Gravity Brings Me Down (10 page)

Selecting a couple bottles, I scan the labels. I have no idea what to look for, even though I should be an expert by now, the way my parents go on over dinner:

“
Excellent legs
.”

“
Nice nose
.”

“
Full body
.”

“
A little bit foxy
.”

You’d think they were talking about supermodels. But the bottles all look the same to me. I do a little eenie-meenie-minie-merlot, landing on a bottle of five-year-old hooch.

Stuffing it in my purse, I resurface in the kitchen. Mom is there, setting the table for breakfast.

“You know your sister has practice in the morning,” she says.

“Maybe I have practice, too.”

“Why were you in the basement?”

“Looking for something.”

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah.”

Mom looks at me like she’s trying to read my mind. I take a bowl and fill it with Gorilla Munch, eating it dry.

“Don’t you want milk?”

“Better this way.”

When I finish the Munch, I put my bowl in the sink. Mom is still eyeing me so I give her a kiss before I leave the kitchen. It renders her speechless.

I’d love to skip Chocko’s class but that would just raise his suspicions. Stashing my purse with the wine in my locker, I grab
Great Thinkers
and prepare myself for battle. I just know Chocko will be on the warpath.

It’s too early for class but I don’t know what else to do so I go in. To my surprise, Steve Ryan is already there, sitting at his desk. He looks up when I walk in and actually smiles before hiding behind his book. I take my seat, staring straight ahead until the bell rings. The school is suddenly filled with loud voices, laughter and lockers crashing. People push their way into class, far too boisterous for this time of day. Eventually Sharon arrives, collapsing into the seat next to mine. She looks like the living dead.

“I didn’t bother sleeping,” she says. “I’m never going to make it through the day.”

“Chocko will suspect if we skip.”

She points to the bags under her eyes. “He’ll take one look at these and know it was us.”

I wave her off, catching a glimpse of my marker-streaked hands. I hide them in my sleeves just as Chocko stumbles into the room. He doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks totally crazy. He’s unshaven, and for the first time ever, he’s not wearing shades. His eyes roll like boiled marbles behind the thick lenses of his new weird glasses. He announces himself, dropping his books on the desk the way he did before, only this time, a whole
lot harder. He doesn’t play music to begin the class the way he usually does. Instead, he picks up an eraser and begins slowly cleaning the board while everyone shifts in their seats and coughs nervously, waiting for the bomb to drop.

When he’s finished with the board, Chocko replaces the eraser carefully and turns around. He doesn’t look at us. He stands there, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded like an undertaker’s. Sharon glances over at me. We both know what’s coming next.

Chocko pauses, pushing his pop-bottle-bottom glasses up on the bridge of his nose for full theatrical effect.

“Someone destroyed my personal property,” he finally says.

The entire class exchanges surprised looks.

“Someone ruined…
years
of hard work, despoiling something that was sacred to me. Who would do a thing like that?”

His boiled marbles are still trained on the ceiling, like he’s having a heart-to-heart with the Big Guy, although I’m sure God could care less about his naked lady pictures.

“What kind of person would go into a man’s home and defile it like that?”

He leaves this question hanging in the air for us to ponder. I guess he’s hoping to sweat a confession out of us with this kindergarten-teacher tactic. He stands, saying nothing for at least five minutes, until Sharon slowly raises her hand. Is she actually going to squeal? I want to kick her under the desk, but I know if I so much as twitch a muscle, the gig is up.

Chocko lowers his mournful gaze from the ceiling.

“…Yes?”

Sharon blinks her eyes like an innocent little bunny. “What exactly did they do?” she asks. “What did they vandalize?”

I almost scream when she says this. I never knew she had the guts! Now it’s
our
turn to watch Chocko squirm. His mouth opens and closes as he gropes for something to say, the dusty cogs in his brain grinding desperately.

Sharon sits all wide-eyed and patient, waiting for him to answer. I have to bite my tongue to keep from shrieking with laughter.

Chocko clears his throat and begins making some lame excuse, saying that it’s too painful to talk about and that those who’ve perpetrated this awful crime will know what they’ve done. He turns away from the class, opening his
Great Thinkers
text as though it’s a huge effort.

“Assigned reading,” he mumbles. “I don’t think I can teach today.”

He gives us a chapter on morality then shuffles from the room. The class roars to life, everyone wondering who the vandals are and what they did. Sharon and I howl. We couldn’t possibly have predicted this would go so well.

“You deserve an Oscar for that performance!” I tell her.

Sharon takes a small bow. “Thank you! I’ll take a coffee at the Tip instead.”

“What’s with Chocko’s new glasses?”

“Oh my God, I don’t know!”

I’m suddenly aware that Biff is boring holes in our backs from across the room. I’m way too juiced to ignore his challenge so I stare back until he punches his fist on his desk and leaves. Then I notice Steve Ryan staring too. But not malevolently like Biff. Kind of shy and awkward. I wonder if he knows Sharon and I are the culprits in Mr. Chocko’s unimaginable crime. He lowers his eyes when I return his gaze. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.

As soon as we leave class, Sharon and I gloat to the fullest.

“I thought I was going to die!” she says.

“I thought you were ratting us out when you put your hand up.”

“I wanted to make him suffer.”

“You’re my hero.”

Sharon walks me to Physics.

“Lunch at the Tip?”

“Roger that.”

Then I remember the bottle of wine in my locker. We’re so stoked, I forgot I promised Mabel I would meet her for lunch. I feel all guilty for a moment, then convince myself she won’t care if I don’t show.

Sharon salutes me. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Dr. Armstrong opens the class with a discussion on quantum physics. He tells us real life happens between the particles, in the “in-between places,” not the other way around. Solid matter, as we once imagined it, doesn’t really exist at all. Which means that life is essentially an illusion. I could have told him that.

Then he goes on to say that particles can exist simultaneously in multiple places, like the whale from
Moby Dick
. I imagine a huge white whale, floating in space. It’s there, but it’s not there …

Steve Ryan raises his hand.

“Sir … wasn’t Melville implying that the whale was some kind of… avatar of an indifferent God … the ultimate manifestation of a savage world in which man is simply an afterthought… elevated to mythological proportions by hysteria, causing people to believe they saw it in multiple places at once?”

I turn around in my seat, seeing Steve Ryan in a totally new light. It’s as if a switch has been thrown in my head. I mean, I thought it was nice of him to erase my name from the bathroom wall, if he really was the one who
did it. But this is altogether different. He’s actually smart. All at once I’m aware there’s something more beneath his jock exterior. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve never felt so turned on in my life.

Tod shoots his hand in the air.

“Sir … couldn’t Melville have been ahead of his time, incorporating notions of quantum physics in his realization of the white whale? Couldn’t the whale, in fact, truly have been in multiple places at once?”

The class groans. Someone snorts disdainfully. No wonder everyone wants to beat Tod up. Why can’t he just keep his mouth shut?

Dr. Armstrong leans on the edge of his desk, his head tilted patiently to one side.

“It’s just an analogy, people.”

W
e ditch the PIBs at lunch break to go to the Tip. Sharon walks backwards the whole way, waving her cigarette in my face, yammering about our victory over Chocko.

“It’s like a drug, you know? You do something like that once and you want to do it again and again.”

“Yeah,” I say, only half listening, because my mind is still bogged on Steve Ryan. I’ve never heard him speak in class—ever—and when he finally does, he says something totally mind-blowing. It’s so … perplexing. Things were a lot easier when I could just write him off as a dumb jock and be done with it.

Sharon stops abruptly. I think she’s going to nick me for not listening. But she’s glaring over my shoulder. “Is that Tod?”

I don’t even have to check. “Don’t look. You’ll just encourage him.”

“Aren’t there laws against this sort of thing? What’s he doing in this neighbourhood?”

“Please. I’ve tried to make him stop. He just won’t.”

“Maybe he needs an incentive.” She punches her fist into the palm of her hand.

“It doesn’t work—believe me.”

“Yeah, but it’d make me feel better.”

“No doubt.”

We order the usual at the Tip, somehow managing to gab away our entire lunch hour in what feels like seconds. Neither of us wants to go back to school so we decide to stay and accept the consequences. Tod lingers outside, until he realizes we’re going to skip and leaves. He just can’t bring himself to cut class, no matter what the reason, so I’m rid of him for now.

After many hours, we finally decide to wrap it up at the Tip.

“I’ve got the bill,” I say.

Unzipping my purse, I pull out my wallet and expose the bottle of wine. I’d totally forgotten about it. And Mabel. I promise myself to go see her tomorrow.

Sharon grabs the bottle. “Hey… the celebration continues. You are so amazing. All we need are two glasses.”

I take the bottle back, stuff it in my purse and close the zipper. “It’s kind of for someone else.”

Sharon looks disappointed. “Who?”

“Oh, uh, well, my parents bought it.”

“Yeah, and … why are you carrying it around in your purse?”

“I’m, um, just transporting it.”

“To where?”

“Oh, just, you know, home.”

Sharon gives me a look. “Are you holding out on me?”

“No, not at all.” I pull money from my wallet. “I’m just going to pay the bill.”

“You’re totally holding out on me.”

“I’m not. I swear.”

She leans over, searching my eyes for deception. “Yeah, right.”

No sooner do Sharon and I part ways than Tod appears to escort me home.

“Aren’t you worried about missing so much school?” he asks.

“What difference does it make, Tod? The world is an illusion anyway. You heard Dr. Armstrong.”

“Don’t you want to graduate from high school and get out of this place?”

Has he been talking to my mother? “Yeah … of course I do.”

“Well… if I were you, I would go to class. I overheard Mr. Chocko in the guidance room today. He said something about you failing his course.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was dropping off a projector—I’m on AV crew, you know.”

“Yeah, Tod, I know. The whole illusory world knows.”

“Anyway, I overheard Mr. Chocko talking to Mr. Ricketts. He said you weren’t performing well in class and you have a major attitude problem.”

I have a major attitude problem?
He’s determined to mess up my life. I guess I’d better lay low for awhile.

In my fury over Chocko, I forget to tell Tod to get lost.
We walk in silence all the way to my front door before I’m aware of what’s happened. Now the whole neighbourhood has seen him walk me home in broad daylight.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

Mom has dinner ready. I stash my stuff in my bedroom then take a seat at the table.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Mom says.

I shrug. “What’s for supper?”

Mom serves up some brown glop, placing a large plate in front of Peggy, who immediately gets up and puts half of it back into the pot. Mom sighs. Dad just shakes his head.

“It’s vegetable protein goulash.”

“Sounds gross.”

Dad jumps in. “Just once, I would like to see a little appreciation from you girls.”

Peggy and I stare at our plates. For the first time in our lives we’re showing a united front.

“Oh, leave them alone, Rob. I don’t care,” Mom says.

“Well, I do. There are millions of starving people in the world.”

“Oh God, not the starvation lecture again,” Peggy scoffs.

Dad tosses his napkin to the table. “Fine. Go to your room.”

Peggy tosses her napkin. “Fine! I will!” She stomps off, no doubt thrilled that her temper tantrum tactic worked.

“You can go, too,” Dad says to me.

I rise to take my plate into the kitchen.

“Leave it,” he says.

I’m trying to do research for my CPP but really thinking about Steve Ryan when I hear a sound like pebbles hitting my bedroom window. I think it must be Tod so I ignore it. The pebbles continue, increasing in frequency, until I finally get up and open the blind. I’m shocked to see Biff Johnson standing on the lawn. He’s listing dangerously to one side. He motions for me to open the window. I don’t respond.

“Open it!” he shouts.

He picks up a rock, raising it threateningly. I think he’s going to hurl it through the window so I open it.

Biff sways unsteadily, pointing an accusatory finger up at me. “I know it was you.” He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know it was you!”

I slam the window shut. Biff continues to yell until the front door to the house opens and my dad storms onto the lawn. Grabbing Biff by the back of the jacket, he frogmarches him to the sidewalk, tossing him out like garbage. Biff swings drunkenly, but Dad dodges it like a ninja, holding his ground. Swearing at the top of his lungs, Biff continues to make threats from the safety of the street while Dad stands guard. Eventually, Biff relents and staggers away. Then Dad stomps back into the house and up the stairs to my room. I run to sit at my desk just as the bedroom door flies open.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t you
dare
tell me to calm down, young lady.”

I look as innocent as I can. “I don’t know why he was here.”

“What has this boy got against you?”

“He’s just a creep, Dad. That’s all.”

Dad runs his hand through his hair. I’ve never seen him so angry before.

“If he
ever
comes back here again, I want to know about it. Do you hear me?”

I nod. Dad frowns and closes my bedroom door.

This is just great. Biff humiliated by my dad. Now he’ll really have it in for me. For some bizarre reason, all of this stupidity makes me think of Mabel. The weirder my life gets, the more I appreciate hers. I mean, I know she’s lonely and sad. But despite everything she still has her dignity, which is more than I can say for most people I know, especially Biff and Chocko. I hope she wasn’t too upset that I didn’t show today. I check the bottle of wine in my purse, reminding myself to see her after school tomorrow.

Friday morning. I manage to outmanoeuvre Peggy, getting in and out of the bathroom before she can throw her daily hissy fit. I’m still going to be late for class, but what’s new? It’s only English with Mr. Farrell so I’m hoping he won’t care too much.

At school, I head straight to the office for an excuse slip. The nurse isn’t there, so I can’t pull my usual “girl problems” trick. Mr. Ricketts is behind the desk, writing in his secret spiral spy notebook. He speaks without looking up.

“What number is this, Smith?”

He always addresses me by my last name, like a gym teacher. Pulling a pink slip from behind the counter, he begins filling it out.

“You don’t take school policy very seriously, hmm?”

I want to tell him that I take everything a little too seriously. That’s the problem. Besides, if particles can exist in multiple places at once, like Dr. Armstrong says, how does he know I’m not already in class?

He hands me the slip, studying me with his X-ray vision over the bifocals he keeps permanently fixed to the end of his nose.

“This is the last time, Smith. You’ve used up your food stamps. If you’re late again, we’ll get your parents involved.”

Fascist. I take the slip and leave.

Mr. Farrell drops the slip in his drawer as I take my seat behind April. Sharon is nowhere to be seen. I’m immediately aware that everyone has papers on their desk, ready to hand in. I tap April on the shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“Our reading analysis assignment.”

Oh no. I’m going to have to think fast to get out of this one. Mr. Farrell is nice and everything, but he has his limits. No wonder Sharon skipped. Why didn’t she tell me we had a paper due.

Class is terminally boring, with Tod answering all the questions as usual. I can barely sit in my seat, desperate for the lecture to end so I can talk to Mr. Farrell about my paper. When the bell finally rings, everyone rushes to escape. Lingering behind, I wait until I’m the only one left before approaching his desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have my paper ready.”

He blinks back at me, saying nothing.

“I’ll get it to you by the end of the week … is that okay?”

He leans his chin in one hand.

I start to make excuses. “I was so focused on other things that I completely forgot. I have all these assignments due for other classes …”

Mr. Farrell exhales, tapping his pen on the desk. “Do you care at all about this class?”

“What?”

“You’re such an intelligent girl, Sue. It would be nice if you showed some enthusiasm for your studies once in a while. The school year is nearly over.”

He says this like a disappointed parent. It makes me feel so guilty, I leave the class without a word, go straight to my locker, grab my purse with the bottle of wine and skip out.

Mabel doesn’t answer the buzzer right away. This makes me a bit nervous, wondering if something is wrong. I let the buzzer ring and ring and ring. At last
the phone is picked up and Mabel’s shaky voice comes over the wire.

“Yes?”

“It’s me … Marie.”

“Oh!”

I hear fumbling and muttering as she struggles with the handset, trying to remember what to do.

“Press nine,” I say, placing my mouth against the intercom so she can hear me clearly.

There’s more muttering as she tries to find the right number, then the buzzer finally sounds.

Mario is at his station by the elevators. He eyes me suspiciously as I press the Up button.

“Don’t you have school?” he says.

“Don’t you have a toilet to snake?”

He curses under his breath as the elevator doors open and I make my exit.

The elevator grinds along its cables to the fourteenth floor. I occupy my time reading the graffiti on the walls, hoping no one is waiting to get on. I’m thwarted on the third floor as the car jerks to a stop and the little leprechaun man in the oom-pah-pah outfit gets on. He smiles, reaching across my stomach to press the button for the ground floor.