Riding Invisible (17 page)

Then Dad goes, “Listen to me, Jess. We've worked so hard all these years. Too many years. Remember how Will's shrink wants you to take a more aggressive role?”

And Mom, sounding majorly pissed off: “Oh, do not try to pin this on me, Jorge. For God's sake, just face reality! I used to live in denial, but Will is huge and he's strong, and he's also extremely manipulative. So what do you suggest, huh? Should I take up a form of martial arts? Buy some pepper spray? Invest in a stun gun? And what about Yancy? What about his horse?”

“Yeah. I hear you. I know.”

And then a sob or a cry or something. Dad's? Mom's? Mine? I couldn't find the source, so I turned and quietly rushed into the bathroom, where the water went on full force, and it ran and ran down the drain, cool and clear, soothing, running deep, a city waterfall with the faint odor of chlorine and chemicals splashing over the angst decorations on ME, until finally the voices stopped.

Monday—8:00 p.m.—home

After school, Christi told me that she wants to ride Shy. She has to overcome her fear of equines, she says, and that's the final verdict. So I asked how about today? This is a great day because Will's in the hospital until Dad picks him up after work. But Christi explained how today is bad because she has an appointment at the optometrist to get a new prescription, so I urged her to stay with those crazy purple frames.

I touched the side of her glasses and pulled her close. Her chest pressed into mine, and I was breathing around the side of her neck, and it was calm and safe there, and maybe she felt good, too. When I let go of Christi's shoulders, I stared at the ground.

“So tell me something,” I said, glancing up for a second, noticing how the light curved against the clear purple frames. “Have you gotten over the horrible things that happened to you as a kid?”

Christi didn't need to think about it. “No,” she answered. “It's always there, like in my dreams sometimes, or when I notice the scar over my mom's eyebrow, or when I watch a violent movie.”

Her face looked so sad all of a sudden, and I stared at the ground again. “Sometimes I try to concentrate on the future,” I told her. “Maybe I'll become a professional artist, like a dude who can paint these amazing, emotional abstracts. When people look at my work, I want them to feel comforted.”

Christi rested her cheek on my T-shirt sleeve. “That's beautiful, what you just said,” she whispered.

When we told each other good-bye, I decided to head home and paint a comforting abstract for Christi. But when I got there, Dad was arriving with Will. Bandaged and bruised, his arm in a cast, sort of limping. And him being there made me want to leave. Will yelled some bad words in the bathroom because his reward chart had disappeared, and Dad reminded him how the psychiatrist had emphasized for the last two days that the reward system had become pointless.

“C'mon, there was a car accident!” Dad was yelling. “You're lucky you didn't get hurt worse than you did. Do you realize how fortunate you are that the other driver wasn't injured? And what do you think your insurance rates are going to be if, by some miracle, you get to drive before you turn eighteen?”

So maybe this is the last blow Will has been looking for. Maybe he'll totally lose his freakin' mind and do something radical and end up in jail for the rest of his life.

My stuff is packed for Frank's place. His couch is all lumpy and sagging, but who cares.

And I wonder how long it will take for Will to find Shy's new boarding facility.

Tuesday—5:11 p.m.—our kitchen

At school, during my last period, everyone wanted OUT just when my mom walked IN.

“Yancy's leaving early,” she told the teacher. Handed him a slip of paper.

Gomez, who sits across from me, stared at my mom with his big brown eyes. “Take me too!” he begged. “Please, Mrs. Aparicio. I wanna get out too.” And Mom laughed at Gomez and said no, sorry, even when he knelt on one knee and acted like he was praying to her.

When we got to the parking lot I asked how come she's not teaching yoga today. And why did she pull me out of school? Mom said she took the morning off and so did Dad. Before she has to leave for her afternoon classes, she wanted to talk to me. That's why she came to school early. Mom brushed her hand across my cheek. Then she explained how she and my dad made a decision about something. They made a very emotional decision. Today.

My heart started beating a little faster, speeding up and hopeful, so I asked,

“WHAT DECISION?”

Mom tried to smile and told me she and Dad had phoned the Mental Health Center after Will's car accident. They let the administration know how desperate they were getting. Then this morning, that useless psychologist named Angelica redeemed herself. She called my parents because yesterday she heard about an opening at a facility where highly disturbed teens can live and get their education and a bunch of help, too. Right away she thought of Will. So Mom and Dad notified Will's regular shrink, who called the place. The shrink gave that place his input regarding my brother, and now it has all been arranged, like NOW, today! Which is strange because this place is in high demand, but with my brother being such a critical case and all, he's already there. They put him at the top of the waiting list like ASAP. And Will's there, THERE, in this other place, and he won't be coming home until they say so. And when that happens it might be just for a visit. Plus, another good thing is how this place is affiliated with one of those wilderness boot camps where kids get sent to straighten out their lives, and as soon as there's an opening in the wilderness program, Will's going.

“This was the only alternative. It had to happen,” Mom said quietly. She leaned over to hug me.

We climbed into the car and she pulled away from the curb, and I hadn't managed to say anything at all. And when the Prius scooted around a corner, we almost hit a pedestrian, and if I hadn't been feeling so numb, maybe I would've reacted or something.

When we got home, Mom said she had to leave in less than an hour, and she didn't ask me if I wanted a snack like usual. She ran to her room and shut the door and turned on some weird chanting music. But I don't think she was trying to meditate. Not today, because today I could hear these big, gulping sobs even though I was inside my room.

And then I heard the phone ring.

“Dude,” Christi said as soon as I picked up. “I bought cheesy popcorn and two Red Bulls and stopped by your last class after school today. Gomez said you left early. Wassup?”

“Something unbelievable went down.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, my parents actually admitted Will to this place for messed-up kids.”

“Good,” Christi said. “Well, maybe I shouldn't be glad, but he scares me.”

“Yeah. He is scary. You'd think I'd feel overly happy, and I guess I do. This is what I wanted, but…I can't explain it. It's like I let my parents down.”

“Let them down? I don't get what you mean.”

So I explained how even though Will is such a jerk-off it's no one's fault, is it? Isn't his brain chemistry just different? That's what they keep saying, and now I pretty much forced my parents to get rid of their oldest son, the one with weird neurotransmitters, and would I want them to get rid of ME if I had conduct disorder?

“Oh, Yancy,” Christi said, her voice all husky-steady-calm-emotional at the same time. “None of this is your fault. Like, when my dad went to jail, I went a little crazy. But you know what I realized? My mom and my sister and I, well, we deserve to feel safe. So do you.”

“Yeah.”

“You get so used to living one way, like scared shitless, so when a better way comes around, it's…it's…”

“It's so different, you barely know how to act,” I said.

We were both quiet for a while.

“Sooooo,” I finally said, “Gomez's older brother is driving me and Gomez to a beach party. Not this weekend, but the one after. Can you go?”

“Sure.” Christi exhaled into the phone, and the sound reminded me of ocean waves in the distance.

“After it gets dark, maybe we should take off our clothes and go for a swim.”

“Brrrrrrrrr,” Christi said, and then she giggled, which to me was a very good sign. My theory? When girls giggle instead of answering a question, it usually means yes.

Tuesday—9:00 p.m.—my room

Friday—1:25 p.m.—school—5th period

Sunday—4:15 p.m.—Frank's barn

Shy has been returned to his regular corral at Frank's place. Oreo the pony practically did a backflip when she saw him. My loverboy horse trotted over, making this low whinny sound, and bumped his nose against hers. After that, we went to visit Will on Family Day.

Will's new home where he's lived for five days was a surprise for me because the place is beautiful on the exterior, all lush and landscaped with fountain mist scattering across our windshield. But when we reached the front door, my dad had to push a button.

because

guess what

it's high security here

Dad talked into a speaker saying how we're visiting Will Aparicio, and then there was a buzzing noise, and I pulled the door open. The receptionist in the lobby had to push another button so we could reach the area where the troubled kids live. All of us had to wear special Visitor stickers. Translation:
DON'T LOCK ME UP IN HERE! I'M WEARING A SPECIAL STICKER.

Mom and Dad attended a meeting with the administrator, while I checked out things in Will's room, 6B. It had two beds and one was filled with this overweight boy who was snoring with great gulping sputters. Will's bed, empty and covered with a wrinkled blue spread, made me wonder. Where was he? All I could see was a small wooden nightstand, barred windows with a view of the parking lot, stacks of school books, and taped to the wall, his favorite movie poster:
SATAN'S LITTLE HELPER.
He's got a shiny desktop computer in the work area, and through an open door I discovered a toilet and shower—looked pretty clean—not Will's usual style.

So I decided to go out hunting for my brother, and my tennies squeaked on the waxed linoleum in the hall, and I was squeaking along beside bare white walls where the air smelled like a hospital. Then, in the rec room, there was this big-screen TV and a Ping-Pong table way back in a corner and a library area with a bunch of books and magazines and a rock fireplace with fake logs. So I walked toward two huge sliding-glass doors and stepped outside into a sparse garden area. An odor of campfires flew in from someplace, but I didn't see any smoke. The building had a wide cement patio with another Ping-Pong table and a bunch of lawn chairs and cement tables, and dry rolling hills spread beyond a volleyball net and two basketball courts.