Brutal Youth (54 page)

Davidek wasn’t sure if he still counted as one or not. He hoped so.

But now he also knew that it’s not enough to step in front of other people’s bullets; you have to be bulletproof, too. You have to be harder than anything anyone else can throw at you, and sometimes you risk losing yourself just trying to save yourself.

Davidek could feel himself there now, on the edge of becoming someone he didn’t recognize anymore, and he didn’t like it very much. A year ago, he risked his life running out to save some kid he didn’t even know; and now that he knew a
lot
of kids at St. Mike’s, all he wanted to do was see them get what was coming to them—what they’d been dishing out to everyone else. He’d always assumed that as you got older, you became better, that you learned how to be brave, or wise, or do what was best for other people. Now he believed the opposite was true.

He guessed that’s how someone turned into a Ms. Bromine, or maybe even his own mother and father—who wanted to start over so badly, but had no idea how. It was hard for him to remember a time when his mom and dad seemed happy, or even interested in anything about their two boys except unloading their own frustrations on them. Whether it was the clip-on tie, or begging for a late-night ride to find out what happened to Stein, they never listened when he asked for help, never trusted him. And so he had quit asking, and quit trusting them, too. That part was his fault, he supposed. All he needed was a friend, but you can’t find that in people who hate where they’ve ended up but still expect you to follow in their footsteps. The upperclassmen of St. Mike’s certainly proved that.

Davidek felt sorry looking over at his mother. All she wanted was to be loved—she just had so little to give in return. So now she was trying her best to make conversation, but a parent can’t leave a child alone for so long and expect the occasional nicety to count for much. Those bonds break away much more quickly and permanently than most people would like to believe.

He wanted to tell her everything. He just couldn’t.

But Stein had it much worse. His mother had caused more agony for her boy than anyone Davidek could imagine, and look at what Stein had sacrificed to try to save her—even after she was gone. Maybe you can’t blame people for the pain that makes them who they are. Maybe that was just one more bullet you had to step in front of for someone you were supposed to love—even if you didn’t want to. Even if it hurt. Maybe that
was
love.

“
Answer
me when I talk to you, Peter…,” June Davidek said, her fake friendliness edging away with every bump in the bridge span. “Can you at least tell me what the hell was going on back at that school that had you all worked up?”

The minivan reached a red light at the end of the bridge, and Davidek thought about unhooking his seat belt and turning to put his arms around his mom. Instead, he shook his head and looked out the window.

“It was nothing,” he said. “Just kid stuff.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is a book about friendships, and it wouldn’t have happened without some extraordinary ones in my own life: Anil Kurian passed an early draft to my editor, Brendan Deneen, who liked it well enough to spend a few years of his life fighting for its publication. Without him, no one else would have believed in it.

Helen Estabrook introduced me to Graham Moore, who recommended me to his formidable reps at ICM, Jennifer Joel and Clay Ezell, and with them came Roxane Edouard, the warrior agent fighting to get this book translated into other languages.

The people who made this stack of paper look so amazing include art director Rob Grom, who turned an innocent school uniform into a simmering metaphor of adolescent rage, and production editor Kenneth J. Silver, copy editor Eliani Torres, and proofreader Steve Roman—who saved me from many stupit mistakes. Thanks, guyz.

Thomas Dunne gave this project his blessing, and Nicole Sohl, the associate editor, expertly shepherded the book toward its final form. In publicity and marketing, John Karle, Marie Estrada, and Kerry McMahon have been tireless flag-wavers and drumbeaters.

A few colleagues at
Entertainment Weekly
gave me the platform of a lifetime to introduce
Brutal Youth
for the first time: Tina Jordan, Stephan Lee, Steve Korn, and Jeff Giles. And an army of friends and relatives shared this book far and wide on Facebook and Twitter.

Nobody gets anywhere without a vouch, and I want to thank the storytellers who read this novel and provided the blurbs you see on the jacket. They have spent their lives building reputations with readers, and generously shared that with me. Jason Reitman was the first to pen a blurb, a true friend who also offered sanctuary when I needed to lay low and rewrite.

A note on music: Stein’s father is a They Might Be Giants fan, which is where he heard that term Rabid Child. Credit where due. Another lyric that stuck in my head came from a 1994 Elvis Costello song called “Favorite Hour”: “Now there’s a tragic waste of brutal youth…” It summed up my early years rather perfectly, and has haunted me ever since. I owe Declan MacManus for the inspiration.

Many civilians read the book in draft form, and a handful spent hours helping me make it better: Susanna Eng-Ziskin, Erica Canales, Thea Okonak, Dan Snierson, and my brother, Greg Breznican (who came up with the shorthand description
“Fight Club
meets
The Breakfast Club.”
) Just before we started printing, my old schoolmate James Elkins noticed a scene where I had Stein’s scars on the wrong side of his face. That kind of Indiana-Jones-grabs-the-hat rescue merits a shout-out.

Another early reader was John Carosella, my former teacher, my present teacher. When I was fourteen and wrote a freshman essay about wanting to be a writer, he started encouraging me and has never stopped. He is not Mr. Zimmer, but is one of that rare breed of teacher who finds pieces of garbage among his students and says, “This is worth something; I can fix this.” He fixed me. And I’m just one of many.

Finally, here’s to the librarians of the world … you radical, militant bastards. My wife, Jill, is one of you, and when she started working on her masters in library science, I started working on this novel. You are the keepers, protectors, and sharers of stories, and stories are how we find each other in an existence that is tragically short of call numbers.

All I’ve ever wanted is to give Jill a book for her shelf that was written just for her.

Here it is, kiddo.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ANTHONY BREZNICAN was born and raised in Western Pennsylvania and graduated from the University of Pittsburgh in 1998. He has worked as a reporter for
The Arizona Republic,
the Associated Press, and
USA Today,
and is currently a senior staff writer for
Entertainment Weekly.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

BRUTAL YOUTH.
Copyright © 2014 by Anthony Breznican. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Rob Grom

Cover photograph of school uniform blazer © Tore Johannesen / Getty Images

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data for the print edition is available upon request:

978-1-250-01935-6 (hardcover)

978-1-250-01936-3 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781250019363

First Edition: June 2014