Tap Out (18 page)

I return for my milk. “All set?”

She nods and hands over the carton.

“Sorry about that. You have a nice evening.” I walk away, and she doesn't respond. My dinner shifts along my crotch but does not fall out. I pass the docs, who keep talking. The old man takes a sip of his soup and then goes back to staring at the bowl. I pass through the doors, and there are no alarms or security guards. Go me. I'm eating tonight.

M
iss Myers smiles at us from the blackboard, where she's written an outline on one side and “Thesis” on the other. I can't read the thesis because her fucking head is in the way. But it doesn't matter. I've just got to get through this class and then it's time for me to shine for Rob.

“I want you to follow the outline here. It will make my life easier.” Myers smiles and steps in front of the outline, revealing the thesis. I read it before she does, aloud, “Man's true self is revealed when the boundaries of society have been stripped away.” Her face is set to serious when she turns to us. “Think about this and which characters and their actions speak to its sentiment.”

I don't have a fucking clue. The last part I remember about this stupid-ass book we've been reading is about this Jack kid and his fucking mask, but I do remember somebody in here talking about a pig getting crushed by a rock. Or maybe it was that fat fuck, Piggy?

I read the thesis again, just to focus. Man's true self? Hmm. I can write about that. Maybe not the way she wants it, but if she really is interested in what a man can do when he has no fear of getting caught, well, now I've got something to write.

The pencil moves itself and works over three pages and to the bell. I'm not even sure of what's there, but when Myers sees the volume, her face brightens. “Tony, I didn't think you read the story.”

I hand over the essay. “Me neither.”

I turn out the door, directly into Big O. There's no going around him, so I look up and say, “Hey.”

“Don't ‘hey' me, Antioch. My office. We need to talk.”

I knew it would come to this. Coach Dan said he'd been in touch with the big man, but that doesn't mean shit. Big O does as he pleases. I've seen that much. My gym membership is about to be revoked. Shit, maybe I can make another deal for the Front and then be all set. No. Shit, no. That's not even funny.

There's a large folder sitting in the middle of his desk, and I read the label before sitting down:
Antioch, Tony
. My record. Shit.

Big O swings in from behind me after closing his door. “As you can see, I've pulled your record.” He hesitates a second at the corner of his desk, hand extended to the file, but not touching it. “To be honest, I was surprised by what I found.”

He sits and I relax in my own chair because he wants to give some speech on my life and how I should spend the rest of the school year. I'm pretty sure I've heard this one before. I wonder if he has anything interesting to add, or will it be about how I am wasting my talents? There's no waste when there's no opportunity.

“Don't you want to know what was so surprising?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

Big O frowns and the skin on his bald head tucks around his eyes. “I don't get you, Antioch, not one bit.” He flips open the cover, and there are pictures of me from when I was
younger paper clipped inside. They're the school pics that my mom never bought. Pages of notes and typed forms fill the rest. Big O finds a tab amidst all the pages and thumbs it, turning to a page of charts and graphs. He places a meaty finger next to one. “This is what I didn't understand. When you were ten, your IQ was 120.” He turns the page toward me, and I see a set of numbers and percent signs, but they mean nothing, now. I understand what they indicate, but that's old news.

“So?”

He pulls the page back. “So?
So?
Don't you understand what that means?”

Of course I do. I'm smart. I've known that since Kindergarten, when I could read all the signs around the classroom and the other kids couldn't tell A from Z. Who gives a fuck? Give me that same test now, and I'd probably come up retarded. I sink in my chair. “It's a pretty good score.”

“Pretty good?” Big O says it all flat, like there's no air in his lungs. Then he laughs, just like Franks. “I guess compared to your score in eighth grade. You remember that?”

How could I forget? Mrs. Danielson practically creamed herself when she found out. Hugged me and smiled her big-ass bleached teeth, telling me I'd be in the gifted and talented program at the high school. Then my mom wouldn't sign the papers, or forgot, or passed out and puked on them. Who knows? All that came of those tests is nothing. But I remember the score. “One thirty, right?” I look up.

Big O stares at me, trying to keep eye contact. But I break. “Your name came up quite a bit before you got here. They talked about how smart you are, and what a shame it was. I figured it was just some fluke, because you were enrolled in the Vo-Tec program.” He pauses. “You didn't give me any reason to doubt my instincts.”

I look at the file, probably filled with referrals for all the trouble I've been in, and reports about all the shit at home. Big O's right, I am a fuck-up, and maybe at one time I was smart and had a chance, but what does that matter now? “So what's your point?”

Big O goes to say something, his mouth open to the side, but then he clamps it and shakes his head. “This is why I've been working with Coach Dan, who, by the way, has told me things have been rocky, but seem good now. Is that right?”

I nod. That about sums it up.

Big O grins. “Good. Keep it that way. Now, what's your plan for next year?”

I laugh. “I don't have a plan for tomorrow.”

“That's what I figured.” He inches forward in his chair. “What if I could get you a scholarship? Could get you into college, a regular college?”

I stare at the floor, even though I understand that at this point I should be staring into his face all shocked. But he's either delusional or just fucking around. What he just said is like telling me that Santa's real. “How you going to do that?”

“I've got ways, connections, so to speak. And with your IQ,
not
your grades, I could sell your potential. You're staying out of trouble, helping Rob. All good things.”

I hear his words and picture what he's saying. It's like a faded memory resurfacing. All the shit they said before about my bright future. Fuck, I remember how that felt. A bunch of adults who had their shit together, weren't falling down drunk or getting hit by their boyfriends. They looked at me like something special, not the white trash I was, am. That may be the best I have ever felt about myself. But none of that shit ever happened. Nothing they said ever worked out, so I just forgot about it, pushed those emotions down and moved on.
That's what you do in life. Take shit and keep going.

That's why I dealt for the Front. Not that I wanted to, I had to. And fuck, if Big O knew about that, there's no way we'd be having this conversation. It's not right for me to even entertain the dream again. Rekindling those embers is impossible.

“Why do you care?” I look at him now.

Big O sits back, his eyes wincing. It takes him a moment to find the words. “I've got my reasons, Tony.” He looks toward the door, but more beyond it. “You remind me of someone in particular, someone else I helped in the past.” He looks at me again. “I've tried to help others, since, but they weren't made of the same stuff. You're different. I know it and you know it.”

“What about Rob? You're helping him, right? You saying we're the same?”

Big O grins. “It's different with Rob, but similar. He'll get his chance with Coach Dan. I don't think he understood when we brought this to him. Coach Dan will mentor him so that he can become a trainer. Dan wants to open another gym. This could be an excellent opportunity for him. But it's finite. Like him. You have more potential.”

Potential?
Fuck, the last time I heard that word about me regarding school I felt as good as I did the other night with Coach Dan. He sees something in me. And I guess so does Big O. But none of that potential from last time ever amounted to shit. What's the difference now? I don't think it matters if I have all this possibility. What I need is a way to use it. I don't know if this is the answer. “I don't know.”

Big O holds up a hand. “Not now. Just think. There are conditions to these things, and I'll need to know by January.” He sighs and sits back. “But for now, just think. Please, Tony.”

We clap for the pair who just finished showing us how brakes and rotors work, even though it was the most boring presentation yet. My brain is asleep. These lame-ass PowerPoints are like a fucking narcotic, and Greyson's making us go last because our presentation is different. Rob's leg has been thrumming faster with each one, though, and is about to dislocate from his hip at this point. I turn to him. I want to talk to him about what Big O said, but now is not the time. “Fucking chill.”

He stops his leg. “We're up after these two.” His eyes dance, and there's no point in talking. He's as amped as Amy was this morning, talking about having to take care of so much now that Char's living with her. The girl's a vegetable. Won't speak. Barely sleeps. Her mom's nowhere to be found. Took off the same night Char returned. Probably put two and two together and bailed. Can't say I blame her, except she should have taken Char with her. She's living with Amy because there was nowhere else for her to go. A bike rumbles in the distance and she cowers. I don't know what the fuck they did, but I think they ruined her. And Amy says, “I've got my own shit to worry about.” Whatever that means.

“Tim, Steve, ready?” Greyson closes out the previous presentation on his laptop, and the projector displays the background—his Hemi engine. Tim shakes his head, and Steve looks at the floor. Greyson frowns. “Seems as if we have only one more presentation.” He pauses. “Rob, Tony, will you please?”

Rob springs up like we're at the gym. I follow. He goes to the truck while Greyson opens the bay and I get the oil and antifreeze. The truck starts right up, and I hear Rob shout,
“Fuck yeah!” before rolling in. Greyson shuts the door, and Rob pops the hood. I join him, and we get started.

“We've got the lubrication and cooling unit. In case you haven't figured that out by now.” Rob smiles and the grease monkeys do as well, more awake than they've been all afternoon. “So Tone and I are goin' to show you the ins and outs of checking levels, proper maintenance, and troubleshooting problems with each.”

I look over at Greyson, and his face is lit up brighter than one of the shop bulbs. This is the shit for him; it's obvious, and I feel good seeing that. He's been good to us. Because of him I know my way around enough to make it. Rob's a natural. Took to this shit like he did fighting. So I'm glad we spent the three hours we did last night after I got back from the hospital getting the beast to work, even though I'm exhausted and feel like a douche just standing here with these fucking bottles. But whatever, I'm along for the ride. And being on this ride with Rob is a good thing.

I move to my spot for our first demo.

“I think Greyson would have sucked your cock if you'd asked him.” I laugh and Rob keeps smiling, the same one he's had since he started that presentation.

“You might as well, because I sure as shit ain't doing it.” Amy breathes heavily, like she's been running.

I look at her to see where she's headed with the joke, but she's serious and seems pissed off.

“Whatever. Rob did a kick-ass job, and he'll do the same when he fights. Girls'll be crawling all over him. Won't need your crusty ass.” I slap Rob's back. His smile has faded.