Be Good Be Real Be Crazy (17 page)

“I can't, Steiner.” Homer's eyes ached, and then his words wouldn't come out straight. Everything had fallen apart. “I just . . . I need to go home.” He squeezed his hands together until it hurt, but the tears kept coming. He looked up. Einstein's glasses were smudgy and his hair was the craziest it'd ever been. Homer tried to swallow the ball of hurt and disappointment lodged in his throat, but he couldn't, so he whispered instead. “I'm sorry.”

“Mia?” Einstein whispered back.

Hearing her name made the ball in Homer's throat slip into his chest. “That and other stuff. What was I thinking? That she'd come back to the island and I'd help her with Tadpole and we'd be this happy little family? Maybe it's that I
wasn't
thinking. Or I thought I was thinking, but wasn't. I am such an idiot.” Homer put his face in his hands. They smelled like
hospital soap and warm plastic.

Einstein cleared his throat, but Homer couldn't look up. Holding his head felt like it was the only thing keeping his brain from exploding. Einstein talked anyway. “I have a theory I've been working on.”

Homer nodded into his hands. “Okay.”

“Human beings are like planets. We have individual orbits that overlap in places, but whether or not we meet at the overlaps is all about timing and chance. But that possibility is enough to keep us spinning in circles.”

“When the hell did you come up with this?”

“Homer, we've been driving for days. You and Mia were having a lovefest in the front. I was stuck in the back alone, until we picked up Sid. My few choices for entertainment included napping on cracked leather that smelled like rotten fruit and rereading magazines I'd memorized. Staring out the window and pondering the nature of human existence was the best of the options.”

Homer whistled. “Touché.”

“For what it's worth, she loves you, too.”

Homer snorted as he sat up so he could see his little brother's expression. “You think our orbits overlapped.”

“Yeah, I do. But I also think her idea of love is a meteor and yours is more like gravity.”

“Sounds accurate.” Homer wiped his eyes on his arm. “So, what does that mean?”

“Mia doesn't expect good stuff to last and you're the most dependable guy in the world, so—”

“Dependable?”

Einstein shrugged. “You always do the right thing.”

Homer rested his elbows on his knees, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. “Steiner, I think you just graduated from How to Be a Person 101.”

“Awesome.” Einstein turned on the TV and Homer stared at the ceiling and thought.

IN THE TIME THAT SID
was gone, a doctor had switched Einstein from a splint to a cast and Nurse Mercedes had promised she'd have discharge papers to give Homer by the end of her shift.

Homer was going into the bathroom to splash water on his face when Sid came in shouting. “Would you believe someone left a perfectly good package of Yummy! Cakes on a table by the cafeteria?” Sid held his hands above his head and shook two fistfuls of plastic-wrapped sweets. “The ones from the table are strawberry, so I got chocolate and vanilla ones and then I ran out of quarters.” Sid stopped in the center of the room and ripped open one of the snacks. A Yummy! Cake with pink frosting fell to the floor. He bent down, brushed it off, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. “I cawn't beeweave I awte ooof da flur.” He swallowed. “Hey, your uncle Joe is out in the hall. He had to take a call, but he said he'd be in in five.” Sid bounced as
he started to unwrap a second cake. “Is he a businessman? He sounded really important talking on the phone.”

Homer and Einstein looked at each other, both confused. “We don't have an uncle Joe,” Einstein said slowly. “D.B.'s an only child and Christian's family's all in South Africa, except for Aunt Anele, but she's not married.” Einstein turned to Homer. “Aunt Anele didn't get married, did she?”

“No,” Homer said as he reached down to pick up a chunk of frosting and sprinkles Sid had missed. “Unless—” Homer saw the guy's sneakers first, followed by jeans, T-shirt, sunglasses, and a zip-up sweatshirt with the hood pulled low on his forehead. Homer stood up. “Uh, hi. Can I help you?”

“This is your uncle Joe.” Sid didn't sit on Einstein's bed so much as he jumped onto it.

“Hey,” Einstein said, shoving Sid's shoulder with his good arm. “I'm fragile. As a penalty for inflicting bodily injury, I demand a Yummy! Cake.”

Sid had a ring of sugar around his mouth and had somehow gotten pink frosting in his hair. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He tossed a slightly flattened package at Einstein's chest.

“Hey, if now's a bad time, I can come back.” The guy in sunglasses pointed to the door. “I don't want to, ya know, intrude.” He shuffled back and forth, glancing at his phone when it vibrated and then shoving it in his jeans pocket.

Einstein paused from trying to press a pillow over Sid's face. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Nah, not really, man.” The guy gave certain vowels a country twang, stretching them like pieces of saltwater taffy. He slid his hood off. His hair was jet-black with streaks of blue and stiff with gel.

Sid gasped. “No way.”

The guy pushed his sunglasses on top of his head as he extended his hand to Homer. “I'm—”

“Apollo Aces!” Einstein shouted.

Homer looked at his brother, then at the guy, who was still holding out his hand. He reached out and shook it without thinking. “Oh, shit! I forgot.” Homer's hand was sticky with the frosting he'd cleaned off the floor, and now, so was Apollo's.

“Nah, man it's cool. Breaks the ice.” Apollo sniffed his hand. “Smells good. Strawberry?”

“They're Yummy! Cakes,” Sid shouted. His body was rigid, and his mouth, still coated with sugar, hung open. “I'm your biggest fan.”

“Me, too,” Einstein didn't shout as loud as Sid, but he looked just as stunned. “Do you want one?” Einstein held the flattened package out as though he was surprised to find it in his hand.

Homer couldn't help it—he laughed. He laughed so hard he had to bend over to breathe. He laughed so hard it was impossible to speak. “You . . . two . . . ri . . . di . . . q . . . lusss.” Sid's and Einstein's puzzled expressions only made him laugh harder. When he could finally stand up, he had the hiccups. “Sorry.
Hic
. I'm—
hic
. Sleep—
hic
. De—
hic
. Prived.”

Apollo laughed. “No worries. We've all been there.” He held up his hands. “I'd slap you on the back or something for the hiccups, but probably should rinse off first.”

“The bathroom's—” Sid shouted.

“Behind you.” Einstein finished.

“Awesome. One sec.”

Homer held his breath for as long as Apollo was rinsing his hands, but he still had the hiccups when Apollo shuffled out of the bathroom, wiped his hands on his jeans, and grabbed a gym bag from the floor in front of the closet.

Even the way he walks is cool
, Homer thought as Apollo sat down in the plastic chair and set the bag between his legs. Out loud, the only thing Homer said was “
Hic
.”

“Yeah. So.” Apollo scratched the back of his neck. “My tour manager told me— Wait. Let me start over.” Apollo leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, one hand wrapped around the other. “Your name's Einstein Finn and you got hurt at my concert last night, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Aces.” Einstein tried to sit up but couldn't with Sid's weight pinning down the sheets. “But it was just an accident. I—”

“You were helping a woman who was trying to throw a teddy bear onstage during my final encore? My staff filled me in.”

“I'm Sid and that's Homer, Einstein's brother, and the encore was awesome.” Sid waved his arms so hard that his left elbow
cracked against the bed's safety bar. “Ow.” Sid clutched his funny bone. “‘The Last Song . . . ,'” he said through clenched teeth, “‘of . . . Our . . . Lives' . . . is my favorite.”

“Cool, man. I worked hard on that one. Glad you like it.”

“Love it. Ow.”

Homer was grateful the hiccups disguised his laughing.

Apollo unzipped the gym bag and took out a stack of clothing. “Yeah, so the lady you were helping when you got knocked around is, actually, my mom.”

“Your mom?” Einstein said, tilting his head just enough to make his glasses slide down his nose.

“Yeah.” Apollo replied, ducking his head. “My publicist says it'd be bad for my image if fans knew that my mom comes on all my tours—she's pushing me to do up the whole bad boy, rock star thing.” When Apollo looked up his cheeks were flushed.

His ears turn red, too
, Homer observed as he leaned against the wall next to the bedside table.
“Hic.”

“So I'm supposed to keep it on the down low and my mom wears a wig if she wants to watch from the front.”

“I liked the blond,” Einstein said. He still looked a little confused. “And I didn't think she was
that
much older than the other ladies.”

Apollo laughed. “I'll tell her you said that. Anyway”—he reached in the bag and pulled out another stack of clothing, T-shirts this time—“you broke your wrist, helping her out, so I had my assistant find out what hospital you ended up in.
Figured the least I could do was say thank you in person and bring some swag.” Apollo rummaged through the bag. “I had to get out of the hotel while the most of the paparazzi were distracted.” He looked up. “I ordered pizza and had the delivery woman bring it to the vans out front. That part was easy.”

“Good . . .
hic
. . . move . . .
hic,
” Homer said.

“Thanks, man.” Apollo nodded. “Yeah, so I grabbed a bunch of stuff and just shoved it in here. It's a mishmash: T-shirts, sweatshirts, baseball caps.” Apollo tossed items on the bed as he found them. “A signed Frisbee with my face on it?” He held up a purple disk with a picture of him in a tank top in the middle. “Not my idea. Swear.”

“Awesome.” Sid grabbed the Frisbee. “Can I have this?” He looked at Einstein as he waved the Frisbee.

“Yeah. Of course, you're my best friend, in addition to Homer.” Einstein held up a T-shirt with Apollo's profile on the front and “Aces 4 Eva” scrawled across the back. “Homes, this one might fit you.”

Homer was still getting over Einstein's calling him his best friend when the T-shirt landed at his feet. “Thanks.” He reached down and swept it off the floor. “This is great. And yeah, thank you, Apollo.” Homer flung the shirt over his shoulder.

“Don't mention it,” Apollo said as he stood up. “Bunch of cheesy concert crap with my face on it is the least I should do.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Though, no offense, looks like you guys could use some clean clothes,” he
said as he lowered his arms.

“None taken,” Sid chimed. He had already pulled a smaller version of the T-shirt Einstein gave Homer over his dirty shirt.

Apollo slid his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “Seven missed calls. Fifteen new messages. Bet you all of them are from my manager.” He shoved the phone back in his jeans. “I should go, but is there a pen around?”

“Here.” Homer realized his hiccups were gone as he tossed Apollo the pen from the top of the side table.

Apollo caught the pen with one hand. “Thanks.” He picked up a receipt that'd drifted under the bed and wrote. “This is my cell number.” He handed the paper to Einstein. “If you need anything or think of something. The tour doesn't leave for Austin until tomorrow afternoon, so just let me know.”

Einstein held the scrap in his two hands like he was afraid it would disintegrate. “Thank you. This is so cool.”

“So cool,” Sid echoed.

“Homer.” Apollo shook Homer's hand and clapped him on the back. “Good to meet you. Your little bro's a rad dude. You're lucky.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Apollo shuffled to the door, paused to slide his sunglasses down and pull on his hood, and then he was gone.

After what felt like a minute of silence, but might have only been seconds, Sid spoke. “If we can watch more TV, this will officially be the best day of my entire life.”

“Watch TV and eat Yummy! Cakes,” Einstein said as he handed Sid the remote and then ripped open the last package.

Homer's mind had been racing for hours but stopped in an instant. “Yeah.” He didn't realize he had spoken out loud until Einstein said “Huh?” But by that time, Homer was already out the door and running.

Homer caught up with Apollo in the parking lot as he was unlocking the door of a huge silver SUV. “Hey, Apollo. One sec.”

“Shit.” Apollo turned around so quickly his sunglasses clattered to the pavement. “You scared me. Phew. I can see the headlines now.” He bent down to pick up the sunglasses. “Bad-ass pop star pisses himself in hospital parking lot.” He opened the SUV's driver's-side door and tossed the sunglasses on the passenger seat. “What's up?”

“Sorry.” Homer tried to catch his breath as he spoke. “Did . . . you mean it . . . about— Wow, I'm out of shape.” Homer took a deep breath. The afternoon air felt amazing after being cooped up in the hospital all morning. “About helping my little brother?”

“Definitely. What's up?”

“Could you help me rent a car?” Homer knew he was rambling but he kept going anyway. “You need to be twenty-one and I'm only eighteen and there's this conference in New Hampshire—it's super geeky—bunch of physicists who research
ways the world could be obliterated.”

“Go on.” Apollo leaned against the car.

“So I'd really like to get him to this conference by tomorrow. The guy who's speaking thinks a black hole— Never mind, you don't need to know all that. This scientist, Dr. Az, is Einstein's hero.”

“Shit.” Apollo stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked the SUV's rear tire, causing chunks of frozen mud to fall on his white sneakers. “I'm only twenty, man.”

“Oh.” Homer felt the adrenaline rush out of him like helium from a deflating balloon. “Don't worry. I figured it didn't hurt to ask.”

“I can drive you.”

“Excuse me?” Homer shaded his eyes so he could see Apollo's face fully.

“I can take you up there tonight. Let the tour bus start driving in the a.m. I'll catch a plane and meet my entourage in Austin. My tour manager added some buffer days for R and R, so it's all good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I'll just need run back to the hotel, get Sheila—she's my publicist, super hot, but super scary—to make some phone calls. I'll grab some of my shit, sneak around the vultures with cameras, then we can hit the road.”

“Einstein should get out in a few hours.”

“Cool. Give me two, three tops, to get things in order.”
Apollo slapped Homer on the back. “It's cold out here, man. Go inside. Tonight's going to be an adventure.”

“Yeah. Okay. Cool. Hey,” Homer called just as Apollo shut his door.

Apollo's tinted driver's-side window lowered. “Yeah?”

“I don't mean this in a rude way—but why are you helping us so much? You could have sent a signed T-shirt or something and been done with it.”

“Aw, man. Don't get all gushy on me,” Apollo said. His head was now completely out the window. “I wasn't always this guy.” He pointed at his face in the side mirror. “Once upon a time, I was just a kid, too. Just don't let it slip that I'm not an asshole. Sheila's spent a long time building that image. She'd kill me if word got out.”

“Ha.” Homer laughed. “Got it.” He watched the SUV until it disappeared behind a bend. Apollo was right about the cold and Homer was exhausted, but he wasn't ready to go in. Not yet. So instead of walking toward the sliding doors that led to warmth and sleep, Homer stood in between two rows of cars right where the breeze pulled and pushed the strongest, raised his outstretched arms, and tilted his head to look up at the frozen blue sky.