Read Restart Page 17


  This old bat has a voice like screeching gears on a truck with a bad transmission. “You don’t look very busy to me. You’re just standing around the snack cart eating the cookies you’re supposed to be passing out.”

  “Which is a big job.” Bear pretends to be outraged. “You expect us to do it on an empty stomach?”

  “Chill out,” I advise Dumbledora. “Five more minutes.”

  It goes without saying that community service at the Graybeard Motel is about as much fun as sticking your hand in a garbage disposal. The one good thing is you get to mess with the residents. She’s been bugging us half the morning to set up an extra card table in the rec room so she and three other blue-hairs can play bridge. We’ve been having a few laughs seeing how long we can blow her off. Five minutes? Try five hours. Maybe five days. If she doesn’t like it, let her set up her own card table. She’s built like a sumo wrestler.

  In frustration, she retreats into the rec room and Bear and I crack up. Oh, we’ll do it for her eventually—you know, right before her head explodes. That’s the art to it—picking the moment to give in just when she’s about to report us to the nurses.

  We help ourselves to more cookies, but Bear tries to hog the last chocolate one and we end up down on the floor, fighting for it and laughing like crazy. The cookie is crushed before either of us can eat it.

  We’re getting back to our feet, brushing off the dust and crumbs, when we see him: Chase, striding down the hall like he’s on The Amazing Race—in a real hurry to get somewhere, and not too thrilled about it. Ever since our fight on the football field, he hasn’t been turning up for community service—not that he’s really on it, anyway. I guess he’s back—or at least he’s back visiting his video star, the nastiest old Dumbledore in a building overflowing with them.

  Bear, who has amazing sight, spots the bulging pocket first. It looks like he’s carrying a baseball, but there’s a piece of cloth trailing from the opening.

  “Hey, Ambrose,” I call. “What’ve you got there?”

  He ignores me and shifts his path to the opposite side of the corridor.

  Bear blocks his way. “The man asked you a question.”

  Another shift, so I step out beside Bear, and together we block the hall. Chase does exactly what a running back would do on a football field: He puts his head down and tries to blast through us. But we’re linemen, and we stop him cold. In a game, I’d be trying to strip the ball. In this case, I reach down, grab the white fabric, and yank.

  A dish towel opens up in my hand, and something flies out of it and hits the terrazzo floor with a clink. Star shape, blue ribbon—the geezer’s medal. Chase falls on it like he’s recovering a fumble. Bear and I go down on top of him.

  “Two-thirds of that is ours!” I snarl.

  “It belongs to Mr. Solway!”

  “He doesn’t care!” Bear grunts. “He barely remembers he ever had it!”

  “Get off!”

  Somehow, he heaves us both clear and scrambles to his feet, clutching the medal in his hand.

  “You’re not going to win this, man,” I tell him. It’s not even unfriendly; I’m giving him valuable information. “We’re taking that medal no matter what we have to do to you.”

  He hesitates, considering his options. During the pause, Dumbledora comes back into the hall. “What’s going on out here? It’s more than five minutes. We need our table set up. Now.”

  “Oh, I’ll do it,” offers Chase, grabbing the opportunity to get away from us.

  The medal concealed in his fist, he escorts Dumbledora into the rec room. Bear starts to follow them, but I hold him back. “Too many witnesses, man. Be patient. He can’t stay in there forever.”

  We watch like hawks from the doorway, figuring he might try to stash the medal and come back for it later, when we’re not around. It’s in his right hand. He never opens those fingers while he’s setting up the folding table and chairs. He keeps one eye on us. I favor him with a grin that says: We’re going to get you if we have to stand here until the next ice age.

  “He’s toast,” Bear whispers triumphantly. “The only way out of the room is through us.”

  The Dumbledoras in the rec room are fawning over Ambrose like he just saved the world from Lex Luthor or something. They love him as much as they hate us. It’s enough to make you barf. He even takes a small potted plant from the TV cabinet and sets it on the table to be a centerpiece. The blue-hairs are practically wriggling with joy.

  Then, as Chase turns, his elbow knocks the pot off the table. It hits the floor and shatters, spilling earth all over the place.

  Bear loves it. “Ha! Idiot!”

  Ambrose rushes to the corner, where a vacuum cleaner stands against the wall. He plugs it in and starts to clean up his mess.

  We almost miss it. As he runs the vacuum back and forth over the dirt, he opens his hand and drops the medal into the unit’s path. In a heartbeat, it’s sucked up and gone. He glances over his shoulder to see if we noticed. I pretend we didn’t, but Bear’s face is bright red, which is a dead giveaway.

  Chase is vacuuming toward us now, speeding up, breaking into a run. The plug pops out of the wall. The vacuum falls silent. He keeps moving, though, charging at us. Bear and I block the doorway and brace ourselves to deck him again. Just before impact, he lifts the vacuum cleaner like a battering ram and slams into us.

  We’re both knocked back onto our butts, choking in a cloud of dust that the collision forces out of the filter bag. By the time our vision clears and we struggle back up again, Ambrose is almost of out sight down the hall, still cradling the vacuum cleaner.

  We stare at each other, and the minute we get our breath back, we chorus, “Get him!”

  We take off after our star running back. We’ve never been able to outpace him before. But this time, he’s carrying a vacuum cleaner, not a football.

  That’s bound to slow him down.

  By the time I get to Portland Street, I’m walking so fast that the others are half a block behind me and running to catch up.

  Chase! I didn’t think I could be madder at him than I already am. But this almost makes it worse. He’s innocent of the attack on Joel—I saw it with my own eyes.

  It was easier when I could just hate his guts, no questions asked. But it’s not as simple as that. Now, every time I work myself into a good rage, I’ll see him trying to protect Joel, or working with the video club, or interacting with Mr. Solway. And that will ruin everything. It’s the mix of good and bad that makes my head spin.

  Worse, a lot of the mean things I said turn out to be wrong, and it might be too late to take them back.

  In the lobby, I wait for the others to catch up and drag them down the hall to Mr. Solway’s room. I knock on the door, but burst inside without waiting for an answer. The old man is doubled over in his favorite chair, working at his sneaker lace with intense concentration. Spying me, he exclaims, “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in and help me undo this knot. I don’t bend in the middle like I used to. And when I do get close enough, I can’t see it!”

  I step inside and the others follow.

  “By all means,” Mr. Solway adds, “invite the whole world. Watch the old codger trying to untie his shoes. Who’s bringing the popcorn? You’re going to have to blow up the balloons yourselves. I haven’t got the wind for it anymore.”

  I kneel down and pick the knot out of his shoelace. “Mr. Solway,” I ask breathlessly, “has Chase been here yet?”

  He shakes his head. “Haven’t seen him in days. You either,” he adds, a little accusingly.

  I feel awful. I haven’t come by since Joel got hurt. And now I realize that Chase hasn’t visited since that horrible day either. It never occurred to me before because my only thoughts about Chase were how much I despised him. But to Mr. Solway it must look like we didn’t need him anymore because our video was finished. And we just tossed him aside.

  “It’s my fault,” I confess. “I got mad at Chase for s
omething that was only partly his fault. That’s why he stopped coming. Not because he didn’t want to see you, but because he didn’t want to see me. And I stopped because I didn’t want to run into him …”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder. Joel is standing next to me and I realize that he’s trying to tell me I’m getting so worked up about this emotionally that I’m not making much sense.

  A crooked smile spreads over Mr. Solway’s craggy face. “I wouldn’t be young again for all the tea in China.”

  Kimberly steps forward. “We saw a movie about you in my school.”

  “That was Warrior,” Brendan supplies quickly. “The project Shoshanna and Chase did together.”

  There’s a commotion out in the hall—loud voices and pounding footsteps.

  Mr. Solway frowns. “Not wheelchair Roller Derby again. The Greatest Generation—they think they own the world!”

  I poke my head out the door in time to see Chase sprinting toward me with, of all things, a vacuum cleaner clutched in his arms. As I watch, he’s yanked violently backward off his feet. He falls hard, still clinging to the appliance. Aaron is on the floor behind him, both hands on the electrical cord that brought Chase down.

  Bear hurdles the fallen Aaron and descends on Chase like a bird of prey. And when Chase won’t give up the vacuum, Bear rains punches on his head and shoulders.

  I hear a cry of outrage from Kimberly, but it’s not as loud as my own. The two of us rush forward and jump on Bear, trying to pull him off Chase. And it works. He scrambles back to his feet and shoves us away from him. Kimberly bounces off the wall, and as we stumble together, our heads meet with a crack. I see stars.

  “Hey!” Little undersized Brendan comes flying at Bear, his anger lending him courage nobody ever knew he had. He begins pummeling Bear, landing blow after blow. It’s insane—David versus Goliath. He isn’t even making proper fists—his thumbs stick out like apple stems.

  Then Bear’s shocked expression turns to cruel glee and he laughs even as Brendan continues to flail at him. Finally, he hauls off and catches his much smaller assailant with a bone-crushing uppercut to the jaw. Brendan lifts off the floor and lands six feet away.

  Amazingly, Brendan gets up, his chin bright red from the punch, and starts for Bear again.

  Chase is on his feet, reaching out to hold Brendan off. It’s a good idea. Those two gorillas could really dismantle him. Aaron snatches the vacuum off the floor and draws it back like a baseball bat—and the ball is Chase’s head.

  I rasp a warning. “Chase—!”

  Mr. Solway’s walker comes freewheeling down the hall. It slams into Aaron’s kidneys just when he’s off balance for the home-run swing. He and the vacuum tip over backward onto Bear. Three of them—Aaron, Bear, and the Hoover—clatter to the floor.

  “Ha—bull’s-eye!” exclaims Mr. Solway with satisfaction.

  “There they are!”

  The heavy doors at the end of the corridor are thrown open, and Joel appears, leading Nurse Duncan and two security guards.

  Way to go, Joel! At least somebody had the brains to go for help.

  Aaron and Bear are ready to fight another round, but the arrival of security and the head nurse puts an end to the action. Brawling in the middle of court-ordered community service won’t look good on their records.

  Bear points an accusing finger at Chase. “It’s his fault!”

  Nurse Duncan is in a towering rage. “What is?” Residents are beginning to appear in doorways to investigate the cause of the disturbance, so the head nurse drops her voice. “What is all this insanity about?”

  In answer, Chase pulls the filter bag off the Hoover and dumps the contents onto the floor. He digs through the mound of fuzz and dirt and comes up with a star-spangled ribbon, gray with dust. Dangling off the end of it is the highest and most renowned military decoration any American soldier can earn. The Medal of Honor—not even the contents of the vacuum bag can dull its brilliance.

  “Is that mine?” Mr. Solway asks in amazement.

  Chase nods. “I took it from you. I don’t remember doing it—it was before my accident. But that’s no excuse.” He hands it to its rightful owner and bows his head, shamefaced.

  “It was the old you!” Brendan mumbles around a rapidly swelling jaw.

  “There’s only one me.” Chase says it so quietly that I can hardly hear him.

  Mr. Solway turns the medal over in his fingers. He seems stunned. “What about those two clowns?” he asks. “Were they in on it?”

  Aaron and Bear turn terrified eyes on their former best friend.

  “It was just me,” Chase replies. “I took it and I hid it behind a loose cedar shake on the roof of my house. That’s what I was doing when I fell. I guess I got what I deserved.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I would do such an awful thing. I must have thought I could sell it.”

  Mr. Solway looks shocked and very sad.

  I almost speak up for Chase, but the sight of the stolen medal strikes me mute. Good Chase, bad Chase—there’s no question that we’re looking at the handiwork of the worst one of all.

  I can tell that Joel wants to support Chase, but he doesn’t know what to say. He’s the quiet twin; I’m the mouthy one. Brendan’s jaw is turning purple, so he’s not talking either. Kimberly’s completely lost. And Aaron and Bear are so relieved that no one’s blaming them that they’re keeping their mouths shut too.

  The only words come from Nurse Duncan. “Well, I have no idea what any of this is supposed to mean. The one thing I understand is that a crime has been committed here.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m calling the police.”

  There are worse things than falling off a roof.

  Being arrested, for example. Being known all over town as the guy who was low enough to rob an old war hero of the medal given to him by the president of the United States.

  The part that really hurts is what Mr. Solway must think of me now. I stole from the person I respect more than anybody I’ve ever met. Talk about fate! I was already guilty of the theft before I even started admiring the guy. And I’m absolutely sure he’ll never speak to me again. Why should he? I wish I could never speak to me again.

  While we wait for my hearing in juvenile court, Mom keeps me out of school. I like it better that way. I don’t have to face everybody and find out how much they despise me. Yeah, sure, they always despised me. But now they’ve got double reason to. Brendan and Shoshanna have even called my house, but Mom won’t let me talk to anyone. That’s on the advice of our lawyer, but it’s just fine with me. I can only imagine what Shoshanna has to say to me, and I don’t want to hear it. Anyway, it can’t be worse than the things I’m saying to myself.

  Aaron and Bear tried to call too—probably to thank me for covering for them. Hey, I stole the medal, but those guys have to be considered at least accomplices, because of our three-way-split agreement. To be honest, I’m not even that mad at them anymore. I was just as bad as they are, the ringleader of the whole sick trio. They haven’t changed at all. I’m the one who’s different.

  At least I hope I’m different.

  Besides, I won’t have to deal with them anymore after the hearing. I’ll probably wind up in juvie. Even when I get out, chances are their parents won’t let them associate with me. I’m a delinquent, a bad influence on them. For all I know, that might actually be the truth. Maybe Aaron and Bear were a couple of angels before they met me.

  Juvie—there’s a really high probability I’m going to end up there. The judge is the same one who sentenced Aaron, Bear, and me to community service, so I can’t even say this is my first offense. As for pleading not guilty—it’s too late for that. Everybody knows I did it.

  My mom forgives me, but that doesn’t mean much. If you can’t expect mercy from your own mother, you might as well throw in the towel. Johnny’s come back from college to stand with me at the hearing, which means I’m messing up his life too.

  The only other people I ever see are Da
d and his family. Go figure, my stepmother, Corinne, turns out to be my biggest fan at a time when I’m toe jam to the rest of the world. Not that Mom isn’t supportive, but she’s so scared of what’s going to happen to me that her nervousness is making everybody nuts.

  Corinne’s different. First, I’m not her kid. And second, she’s not the one who might be going to juvie. So she can be a little less emotional about all this. “I have to believe that the judge will be able to see the kind of person you are.”

  “I guess I was pretty rotten to you and Helene,” I say. “You know—before. I don’t remember it, but I’m still sorry.”

  “Never mind that,” she replies. “Let’s focus on how things are now.”

  Helene is only four, so she understands nothing about my problems. Actually, the only time I feel really relaxed these days is when I’m sitting on the floor with her, playing Barbies—something the old Chase wouldn’t have been caught dead doing.

  I’m pushing Malibu Barbie’s beach cruiser, giving Ken a ride to the luau, when I notice Dad filming me on his phone.

  “I thought playing with a four-year-old interferes with your focus on important things, like football,” I tell him.

  “Are you kidding, Champ?” he exclaims. “We can show this at your trial—”

  “It’s a hearing.”

  “Whatever. It’ll prove to the judge what a great big brother you are. And that will get you back on the football field.”

  I sigh. “I guess you think I’m a pretty big moron for returning that medal.”

  He actually seems to mull it over. “Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say it would have been a lot smarter just to slip it under Solway’s door.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “But you did the right thing,” he adds. “That medal’s worthless to you. You didn’t earn it—not like your state championship, let’s say. It only has value to Mr. Solway.”

  “I don’t know how valuable it is to him either. He can’t remember any of what he did to win it. He blanked it out the way I blanked out my whole past.”