Leverage (38 page)

“Somebody!” I yell. “Somebody!” I yell again. “Where the
fuck
is a teacher when you need one!?” I ask the empty hallway. “Fuck, fuck,
fuck
!!!” I holler, knowing this
has
to conjure an adult out of thin air ready to stuff a bar of soap in my mouth and assign me a week of detention. I mean, I
always
get busted for cussing.
Always!
I take three slow breaths, waiting.

Nada!

“Im-fucking-possible!”

I jog down the hall, my head pounding.

“Help!”

W
hat part of this don't you get?” Scott asks me as if I'm genuinely confused. I keep my arms out, hoping to hold the three of them off while Bruce and Danny escape. “You're with us,” Scott says. “Not them. We're your team. Not them.
They're
the enemy. They're trying to destroy us.”

“Think you can protect those little shits forever?” Jankowski asks. “Think we won't get them?”

Studblatz takes a step to the side, ready to go around me. I shift with him, promising to cut him off, and he stops but jabs a finger over my shoulder. “Those little fuckers are dead! You hear me? Dead!”

“Your little Danny boy needs the Ronnie treatment,” Scott says. “Tom, think we should nail that snitch like we did Gunderson?” Scott asks over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off me.

“Yeah,” Jankowski answers. “Bet he'd take it like a champ.”

I wince at the words, feel my guts knot.

“Whatsamatter?” Scott asks me. “You sorry you missed out on the fun the first time?” Then, louder, to Tom and Mike, “Maybe he wants Danny for himself.” Studblatz laughs like a hyena and Scott's pleased with his joke. The three of them close around me. I take a step backward, my arms still out, like I'm setting up for a pass rush.

“Hell, you're just jealous,” Scott taunts. “Studblatz, tell'em. Nothing better than popping fresh meat like Gunderson. Best way to keep 'em in line.”

“Gotta keep 'em in line,” Studblatz repeats.

“Whaddya think, Tommy? Think Kurt should try it?”

“Probably has already.”

“Awwww, lookit. Our big fullback's crying like a little bitch.”

“Big, fuckin' baby!”

“Worse than Gunderson when we shoved it up his ass.”

Tom's chuckling. I'm having trouble keeping them in sight because everything's starting to blur no matter how much I blink and wipe at my eyes. An old smell fills the air, smell of Crud Bucket's sour breath in my face, threatening to kill me if I ever tell I caught him on top of Lamar. The smell of his sweat and breath and my fear—it's all back here now, under my nose.

“Come on, Kurt. So we popped Gunderson's cherry. Big deal,” Scott says. “We didn't tell him to kill himself. That's on him. I mean, that's
weak
. Like that Darwin dude said, survival of the fittest, baby. Ain't that right, Tommy?”

“Amen,” Jankowski answers with a grin. “Survival of the fittest, baby!”

“Shit, yeah,” Studblatz agrees. “Gunderson wanted it. Loved it. Know how I know? He never fought back. He cried but he barely struggled, never escaped. That's how they act when they secretly want it.”

“Here's the deal,” Scott says, raising his voice like he's playing for an audience, setting up a punch line. “No one's ever,
ever
gonna believe a fuckin' word you say once we get done with you. Nope.” I bring an outstretched hand back to my face, quickly wipe the tears from my eyes, but they keep coming, keep streaming down my cheeks. “They'll want to know how come the
orphan killer
is loose at Oregrove. Tom's dad tried to warn Coach, but you're still around and Ronnie Gunderson paid the price.”

“Fuckin' A,” Studblatz says.

“I mean, everyone knows it takes a fuckin' monster to fuck a kid with a broom,” Scott hisses. “And when they hear you sputter and blubber, big strings of drool coming out that fucked-up face ... sheeyit, boy. K-K-K-Kurt B-B-B-Brodsky ain't gonna be such a hero anymore, is he?”

“Kiss your scholarship offers good-bye,” Jankowski adds.

“Yeah, fugly,” Studblatz says. “And when we get through with him, you can add that little faggot, Danny, to your victim list.”

“Go find your little friends,” Scott says, and then spits on the mats. “Go pretend you can save them. And tell 'em we're waiting for 'em. Tell 'em we'll get them alone, eventually, so they better learn how to man up and take it!”

“Hey, K-K-K-Kurt.” Tom juts his head forward. Spit flecks the corners of his mouth. “How come you're not sssssssaying nothing? Cat got your tongue?”

Studblatz howls at the joke.

“Yuh-yuh-you suh-suh-suh-said it all,” I stutter, still backing up, never taking my eyes off them. When my shoulders bump up against the wall, I startle, then reach out for the door, pull it open, and hurriedly retreat through the locker room the same way Danny and Bruce left. Soon as I spin forward, I run out the building, past the parking lot and down Plymouth Lane. I keep running until I'm at least a half mile away from school, until I'm sure none of them are coming for me, until I can't run no more. All alone, I bend over, hands on my knees, puking my guts out, my throat burning.

Only then do I press the stop button on my little digital recorder.

I
come across the world's oldest janitor. Thin as me and my height with white hair pomaded back against skin as tanned and creased as old cowboy boots. A pack of cigarettes sits in his chest pocket and one cig rests behind his left ear. His stitched name tag reads GENE. He is pushing a dry mop through hallway trash like a snowplow. Gene's pretty much a fossil but he's still an adult. Not even Scott would commit murder in front of an adult.

“Help!” I call out, rushing toward him. He's wearing earbuds and I don't catch his attention until I'm standing right in front of him. He pulls out one earbud, irritated, then does a double take, sees something in my face that worries him. I touch my chin and my hand comes away sticky and red. “Help,” I repeat. He nods, pulling out his other earbud, and follows me. Gene doesn't move fast. When we finally reach the gym, I take a deep breath and step aside to let him enter first, not ready to face whatever horror it might hold. I half expect to find Kurt's beaten body, bloodied and unmoving, lying on the mats.

“No one's in there,” Gene reports when he comes back out. “Place is empty.”

“You sure? You check the storage room?”

Gene nods. “See for yourself, son. Now I got to get back. You better clean up. You tell the principal what happened.”

“Uh-huh.”

I step into the gym. Lights are still on but the place is empty. Whole place gives me the creeps and I'm leaving when I see a wink of silver metal on the pommel horse. My phone. Propped up on the chalky brown leather. Set there so I'll find it easily. I jog over, grab it, then get out of the gym and fly out of the school. I'm jogging home, looking over my shoulder, expecting a car to race up any minute, when my phone beeps. A text from a number I don't recognize. Doesn't take more than a second to narrow down the texter, though, or figure out who wants me reunited with my phone so I can receive their uplifting messages.

 

U R DED!

S
he meets me in the parking lot of McDonald's, the only place I can think of that isn't school and isn't Patti's. Only place that feels safe. Since I sent her the text, I've downed two Big Macs, two cheeseburgers, a large fries, a large Chicken McNuggets, a large Coke, and an apple pie. Her pip-squeak Toyota zips into the parking lot and I'm moving to it, coming up on the driver's side before it even parks.

“Kurt,” Tina says, cracking her door, her face opening up into a smile. It's a great smile, I think, wishing I didn't need her for anything but the smile. I'm about to speak when the passenger door opens and her friend Indira steps out. The little car's got an oversize stereo and a woman's voice mewing from the speakers about lost kisses while a piano plunks low keys. Why'd Tina bring a friend? A flame of rage licks across me. I grab Tina by the elbow and roughly pull her out of the car. I don't mean to, but can't help it.

“What the ... ?” Tina starts to speak, confused.

“Tina?” Indira asks meekly.

Shit! Shit! Shit! “Kuh-kuh-come alone!” I say, glancing over the roof of the car at Indira.

“Jesus! If you want to ask me out on a date,” Tina snaps, “McDonald's won't do and you'll have to ease up on the groping. Also, you'll have to—”

“I nuh-nuh-nuh-need . . .” I cut her off. “. . . yuh-yuh-yuh-your help.” Those four words are hard as hell to string together and it's got nothing to do with the stutter. The way I grew up, you don't ask people for nothing. All it does is let them know you're soft. Weak. If they know you're soft, they don't help. They attack. But this time, I got no other option. There's no other way.

“Yeah, right!” Tina rolls her eyes. “You want
me
to help
you
. Is this a joke? Am I being punk'd right now?”

“I nuh-nuh-nuh-need . . .” And all that has happened that afternoon and the memories it brings back up in me and the bad future it threatens me with—all that wells up inside me until Tina and the world beyond her melt. Lamar's nowhere to be found and this thing is coming whether I want it to or not. “Yuh-yuh-yuh-your . . .” I try. I really try to hold it back but it won't be held back no more. It claws its way out of a crack in my heart and this ... this ...
thing
blasts up out of me, part moan and part sob. It embarrasses the hell out of me, laughs at me and my muscles, tells me they won't ever, ever make up for what I let happen to Lamar. Stutter or not, no words can explain how awful and scared I feel. All I can do is turn away and thump the roof of that stupid car.

And then Tina's arms wrap around my waist, hugging me, holding me even though she is small and I am big. Another sob crashes out of me and I almost pound her car again in frustration. I hold back. I let my heavy arms settle around Tina, pulling her tight into me like she's the last life vest in the angriest ocean. I bury my face in her jet-black hair with the blond roots and cry like the big baby Scott claims I am, cry like I haven't done since Lamar left me behind in this world.

P
hone's beeping so much with incoming text threats I turn it to vibrate, set it on the kitchen table, and watch it slowly buzz-crawl across the lacquered wood while I eat a bowl of Cocoa Puffs for supper. When it gives off the long
brrrr
of an actual call, I pick it up. I don't recognize the number, but know it's not one of the three football captains that don't seem to ever sleep, judging on how often they like to remind me I'm going to die.

“Huh-hello?”

“Danny?” a girl's voice asks.

“Yeah?” My answer more of a question. What if it's one of their girlfriends, luring me to talk before they hand off the phone to Scott or Tom or Mike?

“It's Tina,” she says.

“Oh, uh, hi,” I say.
Why's she calling me?

“Kurt just left. We've been talking for a long time.”

“Uh-huh . . .”

“Danny, he told me everything.”

“. . . about?”

“Danny,” she sighs. “I know. I know everything.”

My phone beeps while she talks and I know another text has just come in, waiting for me to read it.

“So what?” I ask, annoyed now. Why the hell did Kurt tell Tina?

“Danny, Kurt needs your help. He won't admit it, but he's scared. Probably as scared as those bastards are.”

“Those bastards,” I say, “are not scared.”

“Yeah, they are,” she says. “They'll never call it that but they're freaking out that you guys are going to finally tell the truth. And they should, because you are.”

“Trust me,” I say. “I know scared. I know freaking out. Those guys aren't it.”

“Danny, there's a way to fight them and make it all stop but we need you to make it work.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Tina says. “Kurt needs you, Danny. He needs you to help him speak up. It's about time, don't you think?”

My phone buzzes again with another text. I stir the rest of my soggy Cocoa Puffs around in my bowl, my hunger completely disappearing.

“I don't know.”

“Remember you thanked me for sticking up for others,” she reminds me. “It's your turn, now. You owe it to Ronnie. You owe it to Kurt. Jesus, you owe it to the whole school. At the very least, you owe it to yourself.”

“I'd rather keep as far away from those three as possible.”

“How's that working out for you so far?” she asks. “Or Bruce?”

“Bruce just wants to shoot them,” I say.

Tina laughs.

“I'm not joking,” I tell her. “I think he might do it. And I'm okay with that. Seriously,” I say, and realize I'd like nothing more.

“I've got a better idea,” she says. “One that doesn't involve murder.”

“What makes you think you can outsmart them?”

“Uh, I'm a girl and they're boys,” she says. “By default, I win.”

“How about we stop the stupid schemes that only seem to piss off these guys more and more,” I suggest.

“How about you listen to what I have to say,” she suggests back.