I.D. (2 page)

That's when Ron walked in the door from work. “Paying for what?” he said.

Mom clearly didn't expect him home that soon. She handed me my jacket and said, “Oh, nothing,” like we were just having a friendly little chat. Ron wasn't going to take that for an answer. He slammed his lunch box on the kitchen table.

She told him.

I knew it was going to be bad. He didn't say anything for a while. He just stared at me and took these long slow breaths.

“Sorry,” I said. “I forgot.”

He went nuts at that.

“Forgot?
Forgot
!” According to him, I'd forgotten everything they'd ever taught me. Manners. Common sense. Discipline. Respect for authority. Ambition. He went on and on.

All I could think was, “Yeah. Some fat-assed truck driver talking to me about ambition.”

I couldn't take that kind of two-faced crap anymore. I picked up my jacket and started to walk out.

Ron pushed my mother aside and started coming after me. “You're not going anywhere, boy!”

“Yeah,” I said. “So you tell me.” I didn't even have to run. That slob couldn't catch me. I just walked out and slammed the door.

It was still pissing rain. I walked around with my hood up and my hands in my pockets until I couldn't stand it. I found a Burger King and went in to warm up. I wasn't going to eat, but the fries smelled so good I couldn't help it. I ordered a combo. Lucky I still had the wallet with me.

By the time I finished eating, the rain had stopped. It was only about nine. I couldn't go home yet. My mother worked
the early shift, so she'd be in bed, but Ron would still be up, cursing at the tv, just dying to get his hands on me. I didn't need him telling me what a loser I was again. I'd had enough of that for one day.

I guess I could have gone to Matt's, but he'd know something was up. I don't like talking to my friends about my life. His parents are normal. He wouldn't get it.

Somehow that made me mad again. This guy across from me tucked a napkin into his collar. I guess he didn't want his cheeseburger dripping on his fancy suit. Like we're all supposed to be impressed he wears a suit or something. I wanted to chuck my Coke at him so bad.

I had to get out before I did something stupid. I had to burn off some energy. I had to be too frigging tired to care by the time I got home. I needed to do something.

I didn't have a lot of options. I hate running, and it's not like I belong to a gym.

I decided to just return the wallet.

I checked the id cards for an address. The guy lived at 27 Waterloo Crescent. It
was a bit of a hike, but I didn't care. It was something to do.

It took me about half an hour to get there. Waterloo was in the good part of town, near the river. The houses were huge. They made our place look like a frigging garden shed.

Number 27 was a big brick house with a three-car garage and this giant tree out front. There wasn't a light on in the whole place. It looked like everyone was either gone or asleep. I walked up to the front door anyway. I'd come that far, why wouldn't I? I figured the guy would be glad to get his wallet back even if I woke him up. I rang the doorbell and waited.

No answer.

I rang it again. I tried to peek in through the curtains. For a fancy place, the room looked pretty bare. Just a leather couch and a big flat-screen tv. It could have used a carpet, but otherwise it looked okay to me. I didn't mind it so empty. Our living room was full of stuff, but everything was crap.

There was a mailbox on the wall beside the door. I thought about leaving the wallet
there. I took it out of my pocket. The guy would find it the next day when he went to get his mail.

But what if he'd moved? Maybe that's why the place looked so deserted. Or what if he never got any mail? Or what if some crooked mailman took the wallet before the guy found it?

I thought of something else too. That old man. I'd told him there was seventy-five bucks in the wallet. He saw my face. What if, by some weird coincidence, he knew the guy who owned the wallet? What if he found out there was only sixty bucks left in it? He'd know I'd taken the money. It would be just my luck for something like that to happen. I'd be screwed.

There were lots of good reasons not to leave the wallet in the mailbox. I put it back in my pocket. I'd replace the money. I'd call the guy beforehand to make sure he was there. I'd come back another day.

Ron was passed out in front of the tv when I got home. The guy was too lazy to even stay up and get mad at me. He was gone to work by the time I woke up the next morning.

My mother called in sick that day. She was waiting for me in the kitchen when I came down for breakfast. She tried to apologize. She said that money was tight.
That she was just upset. That she didn't mean that stuff about me being stupid.

Yeah, right. So why did she say it then?

I don't hate her. She's my mom. She's stuck with Ron—but still. I wasn't going to let her off that easy. I didn't say anything. I just shrugged. I grabbed my backpack and a cold English muffin and left. I had to get out of the house.

I made it to school fifteen minutes early. That was lucky. I'd forgotten to do my math homework. I'd kind of had other things on my mind that night.

Oxner would kick me out for sure if it wasn't done. Other teachers might cut me some slack if I told them about the “problems at home,” but not him. I wouldn't give him the chance. There's no way I'd even tell him. I wasn't going to let him feel sorry for me.

I had to get some of the homework done or I was screwed.

I was leaning against my locker, staring at the math sheet, when I saw Alexa. One
minute your life is total crap, and the next it seems like everything is one hundred percent okay.

“Hey, Alexa!” I said.

I didn't think she heard me. I ran after her.

“Alexa!”

That time she turned around. “Oh, hi, Christopher,” she said. Her eyes were this amazing color, like a blue highlighter. I wondered if she wore tinted contacts.

“Can you do me a favor?” I said. Girls like her can't say no to a favor.

I explained that I'd had a little trouble getting my homework done the night before. I didn't tell her about my stepdad. It made me sound too much like trailer trash. I just asked if I could see her paper.

“Oh, I don't know about that, Christopher,” she said. The way she looked, you'd think I was asking her to smuggle drugs into the country. “It's sort of cheating.” She hugged her binder really close to her chest.

“Not for you it isn't,” I said. “If anyone finds out, just tell the truth. Tell them I
stole your binder.” I yanked it out of her hands. She lost her balance. I caught her with my other arm just before she fell forward. It was pretty sweet.

“Please?” I whispered. “No one will know. I'll only copy enough answers so Oxner can't kick me out.”

She stood up straight and smoothed her shirt. I could tell she didn't want to do it.

“Please,” I said again.

She looked down the hall. It was like she was scared someone was watching.

“No one will find out,” I said. I smiled at her. I have a nice smile. Girls always say that.

She bit her lower lip. She looked around again. She sighed.

“Okay,” she said. “But hurry.”

I messed up her hair and ran into the boys' washroom. It only took me about three minutes to get enough answers to keep Oxner off my back.

She was with some other girls when I came out. I put my arm around her so they
wouldn't notice me slipping her the binder. When they left, I whispered, “Thanks. I'll make it up to you.”

I'd have to think of something good.

I ate my supper in my room that night. I felt kind of bad about leaving Mandy and Mom with Ron, but I couldn't hack the guy right then.

Besides, I needed to study too. It's one thing to get in trouble. Alexa didn't mind me giving Oxner a hard time. It's another thing looking stupid. I didn't want her thinking I was flunking out because I was dumb. I figured if I studied I could answer
some questions in history the next day. That might impress her.

I opened the book. We were studying the Nazis. They were twisted enough that they were kind of interesting. I read for about half an hour, and then I started to think about Alexa again. Why wait until the next day? Why not call her now? I could act like I had some big question that just couldn't wait. I could make it sound like I actually spent time thinking about history and stuff like that.

I took her number out of the wallet. I was going to ask her when Hitler came to power. I punched in the first six numbers, and then I stopped. It was a dumb question. The answer was right there on the first page. If I asked her that, she'd think I couldn't read.

I hung up the phone. I looked at the book again. It said that Hitler was a vegetarian. I could ask Alexa if that's why she decided to give up meat. Say something like, “What? You trying to be just like Adolf? Is he your idol or something?” She might find that funny.

Then again, I thought, she might find it insulting. You never can tell with girls like her.

I read some more, but it didn't help. I couldn't think of a good question. They all made me sound like an idiot. I chucked the book across the room. Ron shouted, “What's going on up there?” and started swearing like I'd just kicked out the window. I put Alexa's number back in the wallet.

I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling. I wanted to get out of the house, but I couldn't face walking past Ron right then. I was stuck in my room. There wasn't much I could do. I was sick of reading. I couldn't call Alexa. I couldn't even listen to music. My batteries were all dead.

Life sucked.

I told myself that some day I was going to live in one of those big houses on Waterloo Crescent. I'd have three cars in the driveway and a big lawn that somebody else would have to mow. I'd ask Ron over for supper just so I could see the look on his face when I told him how much I paid for the place.

I'd love that.

I took the wallet out. I had to see what type of person lived in a house like that.

The guy's name was Andrew Kirk Ashbury. His driver's license said he was twenty-five. I was all pissed off again. The guy was only eight years older than me and he already owned a big frigging mansion.

Or maybe he didn't, I thought. Maybe it was his parents' place.

That pissed me off too. I mean, he's in his twenties and still living with Mom and Dad! I was willing to bet little Andrew didn't have to work checkout at the grocery store. I figured he had it all just handed to him on a silver platter.

I looked at his driver's license. He was five foot nine, 150 pounds and had blue eyes. What do you know? Same as me. I almost laughed. Funny how we could be so much alike and so different at the same time. Andrew Ashbury got everything he could ever want and I got nothing.

How did that happen? How come I got stuck with the crap end of the stick?

I stared at his face. What was so great about him? He was no better than me. So he had short blond hair and I had long brown hair. So he wore glasses and I didn't. So he had an earring and I hated those things. He sure didn't look too special. The big man barely looked like he shaved, and I'd had a beard since I started high school.

I dumped everything out of the wallet onto my bed. I couldn't believe all the cards. I have a birth certificate and my last year's student card. (I was too broke to buy one this year.) Andrew had a driver's license, a birth certificate, four credit cards, a couple of gas cards and a bank card, not to mention a bunch of bonus cards for video stores, coffee shops, air miles, stuff like that.

I checked out his signature. It was this big, flashy bunch of loops with a line underneath. It was like he was just trying to see if his pen had any ink. You couldn't make out a single letter.

I really hated him when I saw that. Like, who did he think he was? Donald Trump?
I can't stand guys who act like they're too busy to write out their names.

I emptied the change pocket. He had two dollars and thirty-seven cents in coins, a key, a couple of business cards, a dry-cleaning receipt and a ticket for a baggage claim or something.

The only other thing in the wallet was a photo of this really hot girl. She had too much makeup on, but I could have lived with that. For the long red hair, I'd take all that eye shadow any day.

I flipped the picture over. It said,
For my boo. Love ya! JJ.
Her handwriting was really neat and perfect, like she taught kindergarten or something. (How come my teachers never looked like that?)

I looked at her for a while.

Frig.

Ashbury even got the girl! The house. The money. The girl. Everything. That pissed me off so much. I couldn't stand it. I felt like I was going to explode. Like some animal inside me was going to just bust out and start tearing the place apart.

I wanted to break something. I wanted to smash my fist through the wall, over and over again. The cheap frigging walls in this dump would crumble like potato chips. It would feel so good.

There was a place by the window that was already cracked and moldy from where the water leaked in. It would be perfect. I clenched my fist and pulled back my arm.

I stopped.

I remembered Ron, downstairs, just waiting for me to screw up again. I thought about Mandy and Mom and all the screaming if we got into it. I thought about Alexa.

I stared at the wall. I pounded my fist into my other hand. I had to do it over and over again, as hard as I could, but it worked. I didn't need to hit the wall anymore. I just looked at it. I imagined it crumbling. I pictured me busting out of the hole like this was a jailbreak or something.

That's what I needed to do. Escape. I knew I had to find another way to get out of this place.