Just Another Hero (6 page)

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 9

KOFI STOOD IN THE MAIN HALL, SIPPING
from a bottle of water, waiting for English class to start. He stayed by the wall, keeping away from the group of guys who circled Eddie Mahoney, guys who spent every morning before class talking smack—about upcoming weekend plans, past weekend victories, and the girls that made all that happen. Eddie had been back for just a couple of days, but since his return, he had become some sort of celebrity to certain kids.

Eddie told his story over and over, each time adding details and making the juvenile detention center sound like the Ritz Hotel. Kofi hated how the younger kids especially seemed to think he was so cool.

“Yo, Eddie, when'd they let you out?”

“Not too long ago. I got to pick my own release date, you know.”

“For real, dog?”

“Yeah. The food was great, the beds were soft, and a couple of those female guards were like, hot, you know what I'm sayin'? So I took my time leaving the place.”

The guys all elbowed one another, laughing.

“Any girls up there?” asked a wannabe tough-looking ninth grader named Ryan.

“They kept the girls one unit over—just a thin wall separated us. You could
smell
'em at night,” Eddie said, sniffing the air as if remembering.

“What do you mean?”

“Their powder and perfume and girl sweat. Powerful, dude.”

“Any of them ever get past that thin wall?” a sophomore asked hopefully.

Eddie motioned them closer. Kofi stretched to hear. “Every Saturday night, man. Heaven came knockin' at eleven p.m. Heaven at eleven. Why you think I stayed up there so long?” He let the lie sink in as the guys high-fived one another.

Kofi shook his head, amazed at what the group would swallow.

“You ever get busted for that?”

“Naw, man. I'm Eddie Mahoney—slick like ice and twice as nice.”

His admirers laughed raucously.

“So it wasn't like the jails on TV?” another sophomore asked. A couple of boys punched him in the shoulder for asking a stupid question. But Eddie was cool.

“You're thinkin' about places like Attica where they got
gangs and solitary confinement and killers and rapists and stuff, dude.”

The kid nodded, looking fascinated.

“The place they put me was more like one of those vacation villages. We had three meals a day—better than my mama can cook. Steak on Tuesday. Fried chicken on Wednesday. Apple pie and ice cream every night. And a movie every Saturday. With popcorn.”

Kofi rolled his eyes. Eddie had left out the barbed-wire fences, the police dogs, the body searches, the locked doors of the cells, and the total lack of privacy. Kofi had spent a weekend at one of those detention centers a couple of years ago, when he'd been picked up for a DUI and no one could locate his parents. It was
not
a hotel. Each cell had bare floors, thin, moldy mattresses and blankets, and a toilet in the corner of the cell that had no seat and always stank. The prison-issue orange jumpsuits, worn and ugly and thin, never fit right, and the food tasted like slop. He had sworn to never again do anything stupid enough to land him back in a place like that.

“For real?” Ryan was asking.

“Yeah, dude. We had a game room with a ping-pong table, a pinball machine, and get this—a huge big-screen TV with all the latest video games. Stacks of DVDs. Headphones and iPods to listen to at night. All the latest tunes downloaded.”

Kofi now laughed out loud, but nobody paid any attention to him.

Eddie was on a roll. “During the day we went to school just like you do, except we moved at a faster pace. I'm
ahead in most of my classes here, so I got nothing to do but check out the honeys and plan my next move.”

“And what's that?” Ryan wanted to know. Kofi caught his breath.

“I got plans, little man. I got some unfinished business around here.”

“Like what?”

To Kofi's dismay, Eddie's answer was drowned out by the bell. As the group split up, Kofi put the top back on his water bottle and followed him.

But before Kofi got even halfway down the hall, the sound of Jack Krasinski's crashing cymbals filled the air. Very few kids even looked up. Girls continued their giggled conversations, guys bopped to the music coming from the ear buds attached to their MP3 players, and even teachers just shook their heads wearily. No one told him to stop. Until Kofi.

“Hey, Jack. Can you chill with those things a little? I had a category two kind of headache hurricane, and you just upped it to a category five!”

Jack was sturdy and muscular—Kofi guessed from carrying his heavy bass drum in the marching band. He wore his black hair long and shaggy, the ends matted and uncombed. He was one of the few seniors who sported a full beard. Kofi thought he looked a little like the guy from the
Pirates of the Caribbean
movies.

“My bad. My bad,” said Jack as he lowered the two golden disks. “I was just freein' the noise, and colorin' the world a little, you feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Kofi answered. “The whole world feels you, dude.”

“The explosion of two cymbals is a splash of color in a dark gray world,” Jack told him. “Little kids use crayons. I use sound.”

“Deep,” Kofi said, “but noisy.”

“I'm an artiste,” said Jack, “a creator of meaning in a world that makes no sense.”

Kofi didn't think Jack was making much sense at that moment, but he didn't say so.

Jack continued, “You know what, man?”

“What's that?”

“In spite of all my noise, nobody notices. Nobody cares.”

“You got that wrong, man. Everybody notices!”

Jack shook his head, his hair whipping around like black spaghetti. “No, they don't. Watch this.”

He picked up the cymbals and clanged them together with a flourish—two times. Kofi jumped from the sudden sound, and man, his head was pounding, but the two girls walking by didn't even pause.

“See what I mean?” Jack said sadly.

“They hear you every day, Jack. But most of us are so used to it that, well, it's kinda like the morning announcements. Nobody pays any attention to them, either.”

“I'm wallpaper.” Now Jack sounded despondent.

“Not hardly. You're more like whiskey on the rocks, man!”

Jack looked unconvinced as he ran his fingers over the disks. “Maybe they'd listen better to my drums. Hmm…the snare or the bass? Maybe I'll bring both tomorrow.”

Kofi hoped not. “Hey, Jack, let me ask you something,”
he began. “You know anything about all these fire drills we been havin' lately?”

“I know I'm tired of freezing my tail off every time we have to go outside,” Jack answered.

“You got any idea who's pullin' the alarm?” Kofi pressed. “We've had four in the past three weeks. People are gettin' tired of it.”

“Now that can't be true. Every kid wants class messed up, right?” Jack said with a grin.

“Yeah, I guess,” Kofi admitted. “You got Fox for history?”

“Yeah. Hatin' it! Sergeant Fox, the king of worksheets and quizzes.”

“I got him too—he's a bear. You takin' geometry this year?” Kofi asked casually.

“Yep. Hatin' it!”

“What about band?”

“Lovin' it! Of course.”

“Who you got for English?”

“Techno-Spoon. She's cool. I think you're in her afternoon class—I got her first thing in the morning, before the caffeine in her diet Coke kicks in.”

Kofi chuckled. “Spoon hates extra fire drills—she says they interrupt her flow.”

“But isn't it the fire department who pulls the alarms? Aren't they the ones who decide when we have drills?”

“Yeah, man. I guess so. Later.”

Just as Jack disappeared around a corner, he yelled out to Kofi, “I've got a geometry test this afternoon!” Then the sound of his crashing cymbals followed a few seconds later.

Kofi just shook his head. He'd lost Eddie in the crowd, but he brightened when he saw Dana coming toward him. Dressed in tight dark jeans and a pale orange sweater, she looked to him like a sunrise. She was frowning, however.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly, reaching for her hand.

She jerked away from him.

“What's the matter?” he asked her.

“I waited for you for over an hour last night! What's up with that? And then you didn't even call!”

“Huh?” He had no idea what she was talking about.

“The library! We were supposed to meet at seven to study, remember? Or have you found somebody else to hang with at night?” He wasn't sure if she was ready to cry or to smack him, but it was clear she was pissed.

He rolled his head back. He'd completely forgotten about her. He'd gone home from school, taken two pills, and slept hard until morning. He hadn't even seen his parents, and he hadn't done any homework, either.

“Oh, snap! I'm sorry, Dana, but you know how it is at my house. Ma was in one of her moods, and she couldn't find my father, and well, you know how it is.”

He looked up at Dana and hoped she had believed him.

She seemed to soften. “I'm sorry, Kofi. I sometimes forget you live in Wack City.”

“Big-time,” he agreed. But his mind was scrambling, trying to figure how he could have been so completely out of it.

“You could have called or texted me to let me know,” she reminded him, hands on hips.

“It won't happen again, sugar lips.”

“If you want to taste these lips of sugar, it better not!” she teased. Then she got some lip gloss out of her purse and applied it slowly so he could see every stroke. “Suffer!” she said, and then dropped it back into her bag.

He grinned, took a sip of water, and popped an Oxy into his mouth.

“What's that you're taking?” she asked. Her smile had disappeared.

“It was an aspirin—what's the big deal? I got a wicked headache.”

“It looked more like one of those pain pills you were taking when you broke your arm.”

“It was just a plain old ordinary aspirin—quit sweatin' me.”

“Let me see the bottle.”

“No! What are you, some kind of narc?” he asked her defensively.

She reached into the outside pocket of his backpack even as he twisted away from her, trying to make her stop. But she was quick. Neither of them said anything for a moment as she held the bottle accusingly in her hand.

“These things are easy to get hooked on, Kofi.”

“I'm not jammed.”

“So why are you still taking them?”

“They relax me.”

“Try taking a hot shower instead.”

“You don't understand the stress I'm under, Dana!”

“I know lots more than you think. You better lay off those things,” she warned.

“I can stop anytime I want to.”

“Prove it.”

“No problem. Take them. You can even keep the whole bottle.”

Tilting her head quizzically, she stared at the bottle, which contained only two tablets, then tucked it into her purse. “No more?” she asked.

“Straight up,” he replied.

But Kofi knew he had a full refill at home.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 10

ARIELLE'S MOTHER WAITED FOR HER OUTSIDE
the school in her brand-new, strawberry red Mercedes. Even though it was February and most cars were covered with the muck of dirty, leftover snow, this one gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Arielle had to admit it stood out and looked really good in the line of vehicles waiting to pick up students.

“Must be nice to have a rich daddy!” somebody yelled as Arielle walked over to the car. She just shook her head and waved. If only they knew.

She tossed her book bag into the back, slid into the front seat, buckled the seat belt, and inhaled deeply. The car enveloped her with a lemony scent.

“Hi, sweetie,” her mother said. “How was school?”

“I survived another day,” said Arielle with a shrug.

“Talk to any cute boys?”

“Oh, Mom. Give me a break!” Arielle cried. Quickly changing the subject, she said, “The car looks nice.”

Her mother beamed. “Chad likes it when I get it cleaned and detailed before I get home.”

“Yeah, right. Good old Chad.” She stared stonily out the window.

“Why are you so down on him, Arielle? He is
so
good to us.”

“Good to you, maybe.” She slumped down in the heated leather seat.

“Remember where we came from, Arielle,” her mother reminded her gently.

“I know. I know.” Arielle crossed her arms over her chest.

“Everything I do is for you and your future, you know. Your college education is secure, and you can go anywhere you choose!”

“Can I go tomorrow?”

Her mother reached over and touched her daughter's hand but had nothing to say. She continued to drive down the winter-dirty street.

“Your nails look nice,” Arielle commented, noticing her mother's French manicure.

“Toes, too!” her mother replied. “Next time we'll have to go together.”

“Okay. Anything to get out of the house while Chad is around.”

“Come on, honey,” her mother pleaded. “Remember Ivan?”

How could she forget Ivan? A brooding hulk of a man with thick black hair, he was a chef in a local restaurant and volunteered at the shelter one day a week. Her mother
had charmed him and married him before he knew what had hit him. She'd gone back to school and gotten certified as a flight attendant, and things looked hopeful.

But he had a vicious temper, and Arielle grew to fear the knives he used so skillfully in the kitchen as he prepared their meals. He'd lasted three years, until Arielle was eight.

“I was so glad when he left,” Arielle told her mother. “But Dirk was even meaner.”

Dirk was a dentist and the father of her little sister, Kiki. He kept his head shaved bald, and with his dark, beady eyes, he looked a little like a bowling ball. He made more money than Ivan and could afford a nicer house for them, and Arielle got to wear nice clothes to school. He liked showing off his new wife and pretty little girls. But he, too, had a mean streak. Dirk finally had found someone younger and prettier, and he left, also after three years. Kiki was two, and Arielle was twelve.

“I figure anyone who likes to work in people's mouths with drills and needles has got to be a little sick,” Arielle said. “You got issues with men, Mom!”

“Well, I admit I've made a few bad choices,” her mother acknowledged.

“I guess you did what you thought was best,” said Arielle with a shrug.

They drove without speaking for a couple of miles.

“You want to stop for burgers or something before I drop you off at home?” her mother finally asked. “I've got a YWCA board meeting tonight.”

“Yeah, anything so I don't have to sit at the table by
myself with Chad. And Mom? Can we go see Kiki this weekend?” Arielle hadn't seen her little sister since Christmas, when they all drove to the Cherry Blossom Care Center in New Jersey. It was supposed to be the best in the country for kids with severe ADHD. Arielle suspected that Chad thought it was the best place in the country to keep an eight-year-old who was prone to spilling things on his white carpet.

“It
has
been a while. I miss her too, sweetheart. But we have to trust she's getting the best care possible. Chad did so much research, and this is the best thing for Kiki—she'll get the emotional behavior adjustment she needs while she's still young,” her mother told her.

“Kiki needs hugs, not doctors,” said Arielle dismissively. “Chad didn't like her from the moment he met her.”

“Well, she
was
a mess to clean up after!” her mother pointed out. “But maybe we can go visit her over spring break.”

They pulled into a Wendy's drive-through. Arielle decided on broccoli soup and a lemonade, while her mother just ordered a salad and a bottle of water. That's all she ever ate now that she was married to Chad.
I guess he likes his wives thin,
Arielle thought with a snort.

They sat in the parking lot and ate. “Did you save the receipt?” Arielle suddenly asked.

Her mother nodded and pointed to a stack of receipts on the windshield visor. Reacting to the fear on Arielle's face, she said, “You know, I was lucky to meet someone like him.”

“Yeah, bankers are such fun guys!” Arielle shot back sarcastically.

“He got you that iPhone you'd been wanting, didn't he?”

The memory of the stolen phone made Arielle's stomach churn. She still hadn't told Chad or her mom about the theft. “But Mom,” she complained, “he's so
tight
with his money!”

“That's why he has a lot of it, sweetie!”

Arielle tried to explain. “He, well, sometimes he scares me, Mom.”

Her mother's fork froze in midair. She turned to Arielle. “Has he ever touched—harmed you in any way?”

“Yeew, no way!”

Her mother cleared her throat. “You'd tell me if Chad was, you know, acting inappropriately, wouldn't you?” she asked carefully.

“I wouldn't let that man touch my unpainted toenails!” Arielle spat out. “If he tried anything on me, I'd have the army, the navy, and the head of every single news station sitting on the front lawn in less than thirty seconds!” She shuddered.

Her mother laughed uneasily but seemed to relax. “So why does he frighten you, Arielle?”

Arielle stirred the clumpy soup and thought for a moment before answering. “I think he's a wack job, Mom. He's not…normal. When I'm around him I feel like all the good air has been sucked out and I can't breathe right. You feel me?”

“Yeah, I think so,” her mother answered slowly. “But maybe this is just teen tension you're feeling, and it will get better with time.”

“Doubt it.”

“You're such a tough cookie, Arielle. I know it hasn't been easy for you.”

Arielle shifted in her seat. “Sometimes I feel like all I am is the kid of the first husband. I don't even know what that means.”

“You're my bright morning star. That's why I named you Arielle, you know.”

“I wish it was just us, Mom. And Kiki.”

“I love you, sweetie,” her mother replied. “Never forget that. It will get better—I promise.”

Arielle looked unconvinced. “I wish my father was still alive,” she said, sipping her lemonade.

Her mother nodded fiercely. “You know, sometimes I wonder what we'd be doing now if Greg were still here.”

“Well, for sure there'd be no Chad in our lives,” Arielle muttered.

Arielle's mother reached over and gently touched her daughter's hair. “I loved your daddy so much. I didn't care that we lived in a trailer. I didn't care that we barely had a nickel between us. We had each other. And we had you. And that was enough.”

Arielle had heard the story many times, but since she couldn't remember her father at all, she loved it on the rare times when her mother talked about him. But, she thought sadly, this tale would never have a happy ending. A drunk driver took her dad in an instant. What followed was bad luck, lost jobs, lousy apartments, and eventually the homeless shelter.

Arielle sighed. Ivan, Dirk, Chad. What a mess. The only good part had been Kiki, she thought.

Her mother's voice broke through her thoughts. Arielle shifted her focus back to her mom, who was saying, “That's why now you need to learn to appreciate Chad. I still cry to think of you in that shelter—washing you in the bathroom sink, stomping the roaches that crawled the walls. That was no life for you. Can't you see how much better things are now?”

“I guess.” Arielle scratched her arm.

“It's not so bad, is it, Arielle?”

“No, Mom. It's okay. Really.”

And that was when the dirty brown Ford Escort backed into their car.