Bait (12 page)

O
N
F
RIDAY NIGHT
,
after making macaroni and cheese for dinner, Diego found himself staring at the phone, longing to talk with Ariel. He’d replayed their kiss at least fourteen thousand times in his mind. And yet he hesitated to call. Eventually, she was bound to find out just how messed-up he was, and never go out with him again. So, why bother?

If only he’d talked to Vidas more about her—and less about Mac. Vidas made him feel like he stood a chance with her. What would Vidas tell him now? After considering for a moment, Diego carried the phone into his room and closed the door.

“Um, hi,” he mumbled when she answered. “It’s me, Diego.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” replied Ariel. “I’d begun to think maybe you weren’t interested anymore.”

“I’m interested.” He sat himself on the bed to keep his legs from shaking. “I just thought—you know—maybe you didn’t really want me to call.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to call?”

“Well…” He wrapped a finger through a belt loop of his jeans. “Because of all my problems…getting into fights, being locked up…”

Ariel was quiet a moment before answering. “Diego, we’ve all got problems. Everybody does.”

“Not like mine,” he insisted.

“Well, then, you’re special,” Ariel said, as if trying to end the topic. Was she being sarcastic? Or did she really think he was special? Before he could ask, she announced, “My mom found out you were in juvie.”

“She did?” He hadn’t expected that. “What did she say? Is she mad?”

“Not exactly mad…More like worried. She said I should find somebody else to date.”

He bit into his lip, certain she was about to dump him.

“But I told her,” Ariel continued, “I don’t want to date anybody else.”

He sat up straighter. “You told her that?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Why was she so bent on dating him?

“Because,” she explained, “I think your tough-guy act is just a front. I don’t believe you’re really that person. It doesn’t match the shy guy who’s always so nervous to talk to me.”

Diego listened and wondered, where was she going with this?

“Anyway,” she continued, “Mom says that she knows she can’t stop me from seeing you and that if I’m determined, she wants to talk to you.”

Little beads of sweat exploded onto Diego’s forehead. “You mean right
now
?”

“No, not now. She wants you to come for lunch on Sunday after church. Can you make that?”

“Um, sure.” He wiped his brow with a sleeve, more worried than ever. What would her mom say to him?

Ariel switched topics after that, wanting to know what juvie had been like and asking about his mom’s reaction. He was relieved when the conversation finally turned to homework, school, and recent TV.

After hanging up, he lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, mystified that she was still interested in him. Was there a chance they might become a couple at some point? Or, like Kenny had implied, were they already one? That possibility made him jump up from bed to high-five the ceiling, feeling like he could almost touch the sky.

For the next thirty-six hours, nearly the only thing he could think about was his upcoming date. On Saturday during his lunch break, he walked to the drugstore to buy a new bag of gummies for Ariel. While in the checkout line, he noticed a box of chocolates. Maybe he should get them for her mom. It could only help.

On Sunday afternoon he biked to Ariel’s, pulled the gifts from his backpack, and rang the doorbell.

From inside came excited barking, and a moment later Ariel answered the door, her dogs beside her.

“Thanks,” she told Diego as he handed her the gummy bears. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“And these are for your mom.” He held out the chocolate box.

“Cool. But
you
should give them to her. She won’t bite, you know.”

Inside the house, a good smell of tomato sauce, sautéed onions, and peppers came from the kitchen, where Ariel’s mom was pulling a tray of lasagna from the oven.

“Um, hi,” Diego told her, and Ariel announced, “He brought you something.”

Her mom set the lasagna on the counter. When she pulled off her oven mitts, Diego handed her the chocolates.

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Her mom gave him a look as if to say,
I guess you can’t be all bad.

He helped Ariel to set the table and pour beverages, trying not to spill anything. During lunch, he felt so nervous he could barely swallow.

“I understand,” Ariel’s mom said, “that you were arrested and put in detention for getting into a fight?”

His face turned hot as an oven. “Um, yes, ma’am.”

“So,” she continued, “are you going to learn to control your temper?”

“I want to, ma’am. I’m trying.”

Her skeptical stare made him wither. He glanced at Ariel, hoping to draw some encouragement, and she looked back hopefully.

“Well, let me be clear,” her mom said. “If you ever hurt my daughter, lift a hand against her at all, I will personally see to it that you get put away for a very, very long time.”

“Mom!” Ariel exclaimed. “You’re being hysterical.”

“No, I’m not.” Her mom kept her gaze on Diego. “Am I being clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, wishing he could evaporate.

After they’d finished eating, he helped Ariel to clear the table and accidentally dropped a glass, cracking it, he was so jittery.
Oh, great,
he thought and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, and buried the glass in the bottom of the trash so her mom wouldn’t see it.

They loaded the dishwasher without any more mishaps and she told her mom they were going to watch a DVD. When they got to the den, he relaxed a little. They picked out a movie and while Ariel loaded it, he checked on her aquarium.

“Your tank looks clear and healthy,” he observed. “You’ve got room for more fish, if you want.”

“What would you suggest?” She walked over and stood beside him.

“Well, your tetras and harlequins are mid-layer fish. See how they hover near the middle?”

“I’d noticed that.” She bent over to look and he glanced down at her hair, imagining the feel of it brushing his cheek.

“Yeah, so, um, you might consider adding a bottom fish. Personally, I like leopard corydoras. They’re neat-looking and scavenge for fallen food.”

“Wow, you know a lot.”

“Sort of. For the top, near the surface, scissor tails are fun to watch. You should come into the store one Saturday. I’ll help you.”

“Okay.” She grinned and led him to the sofa, sitting so close to him that he could smell the perfume on her skin—a clean citrus scent that he really liked.

As the movie started, she said in a gentle voice, “I’m sorry about my mom. She gets a little overprotective—”

“But she’s right,” Diego interrupted. “If I ever hurt you, I
should
be put in jail. I’d never forgive myself.”

Ariel glanced into his eyes, studying him. “I think she’s that way because of my dad. When I was in fifth grade, they started to get into arguments all the time. Then one day he hit her.”

Diego leaned back, a little shocked, and she noticed his surprise.

“I warned you,” she told him, “my life has been a little sketchy too. I wasn’t there that first time. All I knew was they tried going to counseling. But one night he got drunk and hit her again. That time I saw it.” Ariel’s face tightened. “The police came…. I was so scared. After that, my mom made him move out. Then they got divorced. For two years I didn’t want to see him.”

No wonder her mom was concerned about her. Hearing her story made Diego want to wrap his arms around her, just hold her.

“Eventually he went to AA,” Ariel continued, “and he stopped drinking. Now he has a new family and takes me to dinner once a week. So you see? My life’s hardly been normal.”

Diego drew a breath, trying to think of the right thing to say. Then he recalled what Vidas had said to him in the holding cell.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thanks.” She smiled a little sadly. “I just hope you don’t run away.”

“I won’t,” he assured her, and noticed her eyes were moist.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said. Pointing the remote, she turned off the DVD they’d been ignoring. “Tell me about you.”

With the TV off, the room seemed painfully silent. His throat tightened. “Um, like, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know you, who you are.” She took hold of his hand, slipping her fingers between his. “Like I told you about me.”

“Well, um…” His legs jiggled uncontrollably. In spite of the things she’d told him about her dad, he wasn’t ready to tell her about Mac. “…Like I said before, my life has been kind of complicated.”

“Yeah…?” she said encouragingly.

He gazed down at the carpet, wishing he could tell her more, but no matter how much he wanted to, the words just wouldn’t come. Why couldn’t she simply accept him without wanting to know so much? He felt her staring at him, waiting.

“What are you so afraid of?” she asked. “That I won’t like you? Well, I’m afraid you won’t like me, but I’m being honest with you.”

He felt the sweat between their palms as a sea of emotions swirled inside him. He wanted to be honest with her, too. But what could he say that wouldn’t pull him in over his head? His free hand fidgeted with the sofa cushion. “It’s, um, about my stepdad…stuff he did.”

Her brow crinkled as she peered into his eyes. “You mean stuff he did
to you
?”

Diego’s heart nearly zoomed out of his throat. How’d she figured that out? Had she guessed what he meant? Would she tell people at school? He’d never be able to show his face again. Why had he told her anything? He couldn’t sit still a second longer.

“I’ve got to go.” He pulled his hand away, standing up.

Everything became a blur after that: what she said, what her mom said, getting on his bike…Next thing he knew, he was racing down the street toward his house, breathing in huge gulps of air, panicked by even the little bit he’d told her. To make matters worse, he realized he’d left behind his backpack, but there was no way he’d go back for it.

A
FTER
D
IEGO ARRIVED HOME
,
Ariel phoned but he didn’t want to talk with her, not after what he’d revealed, and running out like he had. The following morning, he slammed the alarm off and buried his head beneath the pillow, dreading facing her at school.

The third time his snooze went off, his mom came in and shook his shoulder. “Are you getting up or do I have to call Mr. Vidas?”

It was the first time she’d threatened to phone his PO. He blinked his eyes open, remembering that school was part of his contract. He had to go.

Since he’d left his backpack at Ariel’s, he had to use an old satchel and barely made it to his bus in time. When he got to school, he skulked down the hallway, hoping to avoid her, but she appeared at his locker, holding his backpack.

“Um, thanks.” He took the bag, barely looking her in the eye.

“Why’d you run out yesterday?” she asked.

He shifted his feet. “I just had to go…that’s all.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Um, yeah. Fine. Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I am.” He forced himself to glance at her for an instant but had to look away.

“All right,” she said as the bell rang. “Call me whenever you want to talk.”

Talk?
What could he possibly say? He’d already revealed too much.

On Thursday after school, Diego biked to the courthouse, eager to talk with Vidas about what had happened. The receptionist greeted him with a surprised look.

“Didn’t your school give you my message? Mr. Vidas got stuck in a trial—still going on. He’s sorry he can’t meet with you today but he’ll see you next week.”

Diego remained standing at the counter, debating what to do. He really wanted to talk to Vidas. “Um, can I wait for him?”

“You can if you want…but the trial could run all afternoon.”

“I’ll wait.” Diego sat down beside the other boys in a row of chairs. As one boy after another met with a PO and then left, Diego stayed seated, watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock. Each time footsteps echoed in the tile hallway, he hoped it would be Vidas, but it wasn’t.

At 5:20, Mrs. Ahern started to clean up behind her counter as other staff said bye on their way to the elevator. When the clock hands reached 5:30, she stood to leave.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to go now,” she told Diego. “You can’t stay here by yourself. Mr. Vidas will see you next week. Or you can call him before that. Okay?”

Diego didn’t want to talk on the phone; it wouldn’t be the same as seeing him. It made him angry that Vidas had blown off their appointment, for whatever reason. If Diego had to keep his appointments, then why didn’t Vidas?

After biking home, Diego made dinner for Eddie and him, then retreated to his room. Still angry, he pulled the shark’s tooth out, peeled his shirt off, and examined the tangle of scars that snaked up his arms and across his chest.

He settled on an unmarked spot on his right bicep and pressed the tooth against his skin. A prick of pain pierced through him. And a tiny bead of blood hemorrhaged out. But this time there was no excitement, no thrill.

As he sliced the tooth across his flesh, his mind remained on Vidas. He knew that he’d tell him about this, and Vidas would listen understandingly. Now that the cutting was no longer a secret, it seemed kind of stupid. What was the point? Rather than take his feelings away, it was only making him madder. He pulled the tooth away from his skin and grabbed a tissue, staunching the blood flow, and thought how Vidas was making his life more screwed-up than ever.

The following afternoon in the middle of English class, Ms. Hamilton called Diego to the door. When he got to the hallway, there stood Vidas.

“Hi, Diego. Sorry I had to miss our appointment yesterday. Mrs. Ahern said you waited for me till closing. How’re you feeling?”

“Um, fine,” he muttered. “I mean, good.”

Vidas stared into his eyes. “Something bothering you?”

Diego shrugged, confused as to why he wasn’t more glad to see Vidas, after wanting so bad to see him yesterday.

“Let’s find out,” Vidas said, “if we can borrow a counselor’s office. Why don’t you go grab your books?”

Although none of the counselors’ offices were available, the vice principal had gone to a meeting and the secretary allowed Vidas to use that one. Diego deposited himself into the same chair as last time, when Mr. Wesson had called him a criminal.

“So, how’re you really feeling?” Vidas asked.

“Why do you always have to ask that?” Diego exploded. “Can’t you just say something normal like ‘How’s it going?’ For somebody who says they’re not a therapist, you sure do talk like one.”

Vidas quietly leaned back in his chair, looking a little blown away. “Okay, then. How’s it going?”

“I cut myself,” Diego announced.

Vidas raised his eyebrows. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“After I missed our appointment?”

“Yeah.”

“How did missing our meeting make you feel?”

“I don’t know!” Diego groaned. “Why do you always want to know what I feel?”

“So I can understand you,” Vidas said. “And you can learn to understand yourself.”

“I understand myself.”

“Good. Then what did you feel when I missed our appointment?”

“Angry! You make such a big deal about
me
having to show up for our appointment and then
you
blow it off.”

“I had a valid excuse,” Vidas explained. “I had to be in that trial. Otherwise I wouldn’t have missed our appointment. I look forward to seeing you each week.”

Diego pressed his lips into a smirk. Why was Vidas telling him that?

“What else did you feel?” Vidas asked.

Diego shifted uncomfortably. “Disappointed, I guess. I wanted to talk to you.”

Vidas gave a nod. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available. What other feelings did you have?”

Diego exhaled a long breath, letting his anger go, and thought carefully about what else he might’ve been feeling. “Maybe hurt.”

“I can understand that,” Vidas said. “You felt hurt that I didn’t keep our appointment…. And then you cut yourself?”

“Yeah.” Diego knew it didn’t make much sense. If he felt hurt, then why’d he hurt himself more? “It was like I wanted to get back at you.”

“It sounds to me,” Vidas suggested, “more like you were getting back at yourself.”

“For what?”

“For having feelings. For feeling hurt that I didn’t show up. For being scared that I was leaving you.”

Diego crossed, then uncrossed his legs, recalling his first conversation with Vidas: about people leaving.

“Last time we met,” Vidas continued, “you told me more about Mac.”

“Not again!” Diego let out a moan, sensing where this was going. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

Vidas leaned back in his chair a minute. “There’s one piece left,” he said, unyielding. “What did you feel when he left you and your family by ending his life? Was it a relief?”

Diego clenched his jaw, not wanting to respond. But at the same time, no one had ever asked him that before. Everybody had always assumed he felt sad, and he had, but Mac’s death had also been a huge relief. “I guess,” he admitted.

“Was the abuse still going on?” Vidas asked.

Diego bristled at the term “abuse.” “Why do you always use words like that?”

“What would you call it?” Vidas replied.

Diego didn’t want to call it anything; he wanted to just forget it. “Yeah, it was still happening, but…I think I was getting too big for him.”

“You mean big enough to fight back?”

“No, I mean…” Diego hesitated, drumming his knuckles on the chair arm. “My brother, Eddie, was like five then—not a baby anymore. And the way Mac acted toward him had changed—the way he held Eddie on his lap…. You could see what was coming.”

He paused to check if Vidas understood. Vidas nodded and said, “Go on.”

“I couldn’t let him do it,” Diego said simply, then paused. Could he really keep going to where this was headed?

“So, one afternoon, when nobody was home, I went to the garage where he kept the gun, the one from that night on the boat. He hardly ever used it—only maybe once a year, at the range. I’d found where he kept a spare key hidden on top of the cabinet. As I opened the drawer I kept looking over my shoulder. I could hardly breathe. To actually hold a gun was like,
Man! What if it goes off?
”

With the memory of it, his chest tightened.

“I hid it behind my nightstand, on this little ledge. During school, it was all I could think about. When I got home, I ran to make sure it was still there, scared that somebody would find it. At night I hardly slept. It felt like the gun was alive, in the room with me. And I waited.”

Diego swallowed hard, wanting to keep going, but uncertain if he could.

“It was confusing because sometimes he could be really nice. He’d take us all to the beach or the movies, and I’d forget about the gun. Then I’d catch him looking at Eddie, and I made sure the gun was still there.”

Diego’s heart beat hard, his breath shallow and tight.

“He was getting drunk a lot more and fighting with Ma. One night when he’d been drinking, I sensed he was going to come to my room. I just knew it. And I thought,
This is my chance.
My heart was beating a mile a minute, like
ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump
. I just let him do what he wanted, didn’t fight him at all, the entire time thinking about the gun.”

Diego stopped and glanced toward the office door to make certain it was closed. Nobody else could hear.

“Then I waited. After he fell asleep, I climbed out of bed, went to the nightstand. My hands were shaking like crazy…. And I pointed the gun straight at his face.”

Diego took a breath, wanting to tell the rest of it like he wished it had turned out.

“What happened, Diego?” Vidas asked, his voice steady.

Diego shook his head with shame and told it as it had truly happened: “I couldn’t do it. I’d promised myself I’d never cry again, but I did. I started sobbing like a coward.”

As he now spoke, his throat choked up and hot tears welled up in his eyes.

“He heard me and woke up, blinking like he was trying to make sense of me pointing a gun at him. Then he got this look like he understood. And he said, ‘You’ll always be my boy, Diego. You know that, don’t you?’ And I knew he was right. I was too much of a coward to stop him.”

Diego lifted his sleeve and wiped his face.

“You weren’t a coward,” Vidas said, his voice gentle but certain. “You wanted to save your brother. In my book that’s pretty heroic. But shooting Mac would’ve been the wrong way to do it. Somewhere inside you, you made the right decision.”

Diego shook his head, unconvinced. “He just reached out and I handed the gun over. Just like that.”

“And then?” Vidas asked.

Diego’s voice came out rasping. “The next day he shot himself.”

“The
next day
?” Vidas leaned forward.

Diego nodded, his eyes burning with tears. “I wanted to kill him. And he knew it. That’s why he did it. He’s dead because of me.”

Vidas sat quietly a moment. “Diego, you’re not responsible for what he did. Wanting to kill him and actually doing it isn’t the same thing. What he did was his decision.”

“I wanted him to die,” Diego insisted. “He’d destroyed me.”

“He didn’t destroy you,” Vidas said firmly. “I know it feels like he did, but he didn’t. You survived. You’re here. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“You don’t know what it’s like.” Diego sobbed, tears cascading down his cheeks, out of control. “I wish I could just have one day, one minute, when I wouldn’t think about what he did to me; when I didn’t feel so dirty I want to crawl out of my skin. Don’t tell me you know, because you
don’t
know!”

Through the blur of tears he watched Vidas open his mouth a little, as if wanting to tell him something, until in a quiet voice, Vidas said, “I
know
.”

Diego stopped sobbing, suddenly disoriented. “What do you mean?”

Vidas glanced away, as if debating whether to continue, before gazing back at him. “First I need to say that I’m not here to talk about me. The focus needs to be on you. Okay?”

Diego nodded quickly, not even aware he did it.

“The only reason I’m willing to tell you this,” Vidas went on, “is because I think it might help you.” He paused, cautious. “Like you, Diego, I was abused.”

Diego turned completely still, stunned. For years, he’d felt like he was the only guy in the world this had happened to. Now, only a few feet away, sat somebody else—a guy, like him.

“And I chose to deal with it,” Vidas continued. “It was hard, but I faced it, so I could move forward with my life.”

Diego’s mind raced with curiosity. “How old were you?”

“Nine. In fourth grade.” Vidas had been a little boy, the same as him.

“A guy did it?” Diego asked.

“Yes.” Vidas gave a slow nod. “Someone in my family. And that’s the last I’ll say about it. We’re here to talk about you, not me. Okay?”

Diego leaned back in his seat, still in shock. He had a million other questions to ask, and yet he felt overwhelmed simply knowing that something similar had happened to this man sitting across from him. Not some stranger. Somebody he knew.

“How’re you feeling?” Vidas asked.

Diego slumped down in his chair, talked-out, exhausted, not knowing what else to say. “Like I just want to sleep.”

Vidas glanced at his watch. “Do you think you can make it through the rest of the school day?”

“I guess.”

“Okay,” Vidas said. “You’re doing great, Diego. Amazing, really.”

Diego shook his head. He didn’t feel amazing.

The rest of his classes passed by in a haze, as if he were moving through them underwater. When he got home, he collapsed into bed and crashed asleep until Eddie came in, play-punching him awake. Throughout the evening, Diego turned over in his mind the things he’d discussed that day with Vidas and, most of all, the thing that Vidas had revealed to him.