Boy Nobody (14 page)

“She calls me Fro-Fro. Because of my hair. It’s like an afro.”

Goji and Fro-Fro. Cute. If you’re into things like that.

“What does Goji look like in real life?” I say.

He looks down again. “I’ve never seen her. She lives in Osaka.”

“Maybe you’ll go someday,” I say.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, like he doesn’t believe it. “That would be nice.”

I thought Howard might be a rival for Sam, at least in his head. But now I see I was wrong. He’s a potential confidant.

“Does Sam have anyone?” I say.

“Not right now.”

“But in the past.”

His fingers fly over the keys again. He pushes the screen toward me. It’s a
Daily News
article from a couple of years ago. A single column inch buried deep in the paper.

Body Found in Harlem River

The body of a teenage boy who apparently committed suicide was found in the Harlem River, cops said.

“What does this have to do with Sam?”

“The guy in the river? He was a Bronx Science guy. He liked Sam.”

“And he committed suicide?”

“That’s what the paper said. But I don’t think so.”

“I’m not understanding you, Howard.”

He lowers his voice.

“The guy went out with Sam a couple times, and then he ended up in the river.”

“She killed him?” I say with a smile.

He shakes his head. He’s not smiling.

“Who?” I say.

He glances around the room.

“She had a boyfriend at the time,” he says.

“The ex you told me about who messed with her head?”

“That’s right,” he says. “It was a long-distance thing. He was Israeli. I don’t know much more than that.”

“I thought you and Sam were close.”

“We talk about a lot of stuff, but she’s very careful on that subject.”

“So you think this Israeli guy killed him?”

“I can’t prove anything. But he might have. It was that kind of relationship.”

“What kind?”

“Intense.”

“This guy,” I say, “he’s out of the picture now?”

“Sam says he is, but I’m not so sure,” Howard says.

“Why not?”

“They broke up, but she keeps going back.”

“Thanks for the info, Howard.”

“Sure,” he says. “It’s sort of nice to have someone to talk to.”

He looks at the floor again, the loneliness practically radiating off him.

I think of myself, waiting in hotel rooms all over the country, keeping busy by watching TV or walking through strange cities, never knowing the people around me, communicating only on my phone with people whom I never see in person.

“You’re an okay guy, Howard.”

“Really?”

“Did you ever think of taking a self-defense class or something?”

“I can’t fight in real life. Only on the computer.”

“You’re a gamer?”

He looks around the library, makes sure nobody can hear him.

“No, but I like to mess around a little.”

“Like hacking?”

He shrugs.

“I can do some things. For example, I cracked Justin’s e-mail and signed him up for a herpes newsletter.”

I laugh.

“I might be a loser in real life, but I’m a ninja online.”

“That’s good to know,” I say.

I turn around like I’m surprised she’s behind me in the hallway at school.

“Did I scare you?” she says.

“A little,” I say.

She smiles, delighted with herself. I don’t tell her I heard her heels clomping on the floor from fifty feet away.

“You did not get away,” she says. “Nobody gets away.”

“Nobody?”

“Not from me. I’m a hunter. When I see something I want, I go after it.”

“And you always get it?”

“Always.”

She runs her fingers like a claw through her chemically straightened hair.

Braggadocio—absurd confidence in her own sexuality. I could
shut this girl down quickly, go to that soft place inside and press. Release a flood of emotional pain.

For most people, emotional is worse than physical. I do not understand why this is, but I know how to use it to my advantage.

I could shut her down, but that would not be useful. I need to get back to the mayor’s, and I need to do it fast. Maybe Erica can help.

So instead of calling her out, I say, “Erica.”

“Benjamin.”

“Your hair looks nice today.”

Her head cocks to the side, uncertain of my intentions. She studies my face, one hand propped on her hip, like a model.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she says.

“Will it get me a chance to walk you to class?”

“It will.”

She slips her arm into mine. Another of her favorite tricks. And just what I was hoping for.

“Did I embarrass myself last night?” she says.

“Not at all.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I did see your underwear.”

“What did you think?”

“Floral.”

She laughs and pulls me closer.

“How often does Sam have parties at her place?” I say.

“Once every couple years. Everyone wants to go because it’s the mayor’s place, but it’s not that much fun. How can you party with cops everywhere?”

“I know what you mean.”

When we get to the end of the hall, I lead her to the left.

“Why are we going this way?”

“Shortcut,” I say.

“No, it’s not.”

“You got me. I took the long route so we’d have more time together.”

“Benjamin, I’m not falling for it.”

Maybe not. But she seems happy to be with me, which is the next best thing.

We walk down the hall, right past AP European.

Past Sam.

That’s why I want Erica next to me. Sam is sitting where she always does in the front row. In full view of the door.

I slow our pace. Erica glances in and catches Sam’s eye. She winks at Sam.

Perfect.

I’ve injected conflict between Sam and me where before there was closeness. I don’t have time for this to develop slowly between us, and I’ve been taught that relationships are strongest when they have to overcome something in order to exist. Romeo and Juliet, for example. Take away the families at war, and what do you have? A weekend fling that ends with two kids bored of each other.

Conflict.

It makes all the difference in the world. And I’m betting on the fact that it will stir things in an interesting way with Sam.

When we get to her class, Erica says, “You wanted Sam to see us, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” I say.

I don’t deny it. She’s too smart for that.

“I’m okay with it,” she says. “You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because Sam is great, but I know I’m a better fit for you.”

“Why is that?”

“You get me.”

“Maybe I get her, too.”

“Nobody gets her. I don’t think she gets herself. And I love her, so I’m not saying it to be cruel.”

“We’ll see what happens,” I say.

“Game on,” she says, and she heads into class.

I double back to AP European. As I come around the corner, Sam is waiting in the hallway. She left class to confront me.

It’s a good sign.

“Having fun?” she says.

“Lots,” I say. I roll my eyes.

She’s not amused.

“You’re with Erica, then you’re with me, then Erica again. Why do I feel like you’re telling us both the same things?”

“I’m using her,” I say.

“Why?”

“To get to you.”

“And you think I’m going to be flattered by that? Big mistake. I hate games.”

“Me, too.”

“But you’re playing them. Maybe that’s all you know how to do.”

Darius rushes down the hall, late for class. He sees us and slows down.

“Problem?” he says to Sam.

She looks at me.

“Yes, actually. Ben has a problem telling the truth.”

“News flash: Ben is a dick,” Darius says.

“I thought we bonded last night,” I say, playing the hurt friend.

“Not if Sam has a problem with you we didn’t. She comes first.”

The second tone sounds.

“Shall we?” Darius says to Sam, gesturing toward the room.

He heads into class, Sam following behind.

“Wait, Sam—” I say.

She hesitates.

“I’m sorry.”

“And?” she says.

“And I’m a dick. Darius is right.”

“Don’t waste your time with him,” Darius says.

Darius lingers by the door. She puts a hand on his arm.

“I’m okay,” she says.

He grunts and goes inside. She closes the door behind him.

“You’re very mysterious, Ben.”

“How so?” I say.

“What you want, who you are.”

“I’m simple,” I say. “What you see is what you get.”

“I don’t see. That’s the problem. Usually I see everything. I’m very good at sniffing out the truth. But with you it’s different. One minute I think I know what I’m seeing, the next I’m not so sure.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What you like, what you don’t. Your politics.”

“My politics?”

“I’m a serious person. I want to be with a serious person.”

Be with.
What does she mean by that?

The last class tone sounds, but neither of us moves.

I think about how to play this.

Come at her with politics similar to hers. Bond.

Come at her with contrary politics. Opposites attract.
Get a reaction out of her.

“You’re calculating,” she says.

“No, I’m not.”

“I see you doing it. Why don’t you just give me a straight answer.”

A straight answer.

“Okay. Straight answer is that I’m not political.”

“You don’t care about the world.”

“I care about myself in the world.”

“Typical American attitude,” Sam says.

“You’re American, too.”

“I live in America. But I don’t feel American.”

“What do you feel?”

“I feel… torn.”

“Because of your mom?”

She winces.

“It has nothing to do with her,” she says.

Obviously it does, but I don’t need to push the issue now.

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I say.

She hits herself in the thigh. “Ugh, I’m so friggin’ weird around you. I hate it.”

I look at her, struggling to find the right thing to say.

A crack in the facade of Samara the Powerful. The first I’ve seen.

A sign that she’s opening up to me.

“I don’t think you’re weird,” I say.

Her face softens.

“Can I get a do-over on this conversation?” she says.

“Absolutely,” I say. “As long as I can get a do-over on last night.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“How about dinner at your place?”

“My place?” she says.

“It’s a lot cleaner than mine.”

She laughs.

“Actually, I’m having dinner with my father tonight. It’s kind of a special night.”

“Perfect. Your father loves me,” I say.

“He kind of does,” she says. “He asked about you this morning.”

“What did he ask?”

“If there was anything going on between us.”

“And what did you tell him?”

She smiles and looks toward the classroom door.

“We’d better get in there,” she says.

“And dinner?” I say.

She doesn’t answer, just opens the door, and motions me into class with a grand gesture.

I go in first. As I pass by, she whispers in my ear.

“Eight o’clock. Don’t show up with Erica this time.”

“Not a chance,” I say.

A small, heated shack. One officer on duty.

I walk into the lobby and I recognize the downstairs staff from last night. The concierge announces me by phone.

As I ride up in the elevator, I’m thinking about last night.

How I hesitated with the mayor.

I decide it was a fluke, a “nonrecurring phenomenon.” That’s what Mother calls once-in-a-lifetime scenarios. I am trained for such things, trained to react to circumstances, adjust, and reapply myself.

That’s what I’m going to do tonight. Reapply myself.

Day two of five. I don’t intend to need the other three days.

One sticking point: the Presence.

My research turned up very little. I still don’t know who the Presence and his team are working for, or what their intention is. If I complete my assignment tonight, will I have to contend with them?

I decide I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

The elevator doors open, and I’m in the penthouse vestibule.

The Pro is there, waiting.

First obstacle.

“Hello again,” I say.

No reaction.

Not quite true. No reaction for a second, and then he says, “Turn around and put your hands above your head.”

“Why do I have to turn around?” I say.

“Because I’m going to search you,” the Pro says.

I wonder what this is about. Is it standard operating procedure, or am I getting special attention because he’s suspicious?

No matter. I have to react like a normal teen might. In this case, belligerently.

“You didn’t search me last night,” I say.

“Tonight’s different.”

“What about my civil rights?”

“This is not a discussion. Turn around, or walk back out the door.”

“Whatever,” I say.

I turn around and lift my arms.

I was anticipating this, or at least the possibility of it. I’m carrying a wallet with thirty bucks and a school ID. I’m wearing a watch. I’ve got a phone and a ballpoint pen.

That’s it.

The Pro finds them all. Finds and dismisses.

“You’re okay,” he says.

But he still searched me. I’m going to need to leave quickly later, so I have to do some damage control.

“You here all the time?” I say.

“What do you care?”

I make my voice friendly. “I’m just wondering if you have a family.”

He ignores me, knocks at the apartment door on my behalf.

We stand there waiting. He glances at me.

“I’ve got a family, but I don’t see them much.”