The Pantheon (12 page)

Teddy strutted out of the auditorium and walked right into Jason Livingstone, spilling Nick’s open drink all down the nurse’s front. Jason looked down at the orange soda on his pale pink tie, then back up at Teddy. His nostrils flared out as he breathed in. “Alcohol?”

Jason took the bottles out of Teddy’s hands and nodded his head. “Come on. Follow me.”

It was a long and terrifying walk to Dr. Livingstone’s Office. Teddy was usually a confident, laid back kind of guy. Still, having the most important father in town and possibly the county didn’t help if you were caught outright with an illegal substance. It really didn’t help if Mrs. Wexler was the one to answer the phone.

Jason closed his office door and set the bottles on his desk. “Now, before I call in the Principal and we bring your parents into this, I’m going to give you a chance to be honest with me. How did you get alcohol?”

Teddy didn’t want to get his father in trouble because he was a responsible parent and had kept the liquor cabinet locked. He had nobody else to blame for buying it and he didn’t want to add the offense of stealing it to what was already going to lose him at least his car for the next month. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“
Try me.”

“
I made it.”

“
Your parents don’t know you’re making moonshine in the bath tub?”

“
No. I... can I get a cup of water?” Teddy was starting to see the big picture lay out before his eyes. If he was caught in school with alcohol, he wasn’t going to be the one who suffered. The newspapers would catch on to the fact that Senator Wexler’s son had been suspended for bringing alcohol on the campus and then it would be a scandal that would not only hurt his father’s career, but probably strain the father-son bond that usually let Teddy get away with a lot. It was better he was a freak, maybe a miracle worker, than a miscreant.

Jason crossed to the sink and filled a paper cup with water. He set it down before Teddy. Teddy Wexler took a deep breath before sticking his finger in it. Jason furrowed his brow. “What are you doing?”

“
Making more,” Teddy said, hoping that it worked so he wouldn’t look crazy, or worse, cheeky. The last thing he needed was for Dr. Livingstone to think he was being a smart-ass.

Jason stared at the cup and then at Teddy. He hadn’t even smelled it or tasted it, but Teddy could see a transformation behind his eyes. Jason’s expression was that of realization. He jumped forward, scooping up the cup and dipping his finger in. He licked his index finger. “Amazing!”

Teddy watched in awe as Jason took the paper cup and both bottles of soda to the sink and started dumping them.

“
What are you doing? Isn’t that your evidence?”

“
You can’t go around showing that to just anyone, Mr. Wexler. They’ll cart you off and cut you up.”

“
So you believe me?”

Jason stopped his work and turned over his shoulder. He nodded. “You may not believe this, but I’ve seen stranger over the last few weeks.”

“
Stranger?” Teddy was hooked now. “Like what?”

“
Like... well I suppose I’m not breeching trust if I don’t say who. Like sunshine coming out of peoples’ fingertips. Superhuman strength. Talking to animals. We’ve even got a human lie detector in our midst.”

“
Seriously? Who?”

“
I can’t tell you who. They trust me. Well, some of them trust me. I don’t think one of them realizes I know.”

“
Well Nick Morrisey can breathe water!” Teddy said. Maybe he could trade that bit of information for more. This was exciting. This was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him, and Teddy had seen some parties worthy of 80’s rock stars. For months he had been thinking he was a lone freak and while he hadn’t stressed himself out too much about it, he found it was an incredible relief to know he wasn’t alone. “What do you think it is? Nuclear waste in the water or something?”

“
I don’t know. Wait, Morrisey? The kid who saved Valerie Hess from drowning?”

Teddy nodded. “Yeah. I saw him breathe out water like it was normal. Didn’t cough or anything. I confronted him about it and he denied it at first, but yeah, he really can.”

“
Listen to me, Theodore,” Jason said, suddenly getting very serious. He had come to a decision. “You can’t go around bringing alcohol on school grounds. You’re a teenager, you’re not supposed to be drinking at all.”

“
America has the strictest drinking age. I’d be fine in Europe.”

“
We’re not in Europe. I can’t protect your secret if you don’t follow some simple rules, the first of which is this: don’t bring alcohol to school. Don’t make it at school. Just don’t.”

“
Alright. Jesus, man.” Teddy flopped down into the chair in front of Jason’s desk. “Can you at least tell me who the others are?”

“
They trust me,” Jason said. He went to sit down behind his desk, his mind racing over a mental list of students with bizarre abilities.

“
If there are more of us, we should know about each other. I mean, how do you figure out what the cause is if you don’t all get together and compare stories?”

“
I’ll talk to the others,” Jason said. “For now, keep out of trouble.” He looked at his watch. He was already late to pick his daughter up from ballet. “I don’t have time today,” he said, grabbing a pen and writing a note for Teddy’s study hall teacher. “Come during your study tomorrow and we’ll talk about this, okay?”

“
Alright.” Teddy stood up and took the note. He tucked it in his pocket and watched as Jason got his car keys out of his desk drawer. “About what, I mean, about how I change water into liquor?”

“
Yeah,” Jason said slowly, “but also if you have other symptoms. Think about it tonight, okay? Anything that may have started about the time you discovered your... gift.”

Jason rushed out the door, locking it behind Teddy. Teddy had so many questions to ask, but they would have to wait till the next day.

Jason got into his old Buick Electra and tossed his briefcase on the seat next to him. He started the car and took a moment to breathe. Four had just jumped up to six. How many more of them were there? He was starting to suspect he was in over his head. He had no idea what to tell these kids.

He put the car into reverse and pulled out of his spot. He’d have to mull it over more that night. Right now he had to go into Daddy mode. There was no time to drift off into thought when you had twin toddlers getting into things.

“
No enemy is worse than bad advice.”

-Sophocles

x.

The smith held his hammer, above, poised to strike.

Those standing around jeered as he wavered.

The bearded king urged him, “It is your job.”

The prisoner strained.

The smith blocked out the voice as his victim cried.

He raised his hammer to nail chains to the rock.

He was a man of making, wielding a tool,

instead, for destruction.

The last point of restraint was an iron spike.

He let the others wind a chain ‘round the rock

and fixed the last links to the holes in the spike.

He raised his hammer.

With the tip of the cold iron spike sited

over the center of the bound victim’s chest,

he gave the end a blow that pushed ribs apart

and sank into rock.

Only the smith flinched at the screams of the thief.

He dropped his hammer on the ground and left them.

One of them whispered, “It is his best work yet.”

He did not see who.

“
Cultivate kinsmen.”

-Delphic Maxim

X.

Jason Livingstone threw a copy of The New Yorker into his briefcase along with the little red notebook he had started carrying around. It was thirty thin, lined sheets sewn into a cover made of thick, faux snakeskin cardboard and it had a number of names and notes scribbled in black fountain pen inside. He guarded the book with his life since he’d started carrying it a few weeks ago. He spun the lock on the case, grabbed his medium weight coat, and headed out into the parking lot. The busses were just pulling away.

When Jason’s wife had been pregnant with the twins she had bought the old Buick Electra as a birthday present. Jason had spent his evenings on call for three months fixing it up and after she had passed he’d sold the practical minivan and kept the light blue Buick with the crosshair headlights. He kept it very clean and well maintained. Every morning when he left it in the school parking lot at the mercy of teen drivers, he felt like a parent leaving his child unsupervised at their first boy/girl party. It made him extra aware of everything going on in the parking lot whenever the final bell rang each day.

The spaces on either side of his car were empty but, two spaces over on the driver’s side, a beat up silver truck on jacked-up wheels sat parked, the engine idling. Jason recognized the truck. Trevor, the boy who drove it, was a Senior and was usually the reason Jason had to bandage up countless freshmen at the start of every year with scraped elbows and bloody noses. He was a mean, tall, fat kid who was growing a very ugly and uneven beard. Jason could not pronounce his last name and therefore avoided using it.

Trevor and his silent, scrawny sidekick Ricky Torre, had stopped in front of another student on a bicycle and Trevor had a firm grip on the handlebars. The student on the bike, Evan Fuller, looked nervous. He was short and pale and one of those kids you just felt bad for. Jason could see that Trevor and his rat-like subordinate were bullying Evan, but he also knew that sweeping in and coming to Evan’s rescue would just make Trevor and Ricky hone in on Evan later.

He crossed to his car, keys in his hand, and stopped behind Trevor. “Trevor,” he said. He was sure the fact that he called every other student “Mr. Surname” would give away that he couldn’t say his last name, but Trevor wasn’t bright enough to catch on. “I’d really appreciate if you and your friends were careful around my car. I don’t need your bike scratching the paint.”

Ricky Torre stepped away from Evan and toward the truck. Trevor let go of the handlebars. “Sorry, Mr. Livingstone,” Trevor said, a smirk on his lips because he thought Jason was oblivious to the fact that he’d just been harassing another student.

“
Dr. Livingstone,” Jason corrected. “If you don’t have a reason to stay after, why don’t you head home? Or to the library. You’ve probably got homework to get started on, right?”

Trevor nodded and Evan took the opportunity to escape. “Yeah, homework,” he said. Evan Fuller had the most pimped out bicycle of anyone on the east coast. He’d added lights, power brakes, and he’d rigged an engine so that he could pedal for one minute and ride on motor power for twenty. He was great with machines. He instinctively knew how they worked. He had always liked to build things with his hands but some time in the last six months he’d hit his stride. Everything had just clicked. Suddenly, he spoke the language of creation. It was beyond knowledge; it was intuition. It was his soul.

Evan twisted the handle of his bike and the motor purred. He started peddling, pulling away from Jason, Trevor, and Ricky Torre. Jason watched him go and once he was sure he had a good head start on the two bullies he climbed into his old Buick. Trevor and Ricky, discouraged for now, climbed up into Trevor’s truck and pulled out of the parking lot. Jason made sure they had gone out the back of the lot, away from Evan, before he started his car and headed home.

The motor on Evan Fuller’s bike hummed along. He was only fifteen, a sophomore, so this was the closest he could get to a car. Evan’s leg protested as he began to pedal again.

The story of Evan’s injury was a tragic one which he had no memory of. He’d been pulled from his home by social services as an infant and his real father had been charged with multiple counts of child abuse. Evan’s leg had been badly broken and untreated for weeks and his tiny body had been covered with cigarette burns. The Fuller family had adopted him as a toddler and from then on his life had been happy. The scars and the leg, however, would never heal. He walked with a limp, not unlike Coach Morin’s, and wore long pants and sleeves even in the summer.

Evan didn’t look like his tall, blonde adoptive parents. He was short with a round face, brown hair, and blue eyes. He was funny looking. The problem was that he was “cute.” He’d always be the “cute” guy. Cute didn’t really attract a lot of girls—at least not in the way that a teenage boy hoped.

The motor took over again and he relaxed. He was nearly home when he spotted a green 1963 Thunderbird on the side of the road with the hood open. It was beautiful.

Evan stopped and lowered his kickstand. He walked over to offer a hand. Zach Jacobs was bent over the engine cursing emphatically.