Anything You Want (15 page)

I toweled dry. Then I pulled my jams back on, slid on my bear-claw slippers, and sat down on the couch while I waited for Maggie to show up.

Maggie didn't show.

Then I waited another hour, pacing, staring out the window, opening the front door, and looking up and down the street.

Maggie didn't show.

By that time, both of us should've been in English.

Then I waited another hour, panicking until I thought I'd barf on the carpet like a drunken Darius.

But Maggie didn't show.

I began jogging from the kitchen to the living room and back again.

Right before calc was to start, Brad Schwartz called. “Where are you?” he asked. “What are you doing, man? Everybody says you quit school and ran away.”

“I didn't run away!”

“Why are you out of breath?” he asked.

“I'm running in circles,” I said.

“Run to school. Come to calc,” Brad said.

“I can't. Maggie Corrigan is coming over, and we're going to be adults and talk about this baby like adults,” I said.

“I just saw Maggie in the hall. She doesn't look like an adult. She looks like a kid who is pregnant with a kid.”

“You saw her at school?”

“Yeah,” Brad said. “What other hall would I be talking about?”

“Oh my God! I'll be right there!” I shouted.

Why did Maggie tell me to stay home and then go to school? I still don't know, dingus. But I'll tell you this: It caused me great consternation. Massive, crazy, energy-buzzing consternation, which, to be honest, wasn't smart consternation. I slammed down the suite phone and took off for school as fast as I could. In fact, I bolted so fast, I was still wearing my PJ pants and my bear claw slippers. These furry slippers didn't keep me warm in the snow, not at all. Snow soaked my slippers. Snow froze my toes as I ran. My jams didn't keep me warm either. The wind blistered through the thin fabric and bit me on the butt. I ran down the hill and up to school.

Wearing this bedroom getup, I showed up shivering and red-faced and watery-eyed about ten minutes late for calc. I burst in the door. “Hi,” I said too loud to Brad Schwartz and the rest of the class.

Mr. Edwards took one look at me, pointed at the door, and said, “No, Taco. No way. You go straight to the office.”

Brad Schwartz looked scared.

“Okay, thanks,” I said because I didn't really want to sit in calc anyway. In fact, I'm not even sure why I headed there in the first place. I guess because Brad called, right? Really, I wanted to know what the crap was going on with Maggie. That's why I'd run to school in my damn PJs.

I was on my way to Maggie's current events class when Dr. Evans, our principal, spotted me. “Stop, Taco. You come here right now.”

But I didn't. I cut left and flew down a perpendicular hall, slipping with every step in my wet bear slippers. (I fell once and whacked my knee, but I popped back up.) Dr. Evans must've taken off running too, but not after me. Ten seconds later just as I got to Mrs. Schoebel's room, an announcement boomed over the school intercom. It said, “Taco Keller, report to the office immediately. If any faculty or staff sees Taco Keller, please escort him to the office.”

I didn't have a lot of time. I pounded on Schoebel's door like a mountain gorilla. Maggie looked up from her desk and sort of screamed, “Oh shit.” Schoebel whipped open the door and grabbed the back of my neck in this Vulcan death grip. I tried to shake loose, but Schoebel is the volleyball coach, and the lady has some mad strength.

“Maggie!” I cried.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” Maggie wailed, but she didn't get up out of her chair to help me.

Mrs. Schoebel dragged me down the hall. I couldn't stop her because my bear slippers have no traction (especially when they're soaked). I kept twisting around to see if Maggie would follow us, but she didn't. Coach Johnson ran up out of no place and grabbed my arm, and he kept me from twisting around.

These two big athletic teachers hurt my spirit, dingus. As they pulled, I said, “You can both let go, okay? I'm not fighting anymore. I'm going to the office.” But neither of them let go, and neither of them said a word. Truth is, if they'd let go, I would totally have run back to Maggie.

Later, Nussbaum told me I could sue them for getting physical. But I liked Schoebel and Johnson a lot, and they were just doing their jobs, even if it hurt to get dragged by my neck and my arm at the same time.

They pulled me into the office, past the secretaries, who were all standing and flushed in their faces, and back to a little conference room. I backed into a corner, and they crowded in after me. Both Schoebel and Johnson were breathing really hard, and their faces were all sweaty. Mrs. Schoebel glared. Coach Johnson shook his head like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“What?” I couldn't take the pressure of all their eyeballs on me.

“What?” Coach Johnson spat. “What are you doing, Taco?” he shouted. “What in the hell are you thinking?”

“I don't know. I don't know!”

Mrs. Schoebel sighed. “I have to get back to my classroom.”

“Tell Maggie I'm okay. Please!” I said.

“I'm not your messenger,” Mrs. Schoebel spat. She glared again before she stepped out.

As she left, Dr. Evans came in. Dr. Evans and Coach Johnson looked at each other for a moment. Then Dr. Evans turned to me. “So what is this?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“No?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“I don't even know who to call, Taco. Your dad? The mental ward? You're wearing bear slippers and pajamas. You're breaking into classrooms? What are we supposed to do with you?”

“Why do you guys keep asking me questions? Why would you think I know what you're supposed to do? Clearly I don't know anything!”

“Calm down, Taco,” Coach Johnson said. “Right now, kid, or else.”

“Oh yeah? There we go again with the ‘or else,'” I said. “Everybody says, ‘Or else.' Or else what? Or else you'll kick my ass?”

“No,” Dr. Evans said.

“Yes!” I shouted. “Dad says everybody wants to kick my ass and that you're just looking for an excuse! Well, here it is! Go ahead! Or else I'll keep taking care of my baby!”

Dr. Evans blinked a couple times. Then she said, “Taco, I don't want to hurt you. Nobody here does.”

“Or else!” I cried. “Or else!”

Dr. Evans said quietly, “No, we won't hurt you, Taco. You have to calm down or else we can't protect you. Do you understand?”

“Protect me from what?”

“Yourself, Taco, because your behavior warrants more serious intervention—police intervention—that could really mess up your life.”

The police? No, dingus. No. “Cops,” I said. I took some deep breaths. I nodded. I tried to blow out all the pain in my chest. I sucked in air and tried to talk calmly. “Calm down or else I'm a criminal. Is that it?”

Dr. Evans nodded. “That's what we mean.”

I nodded again. I breathed more. “A real top-grade delinquent? Like a public enemy?” My voice cracked.

Dr. Evans nodded again.

I exhaled long and slow. “No,” I said. “I'm just me. Seriously.”

Dr. Evans nodded. She reached out and put her hand on my arm. “Now who do I call?”

“Um,” I said. “I can't say. I don't know. Could I have a minute to compose myself? I don't really know how to answer your question, but I don't want you to call the police or the mental ward.”

“Okay,” Dr. Evans said really quietly.

“You want me to go too?” Coach Johnson asked.

“Yes, sir. I'm sorry,” I said.

“You won't do anything stupid if you're alone, will you?” Coach Johnson asked.

“No, I'll just sit here for a few minutes. I swear. I'm just me.”

“I'll be right outside this door,” Dr. Evans said to Coach.

“Well, okay,” he said and left. Dr. Evans left too, and it was me in my Taco cage, dingus.

Whoa. Who is the
real
dingus? Just call me Mr. Dingles.

After maybe twenty minutes of sitting and taking deep breaths, during which I couldn't conjure up the voice of my mom or the image of the Tibet baby for guidance, I couldn't really think of any adult who'd care enough to deal with me. (I couldn't have them call my dad because I hated his guts for what he was doing to me and Darius.) I decided I had two choices. One, I could ask to be released on my own reconnaissance, which seemed like a long shot. Two, I could ask them to call Mr. Nussbaum, even though he was just my boss at my job that didn't pay money. At least he seemed official since he's a lawyer.

I also thought about climbing into a heating vent to escape. Except I wouldn't ever be able to come back to school, and I wanted to learn, not become a criminal.

I stood and tried to leave to find Dr. Evans, but I'd been locked in the room, which seemed reasonable. So I knocked quietly but loud enough to be heard by somebody in the office. A second later, Dr. Evans opened the door and sat down at the table across from me.

“Are you composed?” she asked.

“I am. I'm not going to try to break out like Jason Bourne,” I said.

“That's a relief. Is there someone I should call now?”

“Well, it's complicated, Dr. Evans. I'm pretty much alone in the world, and maybe that's part of my problem. If Mom were around, I know this wouldn't be happening. But she's not around, and it is happening.”

Dr. Evans nodded solemnly. “I liked your mom.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh,” I said. “Given that I'm alone in the world, my preference would be for you to not call anybody. If things were different, I might have asked you to call Darius, but my brother is already beyond the ‘or else' stage. I don't want to go there.”

Dr. Evans nodded. “You
are
already in trouble though, correct? I understand you're the father of Maggie Corrigan's baby. Is that true?”

“Yeah, we didn't mean to make a baby. But we did it. You know…
it
. A lot,” I said.

“Okay,” Dr. Evans said. “You're not in jail, but doesn't that baby make you beyond the ‘or else' stage in a different way, Taco? Aren't you in over your head?”

“Oh,” I said. “Huh.” I thought for a moment and tried to answer that question as honestly as I could, and it seemed to me that I answered truthfully. “I don't think so. I have a job, so I make some money. And I have a nice bedroom, so the baby could live with me, and I could definitely be its best pal. We could go to the swimming pool, and we could go running in the park—you know, do some swinging and have goofy little kid dance parties. I'd be the best dad.”

Dr. Evans was very calm and quiet when she replied. “You just described being a great big brother, not a dad, Taco. You'd be a perfect big brother to any kid. I know it.”

“No, dads do that stuff. And feed the kid too.”

“How would you instruct your…let's say your son…if his girlfriend couldn't see him anymore? Would you suggest he go over to her house to climb it? Would you tell him to secretly meet her to have sex in private parts of the school?”

“Me and Maggie never had sex in the school,” I said. “Never!”

“Did you take off your clothes?”

“Well…how do you know about that?”

“Don Jackson swears he saw you two naked when he was mopping the stage, but when I got to the costume loft to investigate, it was locked. Did you take off your clothes in the costume loft, Taco? Be honest.”

“Yeah, a few times. But I'd never tell my kid to do that, okay? And I wouldn't tell him to climb a house. I'm not dumb.”

“You're not dumb, Taco. You're so bright in many ways. But you aren't always smart in other ways.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Okay, that's true.” Really, I knew that, dingus. There was plenty of evidence.

“Not that it's terminal. It won't be like that forever. You're just not acting smart now because you have a kid's brain tucked in an adult's body. Some things that seem like good ideas—and maybe are good ideas for a kid—are terrible ideas for an adult.”

“Really?” I said.

“Really,” Dr. Evans said. “Do you want your child to be affected by your appropriately immature decision making?”

“Oh, crap, no. Of course not,” I said.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

I put my hand on my forehead because it felt hot. “I don't like this,” I said.

Dr. Evans smiled. Then she said, “You know, your brother, Darius, is in the same boat, Taco. He looks like an adult, but he's not ready to be an adult. Maybe there's been a little too much pressure on the both of you since your mother died. Have you ever considered that?”

“No,” I said. “But yeah, that could be true.”

“Okay,” Dr. Evans said. “Here's what I'm going to do, and I need you to go along with it…or else. Got it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Or else. I get it. Thank you.”

“I'm going to send you home today. I want you to stay there and be quiet. Call your dad if you want. Call Sergeant Frederick if you need to. I saw him at the grocery store over the weekend, and he wanted to know how you were doing, so he'd be a good person to call if you're comfortable talking to him.”

I offered, “I could talk to Mr. Nussbaum. He's nice to me.”

Dr. Evans paused over that. “The lawyer?”

I nodded.

Then she said, “Or Coach Johnson maybe? You can call me too, if I seem like the right person to talk to. But, Taco, you spend the rest of the day thinking about what's happened and what comes next for you. Sort things out. I want you back here tomorrow and Friday to serve an in-school suspension. I'll make sure you have the assignments you need from your classes so you'll be up to date. If it goes well, I'll let you attend classes regularly on Monday.”