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TURN OVER THE ENGINE?

Ted and you sit there in disbelief.

Afterward, you both hop into YOUR cars and take off.

You’re a little early for school, so you take the scenic route, past Las Palmas County Park. That makes you unwind a bit. You think about how you used to practically live there on the

weekends, doing nothing — just skipping stones and wasting hours with Alex.

That thought makes you smile.

Then you think of the Ghost of Alex Present.

You remember he was absent from school yesterday. So you take a detour and stop by his house.

His mom’s car is gone. She’s already left for work. With Paula, whose school starts earlier than ours.

You ring. And ring. After about five minutes he opens the door, his eyes half closed. He is dressed in a T-shirt and boxers. Sleepwear.

You ask if he’s sick.

“No,” he replies. “Why?”

“Last time I looked, it was a school day,” you say.

It’s supposed to be a joke. But Alex just grumbles something under his breath and walks into the house.

You follow. He disappears into his room for another five minutes. When he emerges, he has put on long pants. Same T-shirt, same sleep-hair.

“You’re going like THAT?” you ask.

He just shrugs.

Now it’s getting late, so you rush him out to the car. “Alex, what would you have done if I hadn’t picked you up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where were you yesterday?”

“Here. Around.” No apology. No explanation.

“Alex, you’ve missed A LOT of school lately.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So? I’d prefer to have my best friend remain in MY GRADE next year.”

You can see his lips curling upward into something like a smile. He repeats “Next year” under his breath.

As if you’re a total idiot for bringing it up.

You remind yourself HE’S DEPRESSED. That’s why he’s in therapy. Until he recovers, he needs companionship, UNDERSTANDING. He’s not getting it from any other kids in school.

Not even from Jay, who used to be one of his best buddies. So it’s up to you, Ducky. Be cool, you think.

You ignore the comment. Drop the topic of discussion. Tell him about your last 24 hours — the gory details of the McCrae family reentry period — until you realize you’re talking his ear off.

You take a deep breath. “So. What do you think? Why do these trips get HARDER?”

Alex looks at you blankly. “Huh?”

“My parents’ trips?”

“Oh. Did they come back or something?”

“Alex, didn’t you HEAR what I said?”

You are stopped at a red light now. Alex looks confused. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m spacing out.”

So you patiently repeat yourself.

“They weren’t on vacation, Ducky,” he says. “They were working.”

“I KNOW that.”

“People get tired and cranky when they work hard. Plus the travel. The time change. You’d be the same too. They’ll sleep. Then they’ll come around.”

Good point. A very Alex perspective.

“How about you?” you ask.

“How about me what?”

“Are you ‘coming around’ too?”

“From what?”

“You know. Your bad feelings.”

DEPRESSION. Why can’t you say the word? You had to drag him home drunk and soaking wet from Jay’s party after he’d locked himself in the bathroom and passed out. You had to call Dr.

Welsch in the middle of the night and tell him what happened. Alex KNOWS you know. So why beat around the bush?

“I’m cool,” Alex says.

“Dr. Welsch helping you?”

“No.”

You can’t tell if Alex means NO, Dr. Welsch isn’t helping him or NO, he isn’t seeing Dr. Welsch anymore.

You are pulling into a parking space by now.

And Alex leaves the car before you can ask.

The Case of the Missing Friend Continues

WHAT is going on?

You’re walking in the hallway after homeroom. You happen to glance through the door to the parking lot and you spot him outside, staring at the school, hands in pockets. You wave, but he doesn’t see you. He just turns and walks away.

He’s hidden by all the SUVs, so no one else notices him.

You run outside, calling his name. He turns and says hey, Ducky, what’s up — like it’s a totally normal thing to be outside when you’re supposed to be in chemistry class.

“Chemistry?” he repeats. He has NO CLUE.

“Yeah … chemistry!” You are quick. PERFECT imitation. Sky Masterson, Guys and Dolls.

Which you and Alex listened to at least a million times you were kids. It’s his cue to start singing “I’ll know” à la Alex, WAY out of tune — but he just nods and heads back toward school.

Mr. O’Toole is not happy to see you. When he finds out Alex has no notebook OR textbook, he gives a big lecture on RESPONSIBILITY.

Alex is in another world, playing with a rubber band.

Mr. O’Toole moves right up close to him, waves his hands, and does a little soft-shoe. When Alex finally looks up, O’Toole says, “Whew, I’m glad THAT worked. Next I was going to have to do a striptease.”

Typical O’Toole humor. The class is cracking up. You’re hearing whispered comments about Alex and you KNOW they think he’s a druggie or an alcoholic AND MAYBE HE IS, you don’t

know, but poor Alex is sitting there, bewildered, not knowing WHAT’S going on, and all you want to do is smash some test tubes, tell everyone to shut up, and pull Alex out of class.

So you guess you ARE his keeper, in a way.

At least that’s how you feel.

Someone has to be.

Lunchroom

You’re dining alone today.

Partly because you have to, partly because you choose to.

You HAVE to because Alex has split. You didn’t see him go, but he hasn’t been in school ever since chem.

You CHOOSE to because the alternative is sitting with Jay, and at this moment you’d rather have lunch with a rabid weasel.

You weren’t feeing this way a few minutes ago. But then Jay made his appearance on [sic] the lunch line behind you.

“Duckomatic,” he said. “The Duckmeister! Duckington! Duckter Dolittle!”

(When oh WHEN will he grow out of this habit?)

You nodded and forced a smile.

“What’s the matter?” Jay said loudly. “You’re not TALKING to me anymore?”

“When you give me a chance, I am,” you replied. “Why?”

“Maybe I should cut classes and wear dirty clothes and pull away from all my friends. And, like, slink along the hallway walls?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, I’ll be like Snyder. THEN you’ll hang with old Jay.”

All of this delivered with a big, dumb, Cro Mag smile.

“I don’t believe you’re saying this,” you said. “He happens to be my friend. And yeah, I hang with him, but YOU know why. YOU know he’s having some rough times.”

“Right, right. … Hey, do they have chocolate pudding today?”

“He was your friend too.”

“OK, OK. Lighten up, McDuck. Can’t you take a joke?”

“I guess I didn’t find it funny.”

“I guess not. Looks like he’s rubbing off on you too.”

You didn’t honor that one. You took your tray and walked to the opposite side of the cafeteria.

Jay’s with the Cro Mags now. Eating and grunting and laughing and farting and loving it.

Living proof that not all human life is at the top of the evolutionary ladder.

You’ve totally lost your appetite. You’re worried about Alex, for one thing. And even though you know you shouldn’t take a WORD of Jay’s seriously, you feel guilty.

ARE you spending too much time with Alex?

ARE you ignoring Jay because of him?

Not that there aren’t MANY reasons to ignore a guy who sets you up on blind dates without even asking, who hangs with Cro Mags, obsesses over girls, and plays on so many after-school sports teams that you couldn’t have a friendship even if you wanted to.

So don’t sweat it, Ducky.

You have other friends now — Sunny and Dawn and Maggie and Amalia. OK, they’re only 13

and they’re not guys. But they’re smart and funny and they about you — appreciate who you REALLY are, whoever that is — and they don’t try to make you into a carbon copy of

themselves, the way Jay does.

THAT’S why you’re not close to Jay.

Enough said.

Case closed.

Math book opened.

Study begun.

After math:

The aftermath

The studying didn’t help.

End of Study Hall

End of Patience

You called Alex’s house from a pay phone after lunch. No answer.

Now, at the beginning of study hall, you ask the teacher for a library pass and then bypass the library (they never check) to look for Alex in all the usual places. And some of the unusual ones too. Behind the sports equipment shed. Off campus, at the Fiesta Grill.

You find Sunny at the Fiesta. She is sipping a fruit drink and reading a magazine. She greets you with a scream of joy and a big hug. You notice the edge of a terry cloth beach towel sticking out of her backpack.

“Hanging ten with the pound masters today?” you ask.

Sunny gives you her best MOI? look. “But enough about me. Sit. Have some papaya shake.

Tell me what’s wrong — and don’t say ‘Nothing,’ Ducky. I know that look on your face.”

How can you resist her? You can’t.

So you tell her everything on your mind. All your concerns about Alex.

Her response? “I cut classes. I skip school. And you don’t worry about ME like that.”

“I worry about you all the time!”

“Then I guess Alex and I are BOTH lucky!” Sunny says with a big laugh. “Look, you want my advice? Venice Beach.”

“Sunny — ”

“I’m serious. Depressed people NEED sunshine. It does something chemical to the brain.

That’s a medical fact.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Sunny holds out her hand. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars.”

You laugh. You leave. You feel MUCH better.

Which is weird. You KNOW she’s cutting. You KNOW she’s heading for the beach. And you know that, in a way, she’s just as messed up as Alex.

But Sunny’s problems are different.

Not EASIER. But more concrete. More understandable.

You KNOW why she’s angry. You KNOW why she does the things she does — cuts school, runs away, latches onto Perfect Guys who turn out to be jerks.

All of it is tied to her mom’s condition. And as HORRIBLE and MORBID and PESSISMISTIC

as it sounds, you know the cause of the problems will end someday.

But when you try to understand Alex, it’s not so clear. What’s the CAUSE? The Snyders’

divorce? Maybe, but that’s old news. And he insists he’s over it.

So what else?

You wish there were something else you could point to and say, Once THIS is over with, he’ll feel a lot better.

Maybe there just isn’t.

Maybe there is, and Alex is hiding it.

If only he’d talk.

If only he’d show a little emotion.

Rage.

SOMETHING.

Home Alone

Ted at School; Mom and Dad Sleeping

You can’t concentrate for the rest of the day. You are especially pathetic in Shakespeare, your favorite class with your favorite teacher — you can’t answer ONE question about Measure for Measure even though you READ it and LIKED it, and you feel like a jerk for letting Ms.

Krueger (and yourself) down.

So you decide to pop in to see her after school.

“Hi,” you say. “Sorry about today.”

Ms. Krueger smiles. She says you’re sweet to come and apologize, but not to worry, we all have our off days.

You discuss the play a little, and just as you’re about to leave, she reaches for the pile of today’s assignment sheets and asks, “Will you be seeing Alex this evening? I’d like him to read one of these.”

You tell her you’ll give it to him, and you take the sheet.

“I haven’t seen him for awhile [sic]. Is he sick?” Ms. K asks.

“Well, not really. I mean, not physically.”

She shoots you a silent question mark.

A calm, kind, open, understanding, nonjudgmental question mark.

And you think about the time those kids trashed her house when she was on vacation. You remember how fair and patient her reaction was. And you’ve seen how NICE she is to Alex, despite the fact that he cuts her class so often.

You don’t want to go behind Alex’s back, but you feel you should tell her SOMETHING.

D: “The way he is right now? He’s not really like that.”

Ms. K [quietly shutting the classroom door]: “You know, Ducky, your friend is a very bright guy. …”

D: “… but he’s in serious danger of failing tenth grade. I know. He used to be a good student, Ms. Krueger. All A’s and B’s.”

Ms. K: “I was impressed with his writing earlier in the year. Very powerful stuff — but disturbing. Bleak. I tried to talk to him about it, but it was difficult.”

D: “He’s totally depressed. He sleeps all the time. He doesn’t care about the way he looks. I try to make him SEE how he’s changing. I try to help him, but I can’t get through.”

Ms. K: “Maybe he should see the school psychologist.”

D: “I guess.” [You don’t have the heart to tell her about Dr. Welsch and all the OTHER

therapists who are history.] “But I should be able to do something too. I’m his best friend.

What would YOU do if you were me?”

Ms. K [thinking for a moment]: “Everything you ARE doing, plus one more very big thing.”

D: “What’s that?”

Ms. K: “Never, ever, ever give up. You can’t solve his problems, and you mustn’t lose yourself trying. But you can let him know he’s VALUED. And keep it up, even if it seems he doesn’t appreciate it. Something you say or do may be the thing that helps him regain his own

perspective. When he eventually comes around, he’ll never forget it. And neither will you.”

You nod. You thank her.

You leave before she can see you starting to cry.

Not that she’s solved anything.

Not that she’s told you anything you didn’t know, really.

But it feels so good to TALK about it.