Responsible (6 page)

“No,” he said in a low voice, and then he let go of me.

For a second the little room whirled around me like I'd twisted myself around and around on a swing and then let go and gone spinning in the opposite direction. I grabbed the edge of the sink with both hands.

“I put it in my pocket and I took the car over to Melanson's to get it fixed.”

I looked at him then. “You did what?”

“There was no name. No wallet. And there was enough money to get everything done so the car would pass inspection. There was enough to pay next month's rent and to buy groceries—something other than cornflakes, Kraft dinner and powdered milk.” Now it was him who couldn't look at me.

“So the whole thing was a fake.” I pulled my voice lower and mimicked him. “Oh no, I never considered keeping the money.” Where did he get off lecturing me about doing the right thing? “You freaking phony.” I started out of the bathroom, but his hand shot out and caught the neck of my shirt.

“But I didn't get the new brakes and tires for the car. I didn't pay old man Barton the rent.” Now he was looking at me. “I went to the police station and I turned in the money.”

“But you almost didn't.”

“Yeah, and my stomach felt like I'd drunk a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner. I wanted to be able to look at myself in the
mirror every morning when I shaved and not be ashamed.” Dad let go of my shirt. “I told you, Kevin. The right thing is not the same as the easy thing.” He pushed past me and went back into the kitchen.

I stood there, hanging onto the doorframe until my stomach settled and the pain slid down a couple of degrees. Then I wobbled back to my chair. There was half a cold pancake floating in syrup on my plate, but I didn't feel like eating anymore. Dad stood at the counter with his back to me, hands wrapped around a coffee cup. “The right thing doesn't always get you money and a parade, Kev. Sometimes all it gets
you is a fifty and a handshake. Sometimes you get worse.”

There was a knock at the door of the trailer. Dad looked over at me. “Don't move,” he said. I couldn't have if I'd wanted to.

He opened the door. A blond man with jeans and a dark blue sweater was standing there. He didn't live in the park, and his hair was too long for him to be one of the holy rollers out to save our souls. We got a lot of them around the park.

“Mr. Frasier?” the man said. “I'm Michael Tennant. Erin's father.”

“Erin?” Dad said. Then he got it. “The girl that...”

Erin's father nodded and offered his hand. “Yes.” They shook hands.

“Could I talk to you for a moment?” Mr. Tennant asked. “It won't take long.”

Dad stepped back. “Sure, c'mon in.”

Crap! I wished he didn't have to see the inside of the trailer. Not that the outside was so impressive.

“How's your daughter?” Dad asked.

“She's all right, because of your son.” He turned to look at me, swallowing as he studied my face. “Thank you, Kevin, for everything you did for Erin.” He shook his head. “I had no idea he'd been this badly hurt.”

“I'm all right,” I said. “It just looks... bad.” I sounded lame.

Mr. Tennant pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

Dad shook his head. “No.”

What did he mean, no? The guy hadn't done anything.

“Mr. Frasier, I just want to say thank you. When I think about what could have happened...” He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.

“You have said thank you,” Dad said. “We can't take your money.”

What was this
we
stuff? The man had been about to give
me
the money. Not Dad. And I could take his money. Going by his clothes, he wasn't exactly broke.

Mr. Tennant looked at Dad. “Wait. You're the guy who was on the news. You
found all that money and gave it back.” Dad nodded. “What do you do?” Erin's dad asked.

“I can do just about anything,” Dad said. “But mostly construction. I've been looking for a job. The last one I had was just...temporary. I'm looking for something a little more permanent.”

“I know quite a few people around this area,” Erin's father said. “If you won't let me give the boy any money, at least let me ask around, put in a good word, maybe find you something.”

Dad hesitated. Don't blow this one off, I thought. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “I...I'd appreciate that.”

They shook hands again. “If he needs anything, please let me know,” Mr. Tennant said, inclining his head toward me.

“Thank you.”

As he turned to go I blurted, “Please tell Erin...tell her I'm sorry and I hope she's okay.”

Erin's dad smiled. “She is. Thanks to you.” Outside, on the steps of the trailer,
he stopped. “Erin isn't going back to that school. I'm having her transferred into the next district. If you want to do the same thing and they give you any hassle, you let me know.”

“We will,” Dad said. He came back in and picked up his coffee cup.

“Why didn't you let me have the money?” I asked.

“Is that why you helped that girl? For money?”

“No, but—” I didn't get a chance to finish.

“Is that why you got the crap pounded out of you?”

“No.”

Dad put down the cup and folded his arms across his chest. “You did what you did because it was the right thing. Not the easy thing. Not the safe thing. And not to get paid.”

I wasn't sure I'd done what I'd done because it was the right thing. I'd helped Erin because, in the end, I couldn't not help her. Was that what doing the right thing
meant? And did it make it any less right if I took that money? Erin would still be safe and I'd still be black and blue.

“I'm not going to another school,” I said. If I couldn't have the money, then he couldn't make me switch schools. “I'm not running away like a girl.”

“You like being a punching bag?” Dad said. “You want to lose that eye for real?”

“Those guys have probably been arrested by now. They're not going to be in school.”

“Yeah, but their friends are.”

I struggled to my feet and started toward my room. “Nick's a jerk. No one will feel bad because he's gone. I'm not going somewhere else.”

“We're not finished,” he called after me.

“Yeah, we are,” I said as I closed the door. I didn't know if he'd heard me, and I didn't care.

The bruises changed color a little every day. Every morning, Dad went out looking for work. I spent most of my time hanging around the trailer. Charlie checked in three or four times a day. I slept a lot, played
Doom Master
and sat outside with the cats. I thought a lot about Erin.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. In the phone book I looked up where she lived. Dad kept a bunch of maps in the car.
I drank half a carton of milk that night at supper so we'd be out. When he left to walk down to the convenience store, I went out to the car, found the map with Ellerton on it and looked for Erin's street.

It wasn't even that far away. I figured Erin probably hadn't started her new school yet. She had bruises too. I knew once Charlie checked up on me after lunch the next day I'd have at least an hour before he came back. Charlie never missed
The Young and the Restless
.

And that's how it went. As soon as Charlie was gone, so was I. I was stiff, but I didn't mind the walk. I hadn't exactly figured out what I was going to do or say when I got to Erin's house. I stood at the bottom of the driveway, wondering if I should just walk up to the door and ring the bell, when I saw her come around the side of the house with a big black dog. I started up the driveway, and the dog began to bark. I saw Erin freeze. Then she saw it was me. She called the dog and held it by the collar. “You're a good boy,” I heard
her say, patting it on the head. I stopped at the edge of the lawn. “What are you doing here?” Erin said. Her hair had been cut short and sort of fluffy. It looked good.

The dog had stopped barking. It sat beside her, watching me. I got the feeling it would be quite happy to use my leg for a chew toy.

“I...I wanted to see if you're okay.”

“Well, now you've seen me and you can see that I am,” she said.

Jeez, what was the matter with her? “Why are you so pissed off?” I said.

“Oh, how should I be, Kevin? Should I be grateful, is that it? Or am I supposed to feel sorry for you because you got your face kicked in?”

“Hey, I helped you. Nick could have... you know.”

“So? One time you did the right thing. Do you think that makes up for all the times you were one of them? For the times you stuffed dead things in my locker and spread rumors about me? Well, guess what? I don't want to be your friend, and
if you think I'm going to get all stupid and weepy over you saving me, well, forget it. You're still a jerk.”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I didn't know what to say. I shoved my hands in my pockets, turned and walked away.

The next morning there was a plastic grocery bag hanging on the trailer door. Inside was my sweatshirt, washed and folded.

After a week at home, I was going a little crazy. I just didn't care that much about
The Young and the Restless
—although I wasn't dumb enough to say that in front of Charlie. Dad gave in on me going back to the school. Nick and the guys were gone. I figured a lot of people were probably happy about that.

The second I stepped in the building, I knew something was wrong. I could feel
people looking at me, but it was like I smelled or something—no one came near me.

At lunchtime I found
Snitch
had been sprayed on my locker in fluorescent pink paint. Inside, a dead rat hung from the shelf with a little noose around its neck. There was a sticky note stuck to its chest with
Kevin
written on it. I wanted to run. Nobody cared what Nick had tried to do to Erin. All they cared about was that I had told. I'd done the right thing and it didn't matter. Not to Erin. Not to anyone. I wasn't even getting fifty bucks and a handshake. I was getting squat.

I got a bag of chips from one of the machines instead of going to the cafeteria. It was cold outside, and it looked like it was going to rain. I went out anyway and sat on one of the big rocks close to the football field, away from the school and away from the picnic tables. I ducked my head down and pulled my jacket around me, wondering if I should just go home.

All of a sudden I was swarmed by a group of kids, mostly guys, but some girls too.
My heart felt like it was going to come out of my chest, it was pounding so hard. I got to my feet.

“You don't know how to keep your mouth shut,” someone said.

Then someone else said, “Tattletales belong in kindergarten. You should learn to stay out of things that aren't your business.” Someone pushed me. Then someone else. They shoved me back and forth. I struggled to keep my balance and stay on my feet.

“Look, just leave me alone,” I said. I took a sucker punch in the stomach that knocked the wind out of me. I doubled over, wheezing.

“What's the trouble,” someone sneered. “Is the rat having trouble breathing?”

Just then a loud voice said, “Knock it off.” Several kids looked around. “I said knock it off.”

It was my dad. Charlie was with him in his shades and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbows. You could see his tattoos and his muscles.

“Get the hell away from my son,” Dad said. He pushed his way through the group and put his hand on my back.

“You heard the man,” another voice said. It was Mr. Harris. He called each of the eight or nine kids around me by name and said, “Report to my office now.” A couple of the guys started to complain. “Stuff it,” he said. “Both of you. I don't want to hear it right now. All I want to see are the backs of your heads moving toward my office.”

They started straggling across the grass. I'd gotten my breath again and straightened up. Dad kept his hand on my back. Charlie hadn't moved so much as a muscle.

“Are you all right?” Mr. Harris asked. I nodded.

He turned to Dad. “Mr. Frasier, I apologize. You were right. You have my word I'll deal with this.”

“Yeah, well, no offense,” Dad said, “but your word isn't worth much to me right now.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “We're going home.” We started for the front of the school.

“You knew something like this was going to happen,” I said.

“I guessed.”

“What were you doing? Watching the school from the time I got here?”

“More or less. Me. Charlie. Couple of kids Charlie knows inside.” Charlie smiled at me, just a little.

The car was at the curb. “How did you get the car fixed?” I asked.

“I sold a couple of things,” Dad said.

“What things?”

“Oh, some blood, a kidney, you know, nothing serious.” He tossed the car keys to Charlie, who still hadn't said a word.

We went to the drive-thru at Burger Doodle and took the food back to the trailer. “Thanks,” Dad said to Charlie.

“Not a problem.” He took the bag with his two double cheeseburgers. “It's almost time for my show. Let me know if you need anything else.”

It wasn't until I'd finished eating that I noticed the Goldtop was gone. “Dad, where's your guitar?” I asked.

“It's right there.”

“No,” I said. “The Goldtop. Where is it?”

“I sold it,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

“Sold it? What do you mean, sold it? Why?”

He looked up at me then. “We needed the money.”

“We've been broke before and you never sold it.”

Dad looked at me for a long moment before he answered. “Yeah, well, maybe that was my mistake,” he said at last.