“Why is she even here? Did the school need another preppy-rich kid to even out the student socio-economic population?”
Mrs. Smithe narrowed her eyes behind her thick black frames. “That's none of your beeswax, Dinger. You'll get used to her. Now, skedaddle. You've got class.”
I fumed as I dejectedly walked out of class.
☼6☼
Swim Team
Central’s swim team was more than well-known, all thanks to me. (Of course!) Besides me, there was nothing really worth mentioning. I guess Mikey was mentioned sometimes, but it’s almost always in comparison to me. And that was the way I liked it.
Heading off to practice for the last period of the day was a reward in itself. Between getting told I looked like a turtle and having my friends call me 'Humdinger,’ no matter how much I protested, I was ready to throttle someone by the time swim practice rolled around. I had a few choice options there.
Including the one who had just presented herself directly in front of me. “Hi Hammy!”
I groaned to myself as Samantha Carter made it her personal goal to make my day even more terrible than it already was. Samantha had this huge crush on me. (Samantha told Brittany who told Gwen who told me who posted it up on the virtual gossip board and laughed at it along with all of my other cyber friends.) She was apparently desperate, too, because even when I was intentionally mean to her she thinks it’s her fault and starts weeping and apologizing. I swear, if the teachers caught her crying in the halls, I was going to wind up in peer mediation or get a bullying stamp on my record. I’d learned it’s just best to avoid her.
“Hi Samantha,” I muttered.
Her gray-blue eyes sparkled. “Hi Hammy! I’m glad I caught up with you. I have a question for you.”
“What?” I asked brusquely as I started easing around her, moving towards the pool area.
Samantha giggled. “I was going to ask you for a favor. I need some help bringing my math grade up.”
“I can’t hack into the school’s records,” I said as I tried to circle around her as carefully, as nonchalantly, as possible.
Her giggles multiplied. “Oh, I wasn’t going to ask for you to do that!” She laughed, grating my nerves. “I was going to see if you would be willing to tutor me.”
“I don’t–”
“I’d be more than happy to pay you, of course,” she continued. “I really want to do well in Ms. Darlington’s class so I can get into her AP classes next year.”
At last! I was on the other side of her, and I hadn’t even needed to brush up against her. Relief from perdition was in sight.
“So, what do you think, Hammy?”
“I think I would prefer it if you would call me Dinger like everyone else,” I grumbled softly, as I headed into the locker room.
She giggled again. Again! “No, I mean about tutoring me, maybe after school a couple days a week?”
“Samantha, I don’t have time to help you after school. I’ve got swimming and now my brother to watch, and my work to take care of, frankly.”
“I could come over and help with your brother! I’m great with kids.”
Okay, that was my limit. I looked her in the eye so she knew I was deadly serious. “I can’t. I’m too busy. And besides, I really don’t tutor anyone. Not unless I feel some obligation in the matter. And I don’t, because we’re not even really friends.”
“Sure we are,” Samantha insisted. “Gwen’s one of my best friends.”
“Being friends with Gwen doesn’t make you mine,” I told her plainly. Remembering the scene from Mrs. Smithe’s class this morning, I snorted and added, “Just ask Raiya that.” And then I slammed the door in her face just for extra dramatic effect.
Finally I could sigh with relief. I shook my head. Women!
Moments later, when the water hit me, I felt better. Cheap therapy, I suppose. But there is some therapeutic benefit, or so I’ve heard.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Uzziah, the head coach of the swim team, and Mr. Collier, the co-coach, walked in and practice started getting underway with laps.
Laps were easy for me, but I knew why the others groaned. A lot of the swim team members were beginners, and they were stupid beginners on top of that. Why did they suffer so much humiliation and meaningless work, you ask? Most joined the swim team in order to get better grades in Mrs. Uzziah's classes since she went easier on grading her team members’ work. And besides Martha, she was the hardest teacher in the school.
By the end (and even before that), everyone was exhausted and ready to go home. But Coach Uzzy blew her whistle, and like her personal trained hamsters, we stopped. “Okay, everyone line up!” she called. “Boys first!”
I grinned. We’re going to race! And I loved to race. I’d won all of them so far, and by a significant lead.
“Hey, Humdinger!” Mikey smiled from the next lane over. “I'm going to beat you this time!”
Cringing at the nickname, I had no choice but to make things more interesting. “Loser buys lunch tomorrow.”
“I hope you don't mind eating some humble pie,” Mikey remarked, leaning into proper position.
“Who says that anymore? That’s lame,” I muttered back.
“One hundred freestyle!” Uzzy called out. “Ready! Mark!”
The whistle blew, and we were off. I dived in, arms extended, back straight and body in perfect formation. The second I sliced into the water, I began swimming with all my might as my second wind kicked in, pushing for the lead.
But Mikey wasn't too far behind, I noticed a moment later. Wonder if he'd been practicing more, maybe?
With half of a lap to go, we were neck and neck. Much to my chagrin.
Conjuring up all my teenage angst, I swept for the wall. Between superhero troubles, stupid ex-Rosemont students, and irritating family members, Mikey had nothing on me there.
And as I touched the wall, there was no rage left; it was all happiness and victory, even if I hadn't won by as much as I’d hoped.
“Good race, Mike,” I said graciously as we headed for the locker room.
Mikey replied but his response was muffled.
I took it with a smile. “Well, you are getting faster,” I told my defeated friend.
Another grumbling, jumbled reply. I frowned; I was trying to be nice. And if it was one thing I hated more than anything else, it was to be nice, even when it would’ve been funnier to be mean, and not getting the same consideration in return.
Plus I’d had a really hard day already.
So it really wasn’t my fault when my patience snapped. “It's so nice you’re getting better at something, anyway. I still have the better grades and Tetris scores, and the–”
“Bigger mouth, too,” Mikey retorted. “I'm sticking around for a while; I'll catch you later, Humdinger.”
“Don't call me that,” I snarled. “It's not even supposed to be a nickname! Some weird girl said it and Poncey took off with it.”
“Sucks to be you,” Mikey rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I guess it does, cause I have to leave anyway. I did want to tell you before I left that I got a date with Gwen tomorrow.”
At that, Mikey did finally turn and pay full attention to me. “Well, congratulations. I see she finally caved into her parents’ wishes and decided to go out with you,” he muttered. “Have fun at Rachel’s.”
The rest of my patience flushed out as blinding fury took over. “What are you talking about?” I growled. “She didn’t agree to a date with me because of her parents.”
“Really? That’s not what I heard,” Mikey smirked, obviously glad to see I was getting upset.
“You don’t know what really happened,” I bit back.
“So her parents weren’t actually there when you asked her out?”
My fist clenched of its own accord. “You know what?” I spat. “You’re just jealous, because I actually have a real date, with Gwen, who is a real person, instead of some hot-tempered, disagreeable harpy!”
Mikey apparently didn't hear me, or maybe he just didn't know he was supposed to care more, because he walked away, saying nothing else.
I stood there and stewed angrily. That ungrateful jerk. I slammed my fist into a nearby locker and grimaced, not just because of the pain (or the general stupidity of the motion) but because I had a sinking feeling Mikey was right about Gwen. Remembering the flare of emotions I’d felt as I squeezed her hand, I burned with renewed vehemence.
Mikey could be troublesome sometimes. I kept him on as a friend for reasons even I didn’t fully remember all the time. When I thought about our friendship, only really one memory consistently stuck with me, and that was the day I found out his dad left.
We’d grown up together mostly through school, and a lot more through sports. He was always laughing and smiling when we were younger. And then it just started changing. Not really noticeably at first.
Just small things. Like how he couldn’t come over to my house as often because he had to buy groceries. Or clean up the house.
About eight years ago, I remembered asking him to come over to my house because I needed someone to practice football with me. It was my first year on a team, and I’d already known going into it I wanted to win the championship. I could tell from Mikey’s voice something was wrong. So I went over to his house to more or less make him go practice with me.
I’d run through the rain, barging into his house. I walked in just as he was cleaning up a pile of vomit. I could his mother screaming from the other room, but Mikey and I just looked at each other for a long moment. And then I went to work helping him. No one said anything until late into the night, when his mom was asleep and everything was taken care of.
Turned out his dad had gotten a new job and, as I understand, it basically tore his family apart. His mom went off on this depressive run after he left. She’d throw up, rant for hours about nonsensical things, and cry into the long hours of the night, weeping for her husband. It took her years to recover, even after she’d gotten the necessary medications and moved her family back in with her mother.
But it was a lot for a second grader to take. How can you explain alcoholism and depression to an eight year old?
It took Mikey a long while to learn how to hide it; longer still to forget about it, and even longer to remember the better things about life. Now he’s more or less back to normal, but he doesn’t talk about it.
Ever since that day, Mikey’s been like my brother. And as my brother, he’s in a position to argue with me a lot more than others. He took advantage of that far too often. Sometimes it’s cool and a lot of times it’s not.
And guess what, this was one of those times when it was not.
I barely noticed the sweltering sensation creeping up my arm as I left the pool area.
☼7☼
Adam
“So you really don’t mind Adam tagging along with us?”
Gwen laughed charmingly at my question. “I like kids,” she assured me. “It’s not a chore to be around your little brother.”
I looked at her now, her auburn hair streaming in the dull winter sunlight, as she held onto Adam’s hand. She was perfect, I decided. She was pretty, smart, and kind-hearted. Everything that would fit into my life perfectly.
“Well, still,” I remarked, “There was the matter of his daycare. That place is just scary. Makes me wonder how I survived.” I shivered to give the proper effect.
Gwen laughed again. “Nice to know daycares are terrifying to you, Hammy.”
“I am more terrified at the thought of you not wanting to go out with me today when I’m stuck with my brother.”
The sincerity in my voice seemed to affect her quite nicely. She might have even blushed a bit, but I pretended I didn’t notice as I turned to go through Shoreside Park. It was the quickest way to get to Rachel’s.
Yes, it was a perfect Tuesday. Nothing, not even arguing with Raiya during history, or my friends constantly calling me ‘Humdinger,’ could break me. Gwen had a magical appeal to my day, and getting to talk about our date with my friends and social media only seemed to make it more exciting.
“Adam, come back here!” I called out as my brother suddenly sped off. There’s a possibility of ice, and if Adam wasn't careful –
“Waaahh!”
I smacked my hand to my forehead. Adam never listened. One of the reasons I didn’t really like being responsible for him.
Gwen and I hurried over, picked Adam up, and began dusting him off while Adam cried his eyes out. His wailing drew the attention of all the people nearby, and of course I probably looked like some creepy teenager to everyone watching, or some incompetent type of parent. I sighed, brushing some more snow out of Adam’s hair.
Adam inherited a lot more from Mark than I did. He’s got the black hair and brown eyes, and even the facial structure of Mark’s side of the family. I suppose I picked up more of Cheryl’s side, because of my brown hair, but I had blue eyes and a distinctively straight nose which seemed to have popped up out of nowhere. There was also an age difference of thirteen plus years between Adam and me.
“Come on, come on, don't cry, there's no hole in your jeans,” I tried to reassure my brother. “Shush, would you? It's okay now.”
It took him a few moments, but he eventually tore his hand away from mine and bustled off again, heading towards the play area. Finally, I thought. Gwen and I could actually talk.
“So, uh, I wonder when the snow’s going to melt?” I asked, gesturing to the high piles of packed snow lining the ends of the streets.
“Probably not till March or April,” Gwen replied. “But it’s been a mild year for the weather.”
Conversation steadily grew harder. But we settled into silence, and for a few moments, we just enjoyed it. I was just thinking about mentioning something else when my chance was stolen.
“Gwen?”
Ugh. I gritted my perfect teeth together angrily enough to make every dental hygienist in a two-block radius cringe. Of course Tim Ryder had to show up to ruin my day.
Gwen and I turned simultaneously to see my favorite spaz boy. Of all the nerve. Who did he think he was? He was Tim, the equivalent of a jester in the court of my own little kingdom. The poster child for future busboys, present acne problems, and past mistakes . . . that was who he was, and who he would always be.
I put on my fake smile, which only became real when I remembered I was on a date with Gwen. “Hi, Tim,” I greeted. It’s better to take the initiative with things like this. It would make it easier for me to dismiss him when I got tired of him in about a minute or less.
“Oh, hi, Dinger.” He smiled, and then turned to Gwen. “I, uh . . . wanted to ask you if you had the notes from Spanish last week . . . when I was out sick.”
“Oh. Uh, I think I left them in my locker, actually,” Gwen said.
It was so much fun to watch them work at their awkward conversation. When Gwen and Tim finally decided a few broken sentences later to meet at her locker in the morning, I decided it was time for me to step in.
“Well, nice seeing you Tim, but Gwen and I are headed to Rachel’s for our date. I’d promised I’d meet up with some of the guys while we’re there.”
He took the hint, noticeably. Thank goodness Gwen was just staring at the ground, or I think she would have been upset to see the wounded look in Tim’s gaze.
“Sure. Uh . . . yeah, well, have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, Gwen. Bye.”
And then Tim waved hesitantly, and hurried off. Not quickly enough for my liking, of course, but still quickly enough when he tripped a few yards away, he landed on his knees. I pretended not to watch as a sense of supreme satisfaction washed over me.
“What are you meeting up with the guys for?” Gwen asked, drawing my attention back to her.
“Oh, Drew, Simon, and Jason just need some help with the biology homework from Elm’s class,” I said, smiling in a reassuring way. “Poncey might show up too. But don’t worry. It’s more of
a matter of exchanging papers than anything else.” Was it my fault if I would also get to flaunt Gwen there in front of my friends?
“Oh. Uh, okay.” She then frowned.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Adam’s run off again,” Gwen replied in a worried tone. She scanned across the playground and into the woods nearby. “I didn’t even hear him run off.”
“Great, just great,” I muttered. “Well, he is notoriously quiet for a three-year-old,” I surmised, starting to get slightly terrified myself (This was enough to make me not want to have children.) “I’ll look over here in the woods. Can you check the playground?”
“Sure,” Gwen nodded, and hurried off towards the larger gathering of screaming children.
I watched her go long enough to appreciate just once more how pretty she was, rushing through the snowy background, and how grateful I was she was there to help.
“Well, are you going to go look for your brother or not?”
I jerked at the sound of the voice coming from directly behind me. “Elysian! What are you doing here?” I growled, pulling the small form of my changeling dragon out of my hoodie. “Never mind. I can hazard a guess. Hey, help me find my brother, would you? He ran away again.”
Elysian groaned. “If you had been paying attention, you wouldn't have lost him!”
“Just stop talking, would you? You're giving me a headache.”
“I'm giving you the headache? You've got to be the most thick-skulled, hard-hearted person I've ever met! And I've been in existence much longer than you!”
“Just hush up and help me find my brother,” I spat angrily. “We've got to find Adam before something happens to him.”
Or more importantly, me. Cheryl and Mark would kill me if Adam gets hurt or taken or . . .
“I'll look from above,” Elysian told me, half-reluctant, as he jumped into the air. Seconds later, a huge dragon emerged from the quiet of the wooded area of the park. Several children were heard screaming as I ran down the park walkway, calling for my brother.