The wave of students trampled past.
“I have chemistry,” I said, looking down the hall.
Someone was skateboarding. I could hear the wheels grinding on the floor. “Okay. Well, I wanted to say that I didn’t ask Kenneth to be in the Mystery Club,” Naoki said, looking into my eyes. “I want to make sure you and Thomas are both comfortable with it.”
Another two-hundred-pound pause. The sound of wheels faded.
Naoki shifted. The crystal she was wearing around her neck spilled little rainbows onto her face. It made me think of the time Thomas decided we should have an Alien party and Naoki showed up with binoculars because she thought we were literally going to see aliens. When Thomas pulled out the Alien DVDs, it was the first time I saw her be kind of bummed out.
Finally, I asked, because I was actually curious, “Why do you like him?”
Naoki frowned. “Kenneth. Yes. He’s smart. He likes to read interesting things. He’s like a map to a place I didn’t know existed. Just like you.”
Naoki was thinking maps. All I could think of was posters. “He doesn’t want to save us all?”
Naoki looked up at the ceiling. “Saved. Hmmm. Saved. Saved.”
I know she was just feeling the word over, but hearing it repeated like that, like some sort of chant, was freaking me out.
Finally she looked at me. “I just feel like we’re all supposed to connect. I really just feel it.”
The halls were empty. Which always feels like a kind of no-man’s-land to me. An unnatural territory.
I turned. Shifted my bag on my shoulder. “Okay. Well. Like I said, I gotta go.”
* * *
Despite not having a lead, Jefferson High’s production of The Outsiders did have a fantastic set, which I worked on that day while auditions went on during lunch.
Thomas seemed relieved to have me in the backstage area, his domain, where he could just give me little tasks to do and, I was pretty sure, keep an eye on me. Mostly I half watched the auditions and half painted. It looked like the new lead role was between Kevin Barton, the goalie from the soccer team, who looked the part but also looked like he didn’t want to be there, and Percy Moffatt, whose name pretty much says it all. Percy spent most of his time playing piano, and Thomas said he was only auditioning because he found out he needed some school activities on his application to Harvard.
“And he doesn’t want to paint sets?” I asked, smoothing out the tarp underneath what felt like the billionth wall I’d painted for this thing.
“I don’t think you can paint sets in cashmere pants.” Thomas snorted. Which was a little odd because why would Thomas of all people disdain a cashmere pant?
Thomas was painting a drive-in sign. Which was going to be strung with little lights so it would look like a real sign.
“Hey,” I said, dabbing my brush in gray. “Is Percy gay?”
“Uh, no.” Thomas finished the curve of the D. “It seems that Percy is one of the few Percys alive who is not gay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.” Thomas left his sign and walked over, peering at my wall. “Is that the same gray as from the last group?”
“Yes. How can you be very sure? About Percy?”
Thomas stood back and squinted at the wall. “Because we went for coffee, and I thought he was flirting with me, so I kissed him goodbye, and he shoved me and called me a fag. I think his parents are superreligious or something.”
He turned his head slightly, walked away, walked back toward the wall. Sighed. “It looks like a different gray.”
I tried to catch Thomas’s eye, but he was lost in gray. “That sucks,” I said.
“Well, you wanted to know why I only date older men, there you have it. Stop painting. I want to make sure it’s the right color.”
It was around three thirty when I finally left the theater, in search of Thomas, who’d left to find some “better” gray paint. It was last-bell time. Cheerleaders grabbed pom-poms; jocks grabbed gear. Band geeks grabbed appropriately shaped black suitcases. Lockers slammed.
I walked and texted my way through the corridors, bumping past kids headed for various games and home.
Me: Where did u go? It’s just gray paint. Can I go home and we’ll do it tomorrow?
Me: If you don’t answer, I’m leaving.
Me: 5, 4, 3, 2 …
I turned the corner.
There, just down the hall, stood Kenneth White and the Reverend White. The reverend was at least six feet tall. Taller than Kenneth. A tower. He was wearing a pale blue suit, matching his white hair.
He was right there. In the flesh.
At some point, the crowd pulled away from me and I was alone in the hall. That was when Kenneth looked up. His face was like a statue’s. Stone. Cold. Kenneth looked up, and he pointed.
At me.
The Reverend White looked up. His eyes narrowed.
In a flash I remembered the one and only time I spent a day with Mama Kate’s parents alone. I think I was, like, four. This was pre-Tesla. Back when we still lived in Canada. I remember they didn’t stay in the house, because Mama Kate said they wanted to stay at the Holiday Inn. The first day of their visit, they took me on a special “grandparents-only” visit to a kiddie park.
Most of the day was okay. I had my first cotton candy, and my grandfather even let me get a Coke because he said it was a special day.
It all fell apart when my grandfather decided I should go on a pony ride. Like, ten seconds after the ride started, I freaked out because my pony kept trotting and it felt like the earth was shaking. And I started to cry, and they had to stop and pull me off.
“I want BOBO!” I screamed. “I want Bobo NOW!”
“Stop screaming!” My grandfather took my arms and tried to force them to my sides. His hands were hard and scratchy like a rug. His face went from soft and pink to red. Up close I noticed his nose had a weird freckle on it that was raised. He had eyebrows with long, curly white hairs that seemed to reach toward me when his face got close to mine.
I’d never had a man grab me like that. Or yell. I started to scream and twist, and everyone turned and looked at us. I tried to kick him so I could get free, and he closed his grip tighter.
“BOBO!” I wailed.
“She means Jo,” my grandmother whispered, clutching her purse to her chest.
“That woman,” my grandfather said, his voice low like some sort of engine, “is not your mother.”
“It’s okay,” my grandmother whispered. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
I remember dust on the toes of my new red shoes as we walked to the parking lot, my grandfather holding my hand tight.
“Would you want to come live with us someday?” my grandmother asked, handing me a piece of cotton candy that promptly melted against my skin and turned me blue.
I remember they had a big yellow car with windows you had to roll down with a handle. But I wasn’t allowed to roll mine down.
“No escaping!” my grandmother sang. And then she gave me a Kleenex because my nose was running all over the place.
“Child has no father,” my grandfather grumbled. I watched his head shake from my view in the backseat. The back of his neck looked like a bunch of skinny plain doughnuts all stacked up on top of each other.
I sniffled.
“A child needs a father.” He shook his head.
When we got to my house, my grandfather wouldn’t come inside. He helped me out of the car and kissed my head. Then he stood by the curb as my grandmother walked me to the house. I remember turning back and seeing him squinting at me. Not waving.
Back in the hallway, the Reverend White frowned.
Of course, I always knew the Reverend White was real. But it was different, knowing he was real and seeing his posters everywhere, and having him in my school. At my school. Staring at him squinting at me, I felt like I was losing oxygen, losing ground.
Following Kenneth’s finger, he stood straight and s
tarted walking toward me.
I turned and ran down the hall, darted into the gym, around the back, through the eighth-grade hallway, and into the back lot. I could feel the stone clanging against my chest.
I ran until I couldn’t feel my footfalls, just a thundering pounding beneath my waist. In the distance, I heard a tweet from the football practice on the far field. I took off around the school, scanning the horizon for the Reverend White. I could feel him striding toward me, legs stiff, arms out, like some sort of Christian Frankenstein.
I circled back toward the south parking lot—and ran right into Kenneth White.
It was like a particle collision, a burst of energy that sent us both flying back and onto our butts. I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could.
Kenneth pulled himself to his feet, dusted off his hands. “Watch yourself,” he said.
“Watch myself?” I gasped. “Are you serious?”
Kenneth shook his head. Walked over to his bag and picked it up.
The gravel slid under my feet as I paced.
In sight
not see
black light
not be
Kenneth looked up.
“Excuse me, preacher,” I spat. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my lips.
“Don’t…” Kenneth said, his voice low.
“Don’t what?” I cut in, stepping forward, reaching to wrap my fingers around the Eye. “You got something to say?”
Kenneth shook his head, dusted off his bag. Coolly. “Nope,” he said.
“Montgomery!” Thomas and Naoki, in chorus, came running around the corner.
“What’s going on?” Naoki gasped.
“Yeah. Tell them.” I pointed at Kenneth. “Tell them why you were pointing at me. Tell them why you were pointing me out to your dad!”
Kenneth looked at Naoki and back at me. He was still holding his bag over his shoulder.
“I was walking,” I said, turning to Thomas, “down the hall and this homophobe pointed me out to his father.”
Thomas kept his eyes steady on me like he was trying to read my insides.
“Tell me that’s not true,” I said, pointing at Kenneth. “God’s honest truth. That’s a thing, right?”
“Augh!” Naoki threw her bag down. It made a terrible, crashing, glass-breaking noise.
“Oh,” Thomas said.
Naoki knelt down and opened her bag. Inside were thick-cut, broken pieces of glass. “It was a crystal ball,” she said, to the broken pieces mostly.
Kenneth stepped toward her. “You okay?”
“How about you just get out of here?” I barked. “No one wants you here. Why don’t you just go back to church and get homeschooled or whatever it is you do?”
Naoki stood over her bag. “What is wrong with you?” she whispered.
She was talking … to me.
Naoki’s eyes searched my face. Her cheeks were all flushed and pink. Her voice rose. “Why are you acting like this?”
My eyes were practically popping out of my head. Now she was taking his side? Actually standing there, in front of him, and calling me out?
“You know what?” I sneered. “When it’s your family that people are attacking, then maybe you’ll get it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naoki said. “You think you’re the only person who’s ever been oppressed or hurt or treated badly because of who you are?” Naoki pressed her hands to her face.
“Naoki,” Thomas whispered, reaching over to touch her shoulder.
“No!” Naoki pulled away, glaring at me. “You!” Naoki’s voice hit a shout. Then got quiet. “You should know better.”
Then, I swear to God, she walked over to Kenneth and said, in a regular, non-mad voice, “Let’s go.”
“You know what?” I screeched, “You suck! I should know better? The only thing I clearly don’t know is how to pick a friend.”
I turned and started speed-walking away from the school, away from Naoki and everyone else at Jefferson, as fast as I could.
I didn’t hear Thomas running behind me until he was right by my shoulder.
“Okay. Let’s go,” he said. He grabbed my arm, steering me across the street.
I tried to tug my arm out of his grip. “What are you doing? Hey!”
Thomas stopped. “I’m taking you for a talking-to, Montgomery Sole,” he said. “Now, let’s go.” He picked up my arm again, this time gently, and turned us toward the park. “This is the part of the movie where we get serious.”
* * *
We went to Thomas’s favorite park. Breakup park. The park where I took him for all his breakups. A tiny park of no more than twelve square feet of grass and a few trees. A bench of warped wood and iron.
Thomas dumped me onto the bench, then sat down next to me, folding his arms. “Okay. Now, tell me what’s happening.”
I stared at the cuffs of my pants, which were covered in dust. “Well, Naoki just yelled at me.”
“Montgomery.” Thomas adjusted himself so he was sitting cross-legged, facing me.
“What?” I spun around.
A gust of wind must have filled Thomas’s lungs and exploded out of him. “Jesus, Montgomery, what is going on with you?” Thomas sat back. “Okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. Just, tell me what is going on?”
“Well,” I fumed, “let’s see. We’ve got someone who thinks we’re all going to hell postering the city with, like, ‘Save the American Family’ crap. Which you don’t think is a big deal.”
“What does that have to do with Kenneth?” Thomas asked.
I jumped up off the bench. There was so much electricity stabbing at my insides I couldn’t keep still. “Kenneth White is the son of Reverend White. Does it seem all that far-fetched to you that the son of the hater of gays would eventually have something to say about the queers at Jefferson High?”
“The Reverend White…” Thomas started.
“No one at this school will care about us getting screwed but us, Thomas!” I started to pace. “Crosses up on the lockers, no one cares. Matt Truit calls you a fag, no one cares. No one cares, no one at Jefferson High is going to do anything about it.”
A bunch of little kids were playing in the park on the swings. The sky was turning gray. A little ribbon of cold wrapped around my neck. I plonked myself back down on the bench and tried to pull my legs in to get warm.
Thomas sat, quiet. Then he said, “Did you do something to him? To Matt? That day?”
“I didn’t touch him.” Thomas’s eyes were boring little holes in my soul. I looked down. “I mean, it’s possible that the Eye might have done something, but…”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Eye…” The Eye what? I thought.
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “The Eye? What happened to sharing your insights with the Mystery Club? I thought we were exploring the bounds of reality together. I thought we were all going to wield.”
“We’re painting sets this week,” I said.
“Okay, well, now I’m all ears. Tell me about your Eye.”
“I don’t know what it is. Sometimes, when I’m mad. And I hold it. Stuff happens.”
“What stuff?” Thomas leaned forward. “Monty.”
“It only happens when I’m wearing the Eye.” My hands flailed, then dropped, useless, into my lap. “I don’t know exactly what it is.”
I told Thomas about the last few days. The images in my head were scattered on the floor like some sort of terrible collage. What happened first? What happened after the box arrived? Then High Bun disappearing off the bleachers? And Matt? How did I even know what was happening?
Thomas furrowed his brow. “So it happened more than once.”
I bowed my head, which was suddenly like a brick. “I guess.”
Naoki would understand, I thought.
Then another thought hit me like a movie punch to the stomach. No, she wouldn’t. She was probably hanging out with Kenneth righ
t now. Talking about me.
Thomas appeared to be deep in serious thought. He stared at me like I was an exam. I got the feeling that he was ready to chase me down if I made a break for it. “Where is it now? The stone. The Eye of Know.”
“Safe,” I said.
Thomas nodded. “Okay. Okay. So get rid of it.”
“What?”
“Montgomery.”
I shook my head.
“Montgomery, if you do, in fact, have a stone that is causing harm to people. In any way. Why would you hold on to it?”
Two girls with ice cream cones stopped in midwalk and midlick to stare at Thomas and me.
So we stopped for a sec.
Till they kept licking and walking.
I stared. At Thomas. “I’m not getting rid of it.”
It didn’t even occur to me it was true until I said it. Because even if I didn’t understand what the Eye was doing, I felt like it was going to keep me safe. Because even if I didn’t understand why, it felt powerful. Protecting.
And I was not safe. Maybe no one I loved was safe. Not with all this stuff going on. Not with “Save the American Family,” not with Kenneth. Maybe I was never safe. Not ever.
I needed it.
“Okay,” Thomas snapped. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know what this stone is or does or this Eye or whatever. But it is clear to me that you think it might be doing bad things to people. And it is freaking me out that that is not freaking you out. And let’s just say that this—this—is exactly how being a villain starts. Villains are people who are pissed off and who get enough power to do something about it. And then they do that thing even though that thing is hurting someone.”
My cheeks burned. “I’m the villain. Seriously? You can go to this school and deal with this crap and think that I’m the villain? That’s messed up.”
There was a long silence, during which the temperature dropped at least one more degree.
“I know it’s bad sometimes, Monty.” Thomas reached forward. I scooted back. “But it doesn’t make things any better to … hate them, like this. It’s just … it’s a black hole, Monty. It’s not worth it.”
“Well. I hate them anyway,” I said.
Thomas looked up to the sky. “You know, I vowed long ago never to let some stupid kids make me bitter at a young age. That’s why they don’t touch me. Because I won’t let them. You shouldn’t, either.”