Swing State (18 page)

35.

36.

37.

Z
ACHARIAH WALKED TO SCHOOL.
H
E'D HAD
to leave earlier than when he rode his bike, but he'd been so excited the previous night that he barely slept, out of bed a full hour before his alarm went off. After a bowl of cereal and a shower, his father still snoring away in his bedroom, Zachariah decided to work on
Love Balloon
, even though he had thrown out the cake scene.

The ending was the best part.

He wanted a regular guy to win. Not one of the strikers who looked like an underwear model. But luck of the draw was part of it. Part of everything. If Armbrister hadn't played Enoch on a Saturday afternoon, his dad might not have decided to celebrate a blowout by grilling. Paul Tietz would not have taken Zachariah to buy barbecue sauce. Dixon Dove would not have dumped barbecue sauce over Zachariah's head.

And if none of that had happened, Zachariah thought he would have gone on pretending that he had powers, playing defense rather than running with the ball.

He saw the pattern in himself because of Dixon Dove.

The ending had never changed. He had the idea for the final scene before he knew what the rest of the show would be like.
He then built his challenges so the finale of the first season could happen.

It was his dad who gave him the idea. In front of a baseball game on the couch, he sat with a glossy magazine and a stack of papers on a TV tray. It looked to Zachariah as if he were studying for a test.

Zachariah blurted out, “Dad, what are you doing?” He should have thought before he spoke, but was so surprised to see Paul doing anything but drinking and watching TV that he was caught off guard.

“Come here for a sec,” his dad said.

Uh-oh.

Zachariah did.

“The guys at the mill put a fantasy league together.”

He saw football players stretched horizontally to catch passes on the magazine's pages.

“I have to figure out my picks for the draft.”

Zachariah was confused. “Draft like war?”

His father laughed. Zachariah couldn't remember him in such a good mood. “Maybe. Everyone takes turns picking a player.”

“That's not fair,” Zachariah said.

“Why not?”

“The first guy always gets the best pick.”

“We're doing a snake draft.”

“Snake?”

“Like an ‘S.' There're twelve guys, so it goes one through twelve, then twelve through one. Like that.”

Zachariah liked the idea of a snake draft. Being picked first in gym was the best thing—it meant everyone wanted you on their team. And being picked last, of course, meant the opposite. He
used to get picked solidly in the middle of the pack before he got kicked in the nuts. Then he was last, even though he was better than some of the kids who got chosen before him.

With the snake draft, the guys in the middle had the best chance. It wasn't about the best pick, maybe, as much as it was about making smart picks.

After two weeks of the football season his dad, who had picked in the middle, lost his fantasy quarterback to a broken leg.

While he was at school, rolling bread on a floured metal school table he had the idea.

A big field, with a target in the center.

Everyone would buy squares. He wasn't sure how, but he could figure it out. Some kind of auction.

Someone would pilot a balloon onto the target.

But the target square wasn't the best pick. What if the person in the balloon wasn't a very good pilot? Or if it was windy?

Zachariah thought it would be a girl. The bachelorette everyone competed to be with. She'd try to land in the target. But she wouldn't know much about balloons. She'd probably land somewhere other than the target.

Whoever had bought the square she landed on would live with her afterward.

Maybe the best square was the one furthest from the center.

There was no way of telling.

Zachariah liked the idea because a normal guy could win.

* * *

His walk hadn't taken much longer than a bike ride, despite the weight on his back. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest even before he left the house. Dixon Dove would love her present. And she'd tell everyone that Zachariah Tietz was okay.
They'd have a partnership—he would make new recipes for her, and she would make sure he could sit in the cafeteria and eat his lunch in peace.

And maybe she'd want to touch his boner again.

The usual comments about his weight, pissed jeans, and pukey shirt were hurled at him as he stood at the foot of Armbrister High's granite steps, one hand on each backpack strap. But he smiled honest smiles at his tormentors. It would all be over soon. Everything would change when he partnered with Dixon Dove. He wished he had figured everything out sooner.

He walked up the stairs and through the doors, past the new security guard.

He looked at Zachariah as if they knew each other.

Zachariah stood waiting, waiting for Dixon Dove to arrive, one hand on each strap. He didn't know what Dixon Dove's schedule was like. She had some class in the morning—he knew this from all the times he had come in the front door only to be accosted by her.

His mind raced as the owners of surrounding lockers dropped off jackets, switched books, and stowed lunches. Where was she?

His straps began to dig into his shoulders, despite his thumbs.

The pace of the hallway's flow of students quickened with the warning bell. He didn't want to be late for class, but he didn't want to lug the bomb around all day, either, waiting for Dixon Dove to arrive. It was too heavy.

Maybe she was running late.

The security guard gave Zachariah a look he couldn't figure out, then walked down the hall. Zachariah stayed where he was.

The class bell rang.

He waited.

A few kids he didn't know came in over in the next few minutes, each with the same frantic look.

He had rehearsed it in his head: Dixon, I want to make a deal with you. You've been picking on me. But you like fireworks. So why don't I make them for you? Here's a sample. In exchange, you can stop picking on me, and make sure everyone else does, too.

And she'd say: How'd you learn how to make fireworks, Tietz?

He thought about telling her the truth: that something had changed when she dumped Slow Bull over his head. But he didn't think he should tell anyone about that. It was his: the change, and the aftereffects.

He thought about telling her the process: I did some research and found out that it's not hard to make bombs. I had all the ingredients in the house, mostly in kitchen cleaners. I wasn't sure about aluminum oxide, but my dad had sanding discs in our basement.

Instead, he thought he might try to sound mysterious. Like a character on a TV show: Well, I can bake bread. It's not that different.

He'd get in trouble if he skipped class. And his dad might hit him. The cast wouldn't stop beatings.

He'd leave it in Dixon Dove's locker.

But if he did that, she might find it and hurt herself. He wasn't sure exactly how strong it would be, but it was pretty big—he'd tripled the recipe he found online.

He would put it in her locker and make sure he disconnected the batteries. She'd know it was from him because of his initials monogrammed on the backpack.

But what if she didn't see them? Or didn't get the message? He hadn't known Ross Dove was her brother—maybe she wouldn't know the backpack was his.

He'd leave a note. Then, when she found it, he could show her how to hook the batteries back up—or, better yet, they could go to one of the Whispering Pines houses and set it off there.

Dixon Dove's locker opened easily. It was empty, save for some crumpled fast food wrappers at the very bottom.

He knew he was at the right one. He always saw her by her locker in the morning. Why was it empty?

The halls were silent. Everyone was in class.

He didn't want to carry the bag around. He'd put it in the locker, then find her.

It took a few pushes, but he was just able to wedge his bag in.

He unzipped the top and reached in to check the battery pack. His last thought, as he noticed the scent, before the explosion, was maybe the quarry—

38.

H
EARD IT GO OFF DIDN'T SEE
it and when it did he was lost he knew where his feet were leading him but he wasn't moving them like he was watching himself Peck Long feet carrying him paper everywhere moving slow like snowflakes to the ground no sound like snow falling everything quiet the only things moving paper old bags Burger Hut everything else still Peck oh God no screams nothing nothing but quiet blood everywhere splattered on lockers drops why wouldn't they fall hanging there huge drops how could there be snow a hundred and twenty degrees couldn't do it all again didn't want to go back oh God Long no but there he was except he wasn't back watched himself fall down like he was shot smell in the air metal in his mouth he was back knew the smell never went away always there dented doors all down the hall and blood huge drops hanging there off door vents people yelling oh God Roy what is it what's the matter and he watched himself try to speak nothing came out no sound what's the matter we need to find Roger that and he couldn't do anything oh my God is he hurt what happened what is this call an ambulance 911 couldn't move blood not moving paper hanging in the air like a cloud a gray cloud head cloud it would go away in a second everything
would move and Long would be gone dead and Peck oh God Peck would be gone drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes didn't know how it could be this bad again again under his knees not sand bleeding everywhere hanging there that second oh God what happened is everyone okay no Peck why did he agree The Motor Clean hanging there just hanging—

39.

W
HY'D YOU SET IT OFF?

I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.

Come on. You disappear the same time a bomb goes off in your locker and you don't know what I'm talking about?

What?

You're not gonna win any Academy Awards, honey.

A bomb?

Stop playing dumb. You're wasting our time.

No. I'm serious. A bomb? How big?

Big enough to get you a murder charge.

Murder?

Don't act like you don't know.

I have no fucking idea!

Not even enough to do dental records. All we have is embroidery from a backpack. “ZT.” Know him?

The fat kid?

His dad's drinking himself into a stupor right now. Because of you. And the poor bastard who's the security guard thinks he's back in Afghanistan.

The old guy?

Just hired a new guy. He got a Purple Heart in Afghanistan. A war hero.

It wasn't me! I didn't do any of that.

You're dead to rights, honey.

Jesus.

We have your confession.

What confession?

Look at this:

No. It's not—

You're fucked, girlie. You'll hang. People will cheer.

That's not it.

We found it at your house.

No. That note was about something else.

What?

I don't want to talk about it.

. . .

Look, that was about something else.

Reads like a confession to me. Case closed.

Listen, I—. My brother. Do you know about him?

Big football star.

He failed a drug test. There was a reporter.

Don't bullshit us, honey. We've got you.

No. And these kids were giving me shit about it. At Burger Hut. Where I used to work. They must have footage of it, right?

We don't want to hear it.

My mom's boyfriend said there was footage.

Put a sock in it.

And there was this girl. Mary.

You're really reaching now.

Look, I don't know about any bomb. I left because of all that stuff I told you about.

For where?

Boston.

Didn't get very far, did you?

Hitching isn't as easy as I thought.

The bomb was in your locker. And you left the note.

But there's another note. To my brother.

Sure there is.

And did you find the tape?

Excuse me?

The tape. My journal.

We didn't find any tape.

It's all on there. You haven't listened to it?