Sway (27 page)

Grim grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pounded a few quick jabs to my face. I saw an explosion of stars and then, mercifully, nothing.

I don't know how long I was unconscious. Long enough that by the time I woke, Grim and Rob were long gone. I fought with my jacket to remove my phone from my pocket. Once the phone was in my hand, I was so exhausted that I rested for another eternity before holding up the lighted display so I could see it. My arm swayed as the muscles couldn't respond to my brain's directions and my vision doubled as I searched my contacts for Carter's number. I struggled to remain conscious while I waited for him to answer.

“Hey, Sway,” he said into the phone, sounding glad to hear from me.

“Carter,” I said, my voice hoarse and strained, like the sound of a creaky screen door.

“Sway? That you?”

“I need your help.”

“Tell me where you are,” he said, “and I'm already there.”

*   *   *

Somehow I made it into the T-Bird and slumped across the front seat before passing out again. My world went to black and the next thing I knew Carter Goldsmith was standing over me.

“Sway? You in there, bro?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm here, Carter,” I croaked. My busted lip split again when I opened my mouth to speak, and hot blood poured into my mouth. I started to gag on it and Carter helped me to sit so I could spit the saliva and blood onto the pavement.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“I had it coming,” I said, avoiding the question. “I can't drive. But I need to get out of here.”

“Sway, I hate to be the one to point out the obvious,” Carter said, “but you're in a hospital parking lot. Seems to me the thing to do is go inside, ask for some help.”

“No,” I said, but it came out as a groan. “They see me like this, they'll call the cops. No cops.”

“You want me to take you home?”

I shook my head and immediately regretted it. “No. Not home. Joey's, if you'll take me. Her mom will be at work.”

“Of course, I'll take you, baby. Scooch over.”

Carter commandeered the T-Bird and my phone while I slumped against the inside of the passenger door. Streetlights burned into the car window, a continuous streak of painful light as we passed beneath them on the drive to Joey's house.

“I told him,” Carter was saying into my phone, “but he wouldn't let me take him into the hospital.”

Pause.

“I'm bringing him to you,” Carter said, the direction of his voice telling me that he had turned his head to look at me. “Best you be prepared. It's bad.”

*   *   *

At Joey's house she was waiting for us on the front stoop and came out to the car to support one side of me while Carter managed the other. A light rain had started to fall and the coolness of it felt good on my beaten face. They put me on Joey's bed as she ran to get some ice and a washcloth. I curled into the fetal position on my side as Joey placed a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel across my eyes and wiped the blood and gore from my face.

I was dimly aware as Carter removed my shoes and jacket and placed his enormous hand over the back of my head as a comfort. “I'll fuck the dude up if you tell me who it was,” Carter said, and Joey shushed him.

“He doesn't want that,” she said as she wiped gently at the split skin on my cheekbone.

In the haze between consciousness and oblivion I mumbled crazy shit and started to shake with cold. Joey covered me with a blanket, then curled up on her narrow bed beside me and held me close as she stroked my hair. Carter sat behind the bend in my legs and they warmed me with the heat from their bodies.

“I wanted to die,” I said into my chest, my voice a grunt as I jerked with another shudder of cold. “I want to die.”

“I know,” Joey said, and shushed me and kissed me on the forehead. “I know. But you can't die. If you die, I'll be all alone.”

“Shit,” Carter said, and I felt him start to shake with quiet sobs as I drifted into the black.

Neutral Milk Hotel's “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” drifted through the air from Joey's iPod, and I remember thinking how appropriate it would be to die listening to that song.

 

THIRTY-SIX

I put the car into park and turned off the windshield wipers. The rain was coming down in sheets and I didn't move to get out of the car, just sat back in my seat and idly rubbed my lower lip as I played possible scenarios over in my mind.

“When we get inside, you let me do the talking,” I said. “You don't say a word. Just be cool and play it the way I told you. With a little luck he'll be in a good mood.”

Andrew's eyes were wide. He was scared, which showed he at least had some sense.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked as he squinted through the rain at the forlorn trailer, the torn and grimy screens on the windows.

“You said you wanted to be popular, right?” I asked dully.

Andrew swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Yeah, that's what I want.”

“Well, then, let's go.”

The rain drummed on the siding of Digger's trailer, a hollow sound magnified by my uneasiness. I rapped hard on the aluminum screen door before I had time to convince myself this was a bad idea.

Digger's smile was forced and fake, but he beckoned for me to come inside. “Who's this?” he asked as he shut and locked the door behind us. “Your other retarded kid brother?”

“This is Andrew,” I said. “Just a friend of mine. Not retarded,” I added for clarification.

“Randy's here,” Digger said with a gesture to the living room suite, as if I hadn't noticed the hulking giant lounging on the velour love seat a mere five paces away.

Randy was Digger's very large, very inbred cousin who also happened to be very dumb and very mean. My scrotum shriveled. If Digger had invited Randy to our meeting, I didn't expect things to go down well for me, but I played dumb, feigned indifference to Randy's presence.

“Hey, Randy,” I said with a nod.

The ape only grunted as he shoveled a handful of Cheetos into his mouth and wiped the cheese dust from his hands onto his jeans.
Hoo boy.

“What happened to your face?” Digger asked me, studying the purple bruises that had started to green around the edges and the split skin on my cheekbone.

“I walked into a door,” I said, and Digger hooted with laughter.

“Man,” Digger said with a shake of his head as he moved to sit in his throne, leaving Andrew and me the only ones standing, “when you said you weren't going to be coming around anymore, I thought it was some kind of joke.”

I nodded my head at Andrew, gesturing for him to sit on the unoccupied love seat while Randy kept a glare fixed on us.

Digger didn't move to fill a bong hit. Not a good sign. He just twisted his chair from side to side with his feet while he sat back looking at me.

I fought the urge to clear my throat before saying, “It had to happen sooner or later. I'm not going to stick around here forever. As soon as they give me that piece of paper in June, I'll be gone.”

“Gone where?” Digger asked with an inquisitive frown.

I shrugged. “Anywhere. Not here.”

“So, who's this kid?” Digger asked.

Randy shifted in his seat as the tension in the room became palpable.

“Andrew is my replacement,” I said slowly. “I brought him here for a job interview.”

The corner of Digger's mouth lifted in a half smile as he stole a glance at Randy.

“Job interview? You got any references, kid?” Digger asked.

Andrew just looked to me and didn't speak.

“He's a good kid,” I said. “Knows how to keep his mouth shut. And he doesn't use, so he won't smoke his profits.”

“And so? What? I'm just supposed to trust you on this?” Digger asked.

I shrugged. “I guess you've trusted me for this long and you aren't badly off for it.”

Digger was nodding now in silent agreement but he still didn't look convinced.

“I'll train him, show him the ropes,” I continued, speaking slowly so I didn't sound nervous. “He gets good grades, stays out of trouble. He's the last person anyone would suspect.”

“And then what?” Digger asked. “I suppose you don't want to be my friend anymore either. You're going to stop hanging out?” As he said this, he cut his eyes away. I noticed his cheeks go a little red and I realized suddenly that Digger wasn't mad because I'd left him holding the bag; he was angry because I had hurt his feelings.

For once, I found myself speechless. There was an awkward silence while Digger tried to keep his face expressionless and I thought about how to handle this new development.

“Man, are you joking?” I asked. “I'm totally into that
Sons of Anarchy
show. I thought we were going to watch the rest of season one together. What did you think I meant—that I was never going to see you again?”

Digger's eyes brightened, and I swear he almost grinned. “Yeah … sure, yeah, of course I knew you didn't mean … well … you know,” Digger said, playing it cool, but his obvious emotion was as awkward as a junior high school dance.

To cover his embarrassment, Digger reached for the tray of pot and started to load a bong hit. He offered the first hit to Andrew. Initiation. Andrew took it well. He was obviously clueless and had never smoked pot before, but he didn't show any hesitation or act too nervous about it. I started to relax by degrees and my heart slowed to a resting pace.

We ended up staying long enough to order a pizza and watch an episode of
Sons of Anarchy.
As it turned out, Andrew and Digger were into some of the same video games so they talked about Minecraft and other douchey things that were foreign to me. It made me think of Pete and his ridiculous sci-fi books.

When we finally left, Digger stood in the doorway, one hip leaned against the doorjamb as he watched us go. “So, I'll see you soon, right?” Digger called after me.

“Yeah, I'll see you, man,” I called over my shoulder with a wave.

“He seems like an okay guy. Maybe a little nuts,” Andrew said as he settled back into the passenger seat. “Do you trust him?”

“Wolves and lambs can never be of one mind,” I said absently as I put the key in the ignition but didn't turn on the car.

“What does that mean?” Andrew asked, and as he did I was reminded that I missed Pete as my sidekick.

“You talk too much,” I said as my phone started to play Joey's ringtone, Gnarls Barkley's “Crazy.”

“How'd it go?” I asked by way of answering.

“It went okay,” Joey said. “She's straight cray, but I think I can get through to her.”

“You didn't go anywhere near her at her school, did you?” I asked. “If anyone saw you together, this isn't going to work.”

“No one saw me,” Joey said impatiently. “I was careful.”

“How smart is she?” I asked. “Do you think she would understand the risk?”

“Maybe not,” Joey admitted. “But I'm not sure she would care even if she did. She hates him.”

There was a long silence while Joey waited and I made up my mind. “Okay. Do it. Call me and let me know how it goes as soon as you talk to her again.”

A weary sigh. “Okay, fine. You realize you're putting yourself at risk with this idea. I'm not sure I understand why you're doing this—”

“You don't need to understand,” I said as I started the car.

 

THIRTY-SEVEN

That Saturday was homecoming. I missed the parade around the outdoor track. I missed the game at which Buford High delivered a crushing defeat of 35–7. As I walked into the cafeteria, now transformed by Gray Dabson's homecoming committee into a theatrically lighted landscape of papier-mâché and balloons and glitter, I saw David and Heather having their homecoming portrait taken. They both waved to me and I gave them a salute but didn't stop to talk. I was only there for specific business.

I was hanging back in the shadows at the dance when Bridget arrived on Ken's arm, looking like an angel in a simple, pale pink dress, her hair knotted in a French braid laced with a spray of tiny pink flowers. Soon after they arrived, Ken abandoned her to take up his royal duties for the opening dance. He left Bridget standing alone near the window where students dropped their dirty lunch trays on a conveyor. The window was discreetly covered by a cluster of balloons but still reeked of stale cooking grease and sour milk.

Bridget stood alone, her girlfriends all busy with their dates, and all other guys afraid to approach her and risk Ken's wrath. It had been a few days since she and I last spoke and I wondered if Pete had finally told her. He never could keep his mouth shut.

As I drew close, her smile told me that Pete had said nothing about the reason for our fight, which surprised me. Or maybe he told her and she had already forgiven me, which would not surprise me at all.

“You look beautiful,” I said to her by way of greeting.

“Thanks,” she said as her hand strayed nervously up to stroke a wayward strand of hair at the nape of her neck. “Who did you come with?”

“I came alone. I'm not staying. Just stopping by for a dance with you,” I said honestly.

She laughed but sobered quickly as she watched my expression. “You're serious?” she asked.

“As serious as cancer. But we don't have much time,” I said with a gesture to the dance floor. “Once Ken and Theresa are finished with their homecoming court activities, he's going to want you back.”

I took her hand and she followed me onto the dance floor, where she put one hand on my shoulder; the other rested lightly in mine. Ken and Theresa were in the center of the dance floor in their plastic crowns, Theresa radiant, Ken as stiff as a virgin in a strip club.