The Birth of Super Crip (14 page)

Taking the lock in his hand again, Red took another
look around. The hallway was completely empty. The adrenaline from
the frustration of struggling with the lock and the quick fear of
thinking he’d made too much noise, not to mention the leftover rush
from the rest stop, already had the wave swirling. In seconds he
pushed the wave at the dial to move it to the right to 34, left to
16, right to 22, left to 14, and right to 27. The numbers of all
his favorite Philadelphia athletes. Pulling the lock open, all he
could do was smile. It’s getting easy, he thought.

Before he pulled the locker door open, his body went
into a complete spasm as the fire alarm pierced the quiet of the
hallway. Able to let the spasm pass a second later, he couldn’t
believe his eyes. The front of his locker had been smashed in.

“Holy shit,” Red whispered, with a laugh. He managed
to stay calm as the first few people rushed into the hallway. He
was still able to open the locker. Focusing on the inside of the
door, he gently but firmly pushed the wave to pop the metal back to
being flat. Again, he couldn’t help but think how easy it was.

Grabbing his social studies book, he tucked it under
his left arm, swung the locker closed, and cupped the lock in his
right hand. Already thinking about how to get down the hall in the
throng of people, he jammed the lock against the inside of the hole
in the handle of the locker to close it and spun the knob on the
lock with a push of the wave so it wasn’t near the last digit of
his combination.

Suddenly, he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder.
Startled, he turned to find Pete inches from his face, trying to
avoid the crowd surging toward the main exit. Red was just glad he
hadn’t accidentally pushed Pete into the lockers on the other side
of the hall. Hearing his lock continue to whirl, he hoped Pete
didn’t notice it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Pete shouted over
the alarm that continued blaring and the clamor of the other
students.

“Test tomorrow,” Red shouted. “Forgot my
textbook.”

“Chuck’s got your brother,” Pete said.

Red offered a confused look and shook his head to say
he didn’t hear him.

“Chuck!” Pete screamed, leaning into Red’s ear. “He
was looking for you all day. Now he’s got Scott. Guess he didn’t
want to wuss out and figured your brother was the next best thing
since you weren’t around.”

“What d’ya mean, ‘got Scott’?”

“The idiot has a gun,” Pete said. “He’s got him in
one of the science labs upstairs in A-wing. Just barged in with a
gun and told everybody else to get out. Mr. Harris pulled the alarm
to get everybody out of the building, but they’re still up
there.”

Red couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Fear ripped
through him. “He shot my brother?” Red asked, having no trouble
being heard over the alarm and hallway noise.

“No,” Pete said, “I don’t think. But he’s got a gun
on him.”

“How do you know this?” Red demanded.

“I gotta walk up for lab,” Pete said. “We’re in the
next room. Saw ’em through the window on the way down the hall.
Then Mr. Harris helped Ms. Callahan walk me down the steps. He was
telling her.”

Red froze for a moment, wanting to do twenty things
at once. Gathering himself, he realized he had to get up to his
brother as quickly as possible. “Take this,” he said as he put his
textbook in the backpack that Pete always carried over his
shoulders, leaving his arms free to use his crutches. “I’ll get it
from you later.”

“Alright, but what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Red said at first. After he zipped
the backpack closed, he knew. “He wants me, he’s gonna get me.”

Pete looked him in the eyes. He didn’t bother to try
to talk Red out of whatever he was planning. “Good luck, dude,” he
said with a grim look on his face.

Red nodded. Starting for the opposite end of the hall
to take the outside path to A-wing, Red wanted to get there
instantly. He thought of pushing into the floor to propel himself,
but he feared getting hurt. I don’t have time to screw up, he
thought, and Scott doesn’t have time to wait.

Suddenly, he turned and hustled into the resource
room. Mr. Nicklaus and the teacher’s aide had cleared out. Probably
before the students got out, Red thought, spotting the wheelchair
from the nurse’s office on the opposite side of the room. Pulling
it out of the corner, he looked out the window across the
courtyard. Quickly scanning the second-floor classrooms, he saw
empty room after empty room until his eyes stopped on a teacher,
who lingered despite the fire alarm. He continued scanning,
desperately trying to spot his brother. More empty rooms.

Then he saw them. A couple windows over from where he
stood. Chuck pointed a gun at his brother, who stood motionless.
The wave surged through Red so fiercely he knew he could blow
A-wing to ashes if he wanted. He looked away, fearing his own
strength would get away from him.

Unfolding the wheelchair, he sat down on the
sunken-in seat. The arms on the chair practically went up to his
armpits and his feet barely reached the footrests. Red remembered
thinking on the day he’d had to use the antique that it was
probably made in the ’70s. Doesn’t matter now, he thought.

He used his feet and hands to angle himself toward
the door, then put his feet up and grabbed the piping of the
armrests from the inside. Ducking his head like a bobsledder, he
pushed the wave into the floor. The wheelchair moved as if a
toddler had shoved it from behind. Red thought of pushing the
spokes but feared snapping them in half. He tried pushing the wave
into the rims of the wheels and got some momentum. Looking up as he
approached the classroom door, he continued to push the chair with
the wave and picked up speed.

As he emerged into the now-empty hallway, Red pushed
the wave harder on the right rim as he would have if he was using
his hand to grip the rim to turn right.

Finally moving down the hall, he again thrust the
wave into the rims of both wheels. Getting a feel for it, he was
able to look up as he continued to push the wave down into the
rims. He grabbed the armrests tighter, bent forward, and pushed the
wave with a fury that had the wheelchair hurtling down the hall at
speeds that had Red briefly wondering if he could maintain control
of the chair. Approaching the exit to the outside walk connecting
the two halls at the rear of the building, he opened the metal
doors with hardly a push of the wave, not even noticing that the
door on his right came off its top hinge.

Red swerved around two teachers sauntering across the
walk as if a fire drill had been a major inconvenience in their
free period. They looked at each other with stunned expressions,
two streaks of torn-up grass the only clear evidence that something
had blown past them. The doors on the opposite side of the walkway
had been left open, and Red was halfway down A-wing before they
looked back to try to see what had ripped up the grass.

Careening into the middle stairwell, Red wrapped his
arms around the armrests and without thinking about it pushed the
wave into the floor. Seeing the first set of steps from above as he
propelled himself over them, he leaned to his left and took the
landing in the middle of the stairs on the rim of the left tire,
leaving a skid mark that would have made the skateboarder crowd
envious. The hole that he put in the landing with his second push
would become the source of rumors and a part of Penn Valley lore
for years to come.

Red could feel the wheelchair spinning to his left
off the turn. He was losing control and suddenly panicked at the
prospect of landing on rubber wheels at the top of the stairs.
Nothing else coming to mind, he let go of the wheelchair and sent
the wave into the second floor landing area in the hopes of
breaking his fall. Tumbling to the floor, he rolled a couple of
times as the wheelchair crashed against the side of the doorway
leading to the hall.

A mental check for pain told Red he was okay as he
got to his knees and leaned against the wall to stand. He took a
moment to gather himself, and glanced at the wheelchair. The right
back wheel was bent as if someone had begun to try to fold it in
half, one of the footrests was on the floor next to it and the
other was nowhere to be found, and the whole thing slumped like a
child sent to the corner.

Alley’s shocked expression met him in the hall as her
quick steps came to a shuffling stop. “How did you . . .” she
started to ask, trying unsuccessfully to process the noises she’d
just heard. “What’re you doing here?” she continued, ignoring her
own confusion. She reached for his arm, trying to guide him back
downstairs. “We gotta go. Get out of here.”

He barely looked at her as he gently put his hand on
her back. “Go. Chuck has a gun on my brother.”

“What?”

“He’s got my brother.”

She put her hand on his shoulder as he took a couple
steps past her. “Red, don’t,” she urged. “C’mon, I should’ve been
long gone too. I was in the bathroom and thought it was just a
stupid fire drill. Let the police handle it. He’ll be okay.”

Red looked back briefly, more than a little touched
by the genuine concern he saw in her eyes. “Go,” he said
firmly.

“No, stay, you little bitch!” Chuck’s voice boomed
from down the hall.

They both turned to see him pointing a gun at Scott’s
head and holding his shirt from behind. Red wanted to push Chuck
through the window at the end of the hall, but he wasn’t sure he
could avoid doing the same to his brother. And they could all see
Chuck’s hands shaking. Red knew he had stopped Mr. Taylor from
shooting into the darkness on Saturday night, but the slug had
still been fired into the ground. He had no idea if he could
actually push a bullet away, and he was afraid Chuck could pull the
trigger at any second.

“Come on in,” Chuck said. “Don’t want you to miss
anything.”

Red and Alley walked slowly down the hall. Keeping
the gun on Scott, Chuck pushed him into the room and moved out of
the way to let them pass. Alley patted Red on the back to try to
reassure him as they entered the room.

“Aww, so special I could puke,” Chuck said, then he
shoved Alley in the back. She managed to keep her balance by
grabbing a cart stocked with large bottles containing chemicals
along with equipment for class experiments that stood beside the
teacher’s lab station, sending three bottles of chemicals crashing
to the floor.

“Dude, she’s a girl,” Scott said, standing in between
a couple of desks in the front row. “Leave her alone.”

“I didn’t realize both O’Ryan boys were in love with
the little bitch,” Chuck said as he closed the door.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“I don’t even know her,” Scott said.

“Well, Super Crip over here does,” Chuck said,
pointing the gun at Red, who stood just feet to his left in front
of the last desk in the first row. “Right? Huh? You little prick. I
see ya all the time joking around in the hall before class. But
she’s got no time for me.”

Anger mixed with fear as Red stared into the barrel
of the gun. Thoughts splashed through his mind along with the wave.
What if he pushed the gun and it went off anyway? What if the
bullet hit Alley? He could push Chuck through the blackboard and
the wall. What if it kills him? Red wondered. Am I supposed to kill
the guy?

“It’s not his fault, Chuck,” Alley said. She took a
deep breath, briefly closing her eyes. “If that’s your problem, why
don’t you just let them go and we’ll settle this?”

“Shut up!” Chuck screamed, taking a step toward her
and putting the gun inches from her face, in the process nudging
the cart and knocking a pair of goggles on the floor. “You’re just
a bonus. I could care less about you.”

Red quickly made eye contact with his brother. Scott
widened his eyes and nodded toward Chuck as if to say,
Do
something.
Without a word or even a nod, neither of them could
help but feel the strangeness of Scott looking to Red to be the one
to act. Yet, Red’s attention quickly turned to a strange smell
coming from the back of the room.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Chuck barked. He
waved the gun at Red. “Move. Move over there to the back of the
room.” He motioned to Scott. “Both of you. Move!”

“Alright, relax,” Red said, putting his hands up and
slowly walking with his brother to the last row of desks in front
of the student lab stations. The acrid odor was now undeniable. Red
scrunched up his nose and looked around the back of the room. The
lab tables were cluttered with notebooks and pens, goggles,
liquid-filled beakers on metal stands, and Bunsen burners. Red
noticed that the valve handles on several gas taps were in the open
position with the rubber tubes that should have carried the gas to
the Bunsen burners detached. Red figured most of the students
panicked when Chuck barged in with a gun and either half-heartedly
attempted to put out their burners or didn’t even bother trying
once he allowed them to leave.

“See?” Scott said. “He can smell it too. You should
at least open the windows or the door. You fire that gun and cause
a spark, we all have a big problem.”