The Elephant of Surprise (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 4) (6 page)

"You really
live
here?" Em said. "And no one works?"

"Oh,
everyone
works," Wade said. "We're not freeloaders. If you don't work, you can't stay. Same if you're an addict. You can't stay here if you're using. We're really firm about that."

Wade gestured to a bulletin board in the hallway into the kitchen. Every square inch was covered with snapshots. "These are all the people who've visited us in the last year," he said.

I scanned the photos even as Gunnar took a picture of the pictures. Once again, most of the faces were young and scruffy—and almost every white person had a deep tan. I also noticed that someone had rested a small monkey wrench on the top of the bulletin board's wood frame.

"Here you go!" Venus said, turning around from the kitchen counter and handing me a glass of something that looked like cider.

"What is it?"

"Dandelion wine! Don't you remember? I promised I'd give you some!"

I smiled, but I didn't say that what she'd promised was to make me a wild greens salad with nettles.

I took a sip.

"It's good," I said, and I wasn't lying. I'd had wine once before, but this tasted sweeter and more earthy—like liquid corn on the cob, if that makes any sense.

"How do you pay the bills?" Min asked. "Water and electricity?" It was only when she said this that I realized, yes, the house definitely had utilities—the lights were on and everything. It's funny how you take stuff like that so much for granted that it's almost invisible.

"They make us pay in advance," Wade said. "Cashier's check. But we get by. Some of us do temp work—yard work or construction. Others sell crafts. And we sometimes get donations. I'd love for us to live without any money whatsoever, but that's pretty much impossible in the modern world. The only rule is that everyone contributes."

"What do you do for clothing?" Em asked.

"We share!" Venus said.

"Well, not exactly," Wade said. "Come on, I'll show you." He led us to the back door, then out into the small backyard and through the darkness, toward a freestanding garage along a gravel alley.

The door to the garage was unlocked. When Wade turned on the light inside, there was no car, just tables and bins of old clothing: shirts and shoes and pants and belts. Another table held toiletries—toothpaste and toothbrushes, tampons, dental floss, toilet paper. Built-in shelves lined the back wall, and they were crammed with camping supplies—lanterns, rolled-up blankets, and candles—but also the kinds of things you'd expect to find in a garage: cans of spray paint, a crate of what looked like fireworks, and all kinds of different tools, from pliers to clippers. The air smelled like motor oil and something chalky.

I touched an itchy wool sweater on a table. "What is all this?" I said.

"The freegan store," Wade said.

"Store? I thought you didn't use money."

"We don't. It's not like other stores. Everything here is free. Take what you need. You just have to be sure to leave something for someone else. We're all in this together, remember?" He pointed to a stack of long-sleeved, button-down shirts, still in their plastic packages. "I found these in a Dumpster out at the mall."

Needless to say, Gunnar took pictures of it all.

Em picked up a pair of gloves made out of red yarn.

"Amy made those—this girl who lived here just before Christmas," Venus said. "She knitted them herself."

Em thought for a second, then unwound the scarf she was wearing. She folded it up and put it on one of the tables. Then she put the gloves on.

"That's it!" Wade said, a big smile on his face. "That's exactly right."

Meanwhile, I was kicking myself. If I'd thought of it first, I could have impressed Wade by trading something too—the plastic comb in my pocket for a pencil. Or maybe I could do something really dramatic and generous: my jacket for a couple of pairs of socks?

Was it too late to do it now? Maybe I could start this whole chain of events with each one of us dramatically trading something we owned for something else. Well, technically Em would have started it, but still. It could be a whole "thing." That would impress Wade, right? Or would it just look phony and desperate for attention?

"You know," Leah said, nodding to her cell phone, "I should probably go."

"Yeah?" Min said.

I didn't want to leave yet. I'd managed to find Wade again, but I hadn't really made an impression. I didn't want to go without making some kind of connection.

Leah looked at me—she probably saw the annoyance in my eyes. "But you guys don't have to leave—you can stay."

Before I could say anything, Em said, "No, no, you're right. We should all probably get going."

So that was it. We'd come in two cars: Min's and Em's. If they both wanted to leave, I had to go. I thought about asking Wade for his phone number or his email address, but then I remembered he didn't have a phone or a computer. And I didn't want to say anything in front of Min or Gunnar that made it too obvious I was into Wade, not after forsaking love earlier that week. Besides, it would've sounded stupid—I barely knew him. I knew where he lived now, but it's not like I had any excuse to come back, at least not without looking like a total dork.

He walked us to the front door and then he said, "Well, I guess I'll see you around." Once again, he was talking to the group, not to me in particular.

"Yeah," I said. "See you." But even as I said it, I wondered if I ever would.

CHAPTER SIX

I didn't get a chance to go into any detail with Min about Leah until the next day, Sunday. It was early afternoon when she joined Gunnar and me in my bedroom.

"Tell me exactly what you saw," Min said. "Don't leave anything out." It was the first thing she said when she entered. I was sitting on the bed, and Gunnar was working on my computer. For what it's worth, my bedroom includes everything from my middle school swimming trophies to my collection of plastic collectibles from animated Disney movies. (What can I say? I'm a bewitching mix of contradictions!) On the nightstand, my lava lamp oozed.

"Well, maybe it wasn't anything," I told Min. I went through what I'd seen step-by-step. I admitted the only real evidence I had was that she'd looked guilty.

"Guilty of what?" Min said.

"I don't know. Just guilty."

"See? I told you! She's hiding something!"

"Min."

"What?"

"You know what. You need to talk to her. You need to ask her what's going on."

Min was back to looking at me like I was a total idiot. "I already told you. I can't talk to her. But I have a plan. She and her whole family are out of town next weekend."

I laughed. "So what, you're going to break into her house and check out her bedroom?"

"Yes. Well,
we
are."

I gaped. I'm not sure I've ever gaped before in my life, but I did it now. "
Min!
I was
joking!
"

"What? It's the only way to really know what's going on."

"Well, that and actually, you know,
talking
to her."

"I already told you—"

"Yeah, yeah, she's lying, so you can't talk to her. Can we just think about this for one second?"

"I
have
thought about it. I'm going
crazy
thinking about it. Now I need some action." She sat down next to me on the bed. To her credit, she finally realized I was looking at her like
she
was the idiot. "What?"

"You know what," I said. "This is going to lead to total disaster. You, Gunnar, and I break into Leah's house because you're worried about her breaking up with you, but the fact that we break into her house is exactly the thing that makes her break up with you. It's an ironic paradox, like in an old episode of
Star Trek.
"

Gunnar hadn't said a word since Min arrived, hadn't even looked over at us at my mention of his name, at my casual inclusion of him in Min's crazy plan—he'd been too busy on the computer. But at my mention of
Star Trek
, he immediately perked up.

"Talk about tempting fate!" I went on, still talking to Min.

"Maybe I was totally wrong about this, but I was under the impression the three of us were friends," Min said.

"Min—"

"Really
good
friends," she said. "
Best
friends. And that part of being best friends is that we can all count on each other. We're the voice at the end of each other's bat-phones. Well, right now I need help, so I'm sending up the bat-signal."

At the mention of Batman, Gunnar looked over at us again. Min was really playing hardball here.

"Part of friendship is also calling people on their shit," I said.

Min nodded. "And you did, and I appreciate it. I totally acknowledge your very appropriate shit-calling. But in full knowledge of the shit that's been called, I still want to move forward on this. So the question becomes: are you in or are you out?"

I looked at Gunnar, and he looked at me. Finally, he nodded. Min hadn't just played the "friend" card—she'd dressed it up in all kinds of cool Batman imagery. Gunnar and I were powerless to resist.

*   *   *

Min wanted to go plan the break-in, but before she did, she stopped at Gunnar sitting at the computer.

"Don't post one word about this online," she said. "Are we clear?"

He nodded stiffly, and then she was gone.

Gunnar kept typing away on my computer, which was actually fine with me. It gave me a chance to do some thinking—not about Wade, who was probably out of my life forever. All this talk about Leah had me thinking about Kevin again. (Was it possible that I could spend even a single day not obsessing about a guy? No, so stop asking.)

I sat back on my bed.

How was it I was pretty sure I'd seen Kevin delivering food to that homeless camp? If Kevin was the jerk I thought he was, why would he be doing that? Yeah, yeah, people are complicated, blah, blah, blah. But let's face it: people aren't
that
complicated. Most of the time, cool people are cool, and assholes are, well, assholes. Sure, assholes will be cool when it helps them in some way, when it involves something important to
them
. But isn't that the very definition of an asshole? That they only care about something when it
is
important to them? It's when you don't get anything out of it and you still do the right thing, that's what makes a person cool.
By definition
.

And once an asshole, always an asshole. Right? Tigers don't change their stripes, and you can't teach an old dog new tricks. People don't change.

So what the hell was Kevin doing delivering food to the homeless? Was it possible he wasn't the person I thought he was?  But I'd
seen
him hooking up with a guy while he was waiting for me at that park! With my own eyes! And when I'd confronted him, he'd basically been a total prick about it, telling me to get lost.

I sat upright on my bed. "What do you think of Kevin?" I asked Gunnar.

He thought for a second, but kept typing. "Cannot predict now."

"What?" I said, confused. Did he not want to be distracted from updating his profile?

"Better not tell you now."

"Gunnar, you're not making any sense."

"Reply hazy, try again."

Finally, I clued in. Gunnar was ironically quoting the Magic 8-Ball. Or maybe it wasn't so ironic. The truth is he was reciting only the vague or non-committal answers.

"Wait," I said. "So you don't have any opinion?"

"Difficult to see," he said. "Always in motion is the future." Now he was quoting Yoda from
Star Wars
, but the principle was the same.

On one hand, I was vaguely annoyed by Gunnar's non-answers. On the other hand, the fact that he didn't have a clear opinion was sort of an answer in itself. What Gunnar was saying was that even he—who, like I said, often surprised me by picking up on things other people didn't notice—couldn't quite get a handle on Kevin.

Why did that excite me exactly?

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I said.

"Sure." Gunnar spun away from the computer, giving me his full attention at last. I explained everything that had happened with Kevin. He'd already known about the incident in the park last fall, so I told him about my running into Kevin in the woods.

When I was done, Gunnar said, "Why do you care?"

"Huh?"

"Why all the sudden interest in Kevin? Are you saying you wanna get back together with him?"

Was
that what I was saying? Was that what all this thinking and talking was really all about?

"I guess I hadn't really thought that far ahead," I said, and it was the truth. But Gunnar's question did make sense. I mean, Kevin was the first guy I'd ever loved—in more ways than one (yes, I'm talking about sex). Why would I care if he was a decent person if I wasn't interested in maybe dating him again? I already had plenty of friends.

I shifted, and the bed squeaked. "I know what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?"

"You're thinking I'm an idiot—that only last week I was saying I'd completely forsaken love."

"No, I was thinking about this new video editing program I was reading about last night."

Was Gunnar joking with me? He looked completely serious, but with Gunnar, you can never really tell.

"What do you wanna do?" he said.

"I guess I want to find out what kind of person Kevin really is," I said. "Do some research."

"You mean spy on him like what Min wants to do with Leah?"

"No! This is totally different!"

"It doesn't seem very different."

"Well, it is! For one thing, Leah is Min's actual girlfriend, someone who's supposed to tell her the truth. Kevin is someone who did some pretty bad things before, so I want to know more about him before I consider dating him again."

Gunnar just kept staring at me. The truth is I'd been waiting until after Min left to bring this up. I hadn't really thought about it at the time, but didn't that prove I was worried about being a hypocrite—that some unconscious part of me realized Min would make the obvious connection?

"Okay, okay!" I said. "I'm a hypocrite. But now I'm the one sending up the 'friend' bat-signal. Are you going to help me or not?"

There was never a question in my mind that he would.

*   *   *

The first thing I decided to do was just sort of keep an eye on Kevin at school. It's funny because I'd been doing this all along, but I'd always felt bad for doing it, so I'd tried to pretend I
wasn't
doing it, even to myself. It's a little like how I'd spent my entire life feeling bad about checking out hot guys in general. I did it, but I didn't want people to know I did it, and I even kind of wanted to pretend to myself I didn't do it. It's one thing for a guy to check out a hot girl, which happens
constantly
. Straight guys are completely open about it—too open about it, actually. It's basically, like, sexual harassment, the comments and calls that straight guys make in our school hallways every second of every day. But a gay guy checking out another guy, especially a straight guy? That's something entirely different, at least for some straight guys. They don't want any indication at all, ever, that some guy is thinking of them in a sexual way.

Basically, straight guys don't want to be treated by gay guys the way they've been treating girls their whole lives. Which is just crazy unfair. And even without thinking about it, I'd been totally buying into it. It was making me angry now that I thought about it, which I never really had before.

The point is—yes, I got a little off-topic there—I watched Kevin from a distance. And by the middle of the week, I had learned a few new things about him.

The biggest thing I noticed was that he didn't have a whole lot of friends. He'd used to be one of the most popular kids in school, but he wasn't now.

Kevin did have one friend—Ben, one of his buddies from the baseball team. At first I wondered if they were boyfriends, but it was pretty clear they weren't. I'm not sure how I could tell—I mean, it's not like they'd be holding hands in the hallway, not in our school. But they also weren't going to great lengths to
not
touch either, you know? Does that make sense?

I also never once saw Kevin bully or tease anyone else, even in a light-hearted way. Was this because he'd come out as gay, so he was more sensitive to others now? Or maybe his coming out had knocked him far enough down the popularity ladder that no one took him seriously as a bully anymore. (There was a depressing thought buried in there somewhere: on some level, did you need to be a bully to be popular? The whole "alpha" thing?)

Then on Wednesday afternoon on my way out of school, I happened to pass by the library, and I caught a glimpse of Kevin and a friend sitting at a table near the door. They were laughing, and it was such a warm, easy snicker between the two of them I might have stopped to listen even if it hadn't been Kevin. I knew immediately it was like that moment I'd shared with Min the week before—where you're not just in the same instant in time, you're sharing the same emotion.

Was this Kevin's new boyfriend? I admit I wanted to know that too.

No. I knew the guy Kevin was sitting with, and he was straight.

It was Brian Bund. He's a really good guy, but he's also someone who was the unquestioned outcast of the whole school, the lowest of the low. He had acne, a stutter, the whole bit.

I wasn't sure I'd ever even seen Brian laugh before. That's why I hadn't recognized him at first—he looked completely different now. His face was so much brighter, more open, with a big scythe of a smile, cutting me right down to size. Brian and I were still friends—he was straight, but he came to the school's GSA meetings, and I almost always said hi to him when I saw him in the hallway. But I guess I can't say we'd become friend-friends.

But Kevin and Brian had?

As I watched them, I realized Kevin looked different now too. That impish, smirk-y, somewhat cocky face that I'd fallen so madly in love with? It was deeper, more serious, or maybe more real, like Pinocchio becoming an actual little boy (I warned you I like animated Disney movies). Even his laugh seemed richer now.