When Mr. Dog Bites (4 page)

Her legs dangled under the desk. I thought about those legs wrapped around my back like a knot, as if we were doing the bare-arse boxing.

Then I wondered if she would be able to manage a maneuver like that.

Then I thought about the people who go to the “normal schools” in our area and whether they thought about us at Drumhill; if we thought about the same things that they thought about, like sex, drugs, rock, Internet porn, and Facebook.

Probably.

Then I wondered if Michelle Malloy was gazing out the window thinking of intercoursing it dirty style with me.

Probably not.

Then I wondered if my willy was the right size to do the deed.

Probably not.

Then I wondered if Michelle Malloy ever thought about me in the same way I thought about her.

Probably not.

I was dead to her.

Number two
(in blue)
:
Fight heaven and earth, tooth and nail, dungeons and dragons, for my mate Amir to stop getting called names about the color of his skin. Stop people slagging him all the time because he smells like a big pot of curry. And help him find a new best bud.

Number two was cheating a bit, because I’d written three things to do instead of one. So I did a head down, thumbs up for a minute before changing it to:

Number two: Make Amir a happy chappy again instead of a miserable c***!

Never, ever, ever would I call him this word to his face, but he was. I scanned the class again. The bold Amir was staring straight at me.

Serial-killer eyes.

He was doing that thing where he pretended to have a big willy in his mouth and it was pushing his cheek in and out. I put one eyebrow up as if to say,
You are a maddy laddie and need help immediately
. Amir’s jokes were weird sometimes. They made him seem like a real bona fide windy-licker. But that was part of his condition; he was on this mad circle called the autism spectrum, which stopped him understanding people’s feelings or personal boundaries. He’d never touched me in my basement place or anything like that, but he would do barmy things like pretend to have a giant willy in his mouth or make out that he was licking the lady place through his fingers.

After I wrote number three, in red, I did another head down, thumbs up, making a cave for myself by wrapping my arms around my head. My cave was so secure that I could hear myself breathing. In and out. Deep breaths in, long breaths out. The docs told me to do this when I got stressed or anxious or so annoyed that I wanted to pummel someone’s nose into a strawberry. Or when I had the urge to say something totally mad-hatter to someone. They called it “inappropriate” at the clinic. My arms were so tight that my head could hardly move, which was goody-two-shoes, as it meant that it wouldn’t be twitching all over the place. Like Elvis’s hips.

I lifted my head and looked at number three for such a long, long, long, long time it made my eyes go all blurry. Maybe it would have been easier to write
Run around town in women’s underwear
or
Smash all the windows in my school
rather than what I had written. At least I could give number one a fair go. Number two, the Amir thing, would be trickie dickie, but number three—that would be a toughie, as I had no control over huge decisions that governments made. I’d try, though. Like a mad mofo I’d try. Peace out, bro!

Number three
:
Get Dad back from the war before .
.
. you-know-what happens.

8

Doctor

The last time I went to the doc was for my big head scan. They had to give me a special pill so I’d be statue-still when I went into the scanner tunnel. It was a bit like being on the slowest escalator in the world. After that, nothing much happened. I was lying in there thinking scans were dead boring and didn’t even feel a thing. I couldn’t hear the camera clicking for the pics. Mom was there when I escalated out. She had told me what to expect because she had one of her own, but I wasn’t allowed to go to her scan because hers was a scan for lady things and I’m not a lady, and I didn’t really want to see Mom with just her underpants on anyway.

Last time the waiting room was empty. This time it was full of women who looked as though they were having the most miserable day ever. It was as if they were waiting for their name to be called to enter the Bad Fire. I was staring straight ahead, trying NOT to tic, twitch, jerk, or shout like I’d done last time. My concentration was chess grand master, and I didn’t really notice Mom chewing at my lug.

“Dylan .
.
. Dylan .
.
. 
Dylan
,” Mom sort of angry-whispered.

This made some of the death faces look at me, which then made me twitch three times, clear my throat with a massive roar, and punch myself twice on my right thigh. Ouch!

“Sorry, love, but I wanted to give you this.” Mom handed me a brown bag. “I forgot to give it to you earlier.”

“What is it?” I said with my confused-dot-com face. It wasn’t Christmas, my birthday, or Fantastic A Grade at School Day, so why the presents, eh?

“Open it.”

I opened it.

“Aw,” I said loudly, and had to stop. I didn’t want people gawping at me and thinking I was straitjacket material.

But I really wanted to lick Mom’s face, give her five hug specials, roll around on the floor, and scream, “
YOU’RE THE BEST MOM IN THE WORLD AND FOR BUYING ME THIS PRESENT I’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND MAKE US A SPECIAL ‘PIMP MY SOUP’ DISH TONIGHT AS A WAY OF SAYING THANK YOU FOR BUYING ME THE
499
soccer
FACTS TO AMAZE YOUR MATES!
BOOK
.”

“How did you know I wanted this, Mom?”

“I’m your mother, Dylan. Moms know everything.” Whoever invented moms should win the Nobel Prize for Fun. “You’ve been so brilliant about things recently. Dad, school, your scan, and all that stuff. So I thought you deserved a little present.”

“Thanks a gazillion, Mom.”

“And sometimes, Dylan, things get worse before they get better, so it’s always important to be brilliant and brave.”

“I agree, Mrs. Mint.”

“So promise me that you’ll always be brilliant and brave about things.” Mom put her hand on my left thigh and squeezed with about ten percent of her power. “Promise me, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“That you’ll be brilliant and brave about things.”

“Promise.”

Mom had sparkle eyes. I thought she might even get some wet on my jeans if her eyes started to leak. She liked it when I promised things.

499 Soccer Facts to Amaze Your Mates!
A-MAYONNAISE-ING!

“Can I read my book when we go in?” I asked.

“Only if the doctor isn’t talking to you.” Mom squeezed four of my fingers. “We’ll need to be there for each other today, Dylan. Okay?”

“Okay.”

It was a different doc this time. He sat Mom down on the chair next to him and put me in the corner and didn’t look at me. This is what grown-ups do when they feel uncomfortable about something. He muttered to Mom, and she whispered back. She flicked a glance across at me, and I drilled my eyes into my book. No Way, José would they catch me looking at them.

Fact 318:

Zinedine Zidane was never caught offside in his entire career.

“I know this isn’t what you expected to hear,” the doc said in his soft voice.

Mom’s chest heaved in and out. “Are you sure?”

“I’m afraid we are, Mrs. Mint.”

“One hundred percent?”

“Yes.”

“Would a second opinion help?”

“The scans are pretty conclusive.”

Mom put her hand up and covered her peepers. She gulped for breath as though she’d just swum a marathon. I looked at her because I wanted to be brave and brilliant and be there for her, but she wouldn’t look at me. She wiped the water away from her face. I groaned because I wanted her to look at my eyes. I wanted Mom to wipe away the water from my face too.

“When?” Mom said.

That’s when I wanted to throw the chair through the window so some air could enter the room. Then we wouldn’t all have been sitting there gulping.

“We’ll monitor things closely, but I think it’s safest to assume no later than the beginning of March.”

“Oh, God! That’s sooner than we discussed,” Mom wailed.

All her body shuddered, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should hug-special her or put my head on her lap or stroke her hair, like she does to me when I’m in the horrors. I wanted to know what was wrong. I flicked another page.

Fact 209:

Aberdeen was the first club to introduce
dugouts.

“I don’t know what to say, Mrs. Mint. I really don’t,” the doc said.

Mom looked at me for the first time. I love my mom’s beautiful eyes, but these red puppy ones were like a butter knife in my heart.

“We have people you can speak to, if you think that would help.”

“It wouldn’t help.”

“All I’m saying is that you don’t need to go through this alone.”

Mom sniffed as if she’d been chopping a gazillion onions. The doc gave her a hankie from the box on his table, and she tried to blow all the tears out of her nose. I wanted to be in the waiting room again. I wanted to be with the people gawking at me. I wanted Mom to give all her crying to me so she wouldn’t feel so bad. I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT WAS WRONG.

Fact 6:

The Sco
t
tish Cup tie between Falkirk and Inverness Thistle in 1979 was postponed no fewer than twenty-nine times because of bad weather.

When I peeked up from
499 Soccer Facts to Amaze Your Mates!
,
Mom’s head was wagging like a dog’s tail and her body was Shake, Rattle, and Rolling. Even though I had my hooter and peepers in my book, I still had my floppy ears out there. I knew that the doc and Mom weren’t looking at me, which meant they didn’t want me to know the full meat and potatoes, which meant:        

1. This was an adult conversation, meaning .
.
. 

2. I had to watch my p’s and q’s, meaning .
.
. 

3. I had to be seen and not heard.

I still listened, because this doc couldn’t pull the wool over my ears.

“I don’t think I can cope with telling him .
.
.”

TELLING WHO?

“.
.
. I understand, Mrs. Mint .
.
.”

“.
.
. Not with the way he is,” Mom whispered to the brainy doc.

THE WAY WHO IS?

“Would your husband be able to help with that?”        

“God, no! No, it has to come from me.”

HELLO!

HELLO!

I’M DYLAN MINT, NOT DYLAN MINT THE DEAF MUTE.

“There’s absolutely no doubt at all?”

“None.”

“Okay .
.
.”

“I’m sure once you’ve had some time to think, you’ll feel clearer about things. Then you can prepare yourself and Dylan for . . . what’s going to happen.”

Mom closed her eyes and did some heavy sniffing. I grunted, snorted, rapido blinked, and squeezed my fists. I could feel my back and bum-crack getting Sweaty Betty because I sensed the words coming.

“FUCKER DOC.”

“Dylan!” Mom said.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s okay, young man. How’s your book?” the doc said.

“LIAR WANK . . . Sorry . . . It’s good,” I said, and put my hooter back in it.

“I’m so sorry that this is so incontrovertible, Mrs. Mint.”

Fact 77:

The highest a
t
tendance for a European club competition match was at Celtic v. Leeds United in the European Cup semifinal in 1970 at Hampden Park, Glasgow. Official a
t
tendance: 136,505.

“I’m just trying to get my head around telling him. I mean, how do you break that news?”        

“Well, you don’t have to tell him right away, but there will come a point when you can’t hide what’s happening.”

“I know.”

“And come March, life as he knows it will come to an abrupt end. You need to prepare him for the inevitable.”

Fact 499:

David Beckham has two middle names: Robert and Joseph.

Since it was scorching outside, I thought about our holiday in Torremolinos, when the sun was so blooming hell blistering it made the bits between my legs burn like fried eggs. Dad said I was cutting about like John Wayne, which made me laugh out loud. I never knew who this John Wayne fellow was, but I thought it could have been someone who worked with Dad. Maybe this John Wayne character was a private or a corporal or a special ops dude. If so, I was dead happy to be Dad’s version of John Wayne. Dad was a massive joke man.