God, what is wrong with me?
This isn't even my second time here. It's more like my fifth. I couldn't drive until recently, but I've known her address almost since the beginning. A couple of weekends, I walked all the way out here to Breed's Grove. Walked here and scoped out the neighborhood. Snuck around in the dark, making endless circuits of the house, trying to figure out...
Oh, God. Trying to figure out which window was hers. And what...? What would I have done if I'd known?
I let myself cry in Leah's bathroom. I've sullied her so much already, what's the big dif if I get some tears on her bathroom floor?
After a few minutes, I figure Mrs. Muldoon might think I've died in here. I change into my bathing suit and splash cold water on my face to cover up the redness of my eyes.
Then I go back down the hall and turn and go out through some French doors to the pool, like I never did anything wrong. I'm good at pretending.
I feel out of place immediately. The guys are the ones who shove me around. The girls are the ones who ignore me. No one even bothers to look over at me.
There's a table with drinks and snacks on one side of the pool and a DJ is playing old eighties music really loud. They don't notice me, or if they do, they don't show it. I don't know what the hell to do. But I know this: I'm going to try to be good. I'm going to try very, very hard to be good.
Leah sees me and comes running over. Now everyone notices me.
She's wearing a green and lavender two-piece. It's modest by bikini standards and Leah isn't even in the top five of the hottest girls at this party, but it's Leah and I devour her with my eyes.
"Look! Kevin's here!" she calls out, so of course everyone looks and it's like a stalker's worst nightmare—everyone watching him as he watches.
She throws her arms around me, and I'm way too aware of the stretches of naked flesh on both sides of the equation—my torso bare, her belly and arms. I pray to God—please, please— not to let me get an erection. Please.
"You came!" she says. "I'm so glad." And then she kisses me on the cheek and gives me an extra hard squeeze before letting me go. "Drinks and snacks are over there. Mom's getting pizza in, like, an hour."
She grabs my hand and pulls me closer to the pool and the other kids.
"I think you know everyone, right? Great!" She goes off to pour herself something to drink. Yeah, I know everyone. By sight, at least. It's not like we're all chums or anything. And they all sure as hell know me—I'm the guy who saved Leah's life, but they don't remember that. All they know is I'm the guy who hates America.
"My brother's over there," says one guy. "Extended his tour. Again."
Great. I don't need this.
"Not tonight!" Leah says, coming back out of nowhere. "We're not talking about stupid politics. We're having fun. We're celebrating. Kevin saved my life and the DA called my parents today and said their case is so strong that they'll probably look for the death penalty."
This is news to me. Some of the guys nod grudging respect my way. They're all thinking, He's such a wuss we could kick his ass easy ... but he did stop that guy.
Yeah, I did. And you all saw it on TV. I watch Leah and I remember sitting next to her on her sofa while Justice! taped us. At one point, she said, "You know, I never believed in destiny or fate. And then Kevin saved me. He was in the right place at the right time. What are the odds? It had to be fate."
I wish that were true. I wish it had been fate and not just me.
And then what I've been dreading happens: John Riordon shows up from around a corner, carrying a Frisbee. "It went into the garage—" he says, before breaking off.
There's a tension in the air. The DJ keeps playing music, but no one's listening. They're all watching. Riordon is more intimidating the less clothes he wears. When he got all dressed up for the morning announcements, you couldn't see the massive shoulder muscles, the six-pack abs. He could crush me like a walnut.
"Tell ya what," he says, sauntering over to me. "I'll make you a deal. You don't be a dick tonight and I won't call you on it, OK?"
I grind my teeth to keep myself from saying, Shouldn't I be saying that to you?
"Sure, John."
He wings the Frisbee at someone who's just gone flying off the diving board. The guy catches it in midair and flips before crashing into the pool. "Six points!" Riordon yells, and charges to the pool, and everyone forgets about me.
And what do I do for the next infinite number of hours? Well, as the sun goes down and the Muldoons' outside lighting comes up, I do what I've always done: I watch.
I actually behave myself; I watch people other than Leah. I'm the outsider here. I'm the ugly duckling—there's no way around that. So I just watch and I try to stay uninvolved. I'm only here because Leah wants me here...
And because the Council is, right now, doing something that I can't afford to be involved in. Because everyone will come to me, assuming I did it. Which is close—it was my idea, but...
Just then—as if it's magic—my backpack rings.
I left the backpack near the door when I came outside. I dig inside for Fam's cell, which she loaned to me.
Flip's voice comes through, more excited than I've ever heard before—and that's saying something.
"Hail, Fool. Dude, it's done."
"Hail, Fool. How did it go?"
"Awesome." He giggles.
"Did you call the fire department?"
"Yeah, right before I called you."
"From a pay phone?"
"How stupid do you think I am, Kross?"
"Sorry. Cool. I'll see you Monday."
"Don't forget—you owe me now."
"I know."
I put the phone back, suddenly worried that someone has overheard both ends of the conversation. But no one is even looking at me. No one's paying attention. Good.
Right about now, the Brookdale Fire Department is rushing to South Brook High. What they will find there—planted in the grassy pad in the middle of the bus turnaround, visible from the main road—is five jerry-rigged flagpoles, each one bearing a burning flag.
Five flags, all aflame.
Norway. Sweden. Canada. Australia. Denmark.
If Flip did everything right, he also videotaped the burning flags before calling the fire department. He'll hack and spam the video to the usual suspects, with superimposed text:
GUESS WHAT THESE FLAGS HAVE
IN COMMON WITH THE FLAG
OF THE UNITED STATES?
That ought to get some attention. I think Dad would be proud, sort of. If I ever dared tell him it was my idea.
"Hey! Hey, you! Goofy-ass!"
I realize whoever it is is calling out to me. I must have a hell of a grin on my face.
"Me?" I ask. It's some jock, pointing to me from the pool.
"Yeah, you. Go get the Frisbee."
Why me? I frown. I'm not his slave.
"Come on," he says. "It went right around the corner there."
Oh, what the hell. It'll give me something to do.
I get up and go around the corner. It's darker here. No one can really see here from the party. I have a moment where I wonder if this is a setup, if someone's gonna jump me...
But then I see the Frisbee on the ground. I stoop to pick it up and then I hear a breath, caught fast.
I peek past some bushes.
And that's when I see it.
See them.
Leah and Riordon, off in their own little world.
Only this time it's worse than it ever was in school. She says something like, "...have to get back," but he's holding her by the wrists.
And I can't turn away, of course. I just can't. Because I watch. That's what I do.
Do I jump over the bushes? Do I rescue her again?
She's pulling away, but he tugs a little bit and she comes back and groans and presses herself against him and I've read this all wrong and she kisses him right on the lips. Hard.
My heart's hammering. I turn away,
hiding in the darkness halfway between the bushes and the corner that turns back to the pool. God, I was so stupid! Did I think she was going to fall in love with me or something? With her "hero"? Was I that stupid?
Yeah. I'm dumber than I thought. I'm a complete moron. I'm a drooling retard. I kept telling myself I didn't think that, but deep down, I did. Deep down, I wanted it. What an ass I am.
So screw it. Just screw it. There's no point in pretending.
No point in trying to be good anymore.
Before Leah and Riordon can come around the bushes, I dart back to the pool area. I toss the Frisbee to the guy in the pool, but it's a terrible, wobbly throw that gets everyone laughing. I ignore them and go straight back into the house.
I take a deep breath. I congratulate myself for not staying to watch Leah make out with Riordon even more. That's been the cure all along, Kross. Just see her with another guy.
But it's not the cure, and I know it. Because I know what I'm going to do before I do it.
"Are you guys OK for punch out there, Kevin?" It's Mrs. Muldoon. She came right up to me while I was lost in my thoughts.
"I think they need some more," I lie. I'm not sure, but I need to get rid of her.
"Is everything OK?" she asks, her brow all wrinkly with worry.
"Yeah, I just need to go to the bathroom."
But as soon as she disappears outside to check on the punch, I'm down the hall and turning right, not left.
I don't even hesitate. I just grab the picture. The one I saw before, of Leah in her pink and black outfit. My heart hammers.
I shove the picture in the pocket of my bathing suit.
A minute later, I'm back outside like nothing's happened. I grab my backpack.
Leah comes from around the corner, holding Riordon's hand. She sees me with my pack and comes over.
"Are you leaving already?"
"Yeah, I, uh..." I don't want to look at Riordon, but he's right here, so I have to. "I'm on my provisional license, so, y'know..."
Riordon smirks. He's my age, so he's on his provisional, too, but I guess he doesn't care.
"Oh!" Leah looks at her watch. "I didn't realize it was that late. We're gonna watch movies soon, if you want—"
"No, I really have to go." The picture is burning against my thigh.
"OK." She disengages from Riordon long enough to hug me. "Thanks for coming, Kevin."
I'm afraid she'll feel the picture in my pocket somehow. I break the hug early, hating myself. "OK. Thanks for inviting me. Bye, John." I wave at him weakly.
He just shakes his head and drags Leah back to the pool.
I go inside and return to the bathroom. I change into my clothes. I take the picture out of my pocket.
OK, Kross. You still can change your mind. You can put this back in her bedroom and leave.
Yeah, right. Like that's gonna happen.
Chapter 29
! Tell A Lot of Lies
WHEN I GET HOME, DAD IS STILL UP. I give him his keys. "How was it?" he asks.
The picture of Leah is stashed in my backpack. I hear my voice—clear and unwavering—lie to Dad and say, "Fine."
"That's good."
"Anything interesting on the news?" I ask, all innocent and calm.
"Nothing."
Perfect. That's because Flip waited until the last possible minute to call the fire department. The news shows were over by then, or close to it.
But tomorrow's papers should be very interesting.
Now that he knows I'm home safe, Dad retreats to his bedroom. I get dressed for bed and then lie on the sofabed, holding the picture of Leah.
I've crossed a line. You know that old saying "Look, but don't touch"? It's like something they teach little kids. I mean, God! Even little freakin' kids can understand that!
I touched. I stole. Thou shalt not steal. It's, like, a commandment. It doesn't matter that I just stole a picture. It's not mine. It belongs to her and I crossed the line and took it.
It feels wrong. It feels right.
I can't tell the difference anymore.
In the morning, Dad frowns and shows me the front page of the Loco, which screams, Vandalism at South Brook High! along with a picture of the burnt flags and poles, dripping water, a fire engine in the background.
"Was this your idea?" he asks.
"I was at the party last night, Dad. And then I was here."
If he notices that I carefully tiptoed around his question, he doesn't show it. He just nods, then looks at the story again and says, "Someone's being a smart aleck."
"I guess so."
There's a tense moment when I figure he'll bust me, but then he notices something in the story and mutters, "An ordinance to prohibit flag burning in Brookdale? Idiots!" and starts scrutinizing the paper with a manic gleam in his eye.
I kill time around the apartment. I go help Mrs. Mac move some boxes into her attic. Anything to keep myself from thinking about the flag burning and the picture of Leah I've got hidden with the remains of my video camera.
Around noon, Flip pulls up in his coupe, Fam-less. I slide into the passenger seat and he hands me his laptop.
I watch a Quicktime movie of the burning: a slow pan from left to right, capturing the flags as they burn. Flip even dropped "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" in the background, which is a nice touch. It ends with a pull-back to a wide shot of all of the flags, and then the text superimposed perfectly.
"Awesome."
"Give me Fam's cell." I hand it over. "Where is Fam?"
He shrugs. "Who knows?"
"Well, thank her for letting me use the phone."
"Whatever." I realize then and there, he won't tell her I said thanks.
"Well, thanks, Flip."
"No worries. We're gonna have fun on Wednesday. Officer Sexpot's ultimate triumph." Yeah, yeah, whatever.
I go back inside to help Mrs. Mac some more. I can barely think, I'm so excited. No one can ignore this. No one. I made my point.
It keeps me giddy and happy for most of the day. And it keeps me from thinking about Leah. And the picture.
Saturday night and Sunday, the picture starts to haunt me again. I keep expecting the phone to ring—the police, calling to say Leah has reported stolen property and I'm the prime suspect.
But, no. Nothing.
The Sunday paper is filled with letters and editorials about the burning. The paper's editors are "horrified and sickened" by the "outrageous display of disrespect." It is, apparently, "one step away from burning an American flag," which is what's really got them in an uproar.
Most of the letters talk about how "clearly" and "obviously" the people who "perpetrated this heinous act" wanted to burn an American flag but were afraid to. "And so they simply settled for the next best thing—burning the flags of our allies."
Wow, talk about not getting the point.
At least I've got people talking.
Dad reads the paper and gets so worked up that he can barely get a syllable out, much less a coherent thought. Since Mom isn't around to yell at anymore, he takes a long walk around the neighborhood even though it's started raining.
While he's gone, I slip one of my tapes into the VCR. Why am I doing this to myself? Why do I keep giving in to this sickness?
But I watch it anyway.
Chapter 30
Bus Ride of Losers
ON MONDAY MORNING, THE BUS IS HELL.
I mean, really. Hell. I smell brimstone and hear the screams of the damned, or maybe those are just my screams.
It's the first time I've ridden the bus since the whole free speech thing started. The bus driver sneers at me as I get on. And hits the gas before I'm in a seat, knocking me back and forth and almost making me fall over. As it is, my hand brushes against someone, who jerks back and slaps it away like I've got the plague.
An undercurrent of hissing fills the bus as I lurch my way back through the aisle. All the kids start rearranging their backpacks and stuff to avoid having m
e sit with them. There's nowhere to go.
The driver slams on the brakes and I almost go flying backwards through the windowshield.
"Sit down! I can't drive until you're sitting down."
You jackass. No one will let me sit down.
But saying that out loud would be whining. And I won't whine.
You'd think someone would hear the bus driver and shove over a little bit so that I could sit down, but no. I approach a few seats and nothing.
"Come on, sit down!" the bus driver calls out, and some kids pick up the chant, like it's my fault somehow. I grit my teeth and keep looking. My face is burning and I feel like I could cry at any second, but no way—that's not gonna happen. I keep going back, then realize that I've gone too far and I'll need to turn around, but I don't think I can handle turning around to see the entire bus glaring at me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the barest sliver of a seat. I pounce for it. I can only get half my ass on the seat and I'm turned out into the aisle and I can barely stay steady as the bus revs up and is thrown into gear, but at least I'm sitting, even though the guy in the seat with me presses himself as far against the window as possible, like I'm contagious, and says, "Asshole," in a very loud, very clear voice.
I really miss my car.
I walk into homeroom and I'm not there five seconds before Mrs. Sawyer says, "Kevin, go to the principal's office."
Everyone goes silent, except for a huff of muted laughter from John Riordon.
"What?"
She holds out a hall pass. She had it written before I even came into the room. "Principal's office."
"I haven't even done anything! I haven't even said anything!"
"I was told to send you down as soon as you got here."
Man! I grab the pass and go to see the Doc. He's in a bad mood. He doesn't even ask me to sit down.
"This has gotten entirely out of control now, Kevin. What on earth possessed you to do this?"
"Do what?"
His whole head flushes red, even on the very top, and he stands up to loom over me. "Don't play games with me! You could have burned this school down!"