Aberrant Trilogy 1: Super Charged (4 page)

“I’m saying that you need to go and stay with your grandparents for a while,” she says.

These words strike me like a bullet. I sit back, my shoulders leaning against the cold glass of the passenger window.

“You can’t be serious,” I say. My hands are now so tight around my backpack straps that they are soaking the fabric with sweat.

“I am.”

I begin to tremble. This was not how things were supposed to go. Mae flashes into my mind. My best friend. She’s the one who has been there for me since the tragedy. Now I have to leave her behind. I have to be completely alone. The thought sends chills down my spine.

Stay with my grandparents?

My grandparents live way up north in the woods. There’s nothing there to do except go outside into the wilderness. At least in Boston there are things to do. There are places I can go and be entertained. Up in Maine? That’s the boonies! There’s nothing for me to do up there except mope!

Can that really be what I need?

I am the speechless one now.

Mom shakes her head, again not really looking at me.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I don’t care if she’s sorry or not.

I open my door, take my backpack with me, and step out onto the front walkway. Then I slam the door shut and head inside, not stopping until I make it to my bedroom.

I look around at everything. The familiar ocean blue walls. The bookcases filled with graphic novels, RA Salvatore paperbacks, and Lego
Star Wars
models.

I’m going to be leaving all this behind. My world.

My hand releases on my backpack and it falls to the floor. My broken iPhone, which was tucked into the mesh pocket on the side, becomes dislodged and skitters across the Pergo flooring. Its screen glints in the dying sunlight streaming through the windows.

All this for a single video
, I think.

Mae was right. It wasn’t worth it.

5

Pine Grove

The drive from Massachusetts to Maine is excruciatingly long. I barely had a chance to call Mae and tell her goodbye before all my things were shoved into a duffel bag and thrown into the back seat of Mom’s car. Not only am I without my iPhone because it is smashed, I have to put up with a track phone that’s to be used only for emergencies.
Goodbye social life
, I think.

The majority of the drive is spent in silence. Mom doesn’t say anything, and I don’t have much to say to her anyway.

After what feels like forever, Mom pulls off the highway and onto the first of many back roads. There are more trees here than I’ve ever seen in my life. Everything from the buildings to the sidewalks that are barely existent scream “hometown.” Of course, I’ve been to the country for vacations. But, I barely remember the details.

We come to a long green bridge that looks like it’s being held up by rubber bands and, once across, we are greeted by a green and gold wooden sign that says “Welcome to Pine Grove.”

We’re almost there. As the miles between us and my grandparent’s house become fewer and fewer, I feel this anger welling inside me. I know I don’t belong here. Being sent so far away from my home and my family makes me feel like a criminal. Did I do a criminal act? Yes, I trespassed on a roof, but is that really cause to exile me from home?

Whether it’s fair or not, we pull into my grandparent’s driveway.

Their house is quaint compared to ours. The eaves on the roof are sagging from time and the white paint is peeling off in random spots. The oldness of the house is contrasted with the new life all around it. My grandmother is a constant gardener and the flower beds that line the entire length and width of the house are nothing short of a masterpiece. This is the only positive thing I have noted. There are flowers, and the air smells fresh. Everything else is gloomy.

Mom turns off the engine and turns to speak to me, but I’m not interested in talking. I grab my duffel bag crammed with clothes and bolt from the car.

Grandma and Grandpa must’ve heard us pulling in because they both step out onto the front porch. Grandma opens her arms to hug me, even though the reason I’m here is not because I’m on vacation, and I completely ignore the embrace. I barely slow my steps as I walk up onto the porch.

“Where am I sleeping?” I say briskly.

Grandma stutters for a moment, obviously taken aback by my lack of a greeting, and says, “Upstairs in the guest room.”

I don’t bother to say thank you, and I walk completely past Grandpa and into the house, not stopping until I’m up the stairs and closed inside the guest bedroom.

I’ve been in the room before so it’s not unfamiliar, but I don’t take note of its appearance. Instead I throw my bag onto the floor and fall onto the bed, burying my head into the pillow. Hot tears sting my eyes and I rub my face back and forth against the pillowcase to get rid of them. I don’t need anyone to see me crying.

The window is cracked open a bit and I can hear my mother talking to my grandparents. Their voices are muffled so I can’t hear exactly what they are saying, but the message is clear enough.

Grandma is shocked that I rushed in like this. Mom is still stressed, and she tells Grandma that this is the attitude she needs to expect from me. It’s the one that she’s been putting up with for months. Grandpa, on the other hand, doesn’t really say much.

The talking goes on for a few minutes before I hear footsteps coming up the porch stairs and into the house. They continue up the staircase and stop outside the bedroom doorway.

A knock sounds at the door.

I wipe my eyes one more time to make sure that there is no trace of the tears, and mutter, “What do you want?”

It’s Mom who replies.

“I’m getting ready to leave,” she says.

There’s a long pause.

To break it, I say, “So?”

There is some shuffling outside the doorway, then Mom says, “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

A wave of heat races through my body and my pulse speeds up. Say goodbye? I don’t even want to look at her.

I remain on the bed with my fists clenched.

“Goodbye,” I say. “See you in a month.”

My shortness must have hurt her, because Mom doesn’t come into the room. She stands there for a few moments and I can hear her breathing. Then she gives up and goes back downstairs. A few minutes later the sound of her car roars to life and she pulls out onto the road, her engine becoming softer and softer until she is gone.

My heartbeat is still racing. I don’t want to do anything besides stay in this bed.

So, I roll over onto my back and drift off into a hazy sleep.

___

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, but it must’ve been a while because when my eyes open at the sound of the knocking on the bedroom door, the room is dark. Outside the window I can hear the sound of crickets and peeping frogs singing.

“Shaun?” says Grandpa outside the door. “Can I come in?”

My skin feels all clammy and I reach up to wipe the sweat from my face. I clear the gunk from my throat and sit up.

“Sure,” I reply.

Grandpa comes into the room and stops a few steps in. He’s carrying a plate with steaming food and a tall glass of milk. He looks around.

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

I nod.

He walks over to the desk and sets down the plate and the milk and then returns to the doorway to turn on the ceiling light.

“You missed dinner,” he says. “I figured you were resting after the long drive, so I brought you something to eat if you’re hungry.”

To be honest, I’m still too upset to be hungry. But I nod anyway. There will be time for the food later.

Grandpa rubs his hands together and looks around once more.

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?” he asks.

“I don’t see why not,” I reply, and Grandpa takes a seat on the bed beside me. The springs creak under our weight and Grandpa sighs.

“So,” he starts off. “Suspended from school for a month, huh? You must’ve done something pretty bad to get a punishment like that.”

Of course Grandpa wants to talk about the elephant in the room. I should’ve expected that.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I say. “I was just making some videos, that’s all.”

“On the roof of the school, from what your mother told me,” Grandpa says with one eye squinting a little. “That’s pretty dangerous. You could’ve been really hurt, or somebody else could’ve been. What possessed you to go up on the roof like that?”

I run my hands through my hair.

“I climb up high to get away from everybody,” I say. It’s a stupid explanation, but it’s the truth. “Being up high is the only place where I can get away from everybody and find some peace.”

Grandpa nods.

“It may be peaceful,” he says, “but, that’s trespassing. What about these videos you’re making? Do those need to be up high?”

He’s probing for information. He wants the truth out of me. I don’t know if I really want to tell him, but if I’m going to tell someone, it might as well be him. I take a breath and then jump in feet first.

“I’m keeping a video diary,” I say. “It’s like a journal, except I’m talking to the camera. I’ve been keeping it for Dad. It’s kind of like my way of talking to him.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “It sounds stupid. But, I feel like if I’m up high, I’m closer to him. That’s why I did it.”

I’m waiting for Grandpa to agree with me, but to my surprise he doesn’t.

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” he says, looking me in the eye. “I might not be making videos, but I talk to your father sometimes, too. He’s listening, no matter which way we talk to him. I truly believe that.”

We are both silent for a few moments with only the sound of the crickets outside floating around the room.

Then Grandpa continues.

“Your father was a good man. And he raised a good kid. I know that for fact. You might be here for a punishment, but all of us grieve in our own way. So, if you want to make videos, make videos. I’m not going to stop you. Just do me and your grandma favor. Don’t make them on the roof of the school.”

He gets to his feet and heads for the door, turning to give me a smile.

“I know it’s the middle of the week,” he says, “but, you’ve got school at the high school tomorrow morning. Your grandmother pulled some strings to get you in there. So, don’t stay up too late. And try to keep a low profile. This is a small town.” He nods to the plate and the glass of milk. “Put your dishes in the sink when you’re done. Good night.”

Then he leaves.

My stomach growls just then. Now that nobody’s looking, I hurry over to the desk and devour my dinner.

6

Small Fish, Big Pond

My hopes of slipping under the radar like Grandpa suggested are blown out of the water the first time I set foot in the 1970’s linoleum-lined halls of Buxton High School.

Trying to figure out the combination to my locker, which is written in nearly illegible cursive, I am pulled out of my concentration by a fist banging against the peeled maroon metal door.

I look up to see a very tall, stalky boy staring down at me. He looks like he just stepped out of some CW show. Everything about him screams perfection. His brown hair is perfectly coifed, his eyes are perfectly green, and his attire advertises football captain.

Even with this proverbial king of the jungle staring me down, I try to play it cool and continue with my combination.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

The boy rests one elbow on the top of my locker door and sets a strange grin on me.

“You must be the new kid,” he says.

I turn the dial back and forth between the numbers. Is that supposed to be a seven, or a one?

“Must be?” I reply, not making eye contact with him. “I
am
the new kid. Do you see me trying to figure out my locker combination? One hundred percent noob here.”

When I turn the dial to the last digit on the combination I am pleased as the lock clicks open. However, when I pull on the handle, the boy standing beside me is holding it shut with his elbow.

I straighten up.

“Do you mind?” I say.

The boy doesn’t budge. There is an awkward silence between us as students bustle past, grabbing their things and preparing for class. The boy licks his lips and puffs out his chest a bit.

“I’m Tyson,” he says, looking away in what I take to be a pose. “Tyson Phillips. Captain of the football team.”

I lock my stare on him for a moment until he removes his elbow and I lift up on the locker, swinging the door open with a creak.

“Ah,” I say. “I kind of guessed that from the jacket.”

I hope that this is the end of the conversation, but as I straighten up with an armful of books against my chest, I see that the boy is still there, staring me down. I sigh.

“My name’s Shaun Boding -” I start, but Tyson interrupts me.

“I already know who you are,” he says. “Your dad is the guy who wrote those
Super Guy
comics. Everyone’s talking about it.” From the string of words that are coming out of the boy’s mouth, it sounds to me like he’s trying to make a good first impression. To cozy up to me. But, the tone in which he speaks those words betrays the sentiment. I’m not really sure what he’s after.

I close my locker and turn to face the boy head on.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s me. Do you want a signed copy or something? Because that’s not going to happen since my father has been dead for a year.”

“I don’t want an autograph,” says Tyson, pushing his face closer to me, his lower jaw jutting out in an intimidating way. “I bet you think that because of your father’s fame that people are going to fall all over themselves for you. But, I’ve got news for you. Nobody’s going to be doing any of that because the only person they celebrate around here is
me
.” He jabs a finger against his chest and it gives a thick
thud
. That chest is all muscle. I’m sure the guy could break me in half if he wanted to.