Delusion Road (9 page)

Flushed, Russell grinned in return. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, finally managing to shrug the backpack off one shoulder, gravity taking over and pulling it to the floor. “These books weigh a ton.”

Keegan nodded. “I saw on YouTube that South Korea converted all their textbooks to digital. Their students swapped backpacks for tablets.”

Russell leaned against his locker and wiped his arm across his glistening forehead. Already the day was too warm. “I’m looking forward to the day somebody figures out how to swap brains.”

“Brains?”

“You know, inserting your consciousness into someone else’s body.”

“And you want this because …”

“It’d be the ultimate motivator.”

“How’s that?”

Russell looked at him for a moment as if trying to decide whether to say more, then seemed satisfied Keegan’s interest was genuine. “Look, you’ve probably always been in shape, right?”

Keegan shrugged. “I guess so.”

“So you know how it feels physically.” Russell glanced down at his sweatshirt, pulled taut over his abdomen, and shook his head. “Me, not so much.” Wiping at his forehead again, he continued, “Sure, I know all the common-sense reasons for getting into shape, but all that medical stuff is easy to ignore if I happen to be passing, say, a Tim Hortons. When those doughnuts start calling my name, they drown out everything else.”

Keegan nodded, impressed that a guy he’d just met yesterday could be so open about his struggle with his size. It explained the sweatshirts. “So you want somebody else’s body,” he said.

Russell shook his head. “Too
Alien Invasion
for me. I’d just like to borrow one.”

“Yeah, like
that’s
not creepy,” kidded Keegan.

Russell grinned again. “The person would have to agree, right? And I’d only need it for a few minutes.”

“Then what’s the point?”

Russell sighed. “I’ve always wondered whether the effort it’d take to whip all this”—he looked down at his gut again, and his face took on a wistful expression—”into shape would actually be worth it. If some scientist could insert me into the body of a guy like, say, Wynn d’Entremont, even for only a few minutes, I’d finally know what it
feels
like to be really fit. It’d be a whole lot easier to pass by Tim’s the next time.” He shrugged. “And then there’s the other benefit.”

“What’s that?”

Russell lowered his voice. “People like Wynn d’Entremont would understand how it feels to be someone like me.”

Again, Keegan was impressed by the guy’s openness. During their conversation in the cafeteria yesterday, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that Russell and his friends had an uneasy history with Wynn and the other members of the League of Extraordinary Assholes. What was it he’d said?
Let’s just say you don’t want to get noticed around here.
Looking at the overweight senior now, Keegan could only imagine what he’d had to put up with. It made his own altercation with Wynn on the soccer field yesterday seem trivial.

“So like I said,” Russell resumed, “I was thinking about you last night.”

“Why?” asked Keegan, eager to lighten the mood. “Am I a candidate for the great brain swap?”

Russell grinned. “You’d qualify, but that’s not the reason. I was thinking about how you could patch things up with Willa.”

Keegan grimaced. “I think Willa Jaffrey and I are beyond the patching-up phase.”

“You guys look
far
too serious for the second day of school,” a voice said behind them.

They turned to see Bailey and Raven approaching with Greg bringing up the rear, and Keegan figured that the expression on Greg’s face as he watched Bailey walk ahead of him probably wasn’t much different from Russell’s each time he entered a Tim Hortons. “Hey,” said Keegan.

“What’s up?” asked Raven.

“Let me guess,” offered Greg. “Willa Jaffrey.”

“You apologized to her like we said, right?” Bailey asked.

“Yeah, about that …”

Greg groaned.

“Look,” said Keegan, “it’s not like I didn’t try. It’s just … things didn’t go quite the way I planned.”

“What happened?” asked Bailey.

Keegan had never felt comfortable talking about other people, even people he didn’t like. “She pissed me off,” he said simply.

“No shit,” said Russell. “Welcome to
my
world.”

“What’d she do?” asked Raven.

Keegan gave them an abbreviated version.

“No offence,” said Greg, “but don’t be surprised if I ignore you the next time they’re around.”

Russell nodded. “Yeah, who needs to get caught in
that
crossfire?”

“
Jeez
, you guys,” said Bailey. “That bunch can be a little hard to take sometimes, but you make it sound like Keegan should go into hiding.”

Keegan’s body reacted involuntarily. Hoping none of them had noticed the brief tremor that had shuddered through him, he forced himself to grin. “Maybe I’ll just try the brain swap.”

Bailey laughed. “He’s been telling you about that, huh?”

Russell’s face was suddenly solemn. “Keegan, what I said before about you qualifying? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wouldn’t switch places with you now for anything.”

Keegan was grateful for the ringing of the bell that drew Raven, Bailey, and Greg toward their own lockers to prepare for first period. Attaching his lock, Keegan heard those words in
his head again:
You make it sound like Keegan should go into hiding.
He leaned forward, momentarily pressing his forehead against the cool metal door, trying to swallow the emotion clotting in his throat.

“I want to thank you all for your introductions yesterday,” said Mr. Richardson. “Now it’s rubber-meets-the-road time.” He pointed to a stack of books on his desk. “Few people share the same interests, so you’ll have lots of choice in your reading materials this semester, but I always like to begin a course with a core text that everyone will read.”

“I haven’t read a book in years,” said a voice at the back, a comment that evoked laughter all around. “Why should I start now?”

Richardson frowned. “It’s Todd, right?”

“Yup.”

“Todd, Mark Twain once said that the person who
doesn’t
read good books has no advantage over the person who
can’t
read them.”

“Who’s this Twain dude?” asked Todd.

The teacher looked astonished. “How many of you here know the writer I’m talking about?”

Keegan put up his hand. Seeing Richardson scowl, he turned and saw only a few other hands in the air, two of which were Raven’s and Bailey’s. Another belonged to Willa Jaffrey.

“What can you tell us about Twain, Keegan?” asked the teacher.

Keegan flushed, wishing now that he’d sat motionless. “A writer from Missouri,” he said. “Best known for his humour.”

“Are you familiar with any of his books?”

“Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer
, and
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

“Those were novels. Do you know any of his non-fiction?”

Keegan shrugged. “
The Innocents Abroad
and
Roughing It.”

“Anybody know any others?” asked the teacher.

“Life on the Mississippi
and
Following the Equator
,” offered Raven.

“I’m glad to see some of you are aware of him,” said Richardson. His eyes roamed the room. “Twain did the bulk of his writing during the 1800s, but much of it is still in print today.”

“What’s a guy who’s been dead forever have to say to people like us now?” asked Todd.

“Reading any book, Todd, allows us inside the minds of people who’ve lived other lives, experienced places beyond Brookdale, like Mark Twain’s Mississippi. Reading broadens our world view. But since we live in the Annapolis Valley, I thought it appropriate to start with a novel written by someone who grew up in this area.” He turned to the books on his desk and began passing them around.

“What?” came another voice from the back, and Keegan didn’t need to turn around to know it was Celia’s. “Somebody from
here
wrote a book?”

Richardson nodded. “Ernest Buckler.” He held up a copy so those who hadn’t yet gotten theirs could see the cover. “
The Mountain and the Valley
is considered a Canadian classic.”

“He
really
came from here?” asked Celia.

“Buckler grew up about a half-hour’s drive from where you’re sitting.”

“I thought …”

“What?” asked the teacher.

“I thought that writers came from far away,” she said.

The room cracked up.

A hand went up on the other side of the room. “So what’s the book about?”

“
The Mountain and the Valley
deals with a number of themes,” said the teacher, “but it’s essentially a story about a young man who feels trapped in a place where he doesn’t belong.”

Keegan looked down at the book Richardson had given him, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it in his hands.

W
illa glanced around the room at her classmates bent over their novels. After some more discussion, Richardson had given them the remainder of the period to read. Her gaze sliding over the bowed heads around her, Willa suddenly found herself focusing on Keegan Fraser, who brushed hair from his eyes as he read. Looking at him now, Willa once again remembered what he’d said to her yesterday after school. His comments still rankled, and she wasn’t sure how she’d handle it if she had to work with the guy again. Was it only yesterday she’d thought this was going to be her best school year ever? Christ.

Wynn had heard what had happened before he came over last night, courtesy of Britney and Celia, who’d told Todd and Jay, who’d immediately passed along the details to Wynn. He’d been livid, of course, offering to give Fraser an epic ass-whupping off school grounds, but she’d discouraged him. For one thing, she’d never liked violence, and for another, when Wynn told her about Fraser laughing at him on the soccer field that afternoon, she’d begun to wonder if maybe there was something seriously wrong with the guy. Sure, he’d only been in school for a day, but that was more than enough time for anybody to figure out that Wynn wasn’t the sort of person you’d want to piss off. Was the guy an idiot?

Something told her, though, that he wasn’t stupid, which he’d confirmed earlier when he’d responded to Richardson’s question about Mark Twain. Willa was pretty sure she knew as much as anyone else in her class about the American author, but she’d never heard of half the books Keegan had mentioned.

Willa glanced sideways at Wynn, and she wasn’t surprised to see he had his phone in his lap, pretending to read as he tapped in a text, a frown creasing his forehead. She was glad her own phone was on vibrate, something she always made sure of whenever she entered the school, and she slipped it out of her purse now so she’d be ready when the text came in.

A moment passed, and then another. Willa glanced again at Wynn and saw his phone was still on his lap, but his fingers were no longer moving over the screen. He sat looking across the room. As if waiting.

Then, as though sensing her eyes on him, he looked over at Willa, and his frown unfolded into a broad smile.

Hearing the faint hum of a vibrating cell, she smiled warmly back at him and reached for her phone. Its display, however, was blank.

The faint hum abruptly ended and, when she glanced again at Wynn, his eyes were glued to
The Mountain and the Valley.

K
eegan watched Isaac eat his peas. Or, rather, roll them across his plate. It reminded him of the way his brother used to play with the abacus their mother had bought him years ago. If you could call it “play”—he was always so serious. So purposeful. The bright green balls on his plate were now arranged in rows, each one pea longer than the row above it. Keegan watched as Isaac began eating the groups in reverse order, from most peas to least. Seven, six, five … Like a countdown.

Keegan’s morning had been something of a countdown. Part of him kept expecting another confrontation with the Jaffrey bitch or her boyfriend, but then he’d been called to the office at the end of English class and given a message to phone his father immediately. His heart hammering in his chest, his mind automatically racing through the contingency plan Forbes had given them, Keegan had imagined a dozen things that had gone wrong as he waited for his father to pick up. He was nearly weak with relief to hear that Isaac had had a meltdown at his school and, because his dad was tied up in a meeting at the dealership, Keegan had to go get him.

Not that Isaac’s having a meltdown was a good thing, of
course. But it was a hell of a lot better than the other scenarios that had streaked through Keegan’s head.

After signing out, Keegan had run the two blocks to Brookdale Elementary, where Isaac was in third grade. One of the reasons their father had chosen Brookdale as their new home was the support its elementary school provided children with autism spectrum disorder. Forbes, of course, had cautioned against it—”You realize what this could mean, don’t you?” he’d asked Keegan’s father that last night in the motel as he’d made the final arrangements—but Evan Fraser had ignored the warning, telling Forbes he had to do what was best for his family. Hearing his dad say that, Keegan had nearly yelled the words he’d been biting back for weeks:
If you
really
wanted what was
best
for this family, you wouldn’t have
—

But he’d stopped himself. Instead, he had left their room and kicked the soccer ball around the field behind the motel until it was too dark to see anymore.

After checking in at the elementary school’s main office, Keegan had hurried toward the resource room where he’d found Isaac with Ms. Tomlinson, the educational assistant who’d been assigned to work with him. She was speaking to him in low, soothing tones, but Isaac continued to move in a tight circle in the centre of the room, flapping his hands and making sounds that might have resembled whimpers if they hadn’t seemed so urgent.

“Ordinarily,” Ms. Tomlinson had explained to Keegan after he’d managed to calm his brother down, “I wouldn’t have called home, but Isaac and I are just getting to know each other. I didn’t want to do something that might jeopardize my relationship with him. I hope you don’t mind.”