The Domino Effect (29 page)

Then he talked, without that same twinkle, about how important wrestling was to the school, to our reputation and everything, but that he didn’t see a “symbiotic” relationship between wrestling and Hamden’s future as one of those “elite” schools. His eyes got all bright again when he said that he had redirected scholarship funds and raised academic standards for student-athletes, and that he was doing all this other rigamarole to make wrestling less and less “influential.” He said that fund-raising was the key to it all. I thought about the meeting Headmaster Hurley had had with Todd Brooks’ father.

Pop held up his hand again and Headmaster Hurley finally, got right to it. This part I remember good enough to quote, because it had to do with me.

“So the reason I tell you all of this is that, even with recent events, Daniel can be of service to Hamden Academy and Hamden Academy can be of service to Daniel. Now there’s absolutely no way to keep him at school. The stunts were problematic, but not terminal. I even admired their ingenuity and effect. But he assaulted two students, in public, and for that, he must leave. That being said, there is a way for us to arrange his graduation through a prolonged suspension, as opposed to an expulsion.”

“And why would you do that?” Pop asked, a wave of skepticism carrying his words.

“Because of Stonington, of course,” he said. “And the interest they’ve had in Daniel since his perfect game.”

And that’s when Pop put his hot eyes on me. They bore into the side of my face as I tried to keep focused on Headmaster Hurley and all the noise he spouted, noise that buried me. According to him, if I somehow managed to graduate, I still might be the first Hamden student to get a scholarship to Stonington and the school could tout this as an accomplishment. A “win-win.” I guess that’s how the game is played in his world. But not in mine.

“Scholarship?” Pop asked me. “Perfect game?”

I must have forgotten to mention any of that. I tried to explain right there and then, but he gave me the hand. He turned to Headmaster Hurley, ready to share some of his wisdom, but I cut him off.

“It’s OK, Pop,” said. “I got this.”

His face said he’d give me a chance.

“Thanks, Mr. Hurley, I guess, for the offer and everything, but I’m not going to Stonington College. I’m going home.”

“Home?” he asked, like he’d never heard of the place. “What will you do there?”

“Go to school, get a job. There’s lots to do,” I said. “This is America.”

Pop grabbed my forearm. “Sounds like you thought this through, Pal.”

“Yeah,” I kind of laughed. “Imagine that.”

Before the ridiculous offer from the headmaster, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about my future. I’d go home to Queens, to our new house. I’d enroll in the local public school and graduate. Then I’d go to St. John’s or somewhere else in the city. Or maybe I’d work a year or two and go away to college in a couple of years. Either way, I’d be home for awhile, a survivor of childhood. A survivor with a story to tell, and I’d get started telling it right away.

Headmaster Hurley sat there smirking, like we didn’t get how the game was played. Pop sat up, with his forearms on Hurley’s desk, and wiped the smirk off the headmaster’s face by telling him he was a failure for teaching kids about privilege instead of fairness. He told him, calmly, about how
he
thought the game was played, with equality and compassion for everybody, no matter what. It was a speech I knew well, as I’d heard it a hundred times, but the truth of it hit me right then for the first time in a long time. And I remembered right then why Pop was my hero. And I wanted to be like him again, just like when I was a kid.

He put a hand on my shoulder and led me out the door. We picked up Mr. Wright and kept on walking. The only sound in the cool, dark corridor was of our six heels clacking the marble floor. As we walked toward the exit, Mr. Wright explained how he and Pop knew each other.

“Your father came up to see me on the day you moved in, and we spoke a lot about you. He asked me to keep an eye on you, and to challenge you, as well. That was why, on that very same day when the situation arose, I thought to move Mr. King to your room. I feel now like I put you in the wrong situation, and that I’ve somehow contributed to your fate.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Wright. You were right to bring him to me. I just blew it, that’s all. All on my own.” I faced them in the hallway. “Sorry I let you guys down and everything. I know you’ve been looking out for me and, you know, I’m a moron, but I was trying to do the right thing. I was.”

“We know, Pal,” Pop said with a tight smile. “I’m at least proud of you for trying, but I’d be singing Sinatra right now if you would have used your head, not your neck, to work this out — understand what I’m saying?”

“Capisco,
Pop,” I said.
“Capisco.”

“Good,” he said, stepping toward the door. “Let’s go home. You can tell me about the perfect game on the way.” He gave me a wink.

I pushed open the exit bar and motioned for them to go first. I followed, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the bright sun that shined on what seemed like every kid in the whole school.

“What do we have here?” Pop asked as we entered the swarm. My small group of friends met us first, Terence and Sammie in front of Meeks and Grohl, but I also knew the names and faces of many others who had come to say goodbye. I walked through the crowd feeling the touches of those who reached for my arm or shook my hand.

I felt like a rock star and a superhero and a real kid all at the same time. Sadness sort of came over me, too. Not a hard-won sadness about what was, but a more hollow sadness about what could have been. I could have been friends with so many of those people. We could have had memories to take with us when we left Hamden Academy. Not making the most of those years, I guess, was my real punishment… that and the potatoes.

The people parted as Pop and I moved slowly under the Arch toward the visitor’s parking lot. The mob scene extended across the meadow and toward the women’s dorm. I could see the spray painted message I’d left for Brenda on their door — my last stunt, written the night before:

Bella Faccia!

I Love You (10 X)

DOMINO

Brenda stood on the porch, in front of the door decorated just for her. She leaned way over the railing and waved to me. I figured she was saying goodbye. I waved back and turned away, feeling for a moment like I was going to cry. I passed Pop on my way to the car.

“Look out,” he said before I reached the door. “This kid’s got wheels.”

When I turned, Brenda was halfway across the meadow, a jackrabbit heading through the crowd in a sweatshirt and jeans, hair bouncing and a smile as bright as her eyes. She never looked better.

She ran right at me, and I caught her under the arms and spun her around in the air. It felt like she had wings. Everybody cheered and kept on cheering and hollering after Brenda locked her legs around my waist and her hands around the back of my neck and kissed me like crazy. I didn’t even close my eyes.

“Thanks for the note,” she separated our lips to say.

“I was going to write the words to ‘Thunder Road,’” I shrugged, “but it’s too long and, you know...”

“I like your words better,” she said, pulling me back in.

With my eyes closed, I remembered the first time we kissed on the bridge. I could hear the sound of the circling water, full of pain, being whisked away.

“You guys know each other?” Pop interrupted.

I staggered when we parted. Brenda stepped forward.

“Hello,” she said, offering her hand to my father. “I’m Brenda Divine.”

“Nice to meet you, Brenda Divine,” Pop said.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she answered, with a sweet tilt of her head. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Me?” Pop asked. “Get out of here.”

“No, I have,” she said with a gesture toward me. “And I can see the resemblance between you and little Dom.”

Pop stood still, no wheels turning for something clever to say, his strong hands clenched at his sides, his face flushed from olive to almond. He looked proud to be my father. He shifted his eyes to me, holding them there for a moment before going back to Brenda.

“NYU,” he said, noticing her sweatshirt. “That’s some school.”

“Yes it is,” she smiled. “I start there in the fall. You know anyone who can show me around the city?”

They both turned to me. I fell over.

I swear.

THE END