Brutal (14 page)

He screwed his eyes at me, the expression constantly changing on his long, odd face. “What makes you think it would be different anywhere else I went?” He shrugged. “I'm stuck with me.”

“You wish you were somebody else?”

“Half the time I wish I wasn't anything, other half I wish I could jump outta my skin and leave it in a heap on the floor.”

“Pity party for Velveeta.”

He knelt, digging up a weed. “Ain't nothing wrong with saying how I feel, and ‘sides, you don't have to make me feel bad on account of you feeling bad.” He cocked his head up at me. “Don't you have some bags to pack or something?”

I watched him root the weeds out for a minute more, thinking about what he said, then walked inside.

• • •

By the time Dad got home, I'd been lying on my bed doing absolutely nothing but thinking for three hours. I heard him down in the kitchen, no doubt organizing groceries for dinner, and padded downstairs. “Hi.”

He turned. “Hi.”

“I'm sorry about today.”

He shook his head. “No, I'm sorry I didn't come to my senses before this.”

I leaned against the entryway. “I'm not leaving.”

He smiled, then nodded. “I figured you wouldn't.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. At least I think I do.” He walked up to me, put my head in his hands, and kissed my forehead. “We'll do this together, okay?”

His eyes mirrored mine. “You could lose your job. You know that.”

“We'll deal with that as it comes. I spoke to Mrs. Baird this afternoon and got pretty much the same story. I've scheduled a meeting with Superintendent Marny tomorrow and we'll lodge a formal complaint with the school board. We'll get to the bottom of this.”

He turned away then, back at the counter and putting away vegetables. I watched him for a minute, not exactly knowing what to do with myself. Mom would've never done this. “No.”

He turned around. “What?”

“I don't want you to do this.”

“Poe…”

“No. It's not worth it. It is stupid, and I didn't even want to be in choir. The only reason I did was to get back at Anna Conrad.”

“She's the one who wrote the letter?”

“Yes. I slapped her today. Out in the hall after practice.”

“Because of Velveeta?”

“No. Yes. I don't know. Because she is who she is.”

“Well, that doesn't change the fact that what's happening is wrong.”

“Dad, I really want to handle this myself. I've thought
about it. That's all I've been thinking about since I got home.”

He stood across the kitchen from me, and he looked alone. So alone. “Are you sure?”

I smiled. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

Theo met me at the soda and candy machines in the main
building the next morning, and as I put my coins in for my morning Mountain Dew, he pointed to the machine. “You know what that thing is, don't you?”

I looked at the dispenser. “My first assumption would be that it's probably a soda machine. I suppose it's not, though.”

He narrowed his eyes, peering at it suspiciously. “Nope, it's not. Might look like a convenient bit of technology to quench the thirst for a few pennies, but it's not. It's actually a method of cradle-to-grave marketing indoctrination to continue our desire to consume properly.”

“It's a soda machine.”

He laughed as we passed a sign on the wall advertising candy bars. “It's target marketing. Complete inundation of a product to create and keep addicts like you within their clutches, and it's happily promoted by our public education system. You get it before school, during school, and after school now. It's inescapable.”

“It's a soda machine.”

“Yeah, a soda machine and advertising that our dear school receives healthy amounts of compensation for. Money. The district got together and decided they would promote adult-onset diabetes, obesity, and the leading cause of tooth decay in America. They're teaching us how to consume mass amounts of sugar through constant media indoctrination. A good lesson in my book.”

I rolled my eyes. “I've seen you put money in them.”

He shrugged. “Just trying to be a good student consumer.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“I don't come up with anything. You see a soda machine, I see the true motivation of our public educators exposed. I added ‘em up last year. There are thirty-seven corporate advertisers in this school, from the machines to class promotions to sponsored events. It's all about the money, baby, and I'm just lookin’ out for you,” he said, then quick as a flash, he kissed my cheek as we walked. His lips were warm. I threw my soda in the garbage at the door to the courtyard, and Theo smiled. “There's some buzz going around.”

“About what?”

“Anna Conrad. It seems she was horrifically and systematically beaten on the right side of her face yesterday. The assailant is unknown.”

I smiled. “My hand still aches.”

He nodded. “Figured it was you.”

I rolled my eyes. “So is she after me now?”

“Nope. She won't say a word about it.”

“So what's the big deal?”

“Colby Morris.”

“What does Colby Morris have to do with that?”

“Anna won't give up who did it. Word is Colby thinks Velveeta did it because of the note. The Golden Boy is on the hunt for the Cheese Man.”

My stomach sank. “Shit. Vel wasn't even at school yesterday.”

“Shit is what's going to hit the fan. My intuitive sensibilities are telling me it'll probably come down before next hour. Current affairs. If not, then after school or some other time. Did I ever tell you I'm almost psychic?”

“He didn't do it, though.”

“A bloodbath awaits.”

• • •

I fidgeted all through second hour, wondering what I should do. Five minutes before class let out, I excused myself to the bathroom and walked to Mr. Halvorson's class, waiting across the hall. I had to catch Velveeta before Colby got to him, but I didn't know what class Velveeta had before Halvorson's, so I was stuck.

When class let out, the halls went from dead silent and empty to a chorus of voices and bodies bumping into each other. Then I saw Vel turn the corner at the end of the hall, his head down, shoulders hunched, and his eyes at his feet, the usual way he walked anywhere.

As Velveeta passed the restroom at the corner, hands snapped out and clenched his upper arms, and the flash of two Benders High varsity jackets yanked him into the bathroom. I started, almost yelled, but shut my mouth and double timed it down the hall.

As I neared the restroom door, a football player, a guy I'd seen around, stood next to the drinking fountain. He
blocked my way as I tried to go in, smiling down at me. “Ladies’ room is at the other end.”

“Get out of my way.”

His smile disappeared. He didn't move, just shook his head.

He wasn't expecting it, and when my knee jerked up and caught him square in the balls, he folded like a paper doll. I banged through the door, then stopped, wide-eyed. At least fifteen guys, most in varsity jackets, filled the place. With a wall of bodies in front of me, I couldn't see anything, but I could hear. I could hear Colby Morris swearing, I could hear the thud of a beating, and I could hear Velveeta.

I pushed through the smiling and laughing crowd, and as it gave way, I saw it. Velveeta curled up in a fetal position under the far sink with his arms protecting his head and Colby Morris, his hands braced on the porcelain above, kicking and stomping the living crap out of him. Over and over and over, so fast and vicious that his leg looked like a piston. Blood spattered on the tile walls and floor, and Velveeta grunted and whined with each blow.

I ran forward, screaming that he didn't do it, and two guys grabbed me, one covering my mouth with his hand. I fought and kicked and struggled but couldn't move, pinned to the wall. Colby kept kicking, his foot slamming repeatedly against Vel with sickening thuds. Colby's shoe left a bloody footprint on the tile floor as he turned, his chest heaving as he stared at me. There was no smile, no laugh, nothing but a slit of rage for a mouth and a hazy, almost trance-like look in his eyes.

Silence filled the bathroom. My eyes went to Velveeta,
but he lay unmoving. Tears streamed down my face, and I yanked away facing Colby. “He didn't do it! I did! I slapped her!”

Chest still heaving, he glanced at Velveeta, then back to me. “So fucking what. Maybe that will teach you a lesson, bitch.” He looked around at his buddies. Some looked away, others stared at Velveeta, others laughed. Colby shouldered through the crowd, and as he passed me, he slammed my chest, forcing me against the wall. “Say a word and I'll kill him.”

I grimaced. “You asshol—”

His hand flashed out and he slapped me, his fingers stinging my ear. “Shut your fucking mouth.” Then he stomped through the door.

By then, guys were filing out, disappearing, and none of them, not a single one, would look me in the eye. In another moment, the place was empty. The whole thing had taken less than three minutes. Velveeta lay still.

I fell to my knees, touching his shoulder and calling his name, trying to control myself, but I couldn't. I sobbed over his bloody face and he groaned, opening the eye that would open. The other eye had a deep cut above it, blood pulsing out with the beat of his heart. His nose was swollen and pouring blood, and his lips were mashed. He said nothing.

I reached up and grabbed a wad of paper towels, running them under the faucet and pressing them to his eye. He winced, groggy, and I told him it would be okay. It wasn't okay. It was so out-of-bounds I didn't know what to do with myself. This was my fault. One hundred percent my fault. Colby Morris was psychotic. Then the bathroom door opened.

Mr. Halvorson walked in, took in the scene, told me not to move him, then ran out. Two minutes later he rushed back in, told me help was on the way, and knelt beside us, taking more paper towels and scooting me out of the way. “Who did this?”

I slumped against the wall. “You know who did this. Every body in this school knows who did this.”

“Tell me.”

“Colby Morris and half the football team.”

Velveeta groaned, his one good eye staring me down, letting me know he'd heard what Colby said. There was a warning in that look. “I fell.”

I shook my head. “It was Colby Morris. I saw it, and at least fifteen other guys saw it, too.”

Velveeta checked out of the emergency room four hours later
with nine stitches above his eye, a broken nose, a chipped tooth, and two bruised ribs. I sat with him the whole time. He looked like he'd been put through a blender.

Two cops had come in and taken a report, but Velveeta refused to say who did it or to press charges. I told them who'd done it, but they said there was nothing they could do unless the victim pressed charges. Vel wouldn't. His aunt tried, but with no result. My dad came down and tried, too, but nothing worked, and after that, Dad talked to the cops out in the hall.

As we drove home, he told me that charges could possibly be filed if the district attorney thought it worthwhile. We'd find out soon enough. I shook my head. “He's expelled, right?”

Dad sighed. “I don't know. I'm sure the school will do an investigation.”

“They could start by talking to the football team.”

“I know, Poe, I know.” He glanced at me as we pulled in the driveway. “You might have saved his life.”

“He thought Velveeta was the one who hit Anna. Because of the note.”

Silence.

“It's my fault.”

“It's a misunderstanding, yes, but it's not your fault. Colby Morris is responsible for this.”

I couldn't help it. Tears built in my eyes. “No, it's my fault. None of this would have ever happened if I hadn't pushed it.”

Silence.

“You agree, don't you?”

“There is absolutely no excuse for what happened to Velveeta, Poe. None. You made a mistake with Anna, but Colby is responsible for this.”

“Then why don't I feel better about it?”

Dad put it in park. “Because you're a human being.”

I got out of the car. “He's going to pay”

He looked at me. “Poe …”

“He is. I swear it. He'll pay”

• • •

Wednesday morning came with the revolting thought of going to school. Velveeta was on doctor's orders to stay in bed on account of a severe concussion, and I had choir practice before first hour. I didn't want to go, but I did. Business as usual, but it wasn't. It was pretend business as usual.

When I saw Anna standing with her group of friends in the choir room, my mind flipped to Velveeta curled up and bleeding under the sink. Anna looked at me for too long, no expression on her face, and I almost erupted.

Mrs. Baird came in and had us take our places, and we
began. I sang halfheartedly, staring at Anna's back with pure malice in my heart, and the anger burned. Every verse I sang, it rose, and my voice rose with it. My chest swelled as I breathed with the lines, the feeling pouring through me like a river, and I knew I was too loud for the chorus.

As Mrs. Baird directed, she kept glancing at me, trying to quiet me down, but I didn't. And when the chorus verse ended and Anna faded in for her piece, I shut my mouth. She was good. Very good. As good as they said.

I was better. So I opened my mouth.

It started quiet, but it built. Within a minute, Mrs. Baird put her hands down to signal a halt, but I kept singing. So did Anna, raising it up a notch. Mrs. Baird stared bullets into me, but I smiled, my voice catapulting over Anna's and crushing hers. If they wanted a tryout, here it was, and they could shove a big stick up their asses if they thought that Poe Holly would roll over.

After another moment, Anna stopped, her voice dwarfed by mine. I continued, finishing her piece to the absolute silence of the choir. Not a sound was made when I stopped. Mrs. Baird stared, angry. I stepped down from my spot, giving back what she gave. “I'll see you Friday morning. Seven-thirty.” Then I walked out.

Colby Morris wasn't in school, and the word from Theo was that he was lying low until the school made a decision about things. Mr. Halvorson acted like he hadn't found a severely beaten and bloody outcast under the sink in the boys’ bathroom, and I figured as the head of the Committee of Equality and Fairness at Benders High, he had a duty to ignore the issues that really mattered.