He tries to sound reasonable. “We want you to be free to discover who you are. We’ve never put limits on that—”
“Until now,” I finish sarcastically.
“We never thought we had to!” my mother explodes. “Look, Shosh, you know us. We don’t tell you who to be friends with! But him? He’s the worst kind of bully—the kind who ruins lives! Your brother’s, for one!”
“We’re not friends,” I defend myself. “At least, we didn’t start out that way. Chase is in video club now. Doing my contest entry on Mr. Solway was his idea. I didn’t want to say yes, but the old guy is so perfect!”
“And it never struck you as suspicious that this boy who made a career of tormenting Joel should suddenly turn his attention to you?” Dad challenges.
“Of course it did! I hate Chase Ambrose! I mean, I hate that Chase Ambrose. But he’s so different now! He’s not a bully anymore. He doesn’t remember anything that happened before his accident.”
“That’s convenient,” my father says bitterly.
“I thought so too,” I admit. “I was positive he was faking that amnesia stuff. But there’s just no way. Nobody’s that good an actor. And you know what?” They aren’t going to want to hear it, but it needs to be said. “We weren’t friends at the beginning, but I think we’re kind of turning into friends now. I like the new Chase.”
My mom recoils—honestly. Like I just slapped her.
“Your brother,” she begins, her voice shaking, “is completely unhappy, attending a school he hates, instead of at home, living the life he’s entitled to, and the reason is that boy you’re so quick to defend. I don’t know if he’s changed and I don’t care. The person he was broke up this family. What he did to Joel is unforgivable. That means he can never be forgiven.”
Dad glares at me. “I’ll bet you haven’t told Joel who you’re buddy-buddy with these days. How would you ever explain that to him?”
That hurts, because he’s exactly right.
“Fine,” I confess. “I never said anything to Joel. Well, maybe I should have.”
“You can’t be serious!” my mother exclaims. “What possible good could come of that?”
An idea is forming in my head. Kind of a wild idea, but it’s making more and more sense the longer it sits there. “You said it yourself—Joel’s lost at boarding school. I think he’s more unhappy than he ever was when he was here being bullied.”
“And whose fault is that?” Mom demands. “Your new ‘friend,’ that’s who!”
“Can we just talk about Joel for one second, and leave everybody else out of it? He’s so depressed at Melton—and maybe he doesn’t have to be.”
“What are you saying?” my father asks.
“Chase bullied Joel to the point where he had to get out of town,” I explain. “But that Chase doesn’t exist anymore. What if we’re keeping Joel at boarding school for nothing?”
They stare at me.
“You mean bring him home?” Mom breathes.
“The reason for him to be somewhere else doesn’t exist anymore,” I insist. “Chase has changed. Aaron and Bear are still jerks, but Chase was always the ringleader. I’m not saying it’ll be perfect, but Joel should be here. Joel wants to be here! And I’m pretty sure he can be here.”
I brace myself, expecting them to go off on me: I’m crazy; I’m dreaming; I’m gambling with my brother’s life.
Instead—dead silence.
At last, my father finds his voice. “What if you’re wrong?”
I have no answer. I only know that I want my brother back. I’ve wanted it since the day he left for Melton.
Shosh466: Joel—we’ve got to talk.
The piano is out of tune.
Actually, my whole life is out of tune, but the piano is worse.
I couldn’t stand Melton, but everything there was always in tune. It had to be. All the kids had perfect pitch; the instruments were maintained at the highest level; even the wrought-iron gate outside the faculty building squeaked a perfect B-flat. I have perfect pitch too, so I know.
I’m proof that just being qualified to attend a musical conservatory doesn’t mean you should go there. I love the piano, but not enough to care about it the way people do at a school like Melton. I want to use it to make music, not mind meld with it. There, it’s never enough to play an instrument. You have to live it, breathe it, taste it, compose for it, understand it inside and out. You even have to empathize with it, like it’s another person. Honest.
I hated it. I hated living in a dormitory and sharing a bathroom with eleven other guys. I hated my roommate, and his violin, and his asthma, and the whistling sound he made when he slept—D above high C.
But what I hated most about Melton was the reason I had to go there. To be fair, it wasn’t Melton’s fault that I was forced out of my own home by three morons. Or that even though everyone knew those three were juvenile delinquents, I was the one who had to suffer.
And now I’m supposed to believe that the leader of the three, Alpha Rat, is a good guy because he fell on his head.
Fine. Whatever gets the job done. I’m home, and an out-of-tune piano is a small price to pay for it.
I’m back where I belong. I’m happy. But …
Be careful what you wish for. At Melton, I missed Mitzi so much it was almost a physical pain. That dog drives me crazy. I know she’s glad to see me, but she won’t leave me alone. I’m always covered in dog hair, which makes me sneeze. And when I kick her out of my room, she lies just outside the door, whining. F-sharp.
My parents are so guilty and conflicted about what happened that they’re smothering me. They wait on me hand and foot like I’m helpless. And while it’s great to be back with Shosh, she’s giving me an uneasy feeling. For one thing, she has entirely too much to say about a certain Alpha Rat.
“Chase thinks Brendan is going to break his neck shooting a YouTube video …”
“Mr. Solway threw Jell-O at Chase for letting him win at arm wrestling …”
“Chase kept the camera steady while Hugo interviewed the school bus driver—even when they went over the railroad tracks …”
I blow my stack. “Chase says, Chase says,” I mimic savagely. “Chase has said enough for one lifetime!”
She’s patient and understanding. That’s another annoying thing. Why does everyone have to be so patient and understanding? One of the perks of living at home should be arguing with your family.
“Wait till you see him at school on Monday. You won’t believe how different he is.”
“I don’t care how different he is,” I say honestly. “I don’t plan to have anything to do with the guy.”
“But you’re going to have to deal with him sooner or later,” she reasons. “You’re coming back to video club, right? Chase is part of that now.”
“Good for him.”
Her expression turns sympathetic. “I get it. You’re nervous.”
Well, obviously I’m nervous. I haven’t set foot in that school for months and my memories from then are not good. There’s something about being bullied that you could never explain to someone who hasn’t had it happen to them. It’s worse than the sum of the rotten things that are done to you. Even when no one is bothering you, you’re still under attack because you’re dreading the next strike, and you know it can come from anywhere, at any time. You get so paranoid that with every single step you’re half expecting the floor to yawn open and swallow you whole. It got to the point where the only place I felt safe was at the piano. Until the night the piano blew up in my face, and there was no safe place anywhere.
That was my all-time low, and I forgive Mom and Dad for deciding Melton was the answer. I’m a little better now—but only because Melton was so lousy that even coming back to this is an improvement. When a bunch of jerks see you as a victim, that’s on them. But when it goes on so long that it’s how you see yourself, it’s very hard to climb out of that hole.
The hole seems deeper on Monday
morning, when Shosh and I get out of the car, and Hiawassee Middle School is right there. I know bricks and concrete are incapable of evil intent, but I can’t shake the feeling that the building itself is out to get me.
Dr. Fitzwallace reached out to my parents last week. He offered to meet with me this morning before homeroom. I said no, I’d just print my class schedule at home. I think he wants to reassure me that he has my back. Big deal. He had my back before, and what good did it do? Short of a secret service bodyguard, there’s no way to protect anyone one hundred percent. Sooner or later, you’re always going to end up in a lonely hallway or a deserted locker room.
Shosh rounds on me. “You ready for this?”
I’m not ready, but I nod. Then we’re in, surrounded by all those kids. I forgot the thrum of a school this big—a chaotic buzz of sounds, too many to assign a single note to, or even a whole chord.
A handful of faces turn my way, registering surprise at my return. I hear the occasional whispered, “It’s him!” or “Joel’s back!” or “You know, the guy whose piano exploded.” I catch a couple of kindhearted looks, and even a hostile one from a big kid who must be a football player. Mostly, though, nobody sees me at all—or, worse, they never noticed I was gone. I think that makes me madder than anything else. I went through the worst part of my life—was bullied so badly I had to leave town—and it never popped onto most people’s radar screens. That baloney from guidance counselors about how we’re supposed to be “a community”—yeah, right. This is how bullies like Chase Ambrose get away with what they do—because their victims are invisible.
Speaking of bodyguards, Shosh thinks she’s mine, because she stays glued to my side. Add that to a list of humiliations that doesn’t need padding—my sister is convinced she has to fight my battles for me.
“Don’t you have to get to homeroom?” I ask her, fighting to keep exasperation out of my voice.
“Oh, I figured I’d stay with you, just for today. I haven’t seen Mr. O’Toole in a while—”
I interrupt her. “Go away, Shosh.”
She looks worried. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I reply honestly. “But you can’t hang off me forever. What happens when I have to go to the bathroom?”
“Well, I figured I could wait outside—”
“Go away,” I repeat.
Classes are okay, I guess. No different than Melton. Math is math, regardless of whether or not you’re learning it from a world-class French horn player. A few kids ask where I’ve been. Those who know have questions about what boarding school is like.
Brendan Espinoza updates me on his YouTube career, and I congratulate him on Leaf Man, which is up to over four thousand views. Not exactly viral yet, but his biggest audience so far. He tells me about video club—Kimberly Tooley is a member, although she never struck me as the type. He talks about her a lot, so I suspect he has some kind of crush going on.
“The biggest news is your sister’s entry for the National Video Journalism Contest,” Brendan enthuses. “We’ve been screening the footage and it’s awesome. They’re just doing the editing now—Shoshanna and—” He falls silent.
“Yeah. I know who her partner is.”
“Joel, you’re not going to believe how different he is. It’s like he split open his head when he fell off the roof, and they put in a new brain!”
“So I’ve heard.” Bad enough I have to listen to Shosh singing Alpha Rat’s praises. It never occurred to me that the entire video club would turn out to be fans too.
I pass by Chase in the hall once, and the sight of his face nearly makes me jump out of my skin. But here’s the thing: He looks right through me like I’m not even there. Maybe he really does have amnesia and doesn’t recognize me.
Well, I recognize him. He’s the jerk who did his best to ruin my life last year.
I have no choice but to run into Beta and Gamma Rats. They’re in my Spanish class seventh period.
“Look who came crawling home to Mommy,” Bear sneers at me.
I’m paralyzed. It’s worse than my near miss with Chase in the hall, because it proves that nothing has really changed. Are these my only two choices—this or Melton?
Aaron grabs Bear’s arm and drags him to a seat in the back row. “Leave it, man. You want to get in even more trouble thanks to this loser?”
Those two are doing community service over the cherry bombs in the piano. Maybe that’ll buy me a little peace.
What I dread the most is the part I used to look forward to—video club. When I was at Melton I practically ached for it. It was the symbol of everything I was missing out on because I’d been exiled. But now all I can think of is that I’m going to come face-to-face with him.
When I get to Ms. DeLeo’s room, the lights are out and all eyes are on the Smart Board. I assume that this is my sister’s famous video project, and the old guy on the screen is that Mr. Solway I’ve heard so much about. He’s describing a scene from the war, and everybody is completely enthralled.
Ms. DeLeo notices me first and pauses the video. She comes over to the doorway to greet me. “Joel—it’s so good to have you back.”
They crowd around me—all the members. There are a couple of new faces, like Kimberly, but most of them are old friends. It’s a nice welcome. I can’t enjoy it, though, because I know he’s there, hanging back, waiting his turn.
Shosh performs a formal introduction—like I don’t know the guy who turned my life into a horror show. But of course, it isn’t for me; it’s for him.
“Chase, I don’t think you remember my brother, Joel.”
He looks ten times more miserable than he ever made me. “I don’t even know what to say to you,” he begins in a voice I barely recognize as his arrogant Alpha Rat bravado. “I have no memory of any of the things I did to you. And I can’t undo them. But I want to tell you that I’m really, really sorry.”
Up until this moment, I had no idea how I’d react to meeting Chase Ambrose again after all these months. Now I know. I completely believe that he has amnesia and can’t recall the stuff that happened between us. I believe that he’s changed, and that he honestly regrets what he did to me.
And I know something else: It doesn’t make any difference. None. Zero. Zilch.
I still hate his guts.
… It is the finding of this court that the three juveniles, Chase Matthew Ambrose, Aaron Joshua Hakimian, and Steven Beresford Bratsky, acted recklessly and with malice, not merely destroying property, but creating chaotic circumstances that could have endangered the public safety. Further, this is not an isolated incident; it is part of a pattern of intimidation and misbehavior toward others. Therefore, it is this court’s decision that the aforementioned juveniles perform community service until such time as their caseworker concludes that this destructive behavior has been corrected …
“Hi, Chase!”
When the hand grasps my shoulder, I practically jump out of my skin, scaring poor Brendan halfway back to the breakfast line in the cafeteria. My head has been spinning all morning. Dad asked for my birth certificate so he could set up the appointment with Dr. Nguyen. I finally found it in Mom’s desk. But that’s not all I found. I also stumbled on a copy of the court paper sentencing Aaron, Bear, and me to community service.
“What’s wrong?” Brendan asks in concern. “You look like you’ve just seen the zombie apocalypse and it’s coming this way.”
How can I explain it? It may not be the zombie apocalypse, but it’s just as creepy. The judge’s words have been burning themselves into my brain: pattern of intimidation … zero remorse … pathway to criminality if left unchecked …
I didn’t realize how bad it was.
Oh, sure, the flashbacks keep coming. I remember the wide berth kids gave me when I got back to school after the accident—and continue to give me to this day. The general sentiment that Hiawassee Middle School—and maybe the whole world—would be a better place without me. I’m a pretty heavy presence here. An
d since I’ve done nothing in my new life to earn that reputation, it’s safe to say that it comes from the secret history amnesia erased—from the thirteen years before I fell off the roof.
Up until a couple of weeks ago, my four-year-old half sister treated me like a Sasquatch that wandered into her life—an unpredictable and dangerous beast. And her mother—an adult—wasn’t much more comfortable around me.
Aaron and Bear aren’t exactly choirboys, so it’s safe to assume I wasn’t either. But in spite of the rough way they treat other people, they always have my back. That’s loyalty—a good quality.
Isn’t it?
I close my eyes and see the empty velvet case from Mr. Solway’s closet.
“Brendan, how bad was I?” I blurt.
An English muffin rolls off his tray and hits the floor.
“What are you talking about?” he stammers. “Leaf Man never could have happened if it wasn’t for you.”
“I mean before,” I press. “The old Chase.”
“Who cares?” he insists. “You were really different then.”
“I know I was different. Different how? Did I ever do anything to you?”
After a long silence, Brendan runs a finger across his right eyebrow. When I look close, I realize there’s a scar there, partly hidden, about half an inch long.
My heart leaps into my throat. “I did that?”
“I was leaning over the drinking fountain. You came by and shoved me in the back of the head. Three stitches.”
“Brendan”—my voice is husky—“I’m so sorry.”
“You know the worst part?” he goes on. “You just kept walking. You never even bothered to turn around. No follow-up. That’s how nothing it was. That’s how nothing I was.”
I can’t speak. I think of Aaron and Bear—our loyalty. It kind of doesn’t mean as much as I thought it did.
“Anyway,” Brendan tells me, “like I said, you’re different now. I’ll catch you later in video club.”