Bang (10 page)

Trey knocks on my bedroom door ten minutes

later. “It’s me,” he says.
“Come on in.”

He stands there. “You okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m in deep shit. You’re home early.”

“Sawyer was worried Dad was going to hit you or

something. I told him Dad has never done that, but

Sawyer was pretty jittery. I think he feels bad we told you

to go with Dad.”

“Yeah, what the hell was that?”

“Sorry. I suggested it because I figured it might save

you a little grief in the end.”
“Well, it didn’t.”
“We’re not at the end yet.”
“Let me know when we get there, will ya?”
He laughs softly. “I will once I take my metaphorical

beating. He’s pretty pissed at me.”
I don’t say anything. All I can think about is Dad and

his stupid affair, and how Trey and Rowan don’t know, and

I don’t know if I should tell them. And I wonder if Dad

will kill himself now that he knows I know.
It’s the constant question. And then I worry that Dad’s

going to think Mom told me and be mad at her. I flop

down on my bed, finally beginning to realize the scope of

what I’ve done. “I quit,” I say.
Trey looks at me like he didn’t hear me.
I answer his look. “I quit. My job, I mean. I told Dad

I quit.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn’t really give him time to answer. He yelled the

whole way home.” I sigh deeply. “At least now I can work

with Sawyer more. If Dad doesn’t chain me to the house.”
Just then we hear pounding up the stairs. It’s not our

parents. Three seconds later the bedroom door flies open

and Rowan is standing there in her work clothes, bugeyed. She looks from me to Trey to me again. “What the heck?” she asks. “Dad’s on a rampage. Sorry I couldn’t

warn you in time. I didn’t know he’d left until later.”

LISA M c MANN

Trey explains. “Rowan texted me that Dad was on his

way, but by the time I got it he was already coming up the

library loft steps.” He looks at Rowan. “Who’s working?”

“Dad’s in the kitchen. Mom and I are in the dining

room. Aunt Mary’s up front.” She looks at me, her face

showing hurt for the first time. “How could you quit? I’m

leaving Sunday. Now who’s going to cover for me?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Ro. It all happened really

fast. Dad went nuts and I just lost it, I guess.”
“He’s superpissed at you, too, Trey. What did you do?”
Trey rolls his eyes. “I think I humiliated him in front

of an Angotti. He told me to go home. I said no. He tried

to ground me.” Trey laughs bitterly. “He’s really losing

it. He can’t get a handle on that stupid rivalry. Okay, so

somebody stole your recipe. Get over it. Make up a new,

better recipe.”
I bite my lip and look at the floor. I know it’s more

complicated than that. And I’m starting to wonder if

there’s even more shit going on with Dad. But as mad as I

am about the way he’s treating me, I don’t think I should

say anything, especially about the affair. I’ve made enough

messes for now.
Rowan looks at her phone. “I gotta get back down

there,” she mutters.
“Hey, Rowan?” I say as she turns to leave.
“What.” She’s still upset with me.
“They’ll figure something out. I’ll help them if they

need me. If Dad’ll let me. They can get Nick or Casey or

hire somebody else—they’re business owners. Stuff like

this happens. But I’m still sorry for letting you down.”
She scowls. “It’s fine. I don’t actually blame you.” She

pauses once more. “Dad told Mom that you’re not pregnant. I take it he accused you of that again.”
I nod.
“Well, I understand why you’d quit.”
“Thanks.”
“What did any of us ever do to make Dad not trust us?

I don’t get it.” She disappears, nimbly zigzagging through

the cluttered hallway, and then we hear her feet on the

steps once more.
Trey stands up. “I should go down too.”
I look up at him. “Everything’s such a mess.”
He nods. “You should call Sawyer. He was figuring

stuff out, remember?”
I’d forgotten. “Yeah, okay,” I say.
When he leaves, I pull out my phone.

Sawyer’s working and can’t talk. We make a

plan to meet at the coffee shop again before school. I hang

around feeling useless, getting all my homework done in

record time, making a veggie omelet for dinner, and getting on the computer to research more schools since that’s all I know to do to help Sawyer.

When I’ve exhausted everything I can think of, I

sit down in the living room chair and watch TV. Local

Chicago news pops on and I watch it idly. There’s something about the food truck festival this weekend, so I pay attention, wondering if Dad signed us up. And then I

remember I don’t work at Demarco’s Pizzeria anymore,

and I feel really lonely all of a sudden.

When the segment is over I mute it and stare at the

screen, thinking about how I’ve messed everything up. My

eyes focus on the TV when there’s a piece on the University

of Chicago, which is where Trey once thought about going

until he found out how expensive it is. A reporter stands

on the grounds, talking about who knows what, and then

the headline pops up. “Vandalism over Spring Break.” The

camera pans wide and some of the campus is visible, and

then my eyes pop open wide. I lunge for the remote and

hit the record button, begging it to get the whole segment.

Then I fumble for my phone and call Sawyer.

“Hey,” he says.
“Where are you?”
“I’m—”
“Come over. Right now. Can you?”
“I, um, are you kidding me?”
“No. I think I found the school. I have it on my DVR.

It’s not a high school, Sawyer—it’s the University of

Chicago!”
“The—okay, but what about your parents?”

“They won’t be upstairs before eleven. Come!”

“I’m—I’m turning around. I’m five minutes away.
Meet me at the door to your apartment.”
“Awesome.” I hang up and run to the bathroom to
make sure I look okay. And then I go back to the TV and
rewind to make sure I actually got what I need. I do—I
have the whole show. While I wait, I cue it up so Sawyer

LISA M c MANN
can be in and out of here quickly. And then I look around

the living room like I’m seeing it for the first time.

“Oh, dear dog,” I say. “Oh. Dear dog.” It’s mortifying.

No one has ever seen this. No one.
“Whatever,” I mutter. This is more important. And I
head downstairs to wait.
Sawyer comes out of nowhere, a sudden face in the
door’s window. I open it quietly and wave him inside.

“Two things,” I whisper as we creep up the stairs. “We
have to hurry. And . . . my dad is a hoarder. I’m not sure if
you knew that. It’s a train wreck in here, I’m just warning
you, and I’m really embarrassed, but I want you to know
the rest of us don’t live like that. It’s part of his . . . illness.”

He nods. “It’s okay,” he says. “I knew. You mentioned
it in the hospital.”
We weave through the apartment, Sawyer pretending like it’s the most normal thing in the world to have
piles of Christmas lights and bulbs in the dining room but
nowhere to put a tree.
In the living room I grab the remote. “Watch,” I
say. “About a minute in, the camera pans and there are
buildings with ivy and a whole row of those trees along a
street.” I turn on the sound for the first time and hit play.
And the segment runs. “Say stop if you need me to,” I say.
“Can you even see it, or is it the vision?”
“No,” he says. “I can see it.” Sawyer stands there, coat

still on, and watches. The reporter is talking about recent

vandalism—graffiti painted around campus. The students are

on spring break this week. She’s talking about having time to

clean up before school is in session again. And then she says

something about the beautiful campus’s botanical gardens

and redbud trees that are just about to burst into bloom. The

camera pans, and Sawyer leans forward, staring, straining as
if that’ll make the camera go where he wants it to go.

“Stop,” he says.
I press pause.
“That’s it,” he says. He stares at it, taking it all in.
“This is it,” he says. “It’s one of those buildings for sure—
look at the ivy. These are the right kinds of trees. The
snow is almost gone.” He looks at me. “And the road.
You’re a genius. How did you know?”
“By your description. And because of the spring break
headline. Is there graffiti on the building in your vision?”

“No. They must have it cleaned off by the time this
happens.” He rubs his eyes. “I can’t believe it. You figured
it out. I never thought we’d get it.” He turns to me and
pulls me into a hug, which feels superawkward here in my
house, but I’m not complaining.
Still, the risk is large and I pull away. “Let’s get you
out of here. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”

He nods and we’re snaking back down the steps when
the door at the bottom rattles and opens.

Thankfully it’s Trey. He startles when he sees

Sawyer in our house, but he recovers quickly and holds

a hand up in warning. He turns to look behind him, and

I can hear him talking to someone outside. Sawyer and I

stand so still I don’t even think we’re breathing.

“Okay, good night, Tony,” Trey calls. He comes inside

like nothing’s up, then presses his back against the door.

“I’m going to murder you both,” he says.

Sawyer and I nod.
After a minute, Trey opens the door a crack and

looks out. “Okay, get the hell out of here,” he says to

Sawyer.
Without a word, Sawyer makes a break for it, and Trey

scoots me up the stairs.
“What the—” he starts, and he’s so stunned he can’t

even finish.
“I’ll show you,” I say. “Come on.”
He follows me and I show him everything. When he’s

done watching it, he looks at me. “It’s not a high school.”
“Not a high school.”
“You figured it out by accidentally watching the news.”
I nod. “I do watch the news on occasion,” I say in my

defense. “But I didn’t have much time back when I had a

job.”
He laughs. “Oh, Jules . . . your job misses you.”
“Did Dad yell at you?”
“Of course. He also suggested that since I’m eighteen

I might want to consider moving out and feeding my own

mouth.”
“He—he did? He really said that?”
“Yes.”
My stomach twists. “Are you going to?”
“I—no, not this time. But if he doesn’t stop, I might.”
This scares the hell out of me. “But where would you

go?”
He looks at me. “Aw. Don’t worry. I’m not going

anywhere.” He punches me in the arm. “Do you think I’d

leave you and Rowan here? Come on. Not until I go to

college in the fall. And even then, I might have to commute.” He pinches and rubs his fingers together. “Money.

Though now, I’m starting to rethink things again. I need

to decide soon.”
He goes into his room, and all I can do is think,
Don’t

leave me here with them!

Later, Rowan comes in, and I can hear Mom moving

around the kitchen. I’m not quite sure what will happen

next, but Trey and Ro and I are all planning on going to

the coffee shop to meet Sawyer like this morning. The

three of us sit around my bedroom, talking quietly. And

it occurs to me that the reason we’re so close is that the

weirdness gene maybe skipped a generation, and we all get

along because it’s the only way to survive.

Rowan tells us about her trip and gives us all of her

flight information, Charlie’s address, his phone number,

and his parents’ numbers too. And even though I feel

kind of odd about letting her go and not telling Mom, I

feel very good about where she is going to be after seeing

Charlie and his mom and their non-hoardy, non-tense

house. And besides, I couldn’t possibly stop her from

going.

We hear Dad lumbering around and I make Trey stay

in our room even though he’s falling asleep. I don’t want to

face Dad. But he doesn’t come in. We hear their bedroom

door close like it’s the door to a crypt, and we know he’s

down for the count. Whether it’s just for the night, or for

a few days, no one ever knows. But we think this latest

problem will put him in the sack until Rowan leaves.

And then Mom knocks.
She looks at us all—Rowan on her bed, Trey on the

foot of mine, and me on the floor in between, and she gets

this melancholy look on her face. I think she’s going to say

something, or yell at me, or tell me what my new punishment is, but all she does is stand there looking at us, like she didn’t realize we were all so grown-up. She massages

her weary eyes. And then she says, “I am so glad you have

each other.”
“Aww, Mommy,” Rowan says, and gets up off her bed

to hug her.
Trey says, “You have us too, Mom.”
And I just watch her grow old before my eyes, and I

smile at her and hope she knows I love her.
If she has a punishment for me, she doesn’t issue it.

Friday morning rolls around quickly. It’s the last day of

school before spring break, and I half expect Dad to be

standing outside our room, waiting to catch us going to

school early, but he’s not there. We three leave by six and

sit at the same table we sat at yesterday, but Sawyer doesn’t

come. After a while I call him, wondering if he slept

through his alarm, but he doesn’t answer.

We hang out, unable to do anything without computers or smart phones, and finally we just go to school, not sure what’s going on.

Sawyer is not by my locker. He’s not in school. There’s

no sign of him. And I’m worried. By lunch, I’ve tried calling him three times, and he doesn’t answer.

“I’m freaking out a little,” I say in fifth hour with Trey.

“We should have gone to look for him at lunch.”
“Where the hell would we look?”
“We could at least see if his car is home.”
Trey shrugs. “He’s probably got the flu or something.”
“He looked fine last night.”
“Maybe he’s skipping. Heading over to University of

Chicago to see what he can find out.”
“Why wouldn’t he answer the phone, then?”
“That . . . I don’t know. Okay. We’ll drive by after.”
The warming trend has continued throughout the day,

and there are dirty puddles filling potholes everywhere. I

try Sawyer’s phone once more after school as Trey abandons a ride from his doucheball friend Carter again and the three of us climb into the meatball truck. And this time

Sawyer answers.
“Hey,” he says.
I pause and hop back outside the truck so I can have

some privacy. “Hey, are you okay?”
His voice is quiet. “So, remember back when my dad

called your dad after you stopped by our restaurant?”
My eyes fly open. I look at Trey and Rowan, who are

peering out the windshield at me. “Yeah.”
“I’m guessing you don’t know that your dad returned

the favor last night.”
I bow my head and press it against the truck. “Oh, God.”
“The proprietors were not amused.”
“What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m pulling into the school parking lot now. You got

room in that ball truck for one more?”
“Hell yes,” I say. “We’ll make room. We’re going to

drop Rowan off and head to the university. Trey and I

told Dad about the food truck festival this weekend, so he

wants us to—” Sawyer pulls up next to us and parks the

car, and I just end the call rather than standing there next

to him wasting phone minutes. He opens the door, gets

out, and slowly turns to face me.
His left eye is swollen, black and purple.
He eases out of the car like he’s in pain.
Trey and Rowan burst out of the truck when they see

him, and all I can do is stare. “Holy shit.”
“Nice, right?”
I go to him. And nobody has to ask what happened.
“Your grandfather didn’t seem to care about hiding it

this time,” I say.
Sawyer shifts his gaze like he doesn’t want to talk about

it. “It wasn’t my grandfather. Let’s just get out of here.”