The Bubble Wrap Boy (17 page)

I
spent the better part of an hour sitting on my board by Dora's feet, talking to her like she was my therapist instead of a long-lost relative.

She didn't offer much in the way of answers, but I knew she was listening. Her eyes didn't leave mine, not for a second.

“What I don't get,” I babbled, well into my stride after an awkward start, “is why they kept it from me. I mean, it's not like I'm a kid—I'm not going to break into a million pieces just because I hear about you. And as for this whole thing about Mom blaming herself for…well, you know. Well, it's ridiculous, isn't it? As if I'd believe she hurt you on
purpose
!”

I paused, my brain catching up with my mouth, wondering whether I'd gone too far, whether she was even managing to follow what I was saying.

“
You
know it was an accident, don't you, Dora?”

I watched intently for a sign, but aside from the tics and tremors that seemed to break across her body at irregular intervals, there was nothing I could be sure about. Other than her eyes, which stayed true and focused. If it's possible for eyes to smile…well, hers were beaming.

“I hope you believe me,” I added hastily. “About not knowing. I don't want you thinking that I was…you know, ashamed or anything. That you live here. Because it doesn't bother me. If I'd known, then I would've been down here every week, at least. You know that, right?”

Her left leg shot out from her footrest, making contact just below my knee, flush on top of a fading bruise. I tried not to wince. Would've seemed kind of melodramatic given the sort of pain she was probably in, and anyway, her face had twisted into the largest, goofiest grin imaginable. It was hard to moan when she looked so joyful.

“I'll take that as a yes,” I added quickly, hearing that chesty laugh of hers rumble up from her boots.

I rambled on less self-consciously after that. About how the news was starting to make sense, in terms of how Mom overprotected me, at least.

“I wish I'd been there, you know. On the day it happened. I know that's a stupid thing to say, but it's true, because if someone else had seen the accident, then they could have told Mom right away that it wasn't her fault, just freak bad luck. Dad says the problem now is that she's played it over in her head for way too long, and every time she does, her part in it gets worse. Like she's this killer or something. Crazy, I know.”

Dora moaned, long and mournful, an especially wild tic ripping through the entire left side of her body.

“Don't get upset. I'm sure you've tried to tell her enough times. How many arguments has it caused, huh? Because if you're anything like Mom, I'm sure you're happy to stand your ground.”

Another laugh, plus a burning stare, the clearest indication yet that there was a torrent of words that her broken body wouldn't let her deliver.

“It's all right, Aunt Dor,” I added, squeezing her hand as gently as I could. “You don't have to explain. I understand. I do.”

I didn't know what to say after that: how to move the conversation forward, or whether I even should. I worried I was putting unnecessary strain on her. Dad had been pretty straight about just how severe her epilepsy was.

Instead, we sat quietly, saying nothing, her chair groaning occasionally as she wriggled. It wasn't an awkward silence, though. I didn't feel the need to fill it. I watched her, the way her head was so painfully tilted, the way her eyes strained skyward, the joy I thought I could see in them as birds came and went from the oak trees around her. She didn't
seem
to be in pain, and if she was, then she must have been an expert in either living with it or ignoring it.

I followed her gaze, trying to see what she saw, and after a few minutes of staring into the swaying branches I felt a calm that was alien to me. So overwhelming that it threatened to have me dozing backward off my board. Only a voice cutting clean through the silence had me hopping, shocked, back to my feet.

“Lovely spot, isn't it? Perfect for a nap.”

I had no idea what was going on. For a split second I thought it was Dora: that she'd duped me all along. But as I pulled my blurry gaze back toward her I saw a guy, the same one I'd seen leaving, leaning on the back of Dora's wheelchair. He smiled easily as he draped a cardigan around her shoulders.

What should I say? And how should I say it without looking stupidly guilty?

“Don't worry.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Ten minutes out here on a day like this? I'd be taking a nap too.”

“I wasn't sleeping,” I babbled, like this was the most important thing. “I was just—”

“I know, resting your eyes, right? Dora does the same most days, apparently. That right, my friend?” He casually wiped a trail of spit from her mouth. “Even when she knows there's chores to be done. Those potatoes don't peel themselves, you know? Tom.” He smiled, offering me his hand. “Agency staff. Filling in while people are on vacation.”

I said nothing. Just gripped his fingers limply and shook.

“This is the part when…?”

“Huh?” I answered, breaking contact.

“You know, when you answer. Name, rank, serial number? No pressure, but I think that's how it works.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Charlie.” How stupid. I could have told him any name other than my own.

“So how do you know Dora? Family? Boyfriend?” He prodded her shoulder mockingly. “You dark horse, you.”

“Ha, no, I think I'm a little old for her. I'm just here on…”
Think, Charlie, think
. “My, um, uncle lives here. Up on the top floor there.” I pointed at the house, like I knew what I was talking about. I could've been pointing at the bathrooms for all I knew.

“Oh, right.” He sounded convinced, but he didn't look it.

“Yeah, I've been visiting for a long time. So I kind of know Dora a little, you know….”

“You can tell,” he said, still staring a bit too intensely. “You look like you've known each other for years.”

There was a pause. I fought the urge to run.

“Well, carry on,” he said eventually. “There haven't been a lot of laughs for you lately, have there, Dora? You need someone like Charlie here. Someone who can take you away from this place. Make you think about something new, right?”

He looked at me hopefully. “You can do that, can't you, Charlie?”

I nodded, eyes widening as his words took root in my brain.

I'd come here for answers, but I left with something very different. Something far more exciting.

I left with a plan.

“T
hat has to be one of the lamest, craziest ideas I've ever heard coming out of your mouth.”

I took a deep breath to stop my ego from deflating. It was always a risk asking Sinus for feedback.

“Do you seriously think you can bust your aunt out of the hospital and get away with it? What do you think the nurses will do when they spot you throwing her over your shoulder? Because I'll tell you what, Charlie, I don't think they'll come running with a ladder to help you. More likely a straitjacket. And NOT for her either!”

“She's sick, not dead. Plus they don't use straitjackets and you know it.” I tried not to take my frustration out on him, but this idea was all I had. And in my own head I'd convinced myself it was absolutely perfect. Because by pulling it off, not only did I show Mom that I knew her secret and that I was cool with it, but I also made her realize that
my
secret couldn't hurt me either. I mean, think about it. It was win-win-win.

On the day of Skatefest, all I had to do, with the help of Sinus, was
borrow
Dora from Oakview, just for a couple of hours. Enough time to get her to the park and into the middle of the crowd, which I knew would be huge.

If I could do that and draw Mom to the park too, then I could confront her, show her that I knew everything.

“You have met your mom, haven't you?” Sinus added, another verbal pin stabbing mercilessly into my soul. “You do remember that she is, how can I put this…oh yeah, that's it.
A complete control freak.
Do you really think she'll keep a lid on her temper if you pull a fast one in front of everyone she knows?”

“That's just it, though, Sinus. Dad says she's more worried about losing face than anything else. She'll hate it, of course, but you've seen Dora—it's not like she's got three heads or anything. As soon as people meet her, they'll accept her. More than that, they'll love her. And maybe Mom will forgive me once she sees that.”

“What, enough to let you march straight onto the top of the ramp? Dude, seriously, you need to lie down. Your idea's losing credibility every time your mouth moves.”

“And that's it?” I was angry now. “That's your official response? The gospel according to Sinus? Well, if you don't want to help me, on the one occasion that I REALLY need it? Then that's up to you. But I'm doing it anyway.”

He looked at me like I was crazy, his face morphing into the picture of innocence. “Who said anything about not helping? Your plan might just need some
finessing.
And I do believe I can smooth it out in no time.”

And that was that. The green light was lit, along with a raging fear that spread from my high-tops to my forehead.

Sinus was true to his word. Annoyingly. Though I knew that by helping me he was ultimately helping himself too. He was picturing himself with a horde of women on each arm.

But for that to happen, and for them to see past his nostrils to the caring soul hidden (deep) within, we were talking about a plan of epic proportions.

The plot developed, though not in terms of busting Dora out of Oakview. I could only presume he was thinking about this while he gave the school the most radical face-lift imaginable. Seriously, it was enough to take your breath away.

I don't know how he did it, both in terms of time and the amount of spray paint he must've bought, but over the next two and a half weeks he turned every view into a bubble wrap rainbow. His designs were in your face, teasing your eyeballs at every turn. Walls, fences, goalposts: there wasn't a single space Sinus wouldn't dare to tag. And he didn't stop there. He went digital too. Every time a teacher turned on a whiteboard, there was a
BWB
shining out of it, he regularly hijacked information on the cafeteria's TV screen, and somehow, best of all, he managed to feed his images into a presentation given by Mr. Peach to the whole school.

“VANDALISM!” the old man yelled. It was quickly becoming his buzzword. Once more and he'd end up a game-show host instead of a feeble principal.

“Some people, the ignorant among us, would dare to call this
art,
to suggest that there is merit to it, when all it does is reduce our buildings, and us in turn, to the lowest of the low. So I'm demanding that you, as responsible members of this school, I'm demanding that you be vigilant and deliver him or her to me to be dealt with.”

And with that, he tried to return to his PowerPoint slides, but every time he clicked, all that appeared was another gleaming, sleek, jaw-dropping design, each one more dazzling than the last, until, as Peach flicked his controller manically, the roof of the auditorium threatened to blow clean off with excitement.

I'd never heard anything like it. Never in an assembly, never within the school building, not even when a student teacher once inadvertently wore a see-through top during a French exam.

There was applause and cheers, and there were gasps so loud that toward the end I thought we were about to see a standing ovation. And through the noise and the adulation Sinus and I sat dumbfounded. Well, I did. Sinus wore nothing but his usual smug grin, and his head nodded gently, soaking up every bit of it.

The schoolyard buzzed for the rest of the day. Groups assembled in front of the various designs, analyzing them, poring over clues about who might have been responsible, what the
BWB
could possibly mean. Nobody came close, though it made us grin to watch the pencils scribbling on pads, treating it like it was high-level sudoku.

As the final bell rang, I felt an unusual sensation wash over me. A weird sadness that the day was over. If this was how it was going to be once Skatefest arrived and our plan paid off, then I had to get practicing. I couldn't afford to mess this up, not with this kind of momentum. It simply wasn't an option.