in his wrinkled black shirt and
stained pants from the previous day—they wore sneakers, Jane her running shoes
and Darius an old pair that Jane found in
“So,”
said Jane, looking over the ruins, “did the earth move for you, too?”
“Ha, ha.
Do you see our boots anywhere?”
“We left
them in the middle of the floor, right about there.” She pointed to the
thickest mass of debris in the pile, then shook her head and exhaled. “Thank
God it’s Friday.”
Darius
looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She
shrugged. “I dunno. Just thought I’d say it.”
“Hmmm.”
He toed a broken two-by-four, then stepped over it and pointed at the rim of
the collapsed roof. “I’ll try to lift it right here,” he said. “See if you can
find something to use as a brace to hold it up so we can get our boots.”
“Assuming
you don’t throw out your back doing it.” Jane frowned and looked back at the
house. “Shouldn’t we get
“Sure,
but do you want to explain to him why our boots were inside the gazebo when it
fell?”
Rolling
her eyes, Jane looked around and picked up a four-foot piece of railing. “Go
for it,” she said.
Darius
braced himself, then caught the bottom of the roof’s support beam at his knees
and slowly heaved upward. It was lighter than he’d feared it would be, but
still very heavy. They were able to hold up the roof with the broken railing
and then use thinner boards to snag and retrieve the flattened but otherwise
undamaged boots. They ditched the sneakers, put on their boots, and walked out
of the yard for school.
“
“He
won’t get up until we get home from class,” said Jane. “He probably won’t even
look outside until tomorrow. Not to change the subject, but I wanted to ask
what your mom said when you called her this morning.”
“She’s
screening her calls, so I haven’t talked to her directly. I left her a message
last night with the whole story about Dad’s little public disturbance, and I
suggested she call the police to see what was up. I gave her more of the same
this morning and asked if I could get some of my clothes, or if she could drop
them off at your place. I’d stop at the house myself, but she’s probably not
there. She might have a private detective watching the place, too, so let’s
detour around it, if we could.”
“No
problemo. Did you call your aunt?”
“Same
thing. She was supposed to have her phone on, but I just left messages. I don’t
know if Quinn will be in school today.”
Jane
began to hum the theme song from Xanadu as they walked.
“Don’t
do that,” said Darius. “Shoot me, push me in front of a bus, but don’t hum that
song.”
“Philistine,”
said Jane. They walked in silence until they were halfway down Howard Drive.
“Okay,”
said Jane, “I’m going to be my usual blunt self. I know your dad’s completely
psycho, I saw that in person, but I don’t get it about your mom and Amy and
whoever. Amy sounded pretty reasonable to me when I talked to her last night.
She’s kinda cool, actually. What do they have against you? What’s up with
that?”
A pained
expression crossed Darius’s face. “I dunno. Mom’s always been pissed at me
about fighting with Dad, but she was pissed at him, too, for starting a lot of
it. She wasn’t around much, anyway, because of her work. Dad got home from work
before she did, back in
Jane
nodded. “Sorry.”
When
they got to the end of Howard, they stopped to wait for traffic to break so
they could cross the street.
“The
He
stopped and took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. The muscles in the back
of his neck were a single tight knot, and his head hurt.
“You
know what?” he said, putting his glasses on again. “It doesn’t matter. It
doesn’t matter at all anymore. I don’t care.”
They
crossed the street and began the detour to avoid Glen Oaks and Darius’s home.
The traffic was lighter in this part of the subdivision.
“Are
they hiring at Pizza King?” he asked suddenly. “I should start looking for a
job around here. You need a break to do your art, I need the money to fix your
gazebo and just have some money, so I should get off my ass and start looking
for something.”
Jane
seemed relieved at the change in subject. “Pizza King might, but the mall
definitely hires students. I don’t know what kind of hours you’d have, and
you’d probably get minimum wage, but it’s a shot. And forget about the gazebo.”
I
can’t forget about the gazebo, he thought. “The mall’s not that far,” he
said, thinking aloud. “I could cut through the woods on the path you showed me,
get my jogging time in on the way. Couldn’t hurt. I should go over after school
or this weekend.”
“Maybe
you could get free food, too. You know, bring back all the broken corn chips
and soft pretzels. For scientific purposes, I mean.”
“Yeah.
We could do the research in your kitchen. We—oh, man.” Darius stopped and
clapped a hand to his forehead, grimacing. “Oh, man.”
“What?”
“Barch
assigned a two-page research paper for today on reptile anatomy. I forgot all
about it when I did the rest of my homework. I was going to look up some stuff
on the Internet, and then everything else got in the way and I totally lost it.
I’m cooked. You are so lucky you got out of that class.”
“Can you
do it during homeroom?”
“It’s
supposed to be typed, but I can write out part of it there. If we get to school
fast, I can get some books from the library. Maybe I can talk one of the
teachers into letting me out of class. Oh, man.”
“Let’s
move a little faster, then,” said Jane, and broke into a light, steady jog.
Darius kept pace with her, and they arrived a few minutes early, though they
were sweating when they did. “Good luck with your paper!” she told him.
The next
time Darius saw Jane was in Mr. DeMartino’s American history class, which
followed Barch’s science period. Darius knocked on the door halfway through the
class, and DeMartino let him in with a snide remark about tardiness not being
next to godliness. After a mumbled apology, Darius took his seat with a glum
look. He felt something poke his elbow a moment later. Jane was passing him a
note.
THERE’S
GOT TO BE A MORNING AFTER, the note read in Jane’s all-caps printing.
She
really does like that song, he thought, and he found himself smiling even
though he didn’t feel like it.
“What
happened to you in Medusa’s lair last period?” Jane asked as soon as class was
over.
His glum
look deepened. “I had to write a ten-page paper for Barch before I could leave
the room, telling her why I didn’t get my two-page paper done and relating my
incompetence to being a guy.”
“Just
ten pages? She let you off with only that?”
“And a
zero for the day, yeah, because Upchuck messed up, too, and that got her
attention away from me. I used to get straight As in science, and now I’m
flunking it. It’s like I’m trapped in Bizarro World.”
They
reached Jane’s locker. “At least Quinn’s here,” he said as Jane spun her
combination. “I didn’t get to talk to her much, but she looked happy. She’s in
charge of that mandatory pep rally at one o’clock. At least we don’t have to
listen to O’Neill read weepy British poetry, but a pep rally, jeez.”
“Is she
okay? I mean, with the divorce and your dad going nuts and whatnot.”
“I don’t
know. She just looked happy. I think she puts on a smiley face some days just
for show, and this is probably one of them. She didn’t know anything about what
happened to Dad, and I didn’t press it. Oh—she did ask me to come to the pep
rally and not cut school or fake sick.” He shook his head, lips pressed
together. “The things I do.”
“Mmm, I
understand that attending pep rallies might be carrying the brotherly love
thing too far,” Jane said, shutting her locker. “On the other hand, she might
be counting on you for moral support. I think you’re screwed.”
They
walked to Darius’s locker next. “Yeah,” said Darius, “I can either do what she
wants and suffer, or I can do what I want but regret it until I die. What to
do, what to do.... How’s the teacher’s aide thing going in that advanced art
class?”
“Pretty
well. I’m working with seniors who want to get into different kinds of design
work, decorating or graphic design or whatever. An eclectic bunch.” She
scratched her nose. “A couple of them are pretty good.”
“Anywhere
near your level?”
“They
could teach me a thing or two, but mostly about how to bullshit other people
into making them think you’re a good artist.”
They
reached Darius’s locker. “So, are you coming?” he asked as he opened it.
Jane
didn’t answer right away. He looked up to see her smiling at him with
mischievous blue eyes. “Apparently not,” she said.
It took
a moment, but he got it and groaned. “I meant to the pep rally,” he
said, “with me.”
“Oooh,
the pep rally. I guess I won’t hide in the art supplies closet this
once. Misery loves company so it can spread more misery around.”
“Thanks
for being so understanding,” he said. He finished putting away his unneeded
books and shut his locker.
“You’re
such a good big brother,” said Jane with a smile.
He rolled
his eyes as they headed for lunch. “I feel like that Cabbage Patch Kid she
dragged around everywhere until the arms fell off.”
Jane
pinched his shoulder. “Yours are still attached. They probably won’t be after
the pep rally. Hey, I have to ask something, if you don’t mind my getting
personal.”
“You,
get personal? Get out of here.”
“What
was the worst fight you ever had with Quinn?”
Darius
made a face and didn’t answer right away. “The worst as in greatest number of
civilian casualties from fallout, or what?”
“Just
the worst, in your opinion.”
He
hesitated before he spoke, looking unhappy. “It would have to be when she was
putting these heart stickers on her math papers in fifth grade, covering up all
the zeros, and I told her it looked stupid and she’d flunk.”
“What
happened?”
“She
yelled that I was stupid and then went to her room and cried. She didn’t talk
to me for days after that.”
“Oh.”
Jane looked surprised. “I was expecting a little more bloodshed. Anyway, most
brothers would love a little peace and quiet like that.”
Darius
looked down at the floor while he walked. “It was just before school let out
for summer vacation, before we went to the
“So, no
knock-down drag-outs?”
Darius
stared at Jane in an odd way. “No,” he said. “Did she tell you I hit her?”
“No,
never.” Jane looked uncomfortable. “Forget it.”
“God, I
could never do that.” He looked away, upset. “I don’t ever remember hitting her.
I couldn’t do it. We yelled at each other, yeah, but—”
He
stopped, distracted. One of the girls from the Fashion Club, Stacy somebody,
was sticking a page-sized flier to a wall. It was her manner of doing it that
attracted his attention: she had her shoulders hunched up as if trying to hide
her face, and she kept looking around with an anxious expression. Stacy looked
up in time to lock eyes with Darius. She gasped and dropped the flier she was
trying to tape to the wall, then in reaching for it she dropped all the rest of
the fliers. One slid across the floor to Darius’s feet. He stopped as it did,
looking down.
“Oh, no!
Oh, no!” Stacy cried, grabbing at fliers left and right.
Darius
stood, flier in hand. Jane read it at the same time he did.
DON’T BE
UNFASHIONABLE! proclaimed the flier’s bold header. Below it was a hand-drawn
color picture of a fanged, horned girl with long orange-red hair, looking more
than a little like Quinn, with a red interdiction symbol drawn over it. On the
right was a picture of Sandi Griffin with a halo over her head, smiling at the
camera. SHOW YOUR PEP BY SUPPORTING THE FASHION CLUB! read the bottom line.
“What
the hell is this?” Darius hissed. He glared down at Stacy and held the paper
out at her. “Did you do this?”
“No!”
shrieked Stacy, near tears. She swept up the rest of the fliers in a messy pile
and stood up, on the verge of fleeing for her life. “Sandi told me to do it! I
didn’t make these up! Honest!”
“So,
you’re just following orders, is that it?” Darius said. The flier crumpled up
in his grip. “My sister wants to do good things for people, she never does you
any harm, but you go around assassinating her because she’s not good enough for
you?”
“Darius,”
said Jane in a warning tone.
He
ignored her and stared at Stacy in a fury. Tears ran down Stacy’s white face.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said quietly. He handed Stacy the crumpled flier. She slowly took it and stared at it. “I hope you feel good about hurting her. You must feel really special.”
“I’m so
sorry,” Stacy gasped, her voice breaking. Her face then fell apart and she
began to sob, her eyes shut and her face lowered to the mass of fliers she
held.
Darius
stared at her. “Liar,” he said at last, and he walked off. The world around him
was a haze of red. He found himself in the cafeteria line with a tray in his
hand—but Jane wasn’t there with him. His rage was a living thing, consuming
him, pulling him to do terrible things. He took off his glasses and rubbed his
face, then put his tray back and walked out of the cafeteria, appetite gone.
The walk
to the football field seemed to take no time at all. He climbed to the top of
the bleachers and sat hunched over on one end by himself. No one was on the
field. It was sunny with occasional clouds passing by overhead, but the wind
was cool. No one came to get him.
Finally,
when his anger had subsided, he checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes to
get back before the pep rally started. Wishing he’d worn a jacket, he stood,
walked down the steps with his hands in his pockets, and headed back to the
school. Jane was nowhere around. Though he felt a stab of shame for chewing out
Stacy, it could have been worse. He’d had a terrible urge to throttle her right
there in the hallway. What the Fashion Club had been plotting infuriated him.
Perhaps only Jane’s presence had kept him from doing worse than he’d done. It
was a sobering thought for him.
He went
back to the cafeteria, but the lunch line had already closed. Someone cleared
her throat behind him as he stood at the cafeteria doorway.
“Welcome
back,” said Jane.
He
turned but could not meet her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling his face
burn. He wondered what she thought of him, having seen his dad blow up, too. “I
just—it just got to me. I can’t believe she was doing that. It just—”
“It’s
okay. She deserved it,” said Jane. Her face seemed paler than usual. “You kind
of scared me for a moment, you looked so angry, but—” She took a breath “—but I
guess you’re not like your father, are you?”
He
looked down and said nothing.
“Okay,”
she said. “I had to run a little errand while you were gone anyway. Let’s go
get a seat in the gym. Quinn might be looking for you already.”
“Sure.”
He followed as she started off down the corridor. As he walked, he wondered
what he would have done if he had lost control of his temper with Stacy. He
wondered if a time would come when he would, what he would do if he did, and
who would be there in front of him when it happened.
Arriving
late, Darius and Jane found no seats visible in the overcrowded, riotous
gymnasium of
“Students,
faculty, and staff of Laaawndale High!” cried Ms. Li into the podium
microphone. “Please be seated so we can get this exciting pep rally underway
and I can get back to finishing my budget reports! We have only six more hours
until kickoff! Go, Laaawndale Lions!”
A riot
of cheers broke out, mixed with rude catcalls aimed at Ms. Li and the teachers.
Darius and Jane were herded into the stands to take narrow seats among a horde
of other students. Darius caught a glimpse of two of the Fashion Club members,
Sandi and Tiffany, wandering the floor with scowls on their faces. They seemed
to be looking for someone. They didn’t notice him, so he stopped wondering if
he should give them the finger if they made eye contact.
More
students crowded into the stands. Darius and Jane were squashed against each
other by now. “I’m glad I didn’t eat lunch,” said Darius, trying to shout over
the chaos, “or I’d never have fit in here!”
“What?”
said Jane, cupping her ear only a few inches away from him.
“I said,
I’m glad I didn’t eat lunch!”
“You
read a bad what?”
He shook
his head and waved it off, wishing he’d brought a pen and paper. Next time, for
sure.
“Greetings,
all you who make Laaawndale High the finest and most secure learning
institution in the free world!” began Ms. Li at the microphone. A feedback howl
cut her off, but it quickly died and she went on. “We have a great program with
the peppiest of pep in store for you, so I encourage you to relax and enjoy the
next forty-five minutes of mandatory fun and excitement! Remember, our hidden
cameras will find out if anyone’s playing hooky! Don’t be a party pooper, or
we’ll have to get out the pooper scooper!” She laughed at her own joke, joined
by only four other people in the gymnasium. “Okay, maestro!” she shouted to the
band director. “As Elvis would say, let’s rock this educational institution!”
The
Lawndale High marching band played the national anthem, the state song, the
“And
now,” said the coach once the theme from “Hawaii Five-O” was finished, “I want
to introduce the power behind the Lawndale Pride Pep Club and this pep rally,
one of our newest, most popular, and, frankly, most incredible students—the Pep
Club’s Student President, Miss Quinn Anne Morgendorffer!”
Darius
blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought that his sister would actually be
introduced on stage. Her orange-red hair gleaming like the sun, Quinn came out
from behind the curtain and walked up the steps to the podium, dressed in the
blue T-shirt, yellow skirt, and white sneakers that the cheerleaders typically
wore. She grinned and waved both hands at the audience. Immediately, the
football team and cheerleading squads jumped up from their seats and roared,
“Quinn! Quinn! Quinn! Quinn!” stamping their feet and clapping their hands.
They were swiftly joined by every student and teacher in the school, to
Darius’s complete astonishment. The stands rumbled as if gripped by a major
earthquake, and dust drifted down from the ceiling tiles.
“Good
Lord!” said Darius to Jane. “What’s happening?”
“What?”
she yelled back.
“What?”
he yelled at her, cupping his hands over his ears.
“What?”
she yelled again, pointing at her ears and shaking her head.
Quinn
placed an index card on the podium, but she did not read it closely as she
spoke, instead looking directly at the students before her. “Fellow
classmates!” Quinn began as the racket faded. “Almost two weeks ago, my family
moved to Lawndale from far away, farther away than even Oakwood, which I’ve
never been to and probably never ever will, because they have such badly
decorated shopping malls, and I hear they don’t even let you hang around in
groups of more than three—I mean, what is that all about?”
A clamor
of laughter, cheers, and applause burst through the gymnasium. Darius watched
with open mouth and wide eyes.
“I was
so super-glad to come to Lawndale, which is a really incredible school, the
best school in the whole universe and for sure the best in this state,” Quinn
went on, waiting until the applause died again, “but I was really nervous
because I wanted to do my best and be at my best, because this school is the
best and deserves it and I think I deserve to be at a school that deserves it,
and you deserve it, too, and you know it!” More applause and cheers rang out.
“But even if we all deserve it, and we do, it was really hard for me. No one
can battle a terrible problem like fitting into a new school on their own. It
takes a special kind of help, the kind of support you only get from special
people, most of all your family. And the one special person I’d like to thank
more than any other for helping me get to where I am is my very own big
brother, Darius Morgendorffer!” She scanned the crowd, shading her eyes with a
hand. “Are you out there, Dari? Stand up and let me thank you!”
Stunned,
Darius muttered a bad word that no one heard over the staggering outburst of
foot stamping and cheering. Jane immediately grabbed him by the arm and forced
him to stand up, and she waved crazily and yelled “Here he is! Here he is!”
until she caught Quinn’s attention at the podium.
“There
you are!” Quinn shouted in relief, pointing at Darius. “Everyone, please give
my big brother a big hand!” And she clapped her hands over her head and
shrieked, “Yay, Dari!”
Darius
went temporarily deaf from the screaming around him. Hundreds of hands slapped
him on the back, punched him in the arms, and smacked him on the head. He
nearly lost his glasses twice. When he was finally allowed to take his seat, he
felt as if he had been thrown down a mineshaft onto a pile of rocks, then stuck
repeatedly with sledgehammers—in addition to being mortally embarrassed in
front of the entire world. Why couldn’t I have just been her cousin or
something? he wondered, though he didn’t think he really meant it.
Battered
and shaken, Darius missed most of the rest of Quinn’s speech. He had the
impression she talked at one point about the students as hamsters running all
week on exercise wheels of homework and class time, until the yearned-for food
pellet of Friday night football arrived at last. As peculiar and disjointed as some
of her analogies were, the student body ate it up. Darius was forced to admit
Quinn had a flair for picking the weirdest phrases and making them work
perfectly with her delivery, timing, body language, and energy—and her
unstoppably cheery charisma.
“So I
say to you, we are all a part of that great Disney movie in which those
gigantic lions rule the animal kingdom with fierce and perfectly combed hair,
and every other lowly beast knows our name!” she concluded. “Go, Lawndale
Lions, into the circle of life—to victory!” Everyone in the gymnasium
rose to their feet in an instant and let go with such a thunder of cheering and
clapping and stamping that half a dozen ceiling tiles fell in one corner of the
huge room, sparking an even greater outpouring of approval and even more
ceiling tiles falling to smash to pieces on the gym floor. Teachers ran about
in panic, trying futilely to calm the students, and finally began forcing
everyone to leave the gym, dismissing them from the school grounds in case
there was a major structural failure in the building.
Ten
minutes later, Darius and Jane found themselves deposited outside the building
by the flood of students rushing to the parking lot to the waiting buses and
cars, eager to get home as soon as possible. Everyone seemed wildly excited and
happy.
“I can’t
hear anything!” yelled Darius, his ears ringing.
“What?”
Jane yelled back.
“Where’s
Quinn?” he yelled.
“What?”
she yelled again.
Darius
caught Jane by the hand and pulled her along until they got back inside the
gymnasium. Hundreds of students continued to pour out, but they managed to get
past them and make their way to the podium. Darius held out little hope of
seeing his sister, but to his surprise she was still on the stage, shaking
hands with an army of well wishers. Quinn had brought as many of the
cheerleaders and football players on the stage with her as possible, and the
noise from the goings-on made it almost impossible to hear anything below a
scream.
“You
must LEAVE the GYM!” shouted Mr. DeMartino at the heedless mass around the
podium, waving his arms. His bad eye was almost popping out. “This is an
EMERGENCY! Get OUT or let the FOSSIL HUNTERS dig you out in the next
MILLENNIUM!”
Quinn
spotted Darius and Jane and waved at them, jumping up and down. Everyone else
turned and saw them, too, and countless hands dragged the couple to the podium,
where Quinn hugged them both. Darius found it impossible to say anything and be
heard, so he tugged on Quinn’s sleeve and pointed outside. After a few dozen
more handshakes, she got off the stage and the threesome walked out, the rest
of the students and faculty trailing behind them. Another loose ceiling tile
smashed into the wooden floor as they left.
Ms. Li
met them at the doors out. “Miss Morgendorffer!” she said in a stentorian
voice, “that was the greatest speech ever given at this school! Come to my
office on Monday so I can find out how you did it. I need to make speeches like
that myself, especially when I announce the next series of budget cuts.”
“Thanks!”
Quinn said. “I’ll be the best hamster I can be!”
“And
I’ll be the wheel you run on!” said Ms. Li with enthusiasm. “Have a great
weekend!”
Darius
shook his head as he went out. His hearing was beginning to clear. “Quinn,” he
said, but he ran out of things to say. What was left after that? He felt spent
and exhausted, and his bruised arms and back hurt like hell from the
well-meaning drubbing he’d taken.
“Oh,
Dari, wasn’t that wonderful?” Quinn cried, hugging him again even as he yelped
in pain. “They’re talking about increasing the pep club budget so we can do pep
rallies for the other sports, like girls’ field hockey and basketball and even
the chess club and debate teams! Can you believe it? We’ll have nonstop rallies
every day of the week! And I can wear uniforms of my own design, as long as the
office approves them!”
Jane
poked her little finger in her ear and twisted it around. “Testing, one two
three,” she said aloud. “Ah, finally. Dari, did you say something to me
earlier?”
“What?”
said Darius, leaning toward her.
“Oh!”
cried Quinn, jumping up and down again. “Look! There’s her car!” Darius
followed her gaze to the parking lot, where a bright red sports car pulled in.
It was a classic-model Triumph Spitfire with the top down. At the steering
wheel with her long wavy hair flying was Amy Barksdale, wearing round-lens
sunglasses and a forest green sweater.
“Amy’s
taking me out for dinner before the game!” Quinn continued. “Aunt Rita’s coming
over, too, and she and Amy and Mom are going to the game tonight to watch me do
my thing with the pep club! Are you and Jane coming, too? It’s okay if you
don’t, ‘cause I know how you are about football, but you can come along with us
and get good seats!”
Darius
looked uneasily at Amy’s little red car as it pulled into a nearby parking
space in the rapidly emptying lot. “Well,” he said at last, “let’s see how it
goes. Maybe Mom and Amy and Rita have other plans.”
“Okay!”
Quinn headed off to the parking lot to meet Amy. Darius slowly walked behind
her, Jane at his side.
“Oh,
cheer up,” said Jane, still pressing fingertips to her ears and shaking her
head. “I think Amy will see daylight about you before long. I’ll talk to her,
too. Everything will be fine, as much as anything around here can be.”
He exhaled heavily and did not
reply. Amy was delighted to see Quinn and gave her a long hug. When she let go
of her niece, she looked up and gave Darius and Jane a game smile.
“Had
enough pep for the day?” Amy asked as Darius walked up.
“Enough
pep to poop me out,” said Darius. He motioned to Jane. “This is
“The
cynical voice on the phone has a face now,” said Jane with a grin.
“You
won’t get to my age without a little cynicism to keep you warm,” said Amy,
shaking Jane’s hand. “You’re taller than you sounded over the phone. I knew all
that growth hormone in the drinking water was going to have consequences
somewhere. So, Quinn tells me you like to push the paint around.”
“Just
starting out,” said Jane. “I have a lot of paint left to push.”
“A lot
more than I do,” said Amy. “I had some artistic pretensions in my youth until I
realized I liked sitting on the beach in a deck chair a lot more than trying to
draw apples on a table. I own a little art gallery a few hours from here. If
you have any work, I wouldn’t mind seeing it—out of curiosity, of course, but
one never knows.”
“Oh!”
Jane looked happily embarrassed. “Thank you! I’m sure it’s junk—really great
junk—but hey, I’m always up for an audience!”
Darius
noticed that Quinn was sitting in the driver’s seat of Amy’s Triumph,
contentedly playing with the controls as if really driving. “Aunt Amy?” he said
in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard by his sister. “Any news about Dad
and Mom?”
“Oh,
I’m—” She turned and glanced back at Quinn before continuing “—I’m afraid so.
Jake’s in jail. He was picked up last evening for disorderly conduct and
resisting arrest. I don’t know if he has an attorney yet, but it’s likely.
Helen thinks his mother Ruth will come down to bail him out, if he can’t do it
himself.” She bit her lower lip, looking Darius over. “He’s apparently
overwrought with the divorce, and he seems to be rather angry at you, too, for
some reason.”
Darius
nodded grimly, not in the mood to discuss it further. “Mom okay?”
Amy
rolled her eyes. “She’s at work, as usual. You can go home now, but just be
aware that your father might get out of jail at any minute. Helen has a
security company keeping an eye on the house, so don’t bother anyone you see
sitting alone in a car along the street.”
“Gotcha.”
He pointed to Jane. “You know, she made her own earrings.”
“Really?”
Amy motioned Jane closer. “You young people are so talented,” she said. “I
thought you just took drugs and danced at raves with pacifiers in your mouths.
Let me see those.”
Jane
pulled back her bangs on both sides. “The earrings are silver,” she said. “My
sister Penny had some wire left over from her attempt at silversmithing, and I
used it. It’s not perfect, but hey, nothing is—except me, I meant.”
Darius
saw Amy frown as she peered at Jane’s earrings. Amy carefully reached out and
touched Jane’s right cheek with her fingers. When she did, Jane flinched and
said, “Ow!”
“Does
that hurt, dear?” said Amy softly.
“A
little,” said Jane. “My jaw was aching today. Not sure why.”
“You’ve
got a big...” Amy stopped and shot a glance at Darius, then looked back at
Jane. “Did you bump into anything? Or anything bump into you?”
“Oh.
Um—” Jane glanced in Darius’s direction, then back at Amy. “I fell off the
gazebo in my backyard,” she said with a straight face. “It was an accident.
Clumsy teenager bodies, you know the story.”
“I see,”
said Amy. She glanced at Darius again, then dropped her hand and smiled at
Jane. It was a sad smile. “Why don’t you join Quinn in my faster-than-light
cruiser, okay? We’ll take a little trip.”
“Sure.”
Jane turned and motioned for Darius to follow.
“Wait,”
said Amy, holding up a hand to stop Darius. “I want to talk to my nephew a
moment. Jane, you go on, okay?”
“Um,
sure.” Jane waved to Darius and walked off to Amy’s Spitfire. Amy watched her
go, then looked back at Darius with a strange expression. He thought she looked
both angry and sad at the same time as she walked over to him.
“Well,”
said Amy in a voice that almost seemed friendly, “you’ve found a very special
young woman.”
Darius
nodded. “I think so, too.”
Amy
regarded him with an increasingly stony face. “You think so, too,” she
repeated, making it a statement, and she slowly shook her head. “You haven’t
changed at all, have you?”
He
blinked, becoming confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he said.
“Of
course,” said Amy. Her tone became lighter as she jerked a thumb toward Jane
and Quinn, behind her at the car. “Do you mind terribly if I take Jane and
Quinn for a little spin? Just us girls? I hate to do this, but there’s not much
room in the car, and I’d like to get to know Jane a little better. I wish I’d
had a friend like her when I was growing up. Sarcasm loves company.”
“Um,”
said Darius, even more confused. He knew something was happening, and he wasn’t
in on it. A sense of dread crept into him. “Uh, sure. Okay. I can walk home and
get some things. I need to change clothes, if nothing else. Uh, did you and the
others want to go to the game afterward?”
“We’ll
see,” said Amy. “We’ll see. If you go home, then we’ll call you there. I think
your mother’s at her office tonight until late.”
“Figures.
Um... okay, then. Thanks for looking after Quinn.”
Amy said
nothing in response, regarding Darius with narrow eyes. She then turned and,
without a goodbye, walked back to the car. “Okay, girls,” she said. “We’re
taking a little ride. Darius said he’d walk home.”
“What?”
said Jane. She looked back at Darius.
He waved
her on. “Go have some fun!” he said. “I’ll catch you later!”
Jane
nodded uncertainly but got into the Triumph’s back seat in the middle. Quinn
took shotgun, and Amy opened the driver’s door and got in. Quinn and Jane waved
goodbye as the car roared to life and wound its way out of the parking lot to
the highway. Amy did not wave.
Frowning,
Darius lowered his hand. Something had definitely happened, and it wasn’t
good—but what was it? Why did Amy get all weird when she was looking at Jane’s
earrings?
He
sighed and checked his wallet for cash. Forty-seven dollars remained of the
money his mother had given him earlier in the week to take care of dinner for
himself and Quinn. He’d wanted to check out a place he’d seen in town, Mr.
Fun’s World of Games, but getting home and into new clothes seemed like a
better idea. If Jane wanted to see the football game—thought he could not
imagine she would—he’d go, too. Maybe he could take a book.
The walk
home was unremarkable except for the sense of loneliness he felt without Jane
at his side. He spotted two cars on Glen Oaks with people sitting inside them,
but he did his best to ignore them as he walked to the front door, unlocked it
with the key he carried in his wallet, and went inside.
Twenty minutes later, he was dressed in fresh clothing
and felt loads better. He checked the time and saw that it was almost three
o’clock. No messages were on the phone, Sick,
Sad World wouldn’t be on until four, and there was nothing to do.
He was
reading Kafka’s The Trial when he heard a knock on the front door. It
was three-thirty by his watch. He went downstairs, book in hand, wondering who
it was. His mother or Quinn would have come in by now. Jane, maybe. He hoped
he’d finally get the chance to show her around the house. No fooling around
this time, though.
When he
pulled the front door open, Darius looked into the faces of two
Dad,
he thought with a sinking heart. It’s about Dad. He cleared his throat.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“Darius
Morgendorffer?” asked the officer on the right.
“Y-yes,
sir,” he said. “Is this about my dad?”
“No,”
said the officer. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us, Mister Morgendorffer.
You’re under arrest.”
Darius
blinked, positive he had not heard that correctly. “What?” he said.
Fingerprint
ink does not easily come out of one’s fingertips. Darius rubbed his
purple-stained fingers together over and over as he sat on the edge of his bed,
not wanting to look up and see the rest of his cell. After a few moments he
looked up anyway. He’d tried off and on for hours to get the ink stain off, but
it wasn’t happening, he was too restless to sleep, and there was nothing else
to do.
The
police at the Lawndale County Juvenile Detention Facility had taken his watch
as well as the contents of his pockets and his belt and boots, but he still
wore his street clothes and a pair of slippers. Good thing I put on a fresh
shirt and underwear at home, he thought for the eighth time. I got
dressed for jail and never knew it, all dressed up to face a battery charge.
Who did I beat up? Amy turned me in. I know she did. She must have thought I
hit Jane. That’s the only thing it could possibly be, but it doesn’t make any
sense. Didn’t Jane tell her I didn’t hit her? What did Amy think was going on?
And here I thought the police came to see me about Dad. This is almost funny.
He got
to his feet, grimacing from the bruises he’d sustained at the pep rally, then
began walking around the cell in a circle. The cell had no windows, only the
barred wall and door for an external view, with a toilet, a bed, a Bible, and
nothing else. He stopped and stared at a corner of the cell where paint was
chipped off the wall, apparently because someone had kicked it repeatedly.
Being here alone with nothing to do, no sense of time, and no idea of his
future was worse than any torment Dante had envisioned in his Inferno.
Only an occasional CCJDF officer on guard duty came by to check on him and,
once, bring him a bland supper on a tray. Darius had tried sleeping on the bunk
several times, but his rest was fitful and riddled with thoughts that made his
gut hurt.
Why
did Amy turn me in? Did she really believe I beat up Jane? She must have, but
why didn’t Jane stop her? Jane had a bruise on her right cheek, yeah, I could
see that ugly yellow-green color coming out from behind her bangs, but she got
that when we fell out of the gazebo and hit the pillar when we landed. She even
told Amy that. No, wait—she said she fell out of the gazebo by herself.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter. God, I’m sorry we even did that now. Why didn’t
Amy believe her? What the fuck is going on?
He shook
his head and began walking around in a circle again. His fresh clothing wasn’t
fresh anymore. The black shirt stank of old perspiration, and his dark jeans
itched.
Amy
said I hadn’t changed after she looked at Jane’s bruise. What was she talking
about? What is it with her and Mom about me? Is Aunt Rita in on this, too? It’s
like a conspiracy, some nutty paranoid thing that’s true—they really want to
get me. It’s gotta be that, but I can’t figure out why. And Mom was trying to
keep me away from Quinn the other day like I was dangerous, but how could she
think that? Do I remind them too much of Dad? Do they hate me that much? What
is it?
Arriving
back at his bed, he sat down again and tried again to rub the ink from his
fingertips, without success.
Maybe
the police are going to stick me with more charges because of Dad, saying I was
threatening him last night. I wonder if Dad’s still in jail. Is the jail
anywhere near here? I’m not getting anywhere. I tried to call Mom, but no one
picked up and all I could do was leave a message. I haven’t even been
questioned yet. They read me my rights, put me in handcuffs, drove me here,
booked me for simple battery of a minor, told me I might be charged as an
adult, told me more charges might be pending, fingerprinted me, took my picture
with me holding a number tray in front of me, and led me down a hall to this
cell and locked me in and now everyone’s gone off somewhere and it’s all over
and they’ve forgotten about me. What happened? God, please, tell me what
happened! Give me a sign like with the gazebo, anything! Just tell me!
He lowered
his head and buried his face in his purple-stained hands. Hanging himself like
Mike Ellenbogen had done was beginning to look mildly attractive. I could
stick my head in the toilet and drown myself, he thought, but that would
be stupid. I could jump off my bed onto my head, but that’s just as stupid.
I’ll just stay alive for a while longer and see what else is in store for me.
Maybe something really bad will happen that will make this look pretty good. I
could get downright nostalgic about this cell. Or maybe it won’t get any worse
than this. Oh, that’s right—I have the deposition to go through yet. Mike’s
family is going to sue me when this is over because Mike hanged himself in our
barracks and I was his roommate. Forgot about that. Sure, why not more trouble?
The more, the merrier.
He lay
down on the bed, his arms at his sides and his feet out straight like a
robot’s, and stared at the ceiling.
Are
they going to play that football game tonight with Oakwood? Of course they
will. Why wouldn’t they? I’m not important to it. Mom, Amy, and Rita will drag
Quinn out there, she’ll get everyone cheering, and
A door
opened, and footsteps echoed from up the hall. Darius looked up. One of the
CCJDF officers was making the rounds again. Darius figured he was the only
person in this corridor of cells, given that he could hear no one else around
and the officer merely glanced in before turning to go.
“Sir?”
said Darius. He slowly stood up from his bunk.
“What?”
said the officer, pausing to look back.
What
is there I can possibly ask that will make any difference now? If I had a
visitor, he’d tell me. I don’t. If I was going to be let out, he’d tell me. I’m
not. What’s left to ask about?
“What?”
the officer repeated.
“The
football game,” said Darius. “Who won?”
“
“Yes,
sir.”
“Oh,”
said the officer. His expression softened. “
Then
it’s after ten at night, maybe eleven. No one came to get me. Darius sat
down again, and the energy ran out of him. No one came to get me.
“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”
“No
problem,” said the officer, and he left on his rounds. Darius lay down again. At
least we won, he thought. Quinn will be happy about that. He stared
at the ceiling for a long time, then fell asleep. They woke him when they
brought in some drunk, noisy teenagers, then again for breakfast.
Darius
woke up with a start, not realizing he’d fallen asleep yet again. Someone
rattled his cell door while someone else snored loudly in the next cell. He sat
up on his bed and rubbed his face, trying not to get too excited about
anything. It could be another long day. What time was it?
“Morgendorffer,”
said the CCJDF officer. “Come on out. You’re free to go.”
He
stayed on the bed, not daring to believe it. “Go?” he said.
“That’s
right. Let’s go, unless you want to stay here another night with a bunch of
drunk kids.”
He
nodded dumbly, got up, and shuffled out of the cell. The officer led him back
through the station to an office where his boots, belt, and other belongings
were returned.
“I can
just go?” he asked the officer for the fourth time. “I don’t have to do
anything?”
“That’s
right,” said the officer. “Now, the DA’s office is going to review the charges,
but at this point it’s not likely to go forward to trial. The charges were
dropped on review of evidence and at the request of the people pressing them to
begin with. They signed off on the paperwork and left. You’re lucky, ‘cause
this happens only once every blue moon. And you have a ride waiting for you up
front. We’re releasing you to your mother. Desk sergeant just called back about
it.”
“Oh,”
said Darius. He felt dirty and worn out, which struck him as semi-funny because
he hadn’t really done anything to feel dirty and worn out about. He followed
the officer to the entrance to the detention facility.
Darius’s
mother was at the front desk when he arrived, wearing a brown leather coat. She
walked outside when she spotted him and did not look back. A leggy chick waited
for him by the front desk, dressed in black with a bright red jacket. Her blue
eyes were sunken and haunted. She walked forward and threw her arms around him.
They hugged for a long minute. He buried his face in her jet-black hair and
smelled the crocus in winter.
“Trent’s
in the car,” she finally said. “Your mom said we could drive you back.”
He
pulled away, wiping his eyes. “Excuse me,” he said, fighting a need to cry.
“It’s
okay,” said Jane. She managed a smile, her face wet with tears. “Let’s go.”
Darius
followed her through the revolving doors into the sunlight. It was late
Saturday morning, almost eleven o’clock by his watch.
“What
happened?” he asked. “How did—why’d it happen?”
“We’re
going to your mom’s,” Jane said.
“Did...
did they think I hit you?” he asked. “I don’t get what—”
“Your
mom’s going to explain it, or else,” she said, as if that was all she had to
say. They reached
“Yo,”
said
“Thanks,”
said Darius. He fumbled with his seat belt, then snapped it shut and leaned
back in the seat, too tired to move. “The gazebo,” he said in a low voice. “I
broke it. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll
buy you a new one.”
“Glen
Oaks,” Jane said, leaning forward. “Eleven eleven Glen Oaks, red brick house.
Darius’s place.”
“Okay,”
The car
suddenly stalled, and smoke came out from under the hood. “Not again,” grumbled
They abandoned
the car in the lot. The CCJDF staff put out the fire with an extinguisher.
Darius called a cab for himself and Jane, while
When
they got out of the cab on Glen Oaks, Darius stretched his legs, then looked at
Jane. He reached up and pushed aside the bangs on the right side of her face. A
large yellow-green bruise ran from her lower cheek to her temple. It looked
awful. He stared at it, then leaned close and kissed her cheek. Letting her
hair fall back into place, he took her hand and walked up the sidewalk to his
mother’s house.
Halfway
there, the front door opened and Quinn ran out in jeans and a white tee, red
hair flapping behind her. She crashed into him, grabbing him around the chest
with both arms to bury her face in his wrinkled black shirt. He hurt all over
from being pounded at the pep rally the day before, but he let her hug him, and
he kissed her on the top of her head, one arm around her. Like Jane, she did
not seem to have slept in ages.
“Come
on,” he whispered. “Let’s go in.”
His
mother and aunts were also at the door, but they did not run out to him. They
looked at him in a strange way and stepped back as he entered the house. He had
the curious feeling that they feared him.
Quinn and
Jane escorted Darius into the living room. Quinn clung to his right arm with
both hands and refused to let go even after they sat down on the sofa. Darius’s
mother and her two sisters slowly took their own seats around the room, facing
Darius at a distance. His mother sat like a person broken, covering her eyes
with a hand, elbows on her knees.
“Okay,”
said Jane, looking around the room. “Somebody better spill what’s going on. You
screwed Darius over good and got me jammed into this mess, too, so talk, or
else I will.”
Wearing
a faded beige sweater, Amy coughed. She leaned forward from her seat on an
ottoman, hands clasped together before her as she spoke. “I should start,” she
said. “I owe you an apology, Darius. I thought—I thought you had done something
to your—to Jane, I mean, and I—”
“You
drove us to Helen’s law office when we left the school,” Jane interrupted,
pointing from one sister to the other, “where Rita took Quinn, and then you and
Helen tried to get me to confess that Darius was abusing me no matter how many
times I—”
“Jane, I
didn’t know!” said Amy angrily. “I saw those pictures, and I thought he’d gone
and—”
“What
pictures?” said Darius in a strained voice.
A little
silence fell. His mother finally dropped her hand and got up. A mixture of
agony and terror was on her face. She walked into the kitchen and came back
with a manila folder.
“It
started at the
“He was
hitting me,” said Darius. He reached up and touched his lips, unaware he was
doing so.
“I don’t
care who was hitting who!” said his mother in sudden irritation. “The whole
thing had totally gotten out of control, and I couldn’t—”
“Dari
was bleeding!” interrupted Quinn in a rising voice. “Didn’t you see
it? Dad punched him in the mouth!”
Jane,
Rita, and Amy looked at Darius’s mother, who sighed and covered her face again.
“I took that iron poker away from Darius, and I tried to finish up my call in
the bedroom, when I heard Quinn crying. I came out, and she—” His mother
stopped and shuddered.
“Show
him,” said his blonde Aunt Rita, pointing to the folder with a manicured,
red-nailed hand. “The pictures I took.”
His
mother started to say something, but she bit it back. Without looking at
Darius, she got up from her seat and gave the folder to him. He took it and
opened it.
Inside
were three color Polaroid photographs. Each picture showed the face of a young
girl with long orange-red hair—Quinn at age eleven.
Darius
picked up the photos with his purple-stained fingers and held them up to his
face. Jane saw them and cried, “Oh, my God!” in a strangled voice.
In each
photo, the left side of Quinn’s face was black from her lower jaw to her
eyebrow. Her swollen left eye was bright red from bleeding in the cornea. A bandage
was taped over her puffy left eyebrow. Blood was smeared around the left side
of her mouth. The three photos showed different views of her, her hair pulled
back to show the full extent of the damage.
After a
long moment, Darius looked up. Jane had turned away and covered her eyes so she
couldn’t see the pictures. Quinn stared at the photos for a few moments, then
buried her face in the sleeve of his shirt.
“Why
didn’t you tell me?” Darius asked, looking at his mother. “No one ever told me
this.”
A long
moment passed.
“We all
thought you knew,” she said. “Jake said that you did it to her. He said you hit
her with the poker.”
“But I
didn’t,” said Darius. “I was in my room on the bed, and then you just came in
and you slapped the hell out of me for what I thought was no reason, and then
you shut the door and drove off with Quinn. The last I knew, she’d locked
herself in her bedroom. I didn’t see her for three years.”
“Look, I
just told you, I thought you’d hit Quinn with the poker!”
“Dad
said I did this?” This is a really bad dream, and I have to wake up right
now. “He told you I did it, and you believed him?”
“Damn
it, I just took a poker away from you after hearing you say you were going to
kill your father!” she snapped. “I think you can understand what kind of frame
of mind I was in, okay?”
Darius
looked down at the photos again. The eleven-year-old girl looked at the camera
with an expressionless face. “When did this happen?” he asked.
“Apparently
while you were in your room!” shouted his mother. “Jake told me you beat Quinn,
and he sent you to your room! Didn’t you hear the racket going on, with Quinn
screaming her head off? Even I could hear that!”
“I was
listening to my tape player,” he said, looking up from the photos. “I had the
earphones on full blast and a wet washcloth over my mouth to stop the bleeding
from where Dad split my lip.” He held up the photos, showing them to his
mother. “You actually believed him when he said I did this?”
“Oh,
stop acting like such a martyr!” said his mother, looking at the floor. “You
would have believed him, too, if you’d seen yourself with that damn poker!”
“But I
was in my room. How could—”
“I don’t
care where the hell you were!” she shouted. “Stop getting on my back about it!”
“Helen!”
said Rita and Amy at the same time. Amy’s face was white. Quinn’s fingernails
dug into Darius’s arm, and she would not look up. Jane looked from one speaker
to the other in empty-faced shock.
Rita put
a hand to her white blouse and cleared her throat. “When Helen brought Quinn to
my place,” she began, “I thought she’d been abused by Jake, so I—”
“You did
not!” shouted Darius’s mother. “How could you have possibly known anything?”
“Because
she told me,” said Rita softly. She pointed to Quinn. “She told me when
you brought her over that Jake grabbed her by the hair and punched her in the
face when she came out of her room and told him to stop hitting Darius. I was
going to call child protection, but Quinn threw such a fit, I didn’t know what
to do! Then she told me she’d fallen down the stairs and Jake hadn’t done
anything to her at all! She told me she lied about him hitting her just because
she was mad at him! She said it was just an accident!”
“You knew?”
said Amy, her eyes wide as she looked from her sister to Quinn. “Rita, you knew?”
“I didn’t
know, God damn it!” Rita shouted, half rising from the loveseat. “Quinn said—”
“Daddy told me to never tell on him!”
Quinn shouted, looking up. “He said
he’d never bring Dari back if I told anyone he hit me! He was going to send
Dari away forever! He made me swear I’d never tell anyone what happened if I
wanted to see my big brother again ever!”
Rita
sank back on the loveseat and stared at Quinn, hands pressed to her chest.
Quinn
clamped her hands to the sides of her head, fingers digging into her scalp. “I
wanted my big brother back!” she shrieked. “I wanted Dari home again
with me! Daddy said—” She bent over and her tears fell on the carpet, her
face red and twisted.
Darius
put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder, then pulled her to him and put his arms around
her. She howled and shook. He bent his head over her as he pulled her close and
said nothing.
“I
should have called child protection,” said Rita dully as Quinn’s howls faded
into weeping. “I didn’t know what to do. I went ahead and took her to the
hospital and gave them the story she gave me, about falling down the stairs.
Most of the hospital staff knew me socially, and I guess they didn’t check it
out like they were supposed to. They fixed her up and we went home and... that
was it.”
“So, let
me get this straight,” Jane said, looking at Darius’s mother. “Your husband
treated Quinn like a punching bag and got away with it? He told you Darius did
it, and he had him sent away to military school and told Quinn she’d never see
her brother again, and you believed him and he
got away with it?”
Darius’s
mother was on her feet before the end of Jane’s questions. She stamped out of
the living room to the stairway and ran up without looking back. Moments later
a door slammed. No other sounds came down.
Rita
fell back against the loveseat and stared at the ceiling, arms limp at her
sides and palms up. “Shit,” she whispered. She covered her face with her hands.
“I can’t fucking believe this.”
“Darius,”
said Amy with a haggard look, “I was wrong, but I honestly thought you had hit
Jane. I saw the photos years ago and I was sure you had done it. I don’t know
what else to tell you. I’m sorry for it, I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been in my
life, but I know that doesn’t do anything to help you. Jane and Helen and I got
into such a fight at the law office last evening after Rita took Quinn shopping
and then to the football game, and then Jane made us drive her to her house,
and she showed us the gazebo.” Amy tried to laugh, but it didn’t work. “She
told us what really happened, with you and her in the gazebo, and I knew she
was telling the truth. I never knew a teenager who would admit to fooling
around unless things were really desperate. I knew something was really wrong,
then, but I swear to God, I had no idea it was this.”
Darius
looked up from Quinn and licked his lips. “Why didn’t you or Mom call child
protection if Rita didn’t?”
Amy
looked at the carpet. “I thought Helen took care of it. I guess she thought
sending you away to military school would solve everything and straighten you
out. Maybe she thought having her kids get into legal trouble was going to hurt
her career, I don’t know. You ask her.”
Darius
nodded, then looked down at Quinn again. “I guess Dad won,” he said.
“No, he
didn’t,” said Rita. She got up from the loveseat, looking around the room for
something. “I’m going to fucking call the police and turn him in. I’m going to
see that son of a bitch burn for this.”
“Helen
said he’s gone,” said Amy. “His mother, Ruth, came down this morning and paid
his bail. He skipped out right after.”
“I don’t
care!” said Rita, her face filling with rage. She stalked around the room,
looking at tabletops and shelves without seeing anything. “I’m going to burn that motherfucker! I don’t give a
damn anymore what anyone else does! He hurt my niece and he’s going to burn in
hell for it, but he’s going to fucking burn here on earth first, and I’m going
to see it happen! Where’s the phone? Is it in the kitchen?” She stamped out of
the room, her heels clicking across the kitchen’s tile floor.
“What
about you, Darius?” asked Amy. “Your mother and Rita and I had the charges
dropped this morning. What is there we can possibly do to make up even a part
of what’s happened—”
“Nothing,”
said Darius. He looked up and focused on Amy. “Don’t do anything for me.”
“But—”
“You
can’t help me,” he said in a tired voice. “Just look out for Quinn.”
“Look, I
swear to God, I didn’t know what—”
“I don’t
care,” he said. He looked down at Quinn, who was silent in his arms. “Just help
Quinn. You and Rita, that’s all I want you to do.”
“Darius,”
said Amy, “I’m practically on my knees, begging your forgiveness for—”
“Go to
hell,” he said.
Jane lowered
her head and bit her lip.
Darius
stared at Amy until she looked away. After a moment, she slowly got up and went
into the kitchen with Rita, who was leafing through a phone book and swearing
under her breath.
Darius
looked down at his sister. “Quinn?”
She made
a small noise.
“Let’s
go upstairs. I want you to lie down and take a nap.”
Quinn
stirred in his arms. “Dari?”
“What?”
“I’m
sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please don’t hate me. I’m
sorry. I’m really sorry.”
He bent
his head over her as he held her. “You did nothing wrong,” he whispered back.
“It doesn’t matter. I love you, but I want you to go take a nap. I’ll walk you
upstairs.” He looked at Jane. “Would you help us?”
Jane
nodded, and the three of them got to their feet and shuffled out, arms around
each other. At the top of the stairs, Darius noted that his mother’s bedroom
door was shut. No sound came from behind it.
Darius
and Jane got Quinn’s shoes off, pulled down her blanket, and tucked her into
her canopy bed. Darius sat on the bed by his sister as Jane knelt near her
face, holding her hands.
“I was
so scared you’d never come home,” whispered Quinn. “I was so scared.”
“Shhh.”
Darius stroked her cheek with his purple fingers, touching the peach skin where
she had been beaten at age eleven until the side of her face turned black. On
the surface, now, she looked fine.
“I love
you,” he said. “I’ll always love you. You’re my only little sister.”
His
little sister looked up at him. “We won last night,” she said. “Football.”
“I
heard. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.
Wish you’d seen it.” Quinn closed her eyes. The three of them sat together like
that for a long time.
“Dari,”
whispered Quinn at last. She opened her eyes to look at him. “What was Amy
saying about a gazebo?”
Darius
and Jane looked at each other. He sighed in resignation and got up from the
bed, patting his sister on the arm. “Jane will tell you all about it,” he said.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
When the
police left the Morgendorffers’ home just after three o’clock that Saturday
afternoon, Darius’s mother and his aunt Rita accompanied the officers to the
station to complete the paperwork and meet with a new attorney immediately
afterward. Quinn asked Jane to stay with her while she was being questioned, so
Darius, Jane, and Quinn were left sitting at the kitchen table when everyone
else left.
“Where’s
Amy?” asked Quinn, playing with her fingers.
“Upstairs,”
said Jane. She glanced across the table at Darius, saw no reaction, and looked
down to pick at a scratch in the tabletop again. “She’s staying here while your
mom and Rita are gone. She’s going back to her hotel tonight, though. I think
she’s leaving tomorrow.”
“Rita,
too,” said Quinn. She glanced at Darius, then went back to playing with her
fingers.
“You
okay after... everything?” Jane asked Quinn with some concern.
Quinn
shrugged. “I’m okay,” she said, then looked at Darius again. He sat with his
hands clasped on the table before him, looking into space. “You okay, Dari?”
“Hmm?”
He looked up, distracted. “M’okay.”
“Are you
two going to the party tonight at
Darius
looked at Jane, who shook her head no. “I’m not up to it,” Jane said, “and
someone’s bound to ask how I got my bruise. I don’t want to go through that
again.” She touched her right cheek under her bangs and winced. “I’ll lay low
for the rest of the weekend. Maybe tomorrow I’ll paint. I feel the need to
throw something on a canvas. Better yet, maybe I’ll throw up on a canvas.”
Quinn
frowned. “Eww, thanks.”
“I’d
rather people didn’t ask me about this, either,” said Darius, holding up his
purple, ink-stained fingertips. “It’ll be a crazy night anyway after that game.
Probably a lot of drinking.”
“Someone
told me
“It
figures,” said Quinn. “The football players and cheerleaders like to party
hard. I called
Darius
snorted softly. “Your knights in shining armor,” he said.
“Yeah,
they are. They look out for me.” Quinn studied her fingernails, then lowered
her hands and fixed her gaze on her older brother. “You know,” she said, “Amy
and Rita have looked out for me a lot, too.”
Darius
frowned and stared at his clasped hands. Jane looked at him with a pained
expression, then rubbed her mouth and looked out the sliding glass doors into
the yard.
Quinn
kept her gaze on her brother. “Dari,” she said, “I know you don’t like them
very much, and I guess I can’t blame you, but—”
“You
want to keep seeing them, I know,” he interrupted in a dull voice. “Fine. Go
ahead.”
“Well,
yeah, but that wasn’t what I was going to say,” she said.
Darius
took a deep breath and looked away, scratching the back of his head.
“Dari,”
Quinn pressed, “is there any way at all you think that maybe you—”
“No,” he
said.
His
sister fell silent. She leaned back in her chair and looked at her fingers
again, her lips a thin line.
Jane
fidgeted and seemed on the verge of saying something, but after a moment she
sighed and looked out the window again. A minute passed.
“So,”
Quinn said at last, “anyone up for cards?”
“I could
do that,” said Jane slowly, “as long as it isn’t Old Maid or Fish. Mom tried to
get us to play those for years, and we hated it. My older sibs always got into
a fight about that Old Maid thing. Dari?”
“Hmm?”
He shrugged. “Okay. Whatever.”
“Did you
play cards at the academy?” asked Quinn.
“Yeah.
Poker, mostly. Everyone played poker.”
A
flicker of interest stirred in Quinn’s eyes. “You win anything?”
“We
weren’t allowed to gamble for money,” he said. “We played for chips. I was okay
at it, not great.”
“You
know how to play Doubt It?”
“Oh, I
do!” said Jane with rising enthusiasm. “I liked that one. Learned it in Girl
Scouts.”
Quinn
and Darius looked at Jane in amazement. “You’re kidding me,” said Darius. “Girl
Scouts?”
“That’s
where I learned to be prepared,” said Jane, grinning at him.
“Are you
serious?” said Quinn. “When was this?”
“Mom
made me join when I was nine. I was a junior scout. It didn’t last too long. I
kept going off on my own on hikes. My nickname was Lois. They said I was off
looking for Superman.” Jane gave Darius a seductive smirk. “Remind me sometime
to show you what I know about tying knots.”
“Show
me, too!” said Quinn.
“Sure,”
said Jane, “but not while I’m showing Dari.”
Darius
cleared his throat with a mock glare at Jane, and he got up from the table.
“Are the cards in that game cabinet in the living room?” he asked. “Or did we
even unpack them yet?”
“In the
living room,” said Quinn. “Oh, and Dari?”
“What?”
He turned, halfway across the kitchen to the doorway.
Quinn
gave him a meaningful look. “We need four players,” she said.
The room
grew quiet.
“Four,”
he said.
“Yeah,”
said Quinn.
Jane’s
expression turned glum. “I guess we could play something else for only three—”
She stopped when Quinn put a gentle hand on her arm.
“We need
four, Dari,” Quinn said to her brother. “Please?”
He gave
her a tense look, then turned and left the room. He knew what she wanted. It
had been on his mind as well all afternoon, while the police questioning was
going on. It was impossible to miss his Aunt Amy’s depressed expression and
lethargy, the way she avoided eye contact with him and stayed out of his
way—and the way Quinn and Jane hovered around her, wanting to get closer but,
seeing Darius nearby, did not.
Darius
found a pack of playing cards with a rubber band around them in the game
cabinet. Turning the deck over in his hands, he stood in the empty living room
and mulled over what was right and what was wrong, and what he should do about
it.
This
isn’t fair, he thought. I don’t owe Amy anything for what she did to me.
I’d still be in juvenile detention if everyone hadn’t figured out the truth and
dropped the charges. The state might prosecute me anyway if the DA’s office
thinks it’s worth it. Amy nailed me up because, like her rotten sisters, she
believed Dad over me. Now she knows what really happened, and if there’s any
justice in the universe, that knowledge is eating her alive. I hope she’s
suffering, but she’ll never suffer the way I did—getting beaten up by Dad all
the time, getting sent away and never seeing Quinn for three years, getting a
roommate who killed himself, just everything—she’ll never suffer like that. I
wish she would suffer more—and I almost wish I was the one to make her suffer,
too.
His
rage, however, was drowning in a sea of other thoughts. He looked down at the
cards in his hand and struggled to find the way through. Amy had him sent to
jail, wrongly believing he had beaten up Jane, and God knew what else she’d
thought about him all these years—but that doesn’t excuse what you do in
return, his ethics teacher at the academy would have said. Other people
do not control you. You control you. Only you are in charge of you, and only
you have the responsibility for what you say and do. You do not make a right by
doing another wrong.
And
telling his aunt to go to hell, when she was desperately trying to apologize
for what she’d done to him, wasn’t going to make anything right. She wasn’t
wicked. She’d tried to do the right and good thing, in fact.
Bullshit!
She deserved worse! he thought savagely. I could have knocked her head
off for what she did to me! I still could. His hands knotted into fists at
his side, and blood pounded in his ears. Amy was physically smaller than he
was. Beating the crap out of her would be no trouble. It might even feel good
to hurt her, to make her feel the pain he had felt so much of his life. Hurting
her would be easy.
Almost
as easy as when his dad beat up Quinn.
Darius’s
rage immediately dissolved and left him tired and depressed. A lot of bad
things had been done to him, but spreading the evil around would not get rid of
it. It would only grow inside him, a psychic cancer, and soon he’d been as
hollow and worthless as his father was—but likely more dangerous. His father
rarely used his head, but Darius usually did, and a planned, thought-out evil
was the worst kind.
Amy
didn’t deserve her suffering. Maybe other people did—one in particular—but Amy
did not.
And what
good was it to be a man and have a man’s strength if you did not use your gift
for good ends?
Alone in
the silence, he finally realized that if he was supposed to go upstairs to get
Amy just for Quinn or Jane’s sake, he would never do it.
But he
wouldn’t do it for their sake. He’d do it for his own sake—and for Amy’s.
“Shit,”
he said in defeat. He saw no way out of it. Tossing the cards onto the sofa by
the morning newspaper, he headed upstairs.
He went
up the stairway as quietly as he could, though some of the steps still creaked.
Somewhere he’d read that if you walked on your toes while wearing shoes, you
moved quieter that way, and it seemed to work. He reached the top and looked at
his mother’s bedroom door, took a breath, then walked over to it. The door was
open a crack. He raised a hand and rapped lightly with his knuckles.
“Yes?”
he heard Amy say.
He
pushed the door halfway open. Amy sat across the bedroom by the window with a
book in her lap. She stared at him through her large round-lens glasses with an
uncertain expression. She wore a beige sweater with a pair of eggshell pants
and white bedroom slippers she had taken from her sister’s bedroom closet. Her
face was weary and drawn.
It was
strange, but in that moment Darius noticed that his aunt had the same physical
coloration he did. Her hair was the same dark brown as his, though hers was
wavier and long, and they both had the same earth-brown eyes. He’d heard other
people say that they even had similar faces, though he couldn’t see it himself,
even in photos. He wondered what life would have been like if the two of them
had gotten along, but it was too late for that now.
Or maybe
not.
“May I
come in for a moment?” he said.
Amy
blinked, then closed her book, leaving a finger in to mark her place. “Sure,”
she said. She shifted in her seat, looking nervous. No, he realized, she
isn’t nervous. She’s frightened.
“I’ll
leave the door open,” he said. “It’s okay.”
“Um,
sure. It’s... whatever.” She shifted again in her seat, then carefully laid the
book aside on a dresser, tucking a hair beret in as a bookmarker. “What...
what’s up?”
Darius pushed
the door fully open, then walked over and sat on the end of his mother’s bed,
facing his aunt. At first he looked at the floor, then he made himself look up
and face Amy. It was hard to do.
“I want
to apologize,” he said stiffly, “for what I said earlier. I’m sorry I said it.”
His aunt
blinked, taken aback. She started to say something, but she stopped when he
went on.
“You
were doing what you thought was right,” said Darius. He wanted to look Amy in
the eyes, but he kept looking away. “You were just trying to help Jane and
Quinn. I understand that. You’ve taken care of Quinn a lot of times when she
really needed it. She thinks a lot of you and Rita.” He looked down at his
hands, wringing them together in front of him as he sat. “Jane thinks a lot of
you, too. It occurred to me that—that if you and Jane knew each other better,
it, um, it would be a good thing. She... she’s pretty good at that art stuff.
You and... well, anyway.”
He
exhaled heavily and swallowed. “You didn’t deserve what I said to you. It’s
been a bad day, but that doesn’t excuse it. You said the other day that you and
I, we keep getting off on the wrong foot. We... we can’t do anything about the
past. It’s all done and gone. You and I... we’re probably never going to be...
you know, like, close or anything, but... I don’t know how to say this.”
He
looked up. Amy looked back with large eyes, waiting.
“I wish
we’d gotten off on the right foot a long time ago,” he said. “I just want to
call a truce between us. You’re too important to all of us, and I can’t... I
can’t go on being mad about this stuff, even the jail thing. I have too much
other crap going on in my life. It’s just too much. I don’t want to be mad at
you anymore for anything.”
Looking
down at his hands again, he suddenly laughed for a moment. “It’s funny, you
know, being in jay-dee wasn’t so bad. The food sucks, and there’s nothing to
do, but, you know, it wasn’t so bad.” He smiled a little. “And all they gave me
to read was a Bible. I’d rather I’d had Shakespeare, but, hey, whatever. I read
the Book of Job again and had a good laugh.” He spread his hands, his smile
gone. “You didn’t know. You did what you thought was right, to help Jane. I
can’t keep riding you about it. I have to get over it.”
He
stopped there. After a pause, Amy sat forward on her chair. Oddly, she held her
hands out in front of her in the same way he did, wringing them together
“I don’t
know what to say to you,” she said. “I feel like what Jane said, that I’ve
screwed you over for so long now, thinking you were something other than what I
realize now you are, and I don’t know what to do. All I ever heard about you
came from Jake or Helen, and I think a lot of that was colored by things going
on with Jake. I think it all was, now.”
She
paused, looking at her hands. “I was thinking this afternoon that I never
really knew you, who you really were. I never got to know you at all. After
this morning, it came to me that I would never have the chance to know you. I
had the chance, and I blew it, and I deserved what you said.”
“No, you
didn’t,” he said. “And I’m not dead yet.”
A faint
smile crossed Amy’s face. “Monty Python,” she said. “I loved that movie.” Her
smile faded. “I can’t even imagine now what you’ve been through all these
years, you and Quinn. I thought I knew her, too, but after what she said this
morning about what... really happened, I realized I didn’t know her, either. That... that frightened me. I felt it slip though my
fingers, my last chance to know you both. Everything I thought I knew about
either of you was wrong. Everything.”
She
grimaced. “And then I made it worse, thinking you were the problem, when all
along it was... it wasn’t you.” Her gaze drifted from her hands to across the
room at a random spot. “I’ve done you a great injustice, not just once but many
times.” Her face colored. “I’ve said things about you, thought things about
you, and acted... even if I meant well, my intentions were wrongly directed.
I’ve done you more harm than I think I could ever fix, Darius. If you knew what
I’ve said and done, thinking what I thought about you, thinking you had... done
that thing to Quinn, you’d tell me to get out of here and never come back. And
I’d do it, I’d leave. I can’t fix it now, none of it.”
“I
forgive you.” It came out of his mouth before he thought about it.
Amy
started to shake her head. “I can’t imagine how,” she said, and her reddening
face began to work. She swallowed and took a ragged breath. Her hands twisted
against each other as her face wrinkled up. “I can’t imagine how you could
ever—”
He stood
up then, feeling that he should, and she got up from her chair and walked over
to him and hugged him, her face pressed to his shoulder. After a moment, she
drew back and took off her glasses, stuffed them in a pants pocket, and hugged
him again. He saw tears run down her face when she took off her glasses. Her
hair smelled like his mother’s herbal shampoo. He hugged Amy to him, but he
made sure she was a little off to one side so she wasn’t up against his crotch.
That would be too weird.
“I’m
sorry for what I said,” he whispered.
“You
don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Amy mumbled, her voice shaking. “I’ve
really screwed everything up. I’ll never fix it.” She sobbed briefly into his
shirt. He waited until she could take a breath.
“Well,”
he said, “Quinn and Jane and I need a fourth for a card game down in the
kitchen. That’s really why I’m here.”
Amy
sniffed into his shirt, which was soaked at the level of her eyes. “I knew
there was an ulterior motive at work,” she said, sounding better.
“There’s
always an ulterior motive in this house,” he said. He wondered if that was the
right thing to say, but it didn’t seem completely wrong, either.
Amy let
go of him and stepped back. She wiped her red face with her hands and put her
glasses back on, then groaned and took them off again. “Smudged,” she said,
looking around the room.
“I’d
loan you my handkerchief, but it’s used.” He wiped his eyes under his glasses.
“A true
gentleman,” she said. She opened a drawer and cleaned her glasses on a pair of
her sister’s white cotton underwear, then threw the underwear back in the
drawer and shut it. “Let’s go.”
“After
you,” he said, gesturing at the door. “Sorry about all that emotional junk.”
“S’okay,”
she said, walking downstairs. “I’m a woman. I’m supposed to be good at that
stuff.”
Amy and
Darius appeared in the kitchen and found Jane and Quinn with a carton of
chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream between them, the top peeled off. Each
had a spoon in her mouth and looked at the new arrivals with astonishment—and
hope.
“You’d
better get out two more spoons,” said Amy to the girls, walking over. “And
Darius will need one, too.”
“I’ll
get ‘em,” said Darius. He found spoons in a drawer and brought them over. He
gave his aunt a large serving spoon. “To make up for things,” he told her.
“You
didn’t have a bigger one?” said Amy, taking the spoon and reaching for the ice
cream.
“That’s
what I said in the gazebo,” said Jane by reflex. Her hands shot to her mouth
when she realized what she’d done. “Oh, no!” she gasped.
“Jane,
you didn’t just say that!” Quinn shrieked, her hands on her cheeks. “Oh,
my ears! Tell me you didn’t!”
Aunt Amy burst into nervous laughter, rocking back in her chair as she looked
at Darius.
Frozen
in the act of taking his seat, Darius gave a self-conscious smile and slowly
sat down beside Jane. Jane dropped her spoon on the table and covered her face
with her hands.
“Have
you met Jane?” Darius said to Amy, putting his arm around Jane’s shoulders.
“She’s taking classes at the Henny Youngman School of Charm. Got all A’s this
semester, too.”
Jane
lowered her hands. She was trying to keep a straight face, but instead she was
laughing so hard it was making her cry. She hid her face in her arms on the
tabletop, her shoulders quaking. Rubbing her back, Darius sighed and pretended
to be interested in the scenery through the sliding doors.
Her
shock past, Quinn shook her head and again began digging into the ice cream.
“Gazebo,” she grumbled. “And after I talked to you about that, too. Is that
true, you really knocked it down?”
“I’m
afraid so,” said Amy, wiping her eyes. “All those hormones turned it into
kindling.” She scooted closer and got a spoonful of chocolate-chip cookie
dough. “I’ll drive you by the ruins this evening and let you see.”
“You
should charge admission,” said Darius in a deadpan voice. “It’d pay for Quinn’s
college in a few weeks.”
“Jane
should charge,” said Quinn, licking her spoon. “It’ll pay for diapers.”
“Oh,
no,” said Jane, raising her head and sniffing. “We—” She started to laugh again
but managed to stop. “We were going to be careful. Prepared, I mean, we were
prepared.”
“Jane,”
said Darius. “please don’t—”
“Oh,
c’mon, Quinn knows what a condom is.”
“I know
what they are, but I haven’t seen one,” said Quinn, trying to get another
spoonful of ice cream at the same time her aunt did. They clacked spoons
together like swords for a few seconds, then dug into opposite ends of the
ice-cream carton.
“Seriously,”
said Jane. “Never?”
“I had
couple in my purse I’d show you, but I threw them out,” said Amy after she took
the spoon out of her mouth. “They went past their expiration dates.”
“So, you
don’t meet guys that often?” said Quinn.
“No,”
said Amy, smirking. “I started out with two dozen.”
Darius shut
his eyes and looked pained. “I did not need to know—”
“Why did
you put them in your purse?” Quinn asked.
“She
wants to be prepared,” said Jane, getting a spoonful of ice cream. “Like the
Girl Scouts teach you.”
“But—”
said Quinn.
“I’m
going to get the cards,” said Darius, getting up from the table with a red
face. “I left them in the living room.”
“He’s
such a prude,” he heard Jane say as he walked out.
“Could
have fooled me with the gazebo thing,” said Amy. “Outdoors in front of
everybody. Kids these days. When I was a teen, we did things differently.”
“Hmm,”
said Jane. “That’s not what I saw in that
“So what
do they look like?” Quinn asked. “Condoms, I mean.”
Darius
had the playing cards by this time and was about to walk back into the kitchen
when he heard the crinkle of plastic. Oh, shit, he thought.
Sure
enough, Jane’s voice was next. “They look like these,” she said.
Quinn
gasped aloud. “Oh, you’re kidding!” she said. “You just carry them around in
your pocket?”
“Neon?”
said Amy. “And what are these for, the Fourth of July? Did you buy
these, or did he?”
Darius
turned around without entering the kitchen and went back into the living room
to the sofa. He tossed the cards aside and picked up the newspaper, then sat
down.
“He
bought these,” said Jane. “These were mine. I thought he was the patriotic one,
but noooo.”
“Sick
and twisted,” said Amy. “My kind of people. I thought you said he was a prude.”
“He is,
but he’s a guy,” said Jane. “We decided to wait anyway after the gazebo
disaster, so we don’t need these anymore.”
“That’s
what you think now,” said Amy.
“Let me
see one,” said Quinn. The sound of tearing plastic made its way into the living
room. Darius blushed furiously as he tried to read the newspaper. A headline at
the bottom of the front page caught his gaze: ARSONIST STRIKES NEAR HALCYON
HILLS EXECUTIVE PARK.
“Eww!”
Quinn said. “What’s on this?”
“Lubricant,”
said Amy.
“But why
do they need—oh, eww!”
Desperately
trying to shut out the conversation without going upstairs and locking himself
in his room, Darius made himself focus on the arsonist article. He glanced at
the accompanying map of the corporate park on the north side of
“See,”
said Jane, “it goes on like this. See my two fingers? You put it on top and do
this.”
“Oh, I
couldn’t!”
“May as
well get used to it, even if you don’t use one for a few years more,” said Amy.
“Here. Take that one. Let’s see you use it.”
“Amy!”
Darius
gave up. He got up and walked out of the living room, and he was on his way to
the stairs when he took a second look at the map of the corporate park and
nearby woods. Something looked odd about one of the structures, the
“My
hands are shaking!”
“It
won’t bite you,” said Amy. “Jane, help the newbie.”
“Oh, gross!
I can’t do this!”
“Roll it
down,” said Jane.
“Eww!”
“There
you go,” said Jane. “You did it. Just like a professional.”
“Oh,
that icky stuff is getting all over everything!”
“Boy,
that takes me back,” said Amy with a sigh. “Those wild, wacky days of
high-school romance. Do they still separate the girls and boys when they teach
sex ed, or whatever they call it now?”
“Yup,”
said Jane. “At
“Nocturnal
emissions!” said Amy and Jane at the same time.
“Oh, I
am like so not hearing this!” shrieked Quinn.
Darius,
at the foot of the stairs with the newspaper held up to his face, missed it
all. Hurrying upstairs, he went into his room, booted up his computer, and
logged into his Internet account, the newspaper on his desk by his keyboard. He
couldn’t hear the women in the kitchen now, but even if he could, it wouldn’t
matter. Once online, he clicked down his list of favorite websites until he
found the folder labeled ARCHIMEDES. He clicked the folder open, went down the
sublist, and clicked on the third hyperlink. A few moments later, a webpage
appeared and he studied it closely, scrolling down. He looked at the map in the
newspaper at the curiously shaped
And he
knew who the arsonist was. No question about it.
He
flipped open the newspaper and checked the weather at the bottom of the front
page. Cloudy tonight, possible rain Sunday afternoon continuing through Tuesday
night. The arsonist would not likely return until Wednesday at the earliest.
Should
I say something? he wondered. Should I call the fire department or the
city government about it? People could get killed, for sure. I’d better make
some calls.
Or—
He
paused.
Well,
no, maybe I’d better document it first. No one would believe me otherwise. I
should take some time and do it right, research it in depth, visit the site,
take pictures, write up a full report. Maybe Barch will give me extra credit
for science if I turn it in—and maybe pigs will build rockets and colonize Mars
next month, too. The newspaper might use it, though. This will be quite a scoop
if I handle it right. I shouldn’t tell anyone just yet. It will be my secret
for now. Just mine.
This was
not all he was thinking, however. Another thought had come up, a possibility,
and he was skating around it without considering it too deeply at first. It was
a tiny thought, like a tiny crack in a lake of ice, but it had an unseen
influence on him, luring him closer. As he sat before his computer, he found
himself circling the thought with a bit of fear, knowing the crack was lethal
and could drag him under forever.
Approaching
the crack in the ice by degrees, however, accustomed him to its dangers,
allowing him to close in a little more, grow used to that, then draw closer yet
again, and so on, until—
He
stared at his computer screen, and the webpage it displayed on the
And the
byline: FRESHMAN CADET DARIUS MORGENDORFFER.
Was
it possible, ran his thoughts, that this phenomenon could serve another
purpose?
If so,
he would have to keep his discovery a secret for sure.
If he
spoke even a word about what he was considering, it would be murder.
Darius
Morgendorffer knew a great deal about the nearly mythical Mirror of Archimedes,
which the history books also called the Burning Mirror or Burning Glass. He’d
won the Laurel of Archimedes at
The tale
of the Mirror is quickly told, but a quickly told tale is no fun at all.
Understanding and a minute of patience are required.
In 215
B.C.,
The one
card
Hieron
II, the wise old tyrant of
The
seafaring forces faced engines of death just as terrible. Cranes swung out from
the walls of
And then
there was the Burning Mirror.
Archimedes
almost certainly knew of mirrors, as he studied at the Library of Alexandria in
his youth and the famed lighthouse of that city used mirrors in the daytime to
catch the attention of distant ships and guide them to the harbor. Archimedes
wrote a book about mirrors that has unfortunately been lost, but some of the
mathematics behind the Mirror appeared in other books he did. He figured out
that a parabolic mirror could focus the sun’s rays at a single point, producing
enormous amounts of light and heat there. He could not build a parabolic mirror
big enough to defend
The
Mirror of Archimedes consisted of a large number of city soldiers who stood
atop the seaward city wall carrying highly polished flat shields. At a command,
the soldiers raised their shields and reflected the sun’s rays toward a common
target—say, a Roman galley pulled up close to the walls with a siege tower or
archers all over its decks. The soldiers on the wall used the same principle
that an annoying kid brother uses when he flashes sunlight into the eyes of an
older sibling using a pocket mirror—but when done in massive numbers, the
energy so concentrated becomes staggering. Temperatures on any ship at the
focal point of the Mirror soared into many hundreds of degrees Fahrenheit in
seconds. Wood blackened and smoldered, cloth and hay burned, eyes were blinded,
flesh was seared, and entire ships burst into flame and burned down to their
waterlines in minutes. With no possible defense against such a superweapon, the
Roman navy pulled back and gladly let the land-based soldiers handle things
from there on.
Modern
scientists refused to credit the Mirror with such power until a reenactment
performed by the Greek navy in 1973 proved it not only possible but likely.
Sailors using 70 highly polished bronze mirrors focused them on a tar-covered
rowboat at a distance of 165 feet, and they quickly set it ablaze. The number
of soldiers participating in Archimedes’ decentralized Mirror is unknown, but
with the unlimited budget given him by the old tyrant of
All
these wonders came to naught in time.
The
story of the Mirror, however, survived. Rumors have it that certain papers
about the device surfaced in
Darius
understood from his examination of the map of the
The
icing on the cake was Darius’s discovery that the nearest structure to the
hill, the Halcyon Hills Executive Building, had a titanic, ten-story-high,
slightly concave disk of gold color as its corporate symbol, behind which were
more offices and satellite communications equipment. The disk had recently been
given a chemical treatment to remove dirt, bird droppings, and weathering that
had dulled its reflective surface from the day of its construction, and the
treatment had been completed the day before the fires in the woods began.
Thursday evening had been cloudy, so the full force of this modern Mirror of
Archimedes was reserved for Friday night. Darius could only pity the wildlife
that found itself at the focal point of such a huge amount of solar energy
pouring in at once from the afternoon sun. It was a wonder that the entire hill
hadn’t been scorched bare. Very likely, it soon would be.
And when
that happened, Darius planned for someone he knew to be at the focal point.
Whereas the army of
In a
short time, he was able to locate public-domain aerial photos of
You
ever hurt Quinn, I swear to God, you’d better run and never stop, he had
told his father.
It was
too late for running now. It was far too late. An eleven-year-old girl with a
battered face looked up at Darius from three old photos, and the pitiless urge
to repay blood with blood caught him by the heart and dragged him under. It did
not matter that he was planning to murder his father. Nothing mattered now but
vengeance for a lifetime of abuse that he now knew had touched someone other
than himself. He would see to it that it would never happen again.
And
Darius knew he could do it. It would not even be that difficult to arrange.
Jake
Morgendorffer was a creature of stupid rage, a half-blind bull easily led by
the flapping of a red cape. Darius merely had to offer himself up, saying he
had discovered that his mother was planning a special legal offensive and he
wanted to sell the news to dear old Dad for a significant amount of hard cash.
His father would dive at the chance to hurt his soon-to-be ex, and if the means
of her destruction came through Darius, all the better, as the news could later
be thrown in Helen Morgendorffer’s face. The old man would show up, no question
about it—and contacting him would be simple, as Darius was certain his father
was hiding at or somewhere near his mother’s house. Grandma Ruth had backed up
her son through thick and thin, trying to relieve her guilt over her husband’s
abuse of Jake as a child. Darius had only to call Grandma Ruth with a message
for his father to contact him by Internet, and the deed would be done.
In his
mind’s eye, Darius could already see the parked Lexus on the hill above the
Aunt
Rita had wanted to see Jake burn. Darius alone would have that honor.
I
warned you, he thought as he checked a list of sunrise and sunset times for
Footsteps
thumping softly up the stairs interrupted Darius in the midst of his reverie.
Startled, he turned off his monitor and quickly gathered the scattered
printouts on his desk into a small stack. When someone knocked on the door to his
bedroom, he shoved all the papers under a large book and got up from his desk.
When he
opened the door, he found Jane on the other side.
“Yo,”
she said. She looked past him into his room. “So, this is your secret lair.”
“Yeah.
Come on in.” He pushed the door fully open and stood aside. His heart raced. He
realized he was sweating heavily.
“Were
you exercising?” Jane asked, looking at him. “You’re breathing hard.”
“Uh, no.
Just... sitting around. Thinking. I guess it’s all
sort of getting to me, you know, everything, and I just wanted to be alone for
a while.”
“Am I
interrupting?”
“Um, no.
It’s okay. Uh... this is my room.”
“So I
guessed. Hey, cool. What’s with the bars on the windows? Do you turn into a
werewolf every full moon?”
Darius
laughed nervously and told Jane about the previous owner’s schizophrenic
mother, who had lived in the room. “The lady who sold us the house was supposed
to have had the bars cut off the windows, but Mom was in such a hurry to get
moved in, we sort of skipped that part. I think it adds a nice, homey touch now
that I’m away from the detention center.”
“The new
Martha Stewart,” said Jane with a smile. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you
did turn into a werewolf, but I can’t have everything. Does the TV work?”
“Yeah, but
only with that remote. I got our old VCR hooked up to it, too.”
“Do you
think I can visit you here now that—” Jane stopped and waited, looking
uncomfortable.
“You
know, you probably can,” said Darius quickly. “I didn’t want you to come over
when we got here, with Dad being the way he was, so... yeah, if Mom doesn’t
mind, sure. We can watch the tube, do homework.”
“If you
do it in the home, then it must be homework.” Jane had that trademark smirk
again. “Hey, the reason I came up, we sort of dropped the card game idea when
you didn’t come back, and now Amy wants to take us over to my place in her car,
look at the gazebo, and look at some of my stuff. Then we’ll head out for
dinner. Her treat.”
“Um...”
Darius looked around, gazing briefly at his still-active computer. “You know, I
was thinking I might just crash for a while or something. Maybe you and Amy and
Quinn should go have a night out, as long as you don’t have me arrested again
or anything. You haven’t really gotten out with her, and I know she wanted to
talk with you about your stuff. Your art stuff, I mean. I’ll stay here and
check in with Mom and Rita.”
Jane
looked him over. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked with concern. “You don’t
look right.”
“Just
tired,” he said. “Not very sociable. It’s nothing about Amy or anything like
that. I’m just burnt out after—everything. I could use a rest.”
Jane
nodded, and her expression softened. “Amy said that you forgave her. She got a
little emotional about it when she told me. It meant a lot to her. Quinn was
happy about it, too.” She looked at him with shining eyes. “That was a great
thing you did.”
Darius
shrugged and stared at the floor, unable to look Jane in the eyes. What I am
about to do will more than make up for that. “It was nothing,” he said.
“She’s okay.”
Jane
came closer. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers. Her mouth was
warm and her lips soft. “I won the lottery when I met you,” she whispered when
the kiss ended.
I’m
going to kill my father. I’ll going to murder him for what he did to Quinn,
even if I burn in Hell for it to eternity. I would give myself over to Satan to
do this. You did not win any lottery at all when you met me.
“You’ll
be okay while we’re gone?” she asked.
He
nodded, fearful she would see through him. “I was the one who got lucky,” he
whispered.
“Hardly,”
murmured Jane. “The gazebo fell apart before you could get lucky. Amy agreed
that it was a sign from the gods and we should wait, though.”
“That
wasn’t what I meant.”
She
smiled. He smelled crocus in the air around her. “Amy, Quinn, and I are going
to call ourselves the Bad Aunts,” she said. “We’re going to devote ourselves to
corrupting other people’s kids. Quinn wants to fill them with obnoxious school
spirit while Amy and I make them sarcastic and cynical.”
Darius
frowned. “Quinn’s not an aunt.”
Jane
tried unsuccessfully to hide a smirk. “Not yet,” she said. “She’s in training.”
He
raised an eyebrow at her—and realized he’d been tricked into having a good
mood. A small good mood, but a good one nevertheless. It wasn’t at all what
he’d wanted, but she did it.
“Hey,
you two!” came Amy’s voice from downstairs. “Get off the bed and let’s go for a
drive! I’ll leave Helen and Rita a note with my cell phone number.”
Darius
forced a smile. “Just a moment!” he called, then he looked into Jane’s infinite
blue eyes. He reached up and touched her face and her fire-engine red lips.
Can I
hurt her? Can I hurt Quinn? Would doing such evil to someone who deserves it
destroy their faith in me? Would it hurt them more completely than if I had
slapped them in the face? Can I destroy a miracle like this?
“You
changed me,” he said. He had not wanted to say this at all—he hadn’t really meant
to say anything. “I’m not who I used to be. Knowing you makes me want to be a
better man.” Liar! LIAR! You’re as evil as your father always said you were!
LIAR!
Jane
smiled in a way she had not before, as if her smile went all the way through
her. “No one ever said that to me,” she whispered. She stared at him and he
knew at that moment that if he asked her, she would do anything for him.
He
swallowed with a dry mouth. “Go have fun,” he said, and he took his hand from
her face. “I’ll be okay. I just need to rest.”
After a
moment, she whispered, “Okay.” She left the room, looking back once before she
went downstairs. He walked over and shut the door to his room without a sound,
then realized he had not said “I love you,” as he always did. Should he have
said it? Or was it his way of saying goodbye?
Or had
he said it after all, without saying it?
He stood
for a long time by the door until he heard the front door shut and the house
fall silent. A minute later, the Triumph’s sporty little engine roared, and the
Bad Aunts were loose on
Empty
inside, he walked to his bed and sat down on it.
He had
failed. He knew he wasn’t going to tempt his father to that hillside. He would
instead call the police about the problem in the next few days, turning over
diagrams and paperwork, and be proven right by mid-week. Another feather in his
cap.
And his
father would go free to do more evil. Quinn would not be avenged. Nothing more
would happen.
“I’m
worthless,” he whispered to the rug that didn’t fit anywhere else in the house.
Even as he said it, however, he did not know if it was true. He knew only that
he was lost and had no idea what path to take, where he would be when he was no
longer lost, or even if he would know the difference. Everything hinged on it.
It was
time to consult with the only person who had ever understood him. It did not
matter that she had been dead for almost a hundred and fifty years.
The
little paperback was worn and dog-eared, the pages coming loose and many
falling out. He found it in a used bookstore ages ago and bought it on the
spot. He hadn’t liked it when he first read it. Only after the third time he
read it through did he realize that parts of it spoke to him as nothing else
could.
You
can blast my other possessions; but revenge remains—revenge, henceforth dearer
than light or food! I may die; but first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall
curse the sun that gazes on your misery.
So
close, he thought, looking down at the page. So close I came to seeing
him burn, and so ironic. He riffled the pages and scanned down until he
found another spot he’d long ago marked with a blue ballpoint pen.
I
slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw
Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt.
Delighted and surprised, I embraced her; but as I imprinted the first kiss on
her lips, they became livid with the hue of death....
Jane—this
is Jane if I ever give in to the darkest side of me. I have no bright side,
only different shades of darkness like the painting she once joked she’d do. If
my darkest side should touch her, this would be her.
The book
was not his favorite; it was merely the one to which he turned most often when
troubled. To say that gave the book no honor. It simply called out what was
inside him, the rage he carried, the awful things he had wished to say but
never had. It was the only book that ever reached into the places Darius hid
from everyone else. It was as if the author had known him intimately and then
written about his entire life.
“Devil,”
I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? and do not you fear the fierce vengeance
of my arm wreaked on your miserable
head? Begone, vile insect! or rather, stay that I may trample you to dust!”
“All men
hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all
living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spur me, thy creature, to whom
thou art bound by ties only dissolute by the annihilation of one of us.”
“Abhorred monster! fiend that thou art! the tortures of hell are too mild a vengeance for thy crimes.”
Creator
and monster, father and son. It was his life, indeed. What disturbed Darius of
late, however, was that it was difficult to say which role in the book spoke
the most directly to him. Was he the monster, as he had always felt, or the
monster’s creator? He had always believed his father was the creator, but
now—now it was impossible to say.
Anguish
and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within me,
which nothing could extinguish.
That was the creator, not the monster speaking. Why
did the words mean so much to him, then? If he was the creator, what exactly
had he created?
I
had been the author of unalterable evils; and I lived in daily fear, lest the
monster whom I had created should perpetrate some new wickedness.
Again,
the creator—but why did the words make him nervous for the future? Was it
speaking of him, or of the darkness inside him that might one day break out and
destroy all, as his father had destroyed? Or did it speak of the far future, if
one day he had a child of his own to torture and torment? Jane’s comment about
Quinn as an aunt-in-training was not forgotten, nor were its implications.
How
could Jane dare think of such a thing? he marveled. How could she? Can’t
she see what I really am? Doesn’t she know the danger of what she’s hinting at?
Did I even know? I am a monster with a plain human face. I plan the murder of
my own father, and I fail to stop the suicide of my only friend at the
academy—my roommate, whom I could have saved in some way, there must have been
some way, I know it. The beast inside me is chained, but for how long? What
other evil will I do? Who else will I hurt? Who else will slip through my hands
and be destroyed?
Or am I
really the destroyer? What am I? Who am I?
I
had resolved in my own mind, that to create another like the fiend I had first
made would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness; and I
banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different conclusion.
Another
thought of the creator, pointed at days to come. Darius cursed himself for a
fool. I want to have sex with Jane so badly, I would risk getting her
pregnant and create a new me. How stupid am I? How could I not have seen this?
Will I ever hurt her—or hurt Quinn, as Dad did? Do I really know better, even
with all my insight?
How much
more a murderer, that could destroy such radiant innocence?
My
father made me a monster, and now I find that I can repeat the mistake and
create yet another me if I am not careful. When will the chain break? Will it
stop with me, or go on forever? When will it end?
I
shall collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that
its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would
create another such as I have been. I shall die.... I shall no longer see the
sun or stars, or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense
will pass away; and in this condition must I find my happiness.
Darius
lingered a long while over this part, the monster’s farewell, which had held
his attention since the day he bought the book. He was not blind to its
possibilities.
Did
Michael Ellenbogen actually know what was the right thing to do? I thought no,
that he did wrong to take his life, but perhaps that is the way I should have
gone—not he, even as sad and miserable as he was. I remember how heavy he was
when I cut him down, how I almost fell as I held him up, how I laid him on the
bed and looked for life in his blackened, hideous face—but he was dead. I could
see it. I stayed with him, thinking he might still be in the room with me as a
spirit, and I asked that he come back to his body and live—but he left, he left
his body cold, and I sat with it and cried, and nothing I said or did brought
him back. I said goodbye, and then called for help on the phone, but I did not
leave him alone in the room until the teachers and medics and police arrived. I
stayed with him, because he was my friend.
And
now I wonder if he knew the right path after all. If I live, will I make the same
mistakes my father did? Will I do more evil, or at least a little good? Every
day I force down my evil, lock it in the deepest prison and hide the key. Jane
and Quinn need all the good I can give them, what little is left in me. They
depend on me and look to me. What am I to do? How can I go on with my life?
When
I found so astonishing a power place within my hands, I hesitated a long time
concerning the manner in which I should employ it.
Oh,
the Mirror, and the hillside that will burn come Wednesday night. Should I be
there waiting instead of my father, then? Would that be my funeral pyre, as the
monster set his on the ice at the North Pole? Should I be there to greet the
setting sun, and be done with my life?
I
shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the agony of the
torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will
be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace; or if it
thinks, it will not surely think thus....
It
seems right, in a way. No one knows of the Mirror yet but me. Should I finish
my life there, and set Jane and Quinn free to find better lives? Would it hurt
them so much for me to be gone?
Something
whispers to me not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us;
but I will not listen to such a sinister voice.
So
speaks Elizabeth, the creator’s bride to be. How wrong she was, but how
strongly she wanted the triumph of goodness and mercy. Will Jane and Quinn
learn the awful lesson that she did—but learn it from me, the monster? Can I
prevent that, ever?
Darius
sighed. The book’s pages riffled through his fingers.
Is
there anything in here about any small chance for good to come of this? I have
the miracle of two people in my life who count on me and say they love me, even
if their love and trust are misplaced. Is there any chance that we will all be
happy?
He shut
the book, the opened it at random and read what met his eyes.
It
was a strong effort of the spirit of good; but it was ineffectual. Destiny was
too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible
destruction.
He smiled
without humor, and the book closed in his hands: Frankenstein, by Mary
Wollstonecraft Shelley.
“It
figures,” he said aloud, “that even a woman who never knew me would know me
better than I do. It figures.”
What am I to do?
He held
the book for a minute longer, then stood up. For some reason, he felt that he
had held on to this book for too long. It was a ruin, and he was sick of it,
and if it meant so much to him, he should get a new copy.
And he
did something he had never done before in his life. Frankenstein went into the trashcan under his computer desk. He
walked downstairs and into the kitchen, aware that he had never before thrown
out a book. He found a box of frosted cherry Pop-Tarts in the cabinet, got a
glass of milk, and sat down at the table.
I
can’t kill myself, he thought as he ate. Maybe I’m a coward, like Dad
said I was, or maybe I’m being smart. I don’t know, but I will go on living, even
suffering like this. I don’t deserve what death would give me—an end to my
pain, the freedom and release from a rotten life. Jane and Quinn don’t deserve to
suffer over my death, but they also don’t deserve whatever evil I might do them
in life, so I will do them none. The evil in me will stay chained and hidden.
No one will know. I will do Good, all the rest of my life, because there is
nothing left for me to do.
He left
the last two Pop-Tarts, threw the trash away, put his glass in the sink, and
was heading back upstairs when he heard the garage door rumble open. He
lingered in the living room, pretending to look for a book on a shelf.
The
laundry room door between the garage and kitchen opened.
“Rita,”
came his mother’s exasperated voice as she stamped inside, “don’t you have the
slightest idea of what racketeering is?”
“Um,”
said Rita, coming in next. “No, not—”
“It
means your boyfriend is being charged with running an illegal operation, like
drugs or prostitution or illegal gambling! For God’s sake, didn’t you even look
it up when they arrested him?”
“You
know, Helen, you’re so judgmental! I get a great boyfriend, and all you can do
is say, ‘Oh, he’s not perfect, you know!’ At least he’s not Jake!”
“Bruno
is up for ten to fifteen years, Rita! He could be in a federal correctional
facility until you turn fifty!”
“He’s a
nice guy!” Rita shouted. “He’s nice to me, he’s funny, he takes me places, and
he’s a great dancer! What about that?”
“Christ
on a goddamn Christmas tree!” Darius heard his mother open a cabinet. A bottle
thumped onto the island, and glasses clinked.
“Could
you pour me one, too?” Rita asked.
“You can
have the damn bottle,” said Helen. The refrigerator door opened and shut. “I
don’t know how the hell you meet such trash.”
“Bruno’s
good to me, okay? Look, I told him I was thinking about getting breast
enhancement surgery, and you know—”
“What?
You what?”
“Don’t
yell at me!”
“You’re
getting your boobs fixed for this creep? Augh! Rita!”
“No! He
said I was perfect the way I was! Ha!” Rita settled down, looking smug. “Even
if he’s going to prison, Bruno’s better than a man who’d beat his own
daughter.”
The
sound of liquid pouring into a glass came from the kitchen. A soda can popped
and fizzed, then it poured, too. “I can’t argue with that,” said his mother in
a dark tone. “I wish I’d... screw it.”
“I don’t
hear anyone around.” High heels clicked through the kitchen. Darius turned and
saw his Aunt Rita walk into the living room—and stop dead when she saw Darius
across the room at the bookshelves. “Oh!” she gasped, stepping back. “Um—is
everyone else upstairs?”
“No,” he
said. “They went out with Amy. She took them on a drive. I think they’re going
to dinner somewhere.”
“Just
like her not to think of the rest of us,” said his mother, still in the
kitchen. “Here’s your drink.”
Rita
looked at Darius a moment longer, then shrugged and looked back in the kitchen.
“Darius is here,” she said. “You want to talk with him?”
“Later,”
said his mother, pouring again.
“Are you
going home tomorrow?” Darius asked his aunt.
Rita
crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. It depends. We had a long
meeting with your mom’s new attorney, and he wanted us to look over some papers
this weekend before she went back to see him Tuesday.”
“Is
there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
Rita
snorted and looked back into the kitchen with a weary, unfelt grin. “Tell us
where Jake is. That would help a lot.”
“He’s
probably at his mother’s house.”
“Yeah,
we figured he might be. Ruth would do that, hide him in her basement or
something. You haven’t heard from him?”
He shook
his head. “I’d tell you if I did. Is there anything you can tell me about
what’s going on?”
Rita
shook her head, still with that tired grin. “No, we’re just moving ahead with
everything.” She looked back into the kitchen. “Helen, you shouldn’t have too
many of those if you’re going out again tonight.”
“I’m
not,” his mother said. Another set of heels clicked over the floor, and his
mother appeared in the doorway. Her face was lined and lifeless. She held a
glass of amber liquor in her hand and looked Darius over with dull eyes. It
seemed for a moment she was going to say something, but she turned away and
looked aimlessly around the living room instead.
“What
are you planning to do with Dad’s things?” Darius asked. “The stuff he left
here?”
“Keep
it,” said his mother. “Burn it, throw it out, sell it, whatever. It’s mine,
now. He wants it, he can come get whatever’s left if he’s got the balls.”
“Are the
police going to prosecute him?”
Darius
thought his mother might explode over that, but she didn’t. She stood there in
the doorway, looking at the big-screen color TV, and swished the drink in her
hand. “Yes.” She took a small drink from her glass and swallowed, making a
bitter face. “The statute of limitations for child abuse won’t expire for a
long time. They’ll find him. Or I will, one or the other.”
“Good,”
he said.
His
mother looked back at him a moment, then gazed at the TV again.
Rita
looked from her sister to her nephew, then sighed. “I need to visit the girls’
room before I get my drink,” she said, walking for the stairway up. “Be right
back.”
Once her
feet stopped bumping up the stairs, Darius put his hands in his back pants
pockets and faced his mother. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
She
looked at him and shook her head, then looked at the floor by his feet. “It’s
all done,” she said. “Everything but finding Jake.”
Silence
fell and drew out. Darius expected his mother would walk back into the kitchen
or even go upstairs, but she didn’t. She remained there across the room from
him, holding her glass, looking at his feet. Her face changed at times, as if
she meant to say or do something, but nothing happened.
“How
long will Amy be out?” his mother finally asked. “Did she say?”
“No.
They were going over to Jane’s, then to dinner. You can call her on her cell
phone.”
“Why
didn’t you go?”
“I
didn’t... I was just tired.”
She
looked him over, then leaned back against the wall behind her and looked into
her glass.
“He
screwed us,” she said. “Your father screwed us.” She took a drink and glanced
up at Darius. “I thought it was you. All this time, I thought it was you that—”
She waved a hand “—did that to your sister. I thought it was you.” She raised
her glass and gulped down her drink, then turned and walked back into the
kitchen. He heard her kick off her shoes and pad softly to the island again.
Pouring sounds drifted out.
After a
moment, he walked into the kitchen behind her and leaned against the doorway,
watching her fix another bourbon and Coke. She noticed him after a moment, then
shrugged again and took a drink from her refreshed glass. When she put it down,
she stared out the window at the overcast scene outside.
“It’s
going to rain,” he said. “Might last for a few days.”
His
mother sniffed and looked down at her glass. Another long silence drew out.
“He’s
probably at Ruth’s now,” she said, running her thumb through a puddle of
alcohol on the countertop. “He’s probably there eating chili and tacos and God
knows what else she makes for him, all that fatty food she makes for him. He’ll
probably have a heart attack and die there one day. That’s probably what’ll
happen. We’ll never find him.” She sniffed and looked outside, then back at
him. “So, are you going to that party tonight, or not?”
“Not,”
he said. “I’m staying home.”
She
exhaled. “So, what do you want me to do?” she said. “You want me to apologize?
You want money to make it all up to you?”
He
thought about it. “An apology wouldn’t do me any good. Doesn’t matter.”
“So, you
want money, or what?”
“I’m
going to look for a job,” he said. “I figured with just one income, money would
be tight for a while. I’ll find something after school or on weekends. Don’t
know where yet. It’d give me some spending cash, if nothing else.”
She
looked at him with suspicious surprise. “I thought you’d want to stick it to
me,” she said. “You’ve got the abuse thing hanging over my head, and the
deposition, too—which we’ve had to put off, by the way, until the new attorney
looks the case over. He thinks we’ll get through. I don’t know how, but he said
we might. You’ll have to see him.” She coughed, looking at her drink again.
“So, you’re not going to ask me for a few thousand bucks because I thought you
beat up—”
“Drop
it,” he said, his voice growing tight. “This is pissing me off.”
She
stopped, glancing up at him before looking back at her drink.
“So, am
I like Dad?” he asked.
Her
hazel eyes came up and took him in. “Like your father?” she said. “Are you like
your father?” She looked down and shook her head no. She picked up her drink.
“So, am I a good mother?”
He
didn’t answer right away.
She took
a long swallow from the glass and turned away.
“You’re
here,” he said at last. “You care.”
The
words stopped her. “You can’t mean that,” she said.
“I do.”
He took a deep breath. “You want to find Dad?”
She turned
and eyed him. “That was a stupid question. You know where he is?”
“No, but
I know how to get him.” He remembered the first part of his plan to kill his
father—how he would entice the old man into meeting him at a given location to
sell information on his mother’s alleged legal plans. He described the plot in
detail to his mother, omitting any mention of the Mirror. She listened without
moving, except to set her glass on the countertop again. “You think it might
work?” he said.
She
nodded. “It could. He’d go for it. Were you thinking about this a lot?”
“Yeah.
In my room.”
She
licked her lips, looking across the kitchen. “It couldn’t hurt. He has to come
back for a court date next week because he assaulted that officer. If he skips,
we can try it. What kind of things were you going to tell him about me?”
“Any
kind of bullshit he might believe. Nothing that he could use later. Does it
matter?”
“No, I guess
not.” She sighed. “We’ll work it out tomorrow. I’m off for the rest of the
night. Too much.”
“Sure.”
She
picked up her drink and walked for the doorway, brushing past him as she headed
into the living room and around to the stairway.
“Mom?”
She
turned around, glass in hand.
“I’m
glad you’re here,” he said. “We’re still a family.” It was impossible for him
to say he loved her. This was the best he could do.
“Right,”
she said, her face cold. “You’re keeping me around for my paycheck, like you
told me. We’re three people living in a house, Darius. We’re not a family.”
“I want
us to start over.” Darius took a step toward her. “I’m not messing with you.
You and me and Quinn, I want us to make it through this.”
His
mother swallowed, swishing around the contents of her glass. After a moment,
she turned without a word and walked through the family room to the stairs. As
she went up, footsteps met hers coming down.
Moments
later, Rita appeared. She glanced at Darius and went into the kitchen to pick
up her bourbon and Coke. “You’re alive,” she said, sipping her drink. “I thought
you and your mom... never mind.”
“We’re a
family,” he said.
Rita put
down her drink and looked speculatively at Darius, her hands on the countertop.
“I suppose we are,” she said. “I always knew you didn’t hit Quinn. She told me
who did. I knew it wasn’t you.”
“Thank
you. It’s over with, anyway. Doesn’t matter now.”
“You
know,” said Rita, “I kind of expected you to be different. Don’t get mad at me,
but I thought maybe you’d be more like Jake. You’re not, though. I don’t know
what you’re like, but you’re not a bad person, far as I can tell. Mind if I say
that?”
He
shrugged. “No. Say what you want.”
She
nodded, eyes narrowing. “I wish my
Darius smiled. “I don’t think I
should marry my first cousin. I’m underage, too.”
Rita
laughed. “I didn’t mean you, just someone like you. Someone reliable. I think
you’ll be okay. I like your girlfriend. She’s your girlfriend, right? Jane?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s
different, but I see the chemistry. You’ve got it. Take good care of her.”
“I
will.”
“I think
you will, too. By the way, there was a weird call on the answering machine at
Helen’s office. A Mrs. Griffin or Griffith called, something about her
daughter’s club at school getting its charter suspended come Monday because of
you. She was really mad about it and was yelling like mad. You know anything
about this?”
Darius
shook his head, then froze. He suddenly realized what Jane’s little mission had
been on Friday—a visit to the office with a copy of the flyers that Stacy Rowe
was putting up in the halls. Principal Li was probably a ferocious fan of Quinn
Morgendorffer after the support Quinn had given the football team in its
lopsided victory over Oakwood. The Fashion Club and Sandi Griffin were toast.
“Doesn’t
matter,” said Rita. “She sounded like a big asshole anyway. God, I can’t
believe—”
The
phone rang. Rita turned and picked up the cordless phone behind her.
“Morgendorffers,” she said. “Hi, Amy. Oh, okay, I guess. I’ll tell you about it
later. Are you coming back? No, he’s here. Not me, thanks. I’ll stay with
Helen. She’s crashing. Wait.” She put the receiver to her chest and looked at
Darius. “Amy wants to know if you want to go out to dinner, pizza or something.
They’re done at Jane’s place.”
He
hadn’t expected they would call, but he was glad now they had. “Sure,” he said.
“That’s great.”
“He said
come on by,” said Rita to the phone. “No, he looks fine to me. Tired, maybe,
like the rest of us. You did? Well, that was nice. Good to hear it. See you in
five, then.” She clicked off and hung up. “They’ll be by in five minutes. Amy
said she bought something from Jane, a sculpture I think.”
“Great.”
It surprised him a little. He wondered if it was the sculpture of the leaping
figure he’d seen in her room when he’d visited there the first time. He looked
down, checked his clothes, and decided he was presentable. “I’ll wait for them
outside.”
“Have
fun,” said Rita, picking up her drink and waving.
He
walked outside and shut the door behind him. It was cloudy and cool, promising
rain. At the end of the sidewalk, he stopped and waited for the little red
sports car and the Bad Aunts. His thoughts rambled, and he remembered Mike and
wondered where he was now, if his spirit was still around or free to pass on,
or if it existed at all. He hoped his friend was at peace. He hoped that one
day he would be at peace, too. There was promise in the air, and the battered
copy of Frankenstein was in the
garbage can where it belonged.
I have a chance, he thought. I have a
chance to be someone new. We all have a
chance, now.
Will
Quinn be an aunt one day? Will she and Jane call each other sister?
It would
be nice if it happened. A throaty engine roared in the distance. The wind blew
the dead leaves past, and he waited for the scent of the bright flowers that
would end the winter.
Epilogue
The best
part of the mid-October open-air ceremony in front of the Lawndale city hall
building, Darius had to admit, was the part right after. The weather had held
up, though rain was coming, and the leaf-filled wind was merely cool.
“That
was magnificent,” said Colonel Armstrong. His handshake was the kind that men
who admire each other will give, restrained but powerful. “I knew a day like
this would come. I’m glad I was able to get away to see this. You’ve made
everyone at Buxton Ridge very proud.”
“Thank
you, sir,” said Darius with an embarrassed grin. He held the award to his chest
with his left hand. Flash cameras went off around them. Lawndale’s mayor and
several of his teachers from the high school hovered in the background. It
pleased Darius that Mr. DeMartino was there, one of the few teachers whom he
respected. It also pleased him that Ms. Barch was there to eat her share of
crow with the school principal, Ms. Li. Giving him low grades in science on a
whim, just because he was a he, would be nearly impossible for Barch after
this.
“Are
your parents here?” the colonel asked, looking around. “I’d like to meet them.”
“My
mother, sir,” said Darius, spying her close by. “Mom? Mom, this is Colonel
Armstrong. He’s the commandant at Buxton Ridge.”
“Helen
Barksdale,” said his mother, shaking the colonel’s hand. “My son has told me
good things about you. I, uh, hope he wasn’t a problem at school.”
Darius
shifted, uncomfortable. He didn’t think he would ever get used to hearing his
mother use her maiden name. The divorce wouldn’t be final until the following
year, but she was getting a head start.
The
colonel laughed. “If he had been, we might not have had a school left,” he
said. “He was one of the best we’ve ever had. You must be very proud.”
His
mother nodded with a vague smile. Darius knew that the family thing was still
new to her and hard to deal with. Fighting she knew and was comfortable with,
but not fighting was nerve-wracking.
Things were improving, if slowly. He didn’t think the family therapy was doing
much good. It was better than nothing, though. At least it had been her idea to
set it up. That alone was worth something.
“And my
sister, Quinn,” said Darius, spotting more figures nearby. “And my aunts, Rita
and Amy. Hmmm, looks like they’re going to ignore us. They must be bored with
me already.”
“Are any
of your teachers from Lawndale High School here? I’d like to meet them, too.”
“Certainly.
They’re over there, sir, the group by the mailbox. I’ll introduce you.”
“Don’t
worry about it,” said the colonel. “You look like you want to move around. I’ll
go introduce myself. Can’t wait to hear their stories about you.”
Darius
winced, wondering what Ms. Barch would say, but nodded agreement. “Thank you,
sir. I hope to see you again before you go.”
“You
will, son.” The colonel waved and wandered off toward the cluster of teachers
standing by a memorial tree.
“A
pleasant man,” said his mother. “Not quite what I had expected.”
“Not
like Dad,” said Darius. He wondered where his father was. He’d missed his court
date and was a fugitive now. The plan to flush him out through contact with his
mother Ruth had not worked, but there were other ways of finding him. Darius
was patient. It wasn’t that important anymore. Life was moving on, for better
or for worse.
Still,
he wondered if he would ever forgive his father. He suspected not. He wondered
what he would do about it. One day, he’d know.
“Not
like your father, that was what I meant.” His mother checked her watch. “I
should get back to the office soon.”
“Thank
you for being here for this,” said Darius. “It meant a lot to me that you came.”
His
mother looked both pleased and annoyed. “I had to miss a meeting for this,” she
said. She exhaled, looking uncomfortable herself. “I guess it was worth it.”
He would
have to be content with that. She had few maternal instincts left to her. “What’s
on the agenda for your afternoon?” he asked.
She
wrinkled her nose. “I have a meeting about the deposition. They’re setting it
for next month.” Her dark eyes looked at his. “Feel like you’re up to it?”
He
nodded. Michael Ellenbogen’s ghost was at rest. “I’m ready.”
“Okay.” She
looked around. “Well, looks like the party’s over. Back to work.”
“Can I
walk you to your car?”
She
shook her head. “I’d better run.” After saying that, though, she stood by him
as if uncertain of what to do. He waited, assuming she would go. Instead, she
looked at him again and softly said, “I’m proud of you, Darius.” She swallowed.
“My best to Jane.”
Before
he could recover sufficiently to respond, she walked away, heading down the
street to the law office where she worked. He finally remembered to close his
mouth.
“Dari?”
“What?”
He turned as his sister approached with a group of friends.
“What
was Mom saying?” Quinn asked. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, uh,
yeah, everything’s fine. It was nothing. Are you all going back to class?”
Quinn
laughed. With her were the three J-guys and, standing well behind the others, a
nervous Stacy Rowe.
“That
answered my question,” he said.
“Going
back to school, as if,” his sister said. “I told Ms. Li I had to have a quick
pep club meeting, and she gave us the afternoon off. We’re going out for lunch
and talk pep about the homecoming game. Wanna come with?”
“Uh—” He
scanned the crowd. “I’m looking for Jane. Did you seen where—”
“Oh,
she’s over there with Trent, taking pictures. You have fun. I bet Ms. Li won’t
care if you get the afternoon off from classes, either. Bye!”
“I’d
better ask,” he said, but Quinn and her group had already left. Stacy Rowe
waved at him with a frightened if hopeful smile. He gave her a half-hearted
wave in return. She had repented of her misdeeds with the anti-Quinn posters
and had become Quinn’s best friend and most vocal supporter. Darius thought Stacy
was both shallow and an unvarnished sycophant, but who his sister picked for
company was her own business. He forgave Stacy her sins, even if it rankled a
bit to see her around.
Darius
shook a few more hands of well-wishers and city councilmen, spoke to two more
news reporters, then begged off and headed down the street in the direction
Quinn had said Jane was taking pictures. He looked down at the plaque that
Lawndale’s mayor had given him only twenty minutes earlier. It didn’t seem
real.
“Hold
that pose!” called a familiar voice. Darius looked up.
FLASH!
“Damn!” he said, trying too late to
shield his eyes. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing!”
Jane
smirked, lowering her camera. “Hmmm, now that sounds like something I’ve said
before. Where was it? The new gazebo? The woods? My room? Your room?”
“Maybe
you could say that a little louder so the gods can hear it and send us another
e-mail.”
“A
little fooling around is good for your health. Even the gods know that. Oh, is
that your award? Let me see it.”
He
handed the plaque over. “You can tell it’s a quality product,” he said. “They
got twelve of the thirteen letters of my last name correct.”
“You
didn’t need the extra ‘F’ anyway.” Jane shook her head. “You go and save
Lawndale, and they give you a wood-and-brass drink coaster with almost all of
your name on it. I would have held out for a T-shirt, myself.”
He
snorted, smiling. “I didn’t save Lawndale. It’s beyond saving.”
“Oh, right.
All you did was warn them that the bonehead architects who built the Halcyon
Hills Corporate Park accidentally built a giant solar barbecue pit to go with
it, then you proved it, saved some afternoon backpackers and campers from turning
into crispy critters, got interviewed by the local newspapers and TV, and now
they’re probably running movie clips of you getting your little wooden coaster
on the Headline Channel as I speak. You’re right about Lawndale, though. It’s
beyond help. Sort of like Trent, wherever he went.”
“Quinn
said he was with you.”
“He and
Monique are off making up or fighting or making up songs or fighting about
songs.” She handed the plaque back. “Guess what? We have something to celebrate
tonight. Other than you getting a drink coaster, I mean.”
“Hmmm. The
school’s going to let you paint that scene of lions eating an Oakwood
quarterback on the cafeteria wall?”
“The
jury’s out on that one, yet.”
“Uh, you
sold Aunt Rita another garden gnome statue?”
“She
reached her limit with five.”
“You
built that flamethrower fountain you’ve always wanted?”
“That’s
going to be my senior-year project.”
“I’ll
buy pizza tonight if you tell me.”
“I made
the track team this morning. Fastest time in school history.”
Darius
broke into a grin. They reached for each other.
“Teachers
and cameramen are watching,” Jane whispered in his ear, “so let’s make this one
good.”
Arms
held. Eyes closed. Mouths met.
And the
winter that had been on its way was suddenly gone.
*
Original: 11/18/03 (combined “Darius” and “Darius II: Going Under”), modified 01/05/05, 07/08/06, 09/18/06, 04/22/10
FINIS