Jerkbait (8 page)

13

M
y room was sealed. Literally. Boarded up with long nails like it was a condemned building. It didn’t seem real.

In Robbie’s room, our mattresses now lay side-by-side, taking up almost the entire room. We didn’t even get box springs. Our table was still there, only about a foot away from the mattresses. Even squeezing between the table and a computer chair would be hard. On the desk, the scissors were gone. So were the stapler and paper cutter. In the closet, the clothing bar was missing as well as the door. Our nice suits lay flat on the floor wrapped in plastic. The room was stuffy and suffocating. Even though it was freezing, I opened the window the whole way.

Cold air flooded the room, making it less claustrophobic. Shivering, I leaned out and inhaled. The chill air cleared my nostrils and my mind. Robbie stepped up next to me. He fidgeted with the drawstrings on the neck of his hoodie. “I keep making things worse.”

“Don’t.”

“No, really. This was on me.”

“No. It wasn’t. If I hadn’t auditioned—”

“You really think you could have stopped me?”

I pulled my head back in the room. “You don’t?”

Robbie didn’t answer.

I crossed the room to our table and tugged at my desk chair. It caught on the mattress. The front of the table pressed against my stomach as I squeezed in, but I didn’t budge. I needed to listen to music and write.

I turned on Spotify but couldn’t find any music to help me relax. Instead, I put on
Billy Elliot
and listened to “Angry Dance” on loop at least ten times, then put on
Heathers,
mouthing along to “Life Boat
.
”
Other people’s hopelessness made me feel a little less alone, I guess.

Even with an open Word document, my creativity was as dry as the last Florida Panthers’ goal drought. Working on my dolphin story would be impossible.

I took out one of my textbooks but didn’t read a single word. My mind kept drifting to Robbie, only hours ago, trying to hang himself in my room while I auditioned. I touched my throat. Hadn’t I felt a raw pain right before I sang? Wasn’t there a nagging feeling that something was wrong—really wrong—that I ignored? A warning.

Robbie sat next to me, with his headphones on, in some sort of chat room. I didn’t even know there were chat rooms anymore—I thought those pretty much died when people switched to cable modems.

After a few minutes, Robbie got up and mostly shut the window, leaving just a small crack for ventilation. I glanced over at his screen, but it was minimized.

That night I couldn’t sleep. I stared at Robbie’s blanket-covered feet; he slept in the opposite direction from me. I thought about us in the womb, how Robbie was born breach, the opposite of me. Now was no different in this confined space.

Robbie rolled on his mattress. “Hey, Tristan? You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Same.”

My brother sat upright, his body a silhouette. “
Can I tell you something?”

“Uh. Okay?” I propped myself up on my elbows.

“Things might be a little messed up soon. Just so you have a heads-up.”

“What do you mean?”

Robbie hesitated. In the darkness of the room, I couldn’t make out his expression. Was he upset? Lonely? Scared?

“I think I really screwed up.”

“Screwed up what?”

Robbie
’s tone changed. “Coach said the director of scouting from St. Louis was talking to him for about an hour about me.”

“Holy shit. The Blues are interested in you?”

“Maybe. Seems like more western conference teams are kicking tires right now. Coach said Colorado, Calgary, and Vancouver are supposed to watch the next one. Possibly a bunch of others. They could be looking at Beau, Durrell, or Raiden, though.”

“You know they’re looking at you.”

“. . . yeah. I know.” Robbie reached under his pillow for a slip of paper. “This morning, Dad gave me this.”

I picked up the sheet and reached for my iPhone. Using it as a light, I read the sheet of paper:

CALLED
—POSSIBLE DRAFT COMBINE INTERVIEWS?

1. Calgary Flames—10 calls

2. Anaheim Ducks—7 calls

3. Vancouver Canucks—5 calls

4. Arizona Coyotes—5 calls

5. Colorado Avalanches—3 calls

6. Minnesota Wild—2 calls

7. Washington Capitals—2 calls

8. Winnipeg Jets—1 call

9. Los Angeles Kings—1 call

10. Chicago Blackhawks—1 call

11. Detroit Redwings—1 call

12. Florida Panthers—1 call

13. New Jersey Devils—1 call (returned)

I looked up at Robbie as I turned off the cellphone light. “This is legit?”

“I don’t think Dad would lie about it to inflate my ego.”

“Oh my God.” I couldn’t help it. A huge smile spread across my face. “
Robbie, this is seriously incredible. I mean, holy crap. That many teams
already?”

“Dad said it’s not enough,” Robbie mumbled.

I stared at him. “Robbie,
thirteen teams
have called about you.
Thirteen
out of
thirty.
I mean, you can’t even schedule interviews until two weeks before combine. That number should go up. And even if it didn’t, that’s incredible. Look how many times Calgary called about you!”

“Yeah, but Dad keeps reminding me that the Devils only called once.”

“
Yeah, but they called.”

“Because Dad called them first,” Robbie mumbled.

“You think Dad would be upset if you got drafted by a different team?”

Robbie thought about it for a few moments. “No,” he said. “I just need to hold it together long enough to make sure I get drafted.”

“Why are you even worried?”

“I told you, I think I really screwed up.” Robbie
’s voice dropped, “You know, the guys could beat the crap out of me. Wouldn’t matter if I wear an A on my jersey. If they found out, it’d be the end. Just one less person to compete with for a scout’s attention.”

I sat upright, pressing my hands on the mattress. “Why would the guys try to beat you up just because a scout’s looking at you?”

“They don’t know, Tristan.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Forget it.” Robbie pulled the sheet of paper from me and shoved it under his pillow. He abruptly rolled on his mattress so his back faced me. I frowned.

“
Robbie? What don’t they know?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. I stayed still, not sure whether I should try to say something else or remain quiet.

When the sound of Robbie’s breathing pattern change, I got up and squeezed into the space between my chair and table. My mind wouldn’t slow. Robbie should have been in therapy. My parents didn’t even take him to the ER this time just in case that’d get on his record. Like his mental health would lower his draft value.

I pulled up my story of the dolphin people, particularly focusing on the kids who were in the hut by themselves, biting my lower lip the way Robbie always did as I resumed typing.

There was something strange happening on the island. You could feel it in the air. It became harder to breathe. Each inhale was a labored huff-huff. Clouds rolled in, thick and low to the ground. Sluggish. The huts were shrinking, but the dolphin people remained the same size. Their homes constricted around their long bodies. Soon, their heads and feet were sticking out of the hut until they were stuck.

From the center of the island, black beasts emerged from beneath the sand like crabs. They dripped black blood from their teeth.
It’s suppertime,
they said, then began to whack off the dolphin people’s heads with a machete, like a butcher. Mercilessly, they killed all of the dolphin people and kids, except two. Brothers. They had grown too large, or the hut shrank too small around them. The black beasts put collars on their slick necks with metal chains tied to a stake in the ground.

A whimpering sound drew my attention. I saved the story, then went back to my mattress. Robbie was crying in his sleep. I wasn’t sure whether I should wake him up or let him sleep through it.

Carefully, I rested my hand on his side. He jerked once, and I withdrew. His body stilled.

I pulled my blankets up and turned on my side, my back toward Robbie. A draft crept along the floor from the open crack in the window. I curled my body into itself as I thought about my brother, not surprised when the next morning we woke to a sheet of white on the ground. Snow.

14

D
espite Robbie’s bitching, I talked him into going to school half an hour early so I could wait outside Heather’s locker. The second she made eye contact with me, she half-looked like she wanted to walk the other way but thought better of it.

“What do you want?” Heather asked.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t have time.”

“He tried it again,” I said urgently.

“Who tried what again?”

I gazed at Heather. “You know.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Robbie,” I said.

She took a few moments, then groaned. “You’re joking.”

“
Why would I joke about that?”

“Why didn’t you text me?”

“Because I
can’t.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “You know when I had to cancel on seeing
Phantom
with you? I think I stopped him in time. He went like all crazy with a kitchen knife.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t—”

“Yes. You have. Lunch—”

“I want to sit with my boyfriend. Is that a crime?”

“You wouldn’t even pull up a chair for me!” I closed my eyes. “I hate this. We’re supposed to be best friends, not like . . . this.”

“We wouldn’t be like this if you’d actually talk to me.”

“I’m telling you everything I can.”

“Not everything.” Heather opened her locker and rummaged through it. Her lips pursed. “You didn’t even tell me you were auditioning. A text message the day of? Seriously?”

I paused. “Is that what this is about? I didn’t think I needed to ask your permission.”

“You don’t think I’d support you going for an ensemble role?”

“I was nervous, okay?” I laughed uncomfortably. “My audition was so bad at the beginning. I picked the wrong song. Wrong genre, everything. She let me sing that, but had me stay in for fifteen minutes.”

Heather’s lips twisted a bit. “You stayed for fifteen minutes at your audition?”

“Yeah. I think it was pity.”

Heather seemed to weigh a few ideas in her head. Then she flashed a warmer smile. “You know, you’re right. We really should fix this awkwardness between us. I’m willing to give you another chance to make it right.”

I braved a smile and nodded. “That . . . uh. That sounds good.” Although I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was the one who needed to make things right.

“We’ll be a dynamite duo in acting again.”

“That sounds amazing.” My face lit up. “Really, whatever you want. Duets, dialogues, you name it.”

Heather’s smile broadened. It drew me in, the way it always did. I leaned down to hug her. She hugged back with one arm, a little stiffly, then pulled away. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

I watched her hurry down the hall to Durrell. I smiled and waved; Durrell nodded his head. When Heather hugged him, she stood on her toes and whispered something in his ear. Durrell’s expression changed. Sort of like his eyes were narrowing at me.

I headed in the direction of World Civilizations IV, but slowed by the theatre. Keisha stood outside the door, staring at a piece of paper. “Hey,” I greeted.

Keisha whirled on me, wiping her eyes. My smile disappeared. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said with a forced laugh. “
Just, uh, just saw the cast list. But forget that. I didn’t even get to say congratulations yet. Craig said you were auditioning for ensemble, so talk about a promotion.”

“What are you talking about?”

Keisha stepped aside and pointed to the list.

MAN IN CHAIR—JEFF CARSON

THE CHAPERON—ELISA O’NEILL

JANET—HEATHER STONE

ROBERT—TRISTAN BETTERBY

The rest of the cast list blurred as I took a step back.

“Congratulations,” Keisha reiterated, smile warm and broad and encouraging.

“I—how?” I asked, a little stunned.

“You’re good,” Keisha said.

“I don’t even tap—”

“Yeah, but you play hockey. I mean, how incredible will it be to have a Robert who actually skates?”

“You think that’s why I got the part?”

“I think you got the part because you’re really good,” Keisha said.

I looked down the list again, noticed how Craig booked Aldolpho—a nearly perfect cast with Aldolpho’s flamboyant characterization—then lower.

“I don’t see your name,” I said.

“Ensemble,” Keisha said softly. “Anyone not on this gets to be in the ensemble.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, getting cast as Robert was a bit less exciting, especially as Keisha tried to hide her disappointment and the lingering hint of tears.

“I just—” Keisha laughed uncomfortably. “It’s stupid, but I really wanted to be Janet.”

“Janet?” That was a surprise.
“I didn’t think she was your type of character at all.”

“Clearly she’s not since I wasn’t cast as her.”

“I didn’t mean that—”

“I didn’t mean it like that either, I swear,” Keisha said quickly. “Just . . . sometimes I wonder.” She looked at me. “You’d tell it to me straight if I asked you something, right?”

“If I can, I mean.”

“It’s just because of talent, right?” Her face was strained. “I mean, you don’t think that I didn’t get Janet because I’m black, right?”

I shook my head. “No. Ms. Price is cool. I don’t think
. . .
I
really
don’t think she’d turn you down because of that.”

“So, I wasn’t good enough.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know. Heather was better. She got cast as Janet. I made ensemble. It doesn’t mean my career’s over.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a hell of a singer.”

Keisha gave me a closed-lipped smile. “Heather’s lucky to have you as her leading man.”

She turned from me, hustling down the hallway. I was taken aback. What was that about? I looked at the board and frowned. Was me liking Heather really that obvious? And why would Keisha care? Keisha couldn’t like me. We barely knew each other.

Still, as I left for my first class, my chest ached a bit. Something was wrong about all of this. More wrong since I didn’t know what exactly was so wrong, or why it felt so wrong, and that wrongness bothered me throughout my classes, through acting, through lunch, through the end of the day, and through hockey practice. That sort of wrongness that didn’t quite fade.