The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen

  Why am I writing this?

  Stay tuned.

  Farley met me outside the school yesterday morning. Before I could stop him, he threw his arms around me. “Welcome back!” He talked a mile a minute as we headed into the school and up the stairs to our lockers. “March Break was so boring. Oh, and Alberta’s home sick with the flu. She told me on Facebook to tell you. She also told me to tell you to get out of the Dark Ages and join Facebook. How was your week?”

  I was spared having to answer that because, as we neared our lockers, we could see right away that we had a problem on our hands.

  Clouds of teensy little bugs were flying in and out of the slats in our locker doors.

  It got ten times worse when we opened them. Horror movie worse. Thousands of fruit flies flew out.

  We slammed our locker doors shut. “It’s okay,” Farley said. “We’ll just bring the bags to the depot after school. The bugs will be gone by tomorrow.”

  Famous last words.

  After school, we took the bags to the depot.

  By the time we arrived, there were only a few flies left; the cold air must have killed them. We thought our problems were solved. But this morning, after we’d done our rounds and lugged the fresh bags to our lockers, it was obvious that we were wrong. The fruit flies weren’t gone; if anything, they’d multiplied. Talia, a tenth grader whose locker is between mine and Farley’s, was disgusted. “Get those things out of here!” she wailed, and on “here,” a fruit fly flew into her mouth. “Aaagh, I’m gonna barf!!” She bolted down the hall and into the girls’ washroom. I never did find out if she actually barfed.

  “If she tells the principal, our entire operation will be shut down,” Farley said.

  I nodded. “We need to deal with this. Pronto.”

  First we lugged our fresh bags full of recyclables to Mr. Jankovich’s classroom and pleaded with him to store them till the end of the day. He reluctantly agreed. “You have till 3:15 at the latest to get them out of here, boys.”

  Then we hunkered down in the boys’ washroom after the bell rang and tried to figure out how to get rid of thousands of fruit flies. This was hard for Farley, ’cause it meant he was breaking his perfect attendance record.

  I wish we’d come up with our last idea first: Our last idea was a can of Raid, and it worked.

  Our first idea was a vacuum cleaner.

  We found one of the janitors in his basement office. He was flipping through a magazine called The Canadian Fly Fisher.

  “Could we borrow a vacuum?” I asked.

  He didn’t even look up. “Bring it back when you’re done,” he grunted.

  We lugged the vacuum cleaner up two flights of stairs to our lockers. I found an outlet nearby and plugged it in. Farley took off the attachment so that just the nozzle was left. He flipped the switch to ON and held the nozzle in front of him, like a weapon. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready,” I replied. Then I opened my locker door and Farley stuck the nozzle inside and sucked up every last fruit fly. We did the same with his locker, too. By then we’d gathered a small crowd of onlookers.

  When we were done, a few kids clapped. I’m pretty sure they were being sarcastic. But Farley lapped it up. “Thank you, thank you, all in the line of duty,” he said, like he was a firefighter who’d just rescued a baby from a burning building.

  But our moment of glory was short-lived. Someone shouted, “They’re flying out again!” Sure enough, a bunch of fruit flies were flying back out of the nozzle that had just sucked them up!!

  Fruit flies are indestructible!!

  Farley and I looked at each other, trying not to panic. “Follow me!” Farley said. So I slapped my hand over the nozzle and followed Farley into the washroom, pulling the vacuum cleaner behind me.

  Once we were inside, Farley yelled, “Give me a loonie, STAT!” like he was a doctor in the middle of a medical emergency. I fished a loonie out of my pocket and handed it to him. I watched, perplexed, as he dropped it into the condom machine.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, just as a toilet flushed.

  “Yeah, what are you doing?” said a familiar voice.

  Troy.

  Farley shouted, “I’m buying a condom to put on my nozzle so nothing flies out!”

  Yup. He said that. Direct quote.

  Troy’s eyebrows shot up. For a moment, there was total silence.

  Then he burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard, he doubled over. It started to dawn on Farley what he’d just said. “I meant the vacuum cleaner’s nozzle! So fruit flies don’t come out!”

  Then the strangest thing happened.

  Troy patted Farley on the shoulder. “You crack me up, little man. You and Freckles here.” He started washing his hands. “How’s business going, anyway?”

  “Great. We have about two hundred bucks already,” Farley said.

  “Wow. A couple of real entrepreneurs,” Troy replied, then he threw an arm around my shoulder, too.

  I thought he was going to grab our heads and smash them together. It’s what Vlad the Impaler would have done.

  But he didn’t. He just said, “See you later,” and walked out of the bathroom.

  Farley and I looked at each other, mystified. “That was weird,” I said.

  “Maybe he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.”

  “Maybe.”

  Farley tore open the condom wrapper and rolled the condom over the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner, just like we’d seen our health teacher do with a baGrams. Then we wheeled the whole thing outside and did our best to empty it.

  At lunchtime, we invested some of our hard-earned money on a can of Raid and sprayed our lockers to get rid of any strays.

  “Good thinking, fellas,” Troy said from across the hall.

  Farley grinned. “Thanks.”

  But I didn’t say a word. As far as I’m concerned, the new nicer Troy is way creepier than the old jerkface one.

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 27

  I’m locked in my bedroom right now, and I am never coming out.

  It started at lunchtime. I headed to Mr. Jankovich’s room with Farley; we were having our final Reach For The Top practice before tomorrow’s Provincials in Richmond.

  When I walked in, I saw Alberta.

  My heart did a little flip. I headed toward her.

  “Don’t get too close,” she said, putting her hands out in front of her to ward me off. “I might still be contagious.”

  She looked amazing. A little pale, yes, with a greenish hue, but it went well with her outfit. She was wearing plaid polyester pants and her purple Doc Martens and a big oversized T-shirt that read I’m with Stupid. The arrow pointed to her left, at Jerome.

  “How was your trip?”

  “Awful,” I replied.

  “Crap. I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. Then she got a funny look on her face, like Dad sometimes gets when he’s constipated.

  “Henry,” she said, “I need to tell you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Not here. Let’s go out in the hall.”

  So I followed her out of the room. I was convinced she was going to break up with me, even though we weren’t officially going out.

  “You know how you told me your mom wasn’t living with you right now?” she began.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, last Thursday, when you were still away and before I got sick? I was walking on Broadway. And I saw your dad, sitting in Blenz. You know, the coffee shop? He was with this blonde woman, and she was holding his hand across the table.”

  It felt like someone had put my heart into a vice.

  “Was she wearing lots of makeup?” I asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Did she have …?” I motioned with my hands in front of my chest.

  Alberta nodded. “Big bazongas.”

  A group of kids pointed at me and laughed as they walked past. I realized I’d wound up on Alberta’s left side, and that the Stupid arrow w
as pointing right at me.

  “It was probably nothing,” Alberta said.

  But I was already walking away.

  “Don’t go. Stay for practice,” she called after me.

  I didn’t turn back. I walked right out of school and all the way home. I called my dad on his cell. I told him it was an emergency and he had to come home right away. I hung up before he could ask any questions.

  Ten minutes later, he burst into the apartment, his tool belt still attached to his jeans. “Henry! Are you okay? What is it? What’s happened?”

  “You said you wouldn’t see Karen while I was gone,” I said. “You promised.”

  It took him a moment to process this. “This is why you called me at work?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is not an emergency –”

  “Yes, it is! It’s a family emergency!”

  “Henry, when I leave work I don’t get paid. Do you understand that?”

  “My friend saw you. Holding hands.”

  Dad shook his head. He pulled off his work boots. “Sit in the living room with me.”

  “No.”

  “Now!”

  So we sat in the living room. “You lied to me,” I said.

  “No, I did not. I promised not to have her in our apartment, and I didn’t. But she invited me out for a coffee, and I went. That’s all it was, Henry. A coffee.”

  “Then why was she holding your hand?” I demanded.

  Dad hesitated. “I told her about Jesse.”

  Lucky for me I was sitting down, or I would have toppled over. “You what??”

  “Henry, you have no idea what it’s like for me –”

  “Are you nuts?? It’s gonna take, like, five minutes for every single person in this building to find out! They probably already know!!”

  “You’re wrong. She promised me she’d keep it to herself.”

  “And you believed her?? She’s a liar, Dad! The first time we met her, she gave us store-bought cookies and said they were homemade!” I stood up and started pacing. “The whole point about moving here was so we could start over. The whole point was that nobody ever had to find out.”

  “Henry, there is nothing wrong with a few people knowing what we’ve been through –”

  “Yes, there is!!! Don’t you get it?? They’ll look at us different. They’ll avoid us. They’ll feel sorry for us – or they’ll think we’re monsters, too! Oh, man, why did you tell her?”

  It was Dad’s turn to stand up. “Because she understands! Because there is no one else for me to talk to!” he shouted. “I can’t talk to any of my old buddies in Port Salish; my parents are long dead; and I sure as hell can’t talk to my wife!” He slammed his fist against the wall. It went right through the drywall, leaving a big gaping hole. “Karen’s a good listener. And she understands what we’re going through, more than you can imagine –”

  “Bullshit!” I shouted. “I hate you!” Then I ran into my room and locked the door, and I’ve been here ever since.

  Dad’s tried a couple of times to get me to come out, but I’m not budging, even though I’m starving.

  I will stay here all night. I will stay here forever. I will stay here till they have to drag my rotting corpse from the room.

  My parents will have two dead kids on their hands.

  6:30 p.m.

  Unbelievable. Here we are, in the middle of a MAJOR FAMILY CRISIS, and what has my dad just done? He’s invited Mr. Atapattu in! They’re in the living room, watching a hockey game. I just heard Dad tell him, “Henry’s not feeling well.”

  LIAR!!! I’m feeling perfectly fine!!!

  IT’S YOU WHO’S MAKING ME SICK!!!

  8:30 p.m.

  I’m starving. My father is letting me starve to death while he and Mr. Atapattu talk and laugh and watch the game.

  10:00 p.m.

  Mr. Atapattu finally left. My dad has gone to bed. I just snuck out of my room and went into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

  There was a bowl on the counter, filled with one of Mr. Atapattu’s curries over rice. It was covered in Saran Wrap. Dad had stuck a Post-it Note on top: Henry, just nuke it for two minutes. Dad xo.

  So I nuked it. I just finished eating it in my room. It was a lamb curry this time, and it was really good. I think my taste buds are getting used to the spices.

  At least my hunger is satisfied.

  One thing is crystal clear: I’m the only one who’s trying to fight for this family.

  And I’m beginning to think we may not be worth the fight.

  2:00 a.m.

  Thanks to my stupid dad and stupid Karen, I am still wide-awake. On tonight of all nights! The Provincials are tomorrow. I need a good night’s sleep.

  Since I am wide-awake, I am going to write a note.

  2:15 a.m.

  I just delivered my note. I only had to run up one flight of stairs in my pajamas and slip it under you-know-who’s door. This is what it said: Stay away from my dad. Stay away from our family!!

  Now I’ll be able to sleep.

  THURSDAY, MARCH 28

  I really thought we could start over. Start fresh. But I was wrong.

  Even though I was tired from a crap night’s sleep, the day started out great. The whole team piled into a rented van for the ride out to Richmond. Alberta saved a spot for me beside her, but I pretended I didn’t notice and sat beside Farley instead. I feel kind of angry with her. I know this sounds stupid, but it’s like that saying, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?” If she hadn’t seen my dad and Karen together, it would have been like it had never happened. Alberta made it real. And even though I know I shouldn’t blame her, I still kind of do.

  When we got to the school in Richmond, the parking lot was packed, and groups of kids were heading inside. We were directed into the cafeteria. Tons of teams were there, from all over the province. Imagine the sound of hundreds and hundreds of kids talking and laughing all at once. It was an incredible buzz. Farley kept jumping up and down and saying, “This is spectacular!”

  For a brief moment, I forgot all about the big steaming pile of poop that is the rest of my life, and I let myself get caught up in the energy and excitement. I felt great. I felt happy.

  And then I saw Jodie.

  Jodie and Jesegan and Parth and Aidan and Ryan and a couple of others I didn’t recognize. They were hovering around one of the tables, no more than a hundred meters away.

  I froze. My first thought was, What is she doing here? Which was followed by, Of course she’s here! Of course Jodie would be on Port Salish Secondary’s Reach For The Top team. This was the girl who’d wanted to be on “Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader” as much as I had. And then it dawned on me: We could be competing against them!!

  I needed to leave. But, first, I had to look at her one more time. Dumb as it sounds, I needed to see if I could tell how she was doing.

  So I peered out from behind Shen’s back and gazed at her, trying to look for signs. She looked thinner. And her hair was longer. She was dressed the same as always – in jeans and a pale yellow T-shirt. Yellow is her favorite color.

  Then I looked into her eyes at the very moment that she looked into mine. Our gazes locked. Her mouth made a little “o” of surprise.

  She dropped the papers she was holding. Next thing I knew, she was making a beeline for me.

  I turned around. Mr. Jankovich was checking the schedule to see who we were playing first. “Sorry, Mr. Jankovich. I have to go.”

  “What?”

  “I feel sick. Barf sick. I have to go.”

  “But how will you get home?”

  I bolted. I ran out of the cafeteria and out of that school as fast as I could. I found my way to the Canada Line station. I didn’t have any money. A nice older lady took pity on me and bought me a ticket.

  I’m home now.

  When Dad got back from work, I told him what had happened. I thought he was going to lecture me about why I should
have stayed. But he didn’t. He just went really pale. Then he took a pack of TUMS from his pocket and popped two into his mouth.

  I told him I thought we should move to the Yukon. Or, better yet, Newfoundland.

  His answer surprised me.

  He said he’d think about it.

  Which only made me feel worse. ’Cause I realized he was scared, too.

  1:00 a.m.

  INTRIGUING FACT: When we’re born, we get 50% of our DNA from our mother and 50% from our father. But siblings can still be totally different from each other, because what they get from each parent could be the exact opposite 50%.

  Sometimes I stare at my face in the bathroom mirror, looking for the DNA Jesse and I shared. We didn’t look alike at all. Jesse had dark brown hair like Mom; my hair is vibrantly red, like Dad’s. Jesse was tall and skinny like Mom; I’m short and stocky like Dad.

  Where I can see Jesse is in my eyes. They’re green, with little flecks of brown, big and round. Sometimes I feel like he’s looking out of my eyes, seeing what I’m seeing.

  Jesse and I saw a lot of things the same way. We laughed at the same jokes. We always picked the same couple to root for on “The Amazing Race.” If Mom and Dad kissed in front of us, we’d both scream, “Gross!!” And without ever talking about it, we both picked the Great Dane as our favorite wrestler.

  And then there are all the ways we were totally different.

  But the point is this: No matter how much or how little DNA Jesse and I shared, when people find out you’re related to a guy who committed murder/suicide, they can never treat you the same way ever again. They can’t help it. ’Cause they can’t help thinking that you are deeply messed up. They can’t help thinking that, at any moment, you could go postal, too.

  So I know why Dad is scared. I know why I’m scared.

  We keep trying to run. But we can’t seem to hide.

  2:30 a.m.

  She looked the exact same. A bit taller. A bit thinner.

  But other than that? The exact same.

  On the outside, anyway.