Bystander (4 page)

“So,” Griffin began again. “What do you think of Bellport Central Middle School so far?”

Eric shrugged, eyeballed his lunch. “The meatballs look a little—”

“Disgusting?” Griffin suggested. “Soggy? Green? Inedible?”

Eric laughed, pushed his tray aside. He was hungry—but not
that
hungry. “It's not so bad here, really.”

Griffin frowned like he knew better, but didn't bother to disagree.

“Middle school,” Griffin repeated. “Where did they come up with that, anyway? We're in the middle of what, exactly? Too old for elementary school, but not big enough for high school. So they shove us here. Look around. There's not an interesting person in sight, just a bunch of clones who want to be like everybody else.”

Eric nodded thoughtfully, signaling agreement. He kept his true thoughts to himself. He wasn't prepared to pass judgment on everyone in the school.

Something caught Griffin's eye and he smiled to a lunch aide as she passed behind Eric. “Hello, Mrs. Rosen,” he said in a cheerful voice. “How was your summer?”

“Oh, hello, Griffin,” the woman replied.

She was an older woman with black hair, around
fifty, small and trim and tidy, and she reminded Eric of a kindly mouse. She seemed pleased to see Griffin Connelly. There was genuine warmth in her voice.

“You are getting so big,” she noted.

Ugh
, every grown-up said that. Eric shot a look at Griffin, watching for his response.

“Eating my Wheaties!” Griffin replied, flexing his muscles and smiling. “How's that dog of yours? What's her name again?”

“Daisy,” Mrs. Rosen replied. Then her face changed, the smile dropped, and she looked ten years older. “I'm afraid we had to put Daisy down.”

“Oh, too bad,” Griffin said, putting on a sympathetic face. “Daisy was a great little dog.”

And so the conversation continued, the older lady conversing with dear, sweet Griffin Connelly. To Eric, there was something false in Griffin's tone. Too cheerful, too sweet: the wrong note. For ninety seconds, Griffin Connelly became the most polite, mild-mannered boy in Bellport. Strange.

When she walked away, Griffin smirked at Eric. “That old git's loaded,” he said. “I'm telling you, she has more money than Oprah. She lives around the block
from me; I've done some odd jobs for her in the past. You should have seen that little dog of hers, Eric. It was one of those—what do you call 'em?—lapdogs that just barked and barked and barked. Stupid animal. I'm glad it's dead. The world is a better place.”

Eric didn't know what to say to that.

“Hey, Cody!” Griffin called down the table. “I'm still hungry. You see Hallenback around?”

Cody craned his long neck, made a quick survey of the room. He shook his head no. “You want me to try to hunt him down, Griff?” he offered.

“Don't bother, we'll catch him later,” Griffin replied. He reached across the table and poured out a handful of Eric's chips. “I'll just share with my new buddy.”

MRS. HAYES DECLARED THAT SATURDAY WAS ERRANDS
day, and insisted on dragging along Eric and Rudy. It was her notion of “family time.” Eric knew enough not to complain—much. First they found an Office Max on the never-ending strip mall of Sunrise Highway. They walked the aisles until they filled a shopping cart with school supplies. Mrs. Hayes read aloud the list that Rudy's second-grade teacher provided. Besides the usual stuff, Rudy's teacher asked each student to bring in antibacterial soap, a box of cotton balls, and three boxes of Kleenex.

“That's just stupid,” Eric commented.

Rudy pouted. He didn't think so.

His mother threw a box of cotton balls into the cart. “Change your attitude,” she told Eric.

They ate lunch at Friendly's.

“How come the pictures on the menu look so much better than the real food?” Rudy wondered.

“It's called advertising,” Eric told his little brother. “They try to trick you into buying the frozen clams casino. You'd be better off sucking on the menu.”

Rudy laughed.

“Oh, Eric, please,” his mother scolded.

“What?” Eric demanded. “I'm just teaching him about—”

“You're being obnoxious,” his mother snapped. “I don't know what's the matter with you today. You are so grumpy and rude. Is this the way it's going to be now that you're a teenager? I don't know if I can take your mood swings.”

Thankfully, Rudy spilled his Fribble, and that took the heat off Eric. “Can we go home now?” he asked.

“No. We still have to go food shopping.”

Eric grumbled. Rudy begged for Cap'n Crunch and
raspberry Fruit Roll-Ups. The twerp actually
liked
supermarkets.

The shopping only took forever, what with his mother squeezing and sniffing every melon in the produce section. On their way out of the supermarket, Eric ran into Griffin Connelly. Or to be more accurate,
almost
ran into him—with the shopping cart. Eric was pushing the overloaded, squeaky-wheeled contraption, with his mother and brother chattering along behind, when he nearly crashed into Griffin. He was standing just outside the exit doors, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, hands shoved deep into his pockets and leaning with one foot against the brick wall. Griffin was looking away, and for a moment Eric hoped they'd escape unnoticed. He didn't want to be seen here, not with his mother. But when Griffin glimpsed Eric, he popped off the wall and smiled like he'd just won a race. “Eric!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, hi,” Eric said. He gave a subtle wave, lifting a few fingers off the cart handle. Real low-key.

Griffin extended his hand to Mrs. Hayes. “You must be Eric's mother. My name is Griffin Connelly. I go to school with Eric. We sit together at lunch.”

“Well, I'm pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Hayes purred, and it was perfectly true. She
was
pleased. Griffin was a good-looking kid, confident and self-assured. He had nice manners and an undeniable charm.

“Is this your little brother?” Griffin asked, tussling Rudy's hair.

“I'm not so little,” Rudy retorted, pushing away Griffin's hand.

“Yow, fierce,” Griffin joked, looking from Rudy to Eric to Mrs. Hayes. He was flashing the full thirty-two-tooth smile, his pearly whites gleaming like a toothpaste commercial.

Eric stood and watched, vaguely uneasy.

“Are you here with your parents?” Mrs. Hayes inquired.

“No, no,” Griffin answered. He looked around, dipped his head, and confessed, “It's kind of embarrassing, actually. The truth is—this is sort of what I do every Saturday. Not too exciting, huh? I come here to help old people with their packages. They know I'll be here.”

Eric's mother was charmed. “That's wonderful.”

Griffin smiled beatifically. “It's hard for old people,”
he continued. “I think of my own grandmother and how tough it is for her to get around. I think that, you know, if I help an old lady here, maybe somebody will be nice to my grammy. She lives upstate.”

Eric watched his mother's reaction, half expecting her to adopt Griffin on the spot. It was as if he had sprouted wings and now floated on a white puffy cloud. The only things missing were the harp and the halo.
Griffin Connelly, angel on this earth
. Still, Eric had to hand it to Griff. He was a smooth operator.

“Sometimes I get tips,” Griffin confided. He imitated an old woman leaning on an imaginary cane. He held out a trembling hand and warbled in a crackly voice, “This quarter is for you, young man. Don't spend it all in one place.”

Rudy laughed, eyes twinkling.

“Aw, that's sweet,” Mrs. Hayes cooed.

Eric shifted on his feet. He was totally ready for this little chitchat to conclude.

“Hey, Eric, you should stay and hang out—if you want?” Griffin offered.

“No, I, um,” Eric stammered. He jerked a thumb toward the parking lot. “My mom—we have to—”

“I think it's a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Hayes chimed in. She was delighted to see that Eric made a new friend—and such a nice boy. “It's no problem,” she said. “I'll bring the packages home with Rudy. We'll be fine. You can call us when you're ready to be picked up.” She fished into her bag. “Here, I'll let you borrow my cell phone.”

“Are you sure that—”

Griffin put an arm around Eric's shoulders and squeezed. “Thanks, Mrs. Hayes. We'll see you later. But first, let us help you with those packages. . . .”

“
THAT WAS SOME PERFORMANCE
,”
ERIC COMMENTED AF
ter they finished loading the groceries into the car.

Griffin brought a hand to his chest in mock surprise. “What? Me? I can't help it if all the moms are crazy about me.” He waved at the departing car.

“You laid it on pretty thick,” Eric noted.

Griffin grinned, blew on his fingernails. “My secret weapon. It's called charm, my friend. Just watch and learn.”

Griffin led Eric from the parking lot back to the
supermarket, where they lingered near the exit doors. To Eric's surprise, Griffin ignored several people who could have used assistance. Finally, he gave Eric a nudge. “Locking in on target. Set phasers on stun. Here we go.”

When the automatic door opened, an older woman moved unsteadily forward, steering a shopping cart. “Mrs. Chavez!” Griffin exclaimed, smiling cheerfully. “Please, let me help you with that. . . .”

Eric had to admit it. Griffin surprised him. Together they helped four different women with their groceries. Griffin was the talker, the charmer. Eric did most of the hauling. Maybe Griffin was a little over the top, but the ladies all seemed pleased with his attentions. Twice, Griffin refused payment. “I couldn't possibly accept your money.” He waved away the offer of a tip. “Helping you is payment enough.”

“I see you've been raised right,” one of the women observed.

“Amen,” Griffin announced. He cast a glimpse heavenward, like a slugger who'd just hit one over the fence. Then he glanced at Eric and winked.

It was all a little confusing. But Eric enjoyed hanging
out with Griffin, mostly. He was a smart guy, quick-witted, and he told funny stories about different teachers at school.

“What's with your friend Cody?” Eric asked. “The one who always says, ‘Yep, yep, yep!' ”

“What do you mean?”

“With that face of his, he reminds me of a weasel.”

Griff gave him the fish eye—cold, flat, lifeless—and Eric instantly regretted his words.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Cody was Griffin's friend.

“I mean . . .” Eric's voice drifted off. He decided it would be better if he stopped talking altogether.

Griffin blew the hair out of his eyes, looked away. Finally he said, “Yeah, okay, a weasel. I can see that. Or a ferret.” But he added a warning, “Just don't let Cody ever hear you say that. He may look scrawny, but I've seen him kick some serious butt.”

“Really?”

“American Combat Karate,” Griffin intoned. “He's got three older brothers and they all take lessons from a guy in town. He teaches when he's not in prison.”

Eric vowed, right then and there, to never again utter the word “weasel.”

Griffin suggested they go to his house. “It's only two blocks away.”

“I don't know.” Eric hesitated.

“Dude, what are you going to do instead? Go home and play Battleship with your little brother?”

“You have a point,” Eric admitted. It was the first time he'd been invited over anybody's house since they moved to Bellport. Even if there was something
off
about Griffin, he was nonetheless friendly and entertaining. It felt good to hang out with somebody, anybody. And Griffin was obviously one of the more popular guys in school.

“Want some gum?” Griffin offered as he kicked a small rock down the street. “Here, take the whole box. I don't really like Chiclets. You can't blow bubbles.”

“Then why'd you buy it?”

Griffin shrugged. “The box was there.”

“I don't get it.” Eric popped two pieces of gum into his mouth.

“I found the box on Mrs. Chavez's dashboard, okay, so I snagged it,” Griffin confessed. He watched Eric closely, then quickly added, “Don't get all stressed. It's not like she'll miss it. That lady's got plenty of
money, believe me. People like that wake up and crap hundred-dollar bills, while the rest of us . . .”

He didn't finish the sentence, so the words hung in the air like half-filled helium balloons.
The rest of us . . . what?
Eric wondered.

“We carried eight bags,” Griffin reminded Eric. “A little gum is the least old Chavez can give us. We earned it. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I guess,” Eric said, though he didn't think so. But still, it was only gum. He asked, “Then why do you turn down tips?”

“It's about building trust,” Griffin explained. “I mean, what are they going to give me? A freaking dollar? A handful of crusty nickels and dimes? Trust is worth more than chump change, Eric—way more. It's like holding a winning lottery ticket. You just have to wait for the right time before cashing it in.”

THERE WAS NOBODY HOME AT GRIFFIN
'
S HOUSE
.

“I thought you said your father would be here,” Eric said.

“He works weird hours,” Griffin explained. “When I left, he was zonked out on that couch right there. He's probably out getting hammered, watching college football at the Tiki Bar and Grill. We're better off without him, believe me.”

“What about your mother?”