Restart

  I watch him walk away. I don’t know what I’m so broken up about. I haven’t learned anything new today, not really. The stuff in the court document—old news. I smell it in every corner of this school. And even if I needed confirmation, it’s right there in Joel Weber’s eyes.

  Fear. Real fear.

  It hits me that no matter how different I am—no matter how much the video club accepts me, or even Shoshanna does—I’ll never be able to erase the Chase Ambrose who could strike terror in an innocent kid’s heart.

  Aaron, Bear, and I must have been no strangers to that look when we were turning Joel’s life upside down. I guess having the power to torture another person made us feel like big men. Especially when we picked somebody smaller and weaker, who was into music instead of sports.

  And believe it or not, right now, I’m more scared of Joel than he ever was of me. Because if I see that fear in his face again, I don’t know if I can handle it.

  In spite of all that, Shoshanna and I are getting along better every day. She doesn’t hold it against me that her brother thinks I’m the devil. Maybe the turning point was when we were in Heaven on Ice together and she didn’t feel the need to dump a giant sundae on my head. The important thing is, we’re good.

  She’s promoted me to full co-creator of our video project on Mr. Solway, which is well into the editing stage. It’s coming out fantastic. Editing has been tough, since we have so much great footage. It’s practically painful to decide what to cut. We even argue about it, sometimes change each other’s minds. It’s a real partnership.

  Although we’re done shooting, we still visit Mr. Solway a lot. On the way, Shoshanna stops at her house to back up our project on her computer. She’s really paranoid that the school network will crash and we’ll lose our edited footage. So she’s constantly saving everything on a memory stick.

  It goes without saying that I’m not allowed into the Weber home. We don’t actually talk about it. It’s just understood that I wait outside while she runs in to do the data transfer.

  One afternoon, I’m standing there, hoping Shoshanna’s mom doesn’t glance out the window and turn the sprinklers on me, when I hear music coming from the house. It’s piano, and I realize this must be Joel, Hiawassee’s musical prodigy. Obviously, it isn’t the first time I’ve heard him play. Aaron, Bear, and I were in the auditorium to watch our firecrackers go off, so we must have experienced at least a little of his music. But it’s my first time in this new life.

  He’s amazing. And not just because he plays fast without making mistakes. The notes flow like a river—speeding up, slowing down, changing in tone and texture. It’s almost as if the piano is singing. I wish I knew more about music so I could really appreciate it.

  I’m crossing the lawn almost without realizing I’m putting one foot in front of the other. I’m following the sound, which seems to be coming from a side window. Before I know it, I’m at the bushes, peering inside. There’s Joel, seated at a baby grand, lost in his performance. I’m almost overcome with shame. We took this kid’s talent and made him a target because of it.

  When the attack comes, I’m totally caught off guard. A supernova of blond fur launches itself at me, clamping its paws around my leg and burying its teeth in the denim of my jeans. With a cry of shock, I stagger back, toppling into a large barberry bush. As I go down, my face and arms are ripped to shreds by the stiff wooden branches and tiny thorns. The dog is smart enough to jump off before I hit the bush. It stands at the edge of the flower bed, yapping at me.

  The music stops and Joel appears in the window. When he spots me lying in the hedge, his eyes widen in shock.

  “It’s not what you think!” I blurt, even though the window is closed and he probably can’t hear me. To Joel, this must look like his former tormentor is at it again, stalking him in his own home. How I could be so stupid?

  I try to get up out of the hedge, but every time I move, I get scratched and tangled even more. Plus, that agitates the dog, who starts howling.

  A moment later, Mrs. Weber marches across the lawn, tossing over her shoulder, “You must be mistaken, Joel. There’s no way Chase Ambrose—” She spies me then and falls silent.

  Joel is next. “See? I told you! It’s him!”

  I try to explain. “I’m just waiting for Shoshanna. We’re going to visit Mr. Solway.”

  “And that’s a reason to skulk in our bushes?” Mrs. Weber demands icily.

  Technically, I’m doing more bleeding than skulking. But I just say, “I heard the music. And then the dog—”

  “Mom?” Shoshanna’s voice. “What’s going on?”

  Shoshanna backs up my story, which, according to Mrs. Weber, is the only reason they’re not calling the cops. The two of them drag me out of the hedge, which is even more painful than going in.

  “Good dog, Mitzi,” is Joel’s comment.

  I turn to Mrs. Weber. “I’m sorry for the disturbance. I came closer to hear the music, and when the dog attacked, I fell in the bushes.” I add to Joel, “You’re really good.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  His mother looks me over critically. “You’re bleeding.” And then, “I guess we can’t let you walk around like that.”

  She drags me into the kitchen and washes all my cuts and scratches with antiseptic. The good news is Mitzi’s bite didn’t break the skin. The bad news is every thorn and branch did. It’s the worst agony I can remember since I fell off the roof, and I can’t shake the feeling that Mrs. Weber is loving supplying it.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Joel smile. Even Shoshanna is grinning a little, although she tries to disguise it as sympathy.

  I don’t know what’s worse—the pain or the reason they’re enjoying watching me suffer.

  The next time I’m outside the Weber house, waiting for Shoshanna to back up our work, I keep my distance.

  Joel’s playing the piano again. I hear it, and I can actually see him at the keys through that side window. He glances up, spots me, and gets to his feet.

  I’m thinking, Oh, man, I’m in trouble now. He’s going to sic the dog on me again. Or worse, his mom.

  Then he does the last thing I ever expected. He reaches over, opens the window, and goes back to his practicing.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he wants me to listen.

  At school, lunch is turning into the most stressful part of my day. I’ve been alternating my cafeteria time—one day at the football table with Aaron, Bear, and the Hurricanes, and the next across the lunchroom with the video club. I take a lot of flak from the team, who can’t understand me hanging out with “Dork Nation.” I realize the players joke around a lot, but it’s starting to sound less and less like joking.

  Even when I’m with the video club, it’s awkward because Joel’s there. We’re not friends, but we both run with the same crowd. Usually, I sit at one end of the table, and Joel sits on the opposite side. One day, though, he comes late, and the only seat left is right next to me. At first, I think he’s going to bolt for the far end of the cafeteria to make a statement that he’d rather eat in another zip code than sit beside me. And he does hesitate a little. Eventually, though, he gives in and sets his tray down next to mine.

  Everybody else is looking at us like there’s about to be a major war, but nothing happens. Still, a couple of days later, the others make sure there’s a spot for Joel nice and far from me.

  None of this escapes the watchful attention of Aaron and Bear.

  “I get that you hang out with the video dweebs now,” Aaron tells me. “But him? Joel Weber? It’s thanks to him that we got put on community service!”

  “Yeah, and we never did anything to him,” I retort sarcastically.

  “Okay, fine,” says Bear. “But how were we supposed to know he was going to go crying to Mommy?”

  “We booby-trapped his piano in an auditorium full of people!” I bark. “I think his mommy would have noticed without him ratting us out!”

 
“All right, you made your point,” Aaron soothes. “It wasn’t the nicest thing to do. And we’re paying the price for it, aren’t we? It’s over—forget it!”

  “And why Joel, huh?” I go on. “I know you think all the kids at this school who don’t play football are either dweebs, wimps, or losers, but how’s he different from everybody else? Because he’s small? Because he’s talented?”

  Bear explodes. “Why don’t you ask yourself? You’re the one who picked him! You used to be a fun guy, or did you forget that too? We did what we did because it was fun, and the more Weber lost his mind, the funner it was. Especially to you. Did it feel great when we heard he was going to that other school? No. But by then we were headed for the Graybeard Motel, so who cared where they sent him?”

  I can feel the color draining from my face. That might be the closest I’ll ever get to understanding how my brain worked before the accident.

  I may not like it, but it’s me.

  That afternoon, Shoshanna and I finish the final edit on our entry for the contest. We’ve titled it Warrior. Neither of us can wait to play it for Mr. Solway, but we make the usual stop at the Weber home for Shoshanna to back up our work.

  Like always, I wait on the lawn while Shoshanna heads into the house. She pauses in the doorway and tosses a look over her shoulder.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  A million questions whirl through my head. Did I hear right? Is she kidding? Will her mom kill me? Her brother? Her dog?

  Yet somehow I know that if I ask any of them, I’ll spoil it, and the opportunity will be lost forever. So I follow her into the house.

  Mrs. Weber sees me first. She stares at me for a second and then goes back to the book she’s reading. In the living room, Joel is at the piano as usual. He glances up at me, and the music comes to a momentary halt. He takes a long hard look and then goes back to his concerto.

  I’m not sure why, but I feel an odd surge of emotion, and have to swallow hard a couple of times.

  Even Mitzi wags her tail.

  When the announcement comes that there’s an assembly, we’re all psyched. Why wouldn’t we be? It’s like a Get Out of Jail Free card for a whole morning of classes. What’s the assembly about? Who knows? Who cares?

  In the auditorium, the big screen is set up. That means they’ll be turning the lights out. The perfect chance to catch a nap for a guy who was playing video games until three last night.

  Aaron is way ahead of me. He drapes himself into his seat, his legs dangling over the back of the chair in front of him, his arms spread out wide. I fight my way in beside him and we wrestle for position.

  “Hey,” exclaims the loser in the row ahead of us—the one with Aaron’s size 14 construction boot hanging over his shoulder. But when he sees who he’s talking to, he gets real quiet real fast. He and his friends wander off, looking for someplace else to sit.

  I flake out next to Aaron.

  “Wake me up when it’s over,” he mumbles, already half-asleep.

  “You’re the one who’s going to be waking me,” I retort, and we exchange a few rabbit punches before settling in for the big snooze-fest.

  Then comes the surprise: The whole purpose of this assembly is so we can congratulate Chase Ambrose and Shoshanna Weber for the amazing video they made for some stupid contest or other. That’s all I need—to watch the principal and the teachers lining up to worship the kid who used to be just a guy like me until he fell on his head and suddenly became smart.

  It gets worse. We’re not just going to worship the video; we’re going to watch it—all forty minutes. Well, forget sleeping now. I’m too ticked off. Even Aaron is sitting bolt upright, staring in outrage at Ambrose and the Weber chick onstage.

  The video starts. That’s when my head really explodes. The thing is called Warrior, and it’s about that geezer Solway, the meanest old Dumbledore in the entire Graybeard Motel! No wonder the two of them spent so much time with the guy.

  Beside me, I can practically see steam coming out of Aaron’s ears. “It’s not enough for him to make us look like jerks by doing community service when he doesn’t have to,” he seethes. “No, he has to make a documentary about the place so he can brag to the whole world! And with Shoshanna Weber—from the same family that got us put on community service in the first place. And I thought that guy was my friend!”

  “But Solway?” I demand. “What’s up with that?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “A whole museum full of ancient fossils and they have to pick the nasty old crab who complains to the nurses if his cookie is off center on the plate.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” I hiss. “Why him, huh? Not just any old Dumbledore. Solway. No way that’s a coincidence.”

  “Chase doesn’t know anything about that,” Aaron reminds me. “He’s got amnesia.”

  “If he’s got amnesia,” I put in darkly. “Sounds a little convenient to me.”

  “Well, he’s got amnesia enough to forget that he’s our boy,” Aaron says bitterly.

  I nod. “He used to play football. Now he doesn’t. He says he’s coming back—but I think he’s just stringing us along. He’s partnered up with a Weber, and he’s even getting buddy-buddy with Joel Weber. He’s making it impossible to get along with him. He acts like he’s changed, but he’s really just cutting us out.”

  On the screen, there’s a close-up photo of a gleaming Medal of Honor. In the voice-over, Shoshanna explains that this isn’t the actual medal Mr. Solway won. Mr. Wonderful Solway isn’t just a hero; he’s modest too. He never wore the dumb thing because he didn’t want people to feel bad that they don’t have one. And over the years, he forgot where he put it.

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter.

  “Shhh!” Aaron hisses.

  When it’s finally over, Ambrose and the Weber chick get a five-minute standing ovation. That burns me up, since I know for a fact that the other kids were just as bored as I was. They bring the whole video club up there, because they helped. Ms. DeLeo reads out a letter from the head of the Graybeard Motel thanking the filmmakers for their awesomeness and the school for having such awesome students. Puke.

  Aaron and I are sentenced to go to that place three days a week until we’re practically old enough to check in there, and what do we get for it? Yelled at, that’s what—by nurses and Dumbledores both. And Chase—who’s worse than us—gets a love letter from the director.

  I’ve never been so happy to get back to a classroom.

  “We can’t just do nothing about this,” I plead to Aaron as he takes the desk next to me. “He’s walking all over us, and we’re letting him.”

  For the very first time, he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy.

  “I’ve got an idea how we can jog his memory. You know, remind him who his real friends are.”

  Leaf Man wasn’t the hit I was hoping for, even though it got a lot of YouTube views. For something to go viral, it has to reach a kind of critical mass, where suddenly everybody is talking about it. Poor Leaf Man just didn’t have enough legs for that.

  The bummer is, as great as it was, Leaf Man set me back big-time with Kimberly. She’s still nice to me, but it might be that she feels sorry for me because she thinks I’m crazy. I’m coming to the conclusion that our senses of humor aren’t very compatible. That doesn’t mean we aren’t compatible, just that we probably won’t like the same books, TV shows, movies—that kind of stuff.

  Besides, she’s still totally moonfaced over Chase, so compatibility isn’t really an issue right now. The fact that she barely even notices me—that’s an issue.

  Anyway, I’ve got an idea for a new video, and this one’s going to knock her socks off. It doesn’t depend so much on humor as creativity and special effects.

  It’s called One Man Band. Picture this: the Hiawassee music room. The camera films me pretending to play every instrument in the orchestra in front of a green screen. Then I use the video-editing program to superimpose those images onto t
he various seats on the band risers, until I’ve got a whole orchestra—and they’re all me. Presto—One Man Band.

  Joel helps me reserve the room for Thursday after school. The music department is so thrilled to have their star back that Mrs. Gilbride would have promised him her firstborn child. Besides, he’s known to be a good kid. It’s not like he’s going to trash the risers or anything like that.

  Unfortunately, Chase isn’t available to work the camera. He has to take a social studies test he missed due to a follow-up appointment with his falling-off-the-roof doctor. This might be a blessing in disguise because a) Joel volunteers to fill in, and he’s a pretty good cameraman, and b) Mrs. Gilbride wouldn’t let Chase anywhere near her instruments, amnesia or no. She’s still mourning that piano like it was donated to the school by Beethoven himself. Also, c) Kimberly is always a little distracted when Chase is around. Maybe that’s why she didn’t get the humor in Leaf Man. Now, with Chase away writing that test, she’ll be able to concentrate on me.

  I want to rent a tuxedo, since those orchestra guys really put on the Ritz. My mom won’t spring for it, though. So I do the best I can. I take the light gray suit I wore to this kid’s Bar Mitzvah and paint it with shoe polish. My white shirt has a bit of a stripe in it, but I’m pretty sure it won’t show up on camera. There’ll be a lot of me, but luckily, we’ll all be pretty small. I borrow a bow tie from my dad to make the whole ensemble more tux-like.

  When I come out of the bathroom, all dressed up, on Thursday, Kimberly wrinkles her nose—a very cute look for her, by the way.

  “Dude—you stink! What did you do, take a bath in Magic Marker?”

  “It’s shoe polish,” I explain. “It’s not me; it’s my clothes. I had to improvise the formal wear.”

  “Why can’t you wear normal clothes?”

  “Because an orchestra dresses fancy.”

  “But you’re not in an orchestra.”

  Well, if she doesn’t pay any attention to me, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she doesn’t read my texts either. On the way to the music room, I get her up to speed on One Man Band.