Candor

That’s the Message I’ve been feeding to her, word for word.

  “Mandi doesn’t like me for my looks. Or my personality.” He lets a huge fart rip.

  Nia finds it hysterical. “Do you do that in front of her?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “It’s my specialty,” she promises. It makes me wonder what I don’t know. I take another look and see her settling on the floor again, closer to Sherman.

  “I asked for Oscar’s girlfriend. I made my parents do it.” His voice is softer now. Sad.

  “I’m supposed to believe Mommy and Daddy gave you a girlfriend?” She laughs. “Did they pay extra for the blonde model with inflatable boobs?”

  “I ran away—did Oscar tell you?” Sherman asks.

  “No. I didn’t even know you guys were friends.”

  “Good friends. Best friends,” Sherman says. “We had a special relationship.”

  I almost leap into the shed to throttle him. But I suck in a deep breath. Listen and learn, Oscar. Make him pay later.

  “Well, you must be best friends if you know about this place,” Nia says.

  She doesn’t know about my clients. That plenty of kids have seen my secrets in the shed. But all of them are gone. Nobody can tell. Except Sherman.

  “He probably hates me now. I thought I hated him, too, but—not anymore.” Sherman sighs, a big gusty sound. “I need him to help me.”

  “You’re losing me,” Nia says.

  “We need more to drink. Gimme.” There’s a glugging sound. More good stuff pouring into their plastic cups.

  “Slow down, that’s his favorite,” Nia says.

  “He won’t mind sharing with his girl and his former best friend,” Sherman says.

  He swallows so loudly, I can hear it. Then he keeps blabbing. “I was supposed to get extra brainwashing after I ran away. But my parents said no. They said it was their fault I wasn’t happy. They said they hadn’t worked hard enough on our relationship.”

  “So you asked for a pony?” Nia teases.

  “No. They told me all about the Messages, even though they weren’t supposed to tell anyone. He made them promise when we moved here.”

  “Who?”

  “Oscar’s dad. He runs the show.”

  “He’s just the guy who makes sure everyone mows their lawns.”

  Sherman snorts. “He’s in charge of everything and everyone. Which is how he made it happen. Mommy told me I could have anything I wanted if I’d stay in Candor. So … I picked a person.”

  “Mandi.” Nia isn’t laughing anymore. “You asked them to give you Mandi?”

  Sherman didn’t get lucky. Mandi got brainwashed.

  She’s not my girlfriend anymore. I never loved her like I love Nia. But it still makes me sick. Does Dad have any limits? Does Sherman?

  Who should I hate more? The one who asked for it? Or the one who gave it to him?

  “I’m not proud. But it’s not my fault. Oscar’s so perfect. I just wanted to be like him.”

  “Next time try ironing your shirts instead,” Nia says. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Is she disgusted? Angry? Convinced he’s crazy?

  But no matter how she feels, she’s listening. I have to stop this before he convinces her that the Messages are real.

  Or maybe I should fix things for good. Call Dad. Tell him Sherman’s run away again—and I know exactly where he is.

  The white van would pick him up. No windows. Candor crest painted on each side. The Messages would bombard him from the minute they strapped him to the bench.

  He wouldn’t escape the Listening Room this time. Dad would insist. Everything would be wiped away.

  But then they might take Nia, too.

  I’ll do anything to keep things the way they are now.

  I take a step closer and the grass crunches. No, it’s glass, from the window next to the door. Now I know how he got in. Nia didn’t set this up.

  Sherman shoved his way into our secrets. This is all his fault.

  I walk inside and go straight to Sherman. I grab the bottle from his hand. “Get your own hooch. And your own girl.”

  Sherman’s eyes are big. He scrabbles backward with his feet, like a dying bug. “Don’t be mad,” he gasps. “I swear I’ll pay for the window.”

  “Just get out.”

  “But I need your help,” he says. “I’m done with that.”

  “I didn’t even know you were friends,” Nia says behind us. “We’re not.”

  “We kind of broke up.” Sherman hangs his head. “We were never friends.”

  “Seems like he knows you pretty well,” Nia says. “For someone who was never your friend.”

  “You need to go. Now,” I tell Sherman.

  Sherman reaches for the bottle, but I step back. His empty hand flaps on the ground. “I was his most treasured client. I guess that’s you now.”

  “Nia’s my girlfriend. Not my client,” I say. He rips out another belch. “Whatever you say.”

  “Get up.” I grab his wrist and give a hard yank. He staggers to his feet.

  “Let him stay,” Nia says. “I’m learning so much.”

  I don’t like the tone of her voice. It’s suspicious. Maybe a little angry.

  “Give me just one more CD,” Sherman pleads.

  “You give him CDs, too?” Nia asks.

  I can’t do anything except lie. “Of course not.”

  “You better listen to them, art girl,” Sherman says. “Or you’ll never get out.”

  Nia looks confused. Which is how I want things to stay.

  Sherman squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “Make me forget, Oscar.”

  Interesting. For once we want the same thing.

  “Make me like the rest of them. Take away everything else,” he says.

  This could solve my problems. But I can’t make a deal in front of Nia. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

  “Okay, pal.” Sherman swings one arm around my shoulders. “But promise me. Promise you’ll make me forget why she wants me. You can do that.”

  First he makes Mandi like him. Then he wants to believe it’s true. He doesn’t deserve my help.

  I shove his arm off me. “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “Like you’re so perfect?” Sherman tilts his head toward Nia. “Is she strictly voluntary?”

  “What’s he mean?” Nia asks. But slowly, like she’s already figuring it out.

  “Shut up,” I warn Sherman. “Or I’ll tell my dad you want a trip to the Room.”

  “My parents won’t send me there.” Sherman’s face is smug. “They’re afraid of the side effects.”

  They should be afraid. He knows too much. It could take days to wipe his brain clean. That’s longer than anyone is supposed to be in there.

  Bad things happen when you skip the Messages. But bad things also happen when you get too many of them.

  Nothing as bad as what I’m going to do to Sherman if he doesn’t shut it.

  “Leave now,” I growl.

  “No.” Nia’s shout fills the room. “Tell me more, Sherman. Tell me about …” She tries to say it. But she can’t. “Those things. You know.”

  Sherman shoves past me and crouches at her feet. “You ever wonder why you want bran instead of Pop-Tarts? Why you floss every single night?”

  “Everyone likes bran,” I say. But they both ignore me.

  “I bet you wanted dry rye toast and egg whites for breakfast this morning,” Sherman whispers.

  Nia’s eyes go big.

  “Everybody loves rye toast, too,” I say. I try to catch her eye. I shake my head: Sherman’s crazy. Don’t listen. But her eyes are locked on his.

  Nia holds up her hand and shows him her fingernails. Perfect little ovals polished in pink. “Why did black seem so ugly all of a sudden?”

  “They control everything. Everything that’s in your head, they put there.” Sherman is so calm now. In control. Like he sweated all the whiskey onto the shed floor.
r />   “Don’t let him scare you. It’s just stupid stories.” I kneel on the floor next to Nia. But she slides away.

  “This man can fix it.” Sherman aims a chubby finger at me.

  “There’s nothing to fix,” I tell Nia.

  Sherman holds the same fat finger to his lips. “Shh. It’s a secret.”

  “Tell me about Oscar,” Nia says. “How does he fix things?”

  “Those CDs keep your head clear.” He taps his head. “Oscar’s good brainwashing keeps away the bad brainwashing.”

  A bead of sweat rolls down my head and slides into my ear.

  Nia takes in a deep breath. Holds it for a second, then exhales. Crosses her arm. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. This town screws with your mind.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it made Mandi like you.”

  Sherman stares at his feet. But he nods.

  She keeps going. “And Oscar twists your mind, too—”

  “I don’t,” I interrupt.

  “It’s not really twisting,” Sherman says. “Oscar’s helping you. Probably.”

  “I don’t need that kind of help.” Nia stands up and staggers against the cabinets. I’m up, next to her, balancing her. But she jerks away.

  “It’s just a story. You know there’s no such thing as Messages,” I tell her.

  Nia backs toward the door, holding both hands in front of her like a shield. “Every single kid ordered the baby carrots at lunch yesterday.”

  “Who doesn’t love baby carrots?”

  “I’m not listening to your CDs anymore,” she says.

  “No. You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because …” There’s no way to say it without making her mad. But I have to make sure she keeps listening. “Because they’re special.”

  Her face is stone. “Then it’s true.”

  “Sort of …”

  “Tell me the truth.” Her voice is low. Each word is like her pencil jabbing paper. Pointed and hard.

  “Fine. It’s all true.”

  She takes a step back and shakes her head. Her eyes are wide. “How do I know?” she whispers. “Know what?”

  “How do I know I love you?”

  “That part’s real. No Messages. I never made you love me.” I reach out for her. “I’m not Sherman.”

  She steps away. “You’re lying.”

  I gave you the real me, I want to say. And you loved me. “I was only trying to help you.”

  “Like I said,” Sherman pipes in. “He’s a giver.”

  “I’m done with your help.” She runs out the door. I follow her.

  Her hand is on the gate handle.

  “Don’t be stupid. You need me. You need that music,” I say.

  “Maybe you need me,” Nia says. “But I never needed you.”

  The gate snaps shut behind her. Before I can open it again, there’s the thunk of her skateboard wheels. There’s no catching her now.

  I can hear him behind me. Gulping in more oxygen than he deserves. Sherman takes all kinds of things he shouldn’t.

  “Maybe you should have told her the truth,” he says.

  My fists form into rocks. I launch my body into his. He’s down. I’m over him. In control.

  Sherman’s eyes are wet and weak. Begging to be hit.

  I imagine it. A punch into the middle of his flabby stomach first. When I was done with my hands, I’d use my feet.

  The Messages boil in my brain.

  Never harm another person.

  Violence is never acceptable.

  Don’t hit.

  The heat floods me. Relaxes every muscle. I can’t fight it. I’m floating in it, swirling, pulled into the middle.

  “Violence is never acceptable,” Sherman croaks.

  “You deserve it,” I whisper.

  “I know.” He squeezes his eyes shut. Nods.

  But the Messages push me off him. I fall into the wet grass. Feel the water seep into my pants.

  “Why do you ruin everything?” I ask.

  Sherman curls into a ball. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  It makes me hate him even more.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say. Sorry I didn’t give him what he deserved.

  Not tonight.

  But another time, I’ll find a way.

  IF MY LIFE were a movie, I’d go to her house. Climb in her window and make her listen. Show her I love her and she loves me.

  But it’s past midnight. Already most of my excuses for being home late won’t work. And even though Nia hurt me, Dad could do worse.

  So I go home. Lay in bed and practice what I’ll say. Now that she knows about my special Messages, I know I did something wrong. I have to explain.

  “I never made you love me,” I whisper to the glowing stars on my ceiling. “I just protected you.”

  I don’t remember when my mouth got quiet or when my eyes closed. But when I wake up the next morning, I’m ready. I’m going to find her and fix things.

  I get to school early. Wait outside the doors. I think I promise to take notes at the next traffic safety club. I’m not sure. It’s hard to focus.

  Mandi gets there before Nia. The wrong girl in the wrong place. Her eyes are red and her nose is puffy-pink.

  Part of me wants to tell her: You don’t really want Sherman. Just walk away.

  But it’s too risky. Besides, she wouldn’t believe me.

  “Sherman was attacked,” she says. Her mouth pulls into a tight, straight line.

  “Really?” I almost laugh. Then I remember she’s serious. I give her wide, worried eyes. “That’s horrible. Who did it?”

  “He says he doesn’t remember anything.” Mandi swallows hard. “But he looks dreadful. His face is covered in scratches and he has a black eye. I think some outsider kids must have jumped him.”

  That’s what stealing a bottle of my finest hooch will do to you. Kid probably staggered into hibiscus bushes and plastic fences all the way home. I could have smacked him senseless and he never would have remembered. I wish I’d ignored the Messages. I wish I was strong enough to do what I want all the time.

  Especially if I wasn’t caught.

  “I hope he’s better soon,” I tell her.

  “Oh, he will be.” She says it like she’s in control of his body.

  I’m not the only one who’s used to things going their way.

  Then a cold, thin hand grabs mine. Tugs.

  It’s Nia, all in black. She stares at me, then tilts her head. Away from school.

  The bell rings.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Mandi looks at both of us.

  “In a minute. Don’t wait,” I say.

  She goes.

  We stand there, rocks in a stream, kids flowing around us. I can’t get my feet to walk away from school. But I won’t leave her, either.

  “Now or never,” Nia says in a flat voice.

  It unsticks my feet. I follow her, away from school. With no excuses to make. No way to save us if somebody stops us.

  But nobody does. She drops my hand after a minute, giving hers a shake like it’s covered in something disgusting. And then she leads me to the fountain.

  The fountain is across from the movie theater, on a special platform overlooking the lake. It’s made to play in. You just walk onto it—it’s a big circle next to the sidewalk—and wait for the water to come. It spurts out of the ground, different jets at different times.

  “Maybe we should go to the woods,” I say.

  “I don’t care if you’re safe.”

  “I care if you are,” I say.

  She sits on a bench overlooking the fountain. The only thing behind her is a railing and the lake.

  I think through what I practiced last night. Where to start.

  “I never made you do anything,” I say.

  “You messed with my head.” She won’t look at me. Just watches the water.

  “Only to protect you. To stop the Messages from doing things y
ou shouldn’t.”

  “Like ratting you out.” A smile twitches her lips back, but it’s gone fast.

  “Maybe at first. But then—then I didn’t want you to change.”

  The fountain water is receding. The jets die, and all that’s left are low bubbles. But there’s still the sound of water, rushing into the drain.

  “I would never rat you out,” she says softly.

  “You wouldn’t mean to. But the Messages can make you do anything.”

  “Including love you?”

  “You still love me?” A swirl of happy and desperate fills my chest.

  “I don’t love you.” She shakes her head. “Not anymore. I make my own decisions now.”

  Now is the time to tell her: I love you. I want you. I would never hurt you.

  It might be my only chance.

  But I’m angry. She really thinks I made her love me. Like I’m Sherman. The rebel part of her must hate wanting me. So this is her excuse: there was really no choice at all.

  “Nobody made you want me,” I tell her.

  “I’ll never believe you.” Her voice is low. She still won’t look at me.

  This isn’t how I planned things. I don’t know how to get back on track. Stupid words come out of my mouth. “I could have any girl I want. Without the Messages.”

  “Not me. Not anymore.” Nia stands up.

  So do I. I step close. She wavers. But doesn’t move.

  “I’ll do anything,” I say. “Just don’t leave me.” Worse than stupid: pathetic.

  Her eyes are a green shield. I can’t see what’s inside. I grab both her wrists.

  She tries to pull away, but I won’t let go. I am stronger than that. “You want to be like the rest of them? All SATs and grades and being perfect? You want to become Mandi?”

  She rolls her eyes and laughs. It’s a bitter, small sound. “She was good enough for two years, wasn’t she? Or did she not have a say in that, either? Do you rape all your girlfriends’ minds?”

  Rape.

  I drop her wrists. Since when did I have to force anything with a girl?

  “I’m done,” I say. No more chasing and begging and feeling.

  “So am I.” But she doesn’t go anywhere. Just stands there, staring at me with her mirror eyes and that mouth that said something so ugly, I’ll never forget.

  She’s not worth saving.

  “Nobody tells me what to do,” she says.

  I laugh, louder than the fountain. Loud enough to make people stare.