Unstoppable (19 page)

Chapter Seventy-Three

GRINNING UP AT HIM
from the table were Coach and Major Bauer, both of them with heads as hairless as bowling balls.

Coach swept his hand over his shiny dome of skin. “You think we were going to let you be the one to get all the attention?”

“At least you two look good,” the major said, tugging at his ears. “I look like Dumbo the elephant ready to fly away with these things.”

Harrison couldn't keep from laughing. “You guys did that quick.”

Jennifer walked in with the clippers in hand. “I hope you don't mind if I keep mine.”

“One of us needs to keep their hair,” Harrison said. “Otherwise they'll think we all escaped from prison.”

“All right,” Coach said, “enough talk about hair. Mine's gone and I'm hungry.”

As they ate, Harrison had to blink back some tears.

“What's wrong?” his mom asked.

Harrison just shook his head and raised a hand that asked her not to press him. He couldn't help thinking how lucky he was to have people like this sitting around him. He remembered the Constables, their miserable farm, the other woebegone foster kids, and Cyrus, the scrawny, grinning ghoul. His mom reached out and squeezed his hand and he squeezed it right back until he could feel her bones.

He couldn't talk until after the table had been cleaned up and Coach and the major were in the front room. His mom was wiping down the stove.

“If I act funny sometimes,” he said, “I think it's because I'm not used to having people around like you and Coach and the major.”

She nodded. “Didn't you have friends before you came here?”

“Not like Becky or Jus—”

“What's wrong?” His mom rinsed her cloth in the sink and the bubbles swept across her hands.

“Nothing,” Harrison said, even though something was.

Chapter Seventy-Four

THE NEXT DAY, MAJOR
Bauer sat with Harrison at the kitchen table, peering down at the eighth-grade history book through a small pair of reading glasses.

“You see? This is one of the things that made Abe Lincoln great.” The major pounded his fingertip on the book. “A great man can say he's sorry.”

Harrison felt his stomach tighten. He looked at the text and jotted down the answer on the work sheet from school. “Okay, he apologized for slavery in his second inaugural speech. I got it. Next question is—”

The major held up a hand, cutting him off. “Do you realize how important that is? Lincoln made himself one of us. So few great men can bring themselves to apologize—especially in public—but it's why this country will always love him and never forget him. Do you see it?”

Harrison stared at the major, thinking not of Lincoln but of Justin.

“I get it.”

“Okay, what's next?”

Harrison finished his work with the major, but when the major got up to make them some lunch, he took out his phone. Under the edge of the table, Harrison sent his friend a text, saying he was sorry and asking him to come visit when he got the chance.

After lunch, he and the major went through a rigorous weight workout before the major had Harrison steady himself on the parallel bars. Harrison stared down at the plastic leg.

“Okay,” the major said. “Swing it, on my count. Ready? One and two and three and four . . .”

Harrison tried to keep up.

“Again.”

Over and over, he swung the leg, fighting to keep up with the major's cadence.

“Faster, come on. You can do it!” The major's face turned red as he barked two feet from Harrison's face. “Go! One, two, three, four . . .”

Sweat poured down Harrison's face.

“Faster!”

Harrison worked and sweated and never felt good until the final set, a nice, easy warm-down with a much slower rhythm.

“Why the look?” The major wiped sweat from his own neck with a towel.

“It seems like I just can't do this. Not as fast as I'm supposed to.”

“Cut it out. You're doing great.”

“Now, when it's easy.”

“Hey, don't sulk. If I say you're doing great, you better be happy about it. I don't say that all the time, do I?”

“No.” Harrison raised his head.

“Then trust me.” The major smiled and patted Harrison's shoulder.

The major massaged Harrison's leg and they finished up about an hour before dinnertime.

Harrison showered and put his leg back on along with a fresh sweat suit and some clean sneakers, then waited in his room, reading a book from the Sacketts series. When he heard the doorbell, he sat up straight. He heard Justin's voice and the sound of the major letting him in. There was a soft knock on Harrison's bedroom door.

“Come in.” Harrison crossed his good leg over the plastic one at the ankles.

Justin slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He laid his coat on a chair and stood shifting from one foot to the other, looking at the floor.

“It's okay, I don't bite.” Harrison pushed himself up even straighter. “Anymore.”

Justin smiled at him. “I was just worried, but I get it. I'm sorry about everything.”

“I never told you this, but I'm sorry we lost the championship.”

“That was so long ago I forgot about it. Who even cares?”

“I know you did, a lot,” Harrison said.

“You wanna play something? I heard you got a Mac. I hear there's some pretty cool things on those.”

Harrison pointed to a set of controllers on a shelf beneath a flat-screen TV his parents had put in the room. “Forget the Mac. My mom finally broke down and got me an Xbox. I have to read for an hour, then I get to play for an hour. That's how it goes.”

“Do I have to read?” Justin wrinkled his face.

Harrison laughed. “Don't worry. I've got two hours saved up. I knew we wouldn't be doing odd jobs or cutting lawns. Yet, anyway. Come on, let's play.”

Justin got the controllers, handing one to Harrison before he sat down in the chair next to the bed. They turned on the machine and began a game of Madden. Neither of them was very good, so it was a close game they both enjoyed.

“You got me.” Justin put the controller down. “It's good to hang with you.”

“You, too.”

“Did you really mean that? That stuff about cutting lawns, just not yet?”

Harrison reached down and touched his fake leg; the major called it a prosthesis. “This is just temporary. When the major gets me fitted with the real deal, I'm going to play
football
. So yeah, by the time you start up in the spring, lawns will be a piece of cake.”

Justin blinked at him. “Football? You mean, Madden?”

“No, football.” Harrison stared at him, annoyed by Justin's doubtful tone and struggling to stay calm.

“You can do that?” Justin's question was filled with awe instead of doubt, and that made Harrison feel better.

“With the J72 I can.” Harrison went on to explain how he'd been measured and fitted for the metal leg and even punched up an image of it on his Mac.

“Cool.” Justin took the laptop and angled it to see better. “It's like
The Terminator.
From the movie. Have you seen it?”

“Sure. I guess.” Harrison didn't know how he felt about being compared to a robot.

“Anyway, they say you can play? Will you be back to normal?”

Harrison took the laptop back and stared at the J72. “I guess. I don't really know. The major says he thinks I can play. He didn't say how well, but if you can play, you can play, right?”

Justin hesitated. “I really don't know. Hey, that
Transformers
movie is still playing, but I heard it's gonna close this weekend. You wanna go tomorrow after I finish hanging Mrs. Peabody's Christmas lights?”

“A movie?”

“At the mall. I can meet you there. It'll be fun. Oh, I mean, can you move around and stuff like that?”

“Of course I can.” Harrison grabbed his crutches and hobbled to his feet. “Look. I can go anywhere I want.”

He swung his legs around the small room.

“Hey, that's great. Let's do it. There's a show at seven. I'll meet you there. Want to?”

“Sure. I'll get dropped off after dinner.”

Justin slapped him a high five. “Awesome. Well, I gotta go. I've got to get those lights started at Mrs. Peabody's before dinner. It's a two-day job. I'll see you tomorrow at the mall.”

Harrison followed him on crutches to the door and said good-bye. He watched Justin trip and catch himself on the sidewalk, jealous of the way he could. Before Justin was out of sight, Coach pulled into the driveway. Harrison waved and waited because he wanted to ask about the movie, and even though he couldn't think of a reason why not, he had no idea if his parents would let him.

Chapter Seventy-Five

HARRISON SAT AT THE
dinner table looking from one parent to another as they argued about the movies. Coach told him he could go and Harrison had already texted Justin about it. Then his mom got home for dinner and threw a fit.

“He's just not ready.” She said the words for what must have been the twentieth time.

“He says he is,” Coach said.

“He's thirteen.”

“I say.” Coach stuck a thumb to his chest.

“You're crazy.”

Coach motioned at Major Bauer. “The major says it's—”

“Oh, no.” The major held up both hands and his fork clattered to the plate. “I'm out of this. I see both sides.”

“Both
sides
?” Coach looked at the major in disbelief. “You, of all people. All you ever talk about is ‘normalizing.' What's more normal than a kid going to the movies with his buddy at the mall? Come on, both of you.”

“Let's let Harrison get a little stronger and a little more acclimated before we throw him out into the world. I
care
about him is all.” His mom pressed her lips tight.

“And I don't?” Coach glared at her.

“Stop it!” Harrison startled even himself. The table went silent and the three adults looked at him with surprise. “Mom, I'm going. I need to. Please.”

His mom looked like some invisible giant was pressing down on her shoulders. She stared at him for a long minute before she spoke in a whisper. “Okay, Harrison. You go.”

She went back to eating, but did so without talking the rest of the meal. Harrison knew she was mad at Coach and not him. When his mom finished eating, she got up from the table without speaking and disappeared upstairs. Coach, the major, and Harrison all followed the sound of her footsteps above with their eyes. When she jogged back down the stairs, Harrison could see she was carrying a box.

She handed the box to Harrison. “If you're going to go, at least you can use this. It came to my office today, so the timing is perfect.”

Harrison stared down at the box. He could see from the shipping label—even though it had already been opened—that it was something newly ordered that had come in the mail.

“What is it?” Harrison asked.

“Go ahead, you'll see. Open it.”

Chapter Seventy-Six

HARRISON REACHED INTO THE
box and felt something silky soft. He wrinkled his brow and pulled it out. At first he could only think of an animal fur, like Lump used to bring home from his trap lines. He held it up, pinched between his first finger and thumb.

“What is it?” he asked, even as he realized.

“A wig.” His mother's face was eager with hope. “It's real hair. The best. You like it?”

“I don't know.”

“You can go places and no one will even know. With your crutches and your prosthesis, you'll look completely normal. Try it on. Go ahead, Harrison.”

Harrison studied Coach and the major. Their faces gave nothing away.

“Yes,” Coach said.

“Sure,” said the major.

Harrison hobbled to the bathroom with the wig clutched against his crutch handle. When he got there, he took a deep breath before switching on the light. He didn't like looking at himself and lately he had avoided mirrors. His bald head and the dark circles under his eyes made him look more like a zombie than himself. When he did hit the switch, he wasn't disappointed. He looked as horrible as he expected. Maybe worse.

His mom appeared in the mirror behind him. “Here, let me help.”

Harrison let her take the wig from his hand and place it on his head. He didn't think it could get worse, but it did. The wig sat at a strange angle, looking much more like a fur hat than a head of hair. Harrison groaned.

“Here, let me straighten it. There. That's it. You look good.”

Harrison had to admit, it was better when it sat straight, but there was something still not right about it. It was unnatural. He still couldn't stand the sight of himself, and he hadn't really thought about the consequences of going out looking the way he looked until he saw it for real. He was about to tell his mom that when she put her hands on his shoulders and spoke to him in a low voice.

“You and your father are right,” she said. “There's no reason you shouldn't go out. I'm sorry, Harrison. I'm trying to teach you not to care what stupid people think or say. The only people who matter are the kind ones, and anyone with an ounce of kindness isn't going to say one bad thing. I was being foolish, and I think a little selfish.”

“Why selfish?” Harrison asked.

She found his eyes in the mirror. “It's easier for me to keep you here to myself, all tucked away and safe, but that's not helping you.”

“I was just beginning to think that you were right.” Harrison patted the wig.

“Because of how you look? You look fantastic. Completely normal. No one will notice a thing.”

Harrison appreciated his mom's attempt at kindness, but as he stared at himself in the mirror, he realized that most likely her words were a long way from the truth.