Project Pallid (5 page)

“Good
afternoon, Damian. Welcome back!” Surprisingly, Mr. Atkins greeted me by name
when I entered the room.

“Good
afternoon, Mr. Atkins.”

Only
half the class had arrived by then, and as far as I could tell, they’d all
reclaimed their original seats from day one. Naturally, I considered a swap to
the other side of the horseshoe, closer to Catee, but better judgment stopped
me short. I wasn’t about to put my neck on the line for a girl who might not
even know I existed.

Class
ran a lot like it did the day before, too. I’d look up to catch her looking
across at me, and I’d look away out of embarrassment.

I’d
look up again and catch Justin glaring back at me from the seat beside her, and
I’d look away, intimidated.

And
when class got out, I was one of the first to go, weighed down even more by the
heavy geometry book that stretched my backpack to its limit. And only steps
down the hall, I was planted on my butt again: this time by Justin, who loomed
over and sneered down at me.

“What
did I warn you about yesterday, Farm Boy?”

I
stared blankly back up into his hate filled eyes.

“What
did I tell you about stepping on my turf???” he demanded.

“What
are you talking about?” I asked. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You
didn’t
have
to do anything. I could tell what you were thinking just by
the way you were looking at us … trying to work up the balls to say something
to her.”

“You’re
wrong. All I—

“
You’re
wrong. All I
—” he sniveled a mocking rendition of me. “I don’t care
what you
think
you were doing in there. It’s not what I
said
you
could be doing! Consider this your last warning, Farm Boy,” he pointed and
commanded. “Don’t even look at her! Next time, I’m not going to remind you so
nice.”

I
sat on the ground, still collecting myself, as he turned the corner and
disappeared with his boys.

My
backpack anchored me there like a piece of lead, and my first move to get up
was unsuccessful. And by the time I got my arms unhooked and rose to my feet,
she was standing in front of me.

“Hey.
We haven’t had a chance to properly introduce ourselves yet,” she spoke with a
friendly wave of her hand, pulled tight to her body. “I’m Catee. Do you need
some help?” She looked to my bloated backpack, then up to me.

“Naw.
It’s no problem. I got it.”

I
hoisted it up and around my shoulders, steadied my balance, and returned the
introduction. “I’m Damian.” I could’ve waved or even reached out to shake her
hand if both mine weren’t already jammed deep in my pockets.

“Looks
like you’re moving in … or out. What’s with all that stuff you’re dragging
behind you?”

“Oh
this?” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and referenced the mule-sized load I
carried. “Yeah. You know. It’s all about conditioning. This week it’s all about
my calves. Next, it’s lats and shoulders.”

“Oh,
really?” I liked how quickly she caught onto the sarcasm of my reply. “And
what’s that going to look like?” And I liked her even more when she prodded me
to go on.

“Well,
not so different, really. Same bag. A little more weight. But next week, I’ll
be carrying it over my head. And after that, I’m going to start running the
stairs.”

“I
don’t mean to come on too strong or anything, but that’s
really
hot,”
she answered and broke into infectious laughter. “You’re pretty funny, Damian.”

“Thanks.
You too, Catee.”

“So,
why
are
you carrying all that around with you? You really only need a
book at a time around here. You look like some sort of Sherpa.”

“Eh.
Well, I had this locker conflict earlier.”

“Oh
yeah?”

“Yup.”

“How
so?”

“Well,”
I began to weave another twisted tale for her. “It seems we’re just incompatible.”

“You
and your locker partner? That sucks, but I get it. They can be a total bummer.
I’ve had one since the sixth grade.”

“No,
no, no. It’s nothing like that. I’m the most popular guy in school,” I grinned.
The one she returned made me lightheaded, but I pushed forward to the punch
line. “It’s not my partner who I’m incompatible with …… It’s my locker.”

“Your
locker!?” she gasped dramatically.

“Yeah,
my locker. You see, every time I’d put stuff in it, I’d come back, and it’d be
spit right back in the hall.”

“Really!?”

“Really!”
I exclaimed, and took note of her bantering prowess. It was a bigger turn-on
than any superficial thing that’d first drawn me to her.

“Seems
she’s still not over her ex. Some sophomore.” I gave my story added layers of
lunacy.

“Wow.
He must’ve been some guy.”

“Right?”
I could’ve gone on forever if it weren’t for the bell, screaming that we were
already late for class—the empty halls should’ve been indicator enough.

“I
even caught him creeping around and pushing her buttons when I hit the bathroom
yesterday.”

“Two-timer!!!”
Catee spit it with such conviction that I couldn’t help but laugh, and I broke
the artificial seriousness of our moment.

“So,
honestly,” I finally admitted. “I had a beef with the guy I was supposed to
locker-share with, and now I’m high school homeless.”

“Well,
mister, you’re in luck, because space just became available at my place,” she
offered with a smile. “And you’re more than welcome to move in at your earliest
convenience.”

“Thanks.
That’s decent of you, Catee.” As tempted as I was to take her up on the offer,
uncontrollable images of Justin, glaring down at me, spiraled through my head.
“But I’m looking at this other piece of property tomorrow. It’s in a real nice
neighborhood and all. Plus, its two levels,
and
it’s got a great school
nearby.”

“From
what I’ve seen and heard, the school’s not so hot. Even the neighborhood’s
pretty questionable, if you ask me.”

She
scored double points for her shared sentiment. Still, I couldn’t ignore the
Sword of Damocles that dangled over me. It was a lose-lose situation. If I took
her up on the offer, Justin would cave my skull in; if I didn’t, I’d wind-up
with a broken back before long.

“I’ll
keep it in mind,” I answered with a grin.

“The
offer’s on the table, Damian. You just let me know.”

Silence
settled briefly over us before she took the initiative to part ways. “Well,
I’ve got to get going, but I’ll catch you in class tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sounds
great. Can’t wait.”

And
with that, she turned to go. But something in me wouldn’t let it end there.

“Hey,
Catee!” Louder than expected, my voice bounced off the steely surface of the
hall’s locker-lined sides.

“Yeah?”
she turned and asked.

“Ummm
…… Thanks?” As much as I willed words to my lips, they evaded me. I found only
one. And even it came out sounding like an awkward question.

“For
what?”

“You
know. For everything … just … thanks. That’s all.”

“It’s
my treat.” She replied with finality and filled the hall with her radiant
smile. “Try to have an upright afternoon, Damian.” And with that, the girl of
my dreams turned and disappeared.

It
might’ve seemed insignificant, but Catee saved me that day. And in doing so,
she opened a door that invited me into her world.
 
And once inside, as reviling as things
might become, there’ll be no escaping without taking her with me.
 
I owe it to her—to return the
favor and to save her like she did for me that afternoon—when locker
partners and teenage rivalries were still consequential, and before loved ones turned
symbols for what we hate most today.
 

September
4
^th:

“So,
tell me your High, and tell me your Low.”

We
were sitting to dinner—my parents, Nicole, and me—and Mom addressed
the table with her predictable prompt.

“Well,
since it’s brains before beauty, and since I’m currently leading in both
departments, I guess I’ll have to start,” my dad joked and laid down his fork
to seize first turn.

“Oh,
God. Here we go,” I remarked.

My
sister rolled her eyes, cut away at her pork chop, and said nothing in response
to his poking fun at us.

Mom
laid down her fork and brought her elbows to the table. She rested her chin on
interlocked fingers and moved to attentive, listening mode.

“I’ll
start with my Low, because I know that’s what Mom likes.” My dad gave her a
wink that brought a smile to her face. “So, my Low is that Mike’s going to be
out of the garage for a few days. One of the cars came down from the lift this
afternoon, and wouldn’t you know it, that goof was just standing there! The
thing parked itself right on his foot!”

“That’s
awful!” Mom gasped. “Is he okay!?”

“Yup.
Nothing major. Lucky kid. Broke a few toes, but aside from that, he’ll be fine.
Learned his lesson, though. I bet he’ll get out of the way quicker next time.”

“So
what’s that mean for the shop?” Mom asked.

“Well,
with him out, I’ll have to double up for the next few days, at least till he’s
on his feet again. Next week, I’m thinking.”

“Well,
that doesn’t sound
so
bad,” Mom replied, still traumatized by the
thought of Mike’s crunching bones.

“And
for my High … hmmmm … Okay, this is a good one. You guys are going to laugh.”

“We
need it after that disgusting Low,” Nicole spoke up.

“Okay,
get ready for it …… So this guy came into the shop today driving this vintage
Mercedes. Mint. Shame such a gorgeous car’s wasted on Madison.”

“So
what about it?” I saw a tangent coming and pushed him forward.

“Well,
the guy said he was having issues with some clanging from underneath.”

“And?”
I prodded him to give up the dramatic pauses he liked to embed in his stories.

“Well,
we couldn’t see anything from looking under it, so we got it up on the lift.
And wasn’t he surprised by what I pulled from the block.”

“What
was it?” we asked in excited unison.

“Would
you believe it …… A collar and leash!! There wasn’t anything wrong with the
guy’s car, after all …… It was someone’s dog that had the real problem!!!!” And
with that, he kicked back in his chair and roared in laughter at his disturbing
share.

“That’s
not funny at all!” Nicole screamed out. “That’s morbid!”

“Darryl,
that’s not funny for the dinner table,” Mom’s smile slipped from her face and
landed in her mashed potatoes. “Just think of that poor dog’s owner! They must
be sick!”

“I’m
the one who’s going to be sick!” Nicole interrupted.

“I
think it’s pretty funny, dad,” I jumped to save him from their playful
scolding, but I was helpless to do the same thing when he really needed me,
months later. It was already too late when the live feed interrupted the evening
news.

I
sat alone, screaming in horror.
 
Tears soaked my face as the pallid swarmed on him from all directions.
And seconds later, the reporter disappeared from sight. Then the cameraman,
too. His recording crashed to the ground and fixated itself crookedly on the
front of Dad’s shop.

I
saw nothing more, but the audio captured it all. And my tears turned to rivers
as I scoured the living room for his phone. I called my mom, who’d left us the
night before. I called Nicole, then Catee. But no one answered, and the
gruesome images of my dad were the last I saw or heard from anyone. I couldn’t
wait anymore; it was out of control. And I moved into the pantry, alone.

I’ve
never been religious, but before my actions register, my eyes close in a
whispering prayer: “Please God. I know I don’t talk to you often, and I know I
always seem to want something when I do. But I promise, if just this one time,
you can make sure everyone’s safe—even Nicole—I promise to talk to
you every day from here on out. I promise, I’ll be a totally new person. Just
this one, last time … Just this one, last favor …… That’s all I need, God.
Please.”

When
I’m done, I look bleary-eyed to the planks above. The silence and stillness
surrounds me in deafening, white noise.

“Nicole,
why don’t you go next,” Mom moved the dinner-share forward with a final, disapproving
look at my dad—she scolded him for the dog-dragging story later on, I’m
sure.

“Okay,
but I’ve only been on campus for a few days, and I’ve been totally busy, so I
haven’t had much time for anything but my classes and my new roommate, Meghan.”

I
got the sense that whatever she said from there was going to be lame, so I
resumed eating and only half-listening.