The Devil's Demeanor (12 page)

“That’s not
what you’re doing,” said Mom. “You’re rubbing your marriage to that whore in my
face.”

“That’s not
even remotely true,” Dad said after a moment’s pause. “Nothing’s stopping you
from getting married.”

Mom said
nothing. Instead, she turned on her heel and went back inside. Adrian watched
her go, and then turned back to Dad and said, “Sorry about her.”

“I’m used to
it,” Dad replied.

“She can be a
handful sometimes.”

“How so?” Dad
suddenly seemed very curious.

“I shouldn’t
talk about her behind her back.”

Dad glanced
down at his kids. “She’s not violent or anything, is she?” he asked Adrian.

At first,
Adrian looked confused by the question. Then he looked down at the boys and
comprehension dawned on him. “Oh, no, nothing like that. She’s a good mother.”

Dad nodded
before saying, “How old are you, Adrian?”

“Twenty-six.”

“You like older
women?”

“Love ’em.” He
grinned.

Dad grinned
without cheer before looking down at his sons. “I’ll be over at Uncle Johnny’s
if you two need anything. I won’t head back to Florida until the day after
tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay,” said
Don. He knew enough about subtext to realize what his dad was really saying:
Call
me if there’s trouble.

*
 
*
 
*

The first day
of high school was scary and exciting. Don and Sym waited at the first bust
stop to be taken to Augusta High. From what Don had heard from others, the
school was so old a lot of his friends’ parents had gone there when they were
teens.

Gone were the
days where Don and Sym could play with action figures in the relative privacy
of their seats in the bus’s rear. Don figured if they tried that now, they’d be
laughed at by the other kids.

Augusta High
was located right off a highway, behind rundown stores and restaurants. It was
a one-story building with dirty windows and faded walls. Incidentally, there
was a nice-looking tower separate from the main school that acted as an
additional wing. It was four stories tall and, according to Sym, only two years
old. A canopied path bridged the tower and the main building.

The buses
traveled through a seemingly endless number of curves to a parking lot, where
it pulled up to the school’s side. Don noticed Augusta High was shaped like a
lower-case
h
, and he saw a small hill next to the tower with four
manufactured classrooms that looked like long white sheds with windows.

Just how many
students went to this school? Don asked know-it-all Sym.

“Over a
thousand,” he replied. “Eighty percent black.”

As everyone
unloaded from the buses, Don realized he was surrounded by black kids. There
were a few white, Asian and Hispanic, but they were easily lost in the mix. On
their way to homeroom, Don and Sym passed Nick and another boy, one Don hoped
he’d never see again.

“Hey, Don,”
said the hot-tempered Clark Greg.

Don hadn’t seen
the boy in years, but he still looked the same. Brown bowl-shaped hair and big,
black-framed glasses. The freckles on his nose were even more noticeable.

“Hey, Nick,”
Don said, ignoring Clark’s greeting entirely. They were all still outside of
the school, by the buses. Kids were rushing through the entrance at the crook
of the
h
.

“This school is
so crowded,” Nick said as he looked around. “The hallways are going to be
crazy.”

The hallways
were, indeed, crazy. The kids were so packed together, it was difficult to get
anywhere. Don looked to his right and saw a ramp leading up to the cafeteria.
On his left was a ramp leading down to a long hall with many classrooms. He
headed that way.

When he finally
found his homeroom, he was surprised to find it already full. A few desks were
empty near the windows. There was a small courtyard there, with a large oak
tree with the roots sticking out of the ground. He watched a black girl exit
the school to cross the courtyard. Don figured she wanted to avoid the crush of
the halls. Once the girl reached the tree, however, she tripped on one of the
roots.

“Oh, shit!” she
screamed as her books flew from her arms.

Don laughed,
though not so much because she fell but the way she did it. So dramatic, her
arms flying to the sides, her long black hair whipping behind her, her slow
exclamation.

“What is so
amusing, if I may ask?”

Don spun around
to find a tall black man, dressed in slacks and a green sweater. He also wore
large, gold-rimmed glasses that made his large eyes even larger.

“A girl tripped
on a tree root,” Don said, no longer laughing. He pointed out to the courtyard,
where the girl was picking up her books.

The man looked
out briefly before returning his gaze to Don. “You find other people’s
misfortunes amusing?”

Don wanted to
tell him he found this guy’s feminine voice amusing, but decided not to say so.
The man appeared to be the homeroom teacher. “No, sir,” Don finally said.

“How would you
like it if you tripped and Ms. Marshall out there laughed at you?”

“I wouldn’t
like it,” said Don, knowing that was the answer the teacher expected. In truth,
he wouldn’t care if people laughed; it was a natural response.

The teacher
snorted before walking to the chalkboard. “My name is Mr. Clifford.” He wrote
it on the board. “Apart from being your homeroom teacher, I also teach English.
I’m very fond of poetry, so you’ll be hearing a lot of that if you find
yourself in my class.…”

Don tuned the
man out and looked out the dirty windows once more. The girl, “Ms. Marshall,”
was long gone, but every time Don thought of her dramatic fall, he smiled. And
not once did he feel bad about it. Plus, he doubted he’d ever see that girl
again.

*
 
*
 
*

Reaching the
first bus stop for the best seats was one thing. Getting good seats after
school was another. By the time Don and Sym found their bus, all the back seats
were taken, forcing the boys to sit in the front. It wasn’t a big deal, though,
and Don wondered why it had ever been. He guessed it was all part of growing
up, letting go of trivial things.

When the bus
stopped directly in front of his house, he and Sym got off and parted ways. All
Don wanted to do once he got inside was play Sega and go to sleep afterward. He
was fortunate not to have any homework, and he knew if Ethan wasn’t already
home from elementary school, he soon would be.

As soon as Don
reached the front door, he realized he couldn’t find his key. He knocked on the
door, but no one answered. Either Ethan was taking a nap or he truly wasn’t
home yet. Don looked through one of the front windows but could barely see
through the lacy white curtain.

What he did see
was the window’s latch, which was broken. He could climb through the window so
he wouldn’t have to wait for his brother or mother. Don went to work prying off
the screen in front of the window. Once he managed that, he set the screen down
next to the rusty patio furniture and opened the window. After carefully
climbing inside, he closed the window, went out through the front door to
replace the screen, and then went to his room to boot up his videogame.

Squealing
brakes announced the arrival of Ethan’s bus thirty minutes later. Mom came home
shortly after, bearing bags of fast food. The family ate together and Don told
his mom and brother about his first day in high school.

Don would
remember this peaceful time later, after his mother went insane and changed everything.

Things seemed
fine in 1997. High school was going well, and Mom’s relationship with Adrian
was strong. Don even joined a bowling league.

He tried not to
let that creepy dog encompass his life—he played with his friends, got good grades
in school, and strove for a perfect game each time. Mom bought him his own
bowling ball, which was a cool swirling gray. He named it Gunsmoke.

He hadn’t
dreamed of the dog for a long time and was grateful for that small mercy.

One person in
particular helped Don forget the mystery surrounding his family, and her name
was Monica Harris. Monica and Don shared health class in one of the sheds by
the tower at Augusta High, and they often whispered jokes to one another in the
back of the room.

Only one thing
often ruined their playful time together: Nick. He sat in front of Monica and
oftentimes intruded on her and Don’s conversations. Don was getting the
distinct impression Nick was falling for Monica. The idea seemed ridiculous,
but it was there in his mind, and he found himself obsessing over it.

During a game
of “ghetto volleyball,” as Sym liked to call it because they used a clothesline
tied to both a tree in Don’s yard and a telephone pole, Don decided to ask
Nick.

“Monica?” Nick
asked as he held the volleyball. “She’s okay, but I’m not in love with her or
anything.”

He served the
ball over the thin white cord, and Sym and Ethan lunged to spike it back at
Nick and Don. This was usually how the boys spent their time after school. The
ball landed out of bounds. Don picked it up.

“I mean, she’s
cool and everything,” Nick went on. “I don’t know how my parents would feel
about me dating a black girl, though.”

“So you have
thought about dating her?” Don asked as he served. The ball landed between Sym
and Ethan, perfectly in bounds.

“Sometimes.”

The response
had been like a punch to the stomach. Don’s suspicions had been correct. But
why did he feel anger toward Nick now? Nick had said he wasn’t in love with
Monica.

He did admit
to having feelings for her,
a voice in Don’s head whispered. He looked at
Ethan immediately and saw his little brother looking back. Don then turned his
head slowly toward Nick.
He’s not being a very good friend,
the voice
added.
He knows how you feel about Monica, yet he still wants her for
himself.

That’s not
true,
Don whispered back.
He just said so.

He said his
parents wouldn’t approve,
the voice said smugly.
That’s the only thing
stopping him, not his loyalty to you.

Shut up.
Don looked at his brother once more, convinced the voice was coming from him.

You’ll find
out who your real friends are soon enough.

Leave me
alone!

“Don?”

He snapped out
of his trance at the call of his name and saw Sym looking at him on the other
side of the “net.”

“Are you ready
or what?” Sym asked.

“Sorry,” said
Don, and the boys resumed their game.

*
 
*
 
*

Don and Nick’s
friendship changed over the next month, as much as Don hated to admit it. He
found himself not wanting to hang out with Nick unless Sym was there as well,
and he also became subconsciously competitive with Nick when it came to grades,
sports and Monica’s attention.

The Scott
family recently acquired caller ID, so Don always knew when Nick was calling.
Just thinking about answering those calls nauseated him. He hated feeling this
way toward his best friend, but he couldn’t help it. Don just felt
tainted
.

It wasn’t like
he could avoid Nick all the time, though; the two were classmates. It was
obvious Nick noticed the rift growing between them, but he never said anything.
When lunch period came around one day, Nick stood at the head of one of the
lengthy tables and stared at Don for a moment before deciding to sit with
someone else.

Don was both
relieved and saddened by this. He knew only he could fix the friendship but
didn’t quite know how. Had too much time passed? Could things be the way they
were before? What was fueling Don’s anger toward his friend?

Just then,
she
walked by.

Monica waved at
Don as she and her friends sat at the end of the table. Monica was the source
of the rift and didn’t even know it. How could she? It wasn’t her fault. She
hadn’t really expressed any desire to be with either boy.

There was the
other
theory, but Don didn’t like to think about it.

He didn’t like
thinking his feelings were being manipulated by some kind of demon, if that’s
what it was. He also didn’t like to think the negative feelings toward Nick
were his own, but at least then he would know he was in control in that case.

He had to stay
in control of himself.

*
 
*
 
*

Nothing unusual
had happened since that one volleyball game a month ago, but Don remained
cautious. Every time he let his guard down, the curse reminded him of its hold
on his family. Don felt completely helpless against it, made all the worst by
the fact he couldn’t talk to anyone about it. He vaguely remembered telling
Nick a long time ago, but just the thought of confiding in his friend now
sickened him.

Don’s
competitiveness grew over the weeks as Nick bested him on tests and
assignments. Nick almost always bragged in front of Don, as if Nick was finally
accepting the deterioration of the friendship and enjoying it. This only made
Don angrier. Nick was also skinnier, and therefore faster, than Don, which
resulted in him winning races or just outperforming Don during health class.

That was when
Don started daydreaming about killing Nick in increasingly violent ways.

Instead of
killing him, however, Don was handed a golden opportunity to exact revenge
against him. One day, while the class took a test in Government, the teacher
stepped out to use the restroom.

He left the
answer sheet on his desk.

Nick and a few
other students leapt onto the sheet to get as many free answers as they could.

But not Don. He
merely sat and watched. And grinned.

The cheating
students returned to his and her seats moments before the teacher returned.
Just as class was letting out, Don walked up to the teacher’s desk and told the
man what had happened.

He mainly
focused on Nick during the story, however.

“Is that so?”
the teacher asked. He then searched for Nick’s Scantron and compared the
answers. “That boy wasn’t even smart enough to get some of them wrong to make
it look real.”

Don just barely
noticed Nick standing outside the classroom as he left, and Nick looked ready
to commit murder. He followed Don out of the tower and to health class. Don
looked over his shoulder every now and then to grin at the scolded ex-friend,
and deep down, he actually enjoyed the creepy attention he was receiving.

Before reaching
the shed, however, Don and Nick became separated. Don took his seat at the rear
of the class and waited. As he did, he noticed Monica hadn’t arrived either.
For a brief moment he imagined Nick and Monica together somewhere and his
stomach turned.

Finally, Monica
entered the room, her footsteps rattling through the thin walls and floor. She
sat next to Don and said, “What did you do to Nick?”

“I told the
teacher he cheated on his test. Why? Did you talk to him?”

“He said he
wants to kill you,” she replied, looking at him sideways.

Thinking
Nick wanted to kill him and
knowing
were two different beasts. Don felt
they had just now reached a point of no return in their friendship. And just at
that moment, Nick chose to make his appearance. Don watched as his former
friend made his way from the door to his desk in front of Monica’s, his eyes
never leaving Don’s. It was both spooky and exciting.

“Did you really
cheat on a test?” Monica asked Nick.

“Yes,” he said,
still staring at Don, “but
he
didn’t have to tell on me. He’s just a
little bitch.”

Monica gasped
and stared at him. Clearly she wasn’t enjoying this as much as Don.

“The only
reason he’s doing this to me,” Nick continued, “is because he’s in love with
you and thinks I am too.”

Monica looked
at Don. He was just as shocked as she. He hadn’t known Nick connected the two;
clearly he remembered the conversation about liking Monica.

“Is that true?”
she asked Don. “You like me?”

Don couldn’t
believe how embarrassed he felt at that moment. His feeling of victory over
Nick was instantly tarnished. “Well...yeah.”

Instead of
smiling, she continued to give him a puzzled look. The class continued to pile
in, oblivious to their conversation. “What about you?” she asked Nick. “Do you
like me?”

Before he could
respond, Don said, “He told me he’d like you better if you were white.”

Quick as
lightning, Nick grabbed Don’s left hand and bent the index finger all the way
back until it touched the back of Don’s hand. Don felt the pain but refused to
acknowledge it. He saw Monica’s mouth open wide in shock. He also saw the
uncontrollable rage in Nick’s eyes as he continued to hold Don’s finger at that
awful angle.

Don managed a
grin as he grabbed Nick’s wrist and pulled the offending hand away from his.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Don declared, though it actually hurt like a son of a bitch. He
was surprised to find it wasn’t broken.

Nick looked
nervously at the coach, who was writing on the board. “I never said what Don
said I said,” he told Monica in a rush.

“What did you
say, then?” she asked reluctantly. She was still in shock at Nick’s action.

“I said I didn’t
think my parents would like it if I went out with a black girl. But I don’t
care what they think.” He smiled at her.

She smiled
back.

Don nursed his
injured finger as he watched the two of them. He had been trying to get Monica
to hate Nick and only managed to draw them together. And now Don felt like the
bad guy.

After managing
to make it through the class with his throbbing finger, Don quickly walked out
of the shack and made his way to his next class. A figure glided up next to
him.

“If you ever
lie to Monica about me again,” Nick whispered venomously, “I’ll
kill
you.”

“I’ll add it to
the list of things not to do,” Don replied sarcastically.

*
 
*
 
*

Don and Nick’s
friendship seemed damaged beyond repair. Nick stopped calling and never spoke
or looked at Don whenever they crossed paths. That was a remarkable feat
considering they had a few classes together. It was as if Don didn’t exist.

Don kept
telling himself he didn’t care, he had other friends. Unfortunately, his other
best friend Sym seemed to have sided with Nick. Those two hung out a lot after
school, and Don once heard them talking about him behind his back during lunch.

And to make
things worse, Monica wasn’t too fond of him either. It was like the whole world
was against Don. The only person who didn’t abandon him was his brother. After
school, Don and Ethan would play videogames together; they seemed closer than
ever before. Deep down, Don wondered if events had been arranged in order to
get the Scott brothers to become better friends.

But why? They
were brothers and already got along fairly well. The only explanation he could
come up with was someone—something—wanted Don to feel completely alone,
friendless, vulnerable. It wanted him to feel the only person he could turn to
was his brother.

Was Ethan
himself behind this?

It was a crazy
theory—one of many he’d had over the years—but he liked to think he was
intuitive enough to know when something was wrong. If he was correct, the best
thing he could do was make new friends.

Or hang out
with old ones.

The only ones
he could think of that would still talk to him were Clark and Monica. As much
as he disliked Clark, he felt he needed to hang out with a guy, someone who
wasn’t his own brother.

One Saturday,
Don invited Clark to one of his bowling games. Clark cheered Don’s team on like
a fool, and the team won. Don even came close to a perfect game, though bowling
was made more difficult by his injured finger. Between matches, Don and Clark
played games in the arcade and talked a bit.

“So, what, you
and Nick aren’t friends anymore?” Clark inquired. Don shrugged. “And what about
you and Sym?” Don shrugged again, never taking his eyes from the fighting game
they were playing.

Mom and Ethan
had run to the theater to pick up tickets for the movie they planned to see
after the game.

“I’m like your
backup buddy?” Clark guessed.

“Yep.” Don
wasn’t in the mood to deny it. “After that bullshit with Nick and me the last
time we hung out at your house, you should be happy I thought of you at all.”

Clark had no
response. Good. He knew he fucked up with that temper tantrum years ago; Don
wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.

“You’ve made a
lot of enemies in a short time,” Clark commented. “You should make a list.”

“Of what?” Don
asked.

“Enemies.”

“Why?”

“So you can
exact revenge on them some day.”

The round ended
in the fighting game, so Don turned to Clark. “Do you have a list?”

“Hell yeah. I’m
extremely unlikable.”

Damn right,
Don thought, but instead he said, “How many people are on it?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Am I on it?”

Clark laughed.
“You were, but I scratched you off this morning.”