Playing with Fire (3 page)

“Doesn't Dynell notice it?”

“Apparently not.”

“Do
you
ever cheat?” I ask.

He tilts his chin up. I don't need to.”

I make a face at him. “You know, for a guy who has kept such a low profile all these years, you sure seem to know a lot about what other people are doing.”

“Yeah, well, a guy like me has time to pay attention.”

I lower my voice. “You know what you said about Jack McAllister this morning? Is that really true, or are you just making some wide, sweeping assumptions?”

“I can see the signs.”

“What signs?” Now I actually know what a lot of the signs are since I've seen them in my brother, but I'm curious whether Garrett really knows what he's talking about or not. Sometimes this guy boggles my mind.

“You know, those sores that look like zits but probably aren't, his generally checked-out or irritable attitude, the kids he hangs with, the way he takes off to be alone so much… So what do
you
think he's doing when he's hiding out, Sam? Praying or meditating?”

“I know you're probably right,” I admit as we pause in front of the hallway that leads to the social-science department. “But I guess I just like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I don't like to make accusations.”

Garrett frowns like I've hit a sore spot now. “I've gotta respect that you don't do that, Sam. Guess I can be a jerk sometimes.”

“I wasn't pointing a finger,” I say quickly. “It's just the way I try to be.”

“Yeah, but what about me?” he says. “You came to the conclusion that I was the one writing to the suicide Web site. How do you explain that little
assumption?”

“I guess it's a fine line I have to walk,” I tell him. “Sort
of a God-thing or spiritual discernment or something that's hard to explain to a nonbeliever. But at least it worked out for the best, don't you think?”

Now he looks frustrated and slightly confused, and I feel bad that I don't have more time to help him understand what I'm trying to say. Despite his l-don't-care attitude, I get the feeling that Garrett really is hungry to learn more about God and faith. And both Olivia and I have been trying to help him. “I gotta go to class right now, but how about if you come with Olivia and me tonight?”

He makes a funny face. “You mean to that sweet -sixteen party?”

I nod. “Yeah, we'll be groupies with the band.” “Guess that could be interesting.” “Okay then. We'll pick you up around seven.” “You sure Conrad won't be jealous?” “You know they have that away game tonight.” “Why aren't you going?” he asks as the warning bell rings.

“It's like a hundred miles away.” He laughs. “In other words, you're like me—car-less.” I roll my eyes, then make a dash for my U.S. History class. I'm guessing Garrett's going to be late for his class now. Not that anyone will give him a bad time. I mean, sheesh, the guy's got at least a four point GPA and never gives anyone a bit of trouble. Why would they care? I still find it hard to believe that he was thinking of ending his life less than a month ago. And I'm so glad he didn't. So glad that God used me to intervene with him. And it's been interesting getting to know him better since then. He's been going to counseling, dealing with his
depression, and trying to figure out whether he's really gay or not. It turns out that his dad was the one who planted that idea in his head in the first place. His dad, the big “macho” man, was always putting Garrett down because he liked books better than sports. And when Garrett was too shy to go out with girls, his dad started teasing him and calling him “Fairy Boy” and even worse names. Garrett told me that his dad had been emotionally abusive to his’ mother too, and she finally had enough.

“She found another guy,” Garrett confessed to me about a week ago. “Apparently that guy treated her right. She ran off with him when I was thirteen, far enough away that Dad couldn't go after her. It's been just Dad and me since then. And his disposition didn't improve a bit after she left.”

Fortunately, Garrett is in a good foster home now. I know that some people might think “good foster home” sounds like an oxymoron, but it turns out there really are some good foster parents out there. Garrett's happen to go to Ebony's church, and she knew they were great with teens.

Garrett seems to be pretty much okay with them too, although he has complained about how they have to pray before every meal and how they have “Bible verses plastered all over the walls like it's a church or something.” I reminded him that there were worse things in life, and he didn't argue.

At the end of the day, I tell Olivia about inviting Garrett to join us, and she's fine with it. “He can keep me company while I make sure you're okay tonight,” I say as we walk to her car. “So are you still feeling uneasy about it?”

“I'm just not sure,” she says as she digs for her keys. “Maybe a little…”

“Then maybe you shouldn't go.”

“I've considered backing out, but I've been really praying about it, and I think my fear has more to do with my comfort zone. I don't get the impression that God is telling me to back out.”

“Then let's go and see what happens.”

“And if it goes south, we can at least count on Garrett to help us get out of there.”

I laugh as I imagine the three of us making a getaway. “Yeah, what a scene that would be, huh?”

“Well, from what I've heard around school, there will probably be alcohol at the party.”

“I guess I'd be surprised if there wasn't.”

Olivia nods as she starts her car. “Yeah, I can't believe how many kids actually drink, I mean, even at school. Did you see Kevin Renner today?”

“No, but I know what you're talking about.”

“He was totally wasted. Someone said he'd been sipping straight vodka from his water bottle all day. He actually passed out in my lit class.”

“That's so sad.”

“Mrs. Kimball thought he was having a
little nap,”
says Olivia.

“Teachers can be so oblivious.”

“Maybe it's a survival skill.”

“I know alcohol's a problem, but I've been wondering how many kids at our school do serious drugs as well.”

“Well, obviously you've always got your losers doing drugs.
But those numbers can't be nearly as high as for those who drink. Do you think?”

I get sort of quiet now, thinking about my brother and how some people probably consider him a loser, and that makes'me sad. I think he just got mixed up, and I'm sure he's going to be past that now.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Olivia says suddenly. “I just realized that you're probably thinking about Zach. I wasn't trying to say that he's a loser, Sam. He's not. Really. Zach is cool.”

“It's okay. I happen to agree that doing drugs can turn anyone into a loser. But I also know that some people who are just regular, nice people—like Zach—get caught up in drugs. They were never losers before. They just got messed up, you know?”

“I know.”

“I've been thinking about Jack McAllister, trying to remember what he was like in middle school. Before he got into drugs. Wasn't he pretty quiet back then?”

“Yeah. He was pretty shy too. Nothing like the loudmouth he is now.”

“He really changed.”

Olivia frowns. “So you think he's into drugs?”

“Don't you?”

“I guess…”

“Garrett and I were talking about that whole thing. He helped me realize it's probably true. I mean, he's right. All the signs are there. What else could it be?”

Olivia sighs loudly. “Man, if you're right…well, it makes it even harder for me, being in a band where I'm pretty sure someone's using. Maybe I should just quit right now, Sam.”

“Or just pray about it. Remember how Jesus hung with a whole lot of sinners and how the Pharisees were always ragging Him about it? But Jesus told them that those were the kind of people He came to help. He said it was the sick who needed a doctor. So you can't just give up on someone like Jack McAllister.”

“But it's not like I'm going to go out back and smoke dope with him either.”

“Duh.” I laugh as I imagine sweet Olivia out in some back alley smoking crack with Jack McAllister. Talk about your impossible scenario.

“Sometimes it feels like a tightrope walk, huh?”

I nod. “Guess those are the times we need to be sure we're holding on to God's hand.”

She smiles. “You got that right.”

We agree to be praying about the outcome of this evening, and I feel particularly drawn to pray for Jack and Garrett. I just have a strong feeling that God is at work in both of their lives. Okay, I'll admit that you can't really tell by looking at either of them, but God does work in some mysterious ways.

I'm absently flipping through the channels in the family room when I notice my mom coming downstairs with her denim jacket slung over one arm. Her makeup looks fresh, and she has on her “cool” jeans, a new top, and some dangly beaded earrings. “Are you going out tonight?”

“Yes. Paula's picking me up in a few minutes.”

I can't help but frown at this news. It seems whenever Mom and Paula go out, which has turned out to be at
least once a week, it always involves drinking—too much drinking. Oh, Mom hasn't gotten totally hammered like she did that first night when she broke the ginger-jar lamp, but still it's a concern. A big concern.

Mom gives me a stiff smile. “It's just girls’ night out, Sam.”

“I know…but it worries me.”

She gives me a placating pat on the back. “Remember, sweetie, I'm the mom here. You're the teenager. Don't obsess.”

“Who's driving?”

She straightens up and gives me a warning look. “Paula.”

“Well, what if she has too much to drink?”

“Paula is very careful. She knows when enough is enough. And besides, if I had any concerns, I'd simply call a cab. You don't need to worry.” Then she turns and walks away. What can I say?

Shortly after Mom leaves with Paula, Olivia arrives, and I try not to laugh at her weird outfit—a lacy and somewhat fluffy white dress, topped with a black leather motorcycle vest and accented with short black boots. It's straight out of the eighties and totally unlike her. Even her hair is pulled high on her head in a wild bun/ponytail with blond strands sticking out in all directions.

“You look great,” I tell her.

She just laughs as she checks her image in the big mirror by our front door. “I look ridiculous,” she says. “But it's all about the music.” Then she points at me.
‘YOU
look great.”

I shrug as I study my rather ordinary image, compared to hers anyway. My shoulder-length, curly brown hair is actually being pretty cooperative tonight. Not too frizzy.
My hazel eyes look almost brown thanks to the black turtleneck I'm wearing. And I must admit that my silver dangly earrings look pretty cool. I thank her for the compliment, then we get in her car and head over to Garrett's to pick him up.

“I'm so glad you two are coming along tonight,” Olivia says as she drives across town. “I really appreciate the moral support.”

“I think it'll be interesting,” Garrett says in a slightly sly tone. ‘Tve never been to a sweet-sixteen party before.”

“Ugh,” says Olivia. “I never wanted to have one myself. I think they're a waste of time and money.”

“I think it's just a way for parents to show off,” I say. But then I check myself since that sounds pretty judgmental. “Although this could be different. You never know.”

Garrett laughs. “Then you don't know Amanda Brow, do you?”

“And you do?” I challenge him.

‘“Well, not personally, but I know
about
her.”

“What do you know about her?”

“She's a pretty wild girl,” he tells us. “And she wants her party to be the hot topic at school next week.”

“Oh, Garrett,” teases Olivia, “you're such a gossip.”

“Just saying what I heard.”

Amanda Brow's house is in a pretty upscale neighborhood. Almost as nice as Olivia's. There are very few cars when we arrive, and after Olivia parks in front, Amanda's mother comes over and tells her to park in the back. “The caterers and workers are parking back here,” she says, as if we're the cleanup crew. I'm tempted to point out that Olivia is lead singer for the band and almost
famous, but I control myself as Olivia wedges her car back into an alleylike driveway that I'm sure is for their hired help. Like, whatever!

Then as we're walking to the front of the house, Amanda's mother waves us toward the back entrance. And she continues to tell other people where to park, where to take things, and what to do. I think maybe she was an army general before she married Amanda's dad, who I happen to know is big time into real estate.

The rest of the band is already there and partially set up. Cameron has on what looks like a fifties sports coat, and his sandy hair is slicked back in a way that makes him look older and kind of cool, in a slightly geekish way. The other guys are dressed similarly, except for Jack, who looks the same as always. Olivia joins them and does her part in the setup, and Garrett and I park ourselves in a couple of chairs that we managed to scavenge from the dining room. Hopefully, Amanda's mother won't freak. She seems to have her hands full getting everyone into place, acting like this is actually a post-Oscar Awards party. It officially begins at seven thirty, and while a number of Amanda's parents' friends are here, I have a feeling most of the younger guests won't be here any sooner than eight, and I haven't seen a sign of Amanda anywhere.

“You kids can start playing.” Mrs. Brow glances at her watch.

“But no one's here,” points out Cameron.

She scowls.
“My
friends are here. And I hired you to play from seven until midnight; So play.”

Cameron gives her a fake-looking smile, then turns
to his band. “Okay,
kids
, let's play some tunes for the old folks.”

Dirk makes a little joke, and Jack lets loose with a foul word that Mrs. Brow doesn't hear, but then the band starts to play. Just jamming sort of playing, but it sounds pretty good, and although the old folks seem oblivious, at least Garrett and I are enjoying it. This goes on for about an hour with only a handful of younger guests trickling in, and they don't look terribly comfortable. Plus, Amanda hasn't made an appearance yet.