Brutal (8 page)

We stared at him.

He nodded to himself, still looking around. “This place is sorta like that. ‘Cept there's no girl waitresses and they don't have uniforms like that. Those red shorts and tank top things.”

I breathed, and Theo laughed. “Yeah, I've been to Hooters. Last summer in LA.”

“You can order triple cheese on anything you want, and the hooter girls smile at you no matter what you look like.

Part of the job, I guess, on account of Mr. Hooter, probably. My dad told me it was good customer service.”

The bell over the front door chimed, and three girls walked to the counter. One wore a cheerleader outfit, and the other two could have been glam twin rejects from that show
Malibu
that MTV vomited out weekly. Velveeta looked at them, the smile disappearing from his face as his eyes went to his lap. He shrank down a little bit. I frowned. “Who are they?”

Theo looked, then shook his head at me, mouthing “no.” Velveeta kept his eyes on his lap. Theo drank the rest of his pop. “Let's skate, huh? I'm done.”

I looked at his half-eaten burger, then at Velveeta's, then at the girls in line. Theo frowned. “Let's go.”

Velveeta rose, and I did, too. Theo led the way, and as we passed behind the Cosmo twins, they looked at Velveeta and laughed. In another few seconds, we were outside. Velveeta walked four or five steps ahead of us. I walked beside Theo. “Who were they?”

“The one in the cheerleader outfit was Anna Conrad.”

I frowned, out of the loop. Then I remembered. The note. She'd written it to Velveeta. “Oh.”

Theo grunted. “Queen socialite of Benders High. I think she's slept with every guy in five counties.”

“Including you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. She stays away from me.”

“Why?”

“Because her dad ran against my dad one year. For mayor. My dad crushed him.”

I watched Velveeta walk, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. “This town is a soap opera. God.”

“You've got that right. And Anna is the singing angel in the center of it.”

“What?”

“She's the lead soloist in the Elite Choir. Actually, she's awesome. I heard her sing at the wine festival after the parade last year. Last I heard, she qualified for some national contest in Philadelphia.”

That set me back, and I had a flash of jealousy Anna Conrad would have been second string to me if I'd taken the soloist position. “Great.”

“Oh, it gets better. Her mother chairs the school board committee. Funding isn't a problem for the choir.” He smiled. “It also helps that her mom's one of the three judges that pick soloists every year.”

“So I guess Anna is a walk-on, then?”

“Maybe if she didn't have a voice, but she's got some pipes on her.”

I thought about that, then thought about what Mrs. Baird told me. She knew Anna would be second soloist if I took the spot, and she obviously wasn't afraid to deal with her mother about it. I watched Velveeta walk. “Hey, Velveeta.”

He looked back.

“Slow down, huh?”

He did, and we all walked together. Theo hopped on the curb, balancing as he went. “Sorry about that, man.”

“Sorry about what?”

“About Anna Conrad being there.”

He frowned, definite friction between the two. “You got something to say to me?”

“I mean about the note and everything. Bad timing.”

Velveeta looked at his feet. “What note?”

I nudged Theo, and he got the picture. “Nothing, man. No sweat. Those burgers are so big I can only eat half anyway.”

We came to our houses and Velveeta waved us off, heading up his walk and disappearing in his front door. The Volvo was gone, Dad off doing something after school, and Theo and I found ourselves alone on the front porch. We sat, and after a moment, Theo spoke. “So, you like it here?”

“It's okay.”

He nodded. “I always wanted to live in Los Angeles.”

I laughed. “Yeah. It's cool. I miss it.”

“Lot of friends?”

“No, not really. Just a few good ones.”

“Must be hard coming here. With your dad and all.”

I shrugged. “I never knew him. He's different.”

“He's cool,” Theo said.

I turned to him. “You think?”

“Yeah. You can't really talk to my dad. You say something, and he talks at you the rest of the time. It's the born leader in him. At least that's what he says.”

“He sounds funny.”

“He is. He's great. But he's like a bull in a china shop.”

“My dad is like a gnat in the room. It's like pulling nails to get anything real out of him.”

“All the surface counselor crap?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I feel like I'm reading a textbook when he talks.”

“What's your mom do?”

“Avoid me.”

“Ha. Really.”

“She's a surgeon. In South America saving people for a year.”

“Nice.”

“If you like doing the right thing for the wrong reasons, sure.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that my mom really doesn't care about people in South America. She cares about herself and what she looks like to her high-society snoot doctor friends.”

He frowned. “Listen, Poe, my dad is a politician. Your mom is a
doctor.
She saves people.”

I looked at him. “Don't start with that, okay? I don't care what she is.”

“Whoa. Danger ahead. Didn't mean anything by it.”

“I know. I just don't want to talk about it, okay?”

Theo nodded, and just then, the Volvo rounded the corner. He stood. “Listen, I've got to split, and I can't really be seen around town with the school counselor.” He smiled. “I've got my own image to maintain.”

I laughed. “Chicken.”

“Cluck cluck. See ya later.”

After Theo left, I told my dad I forgot something at school and
double-timed it back, hoping I wasn't too late. Mrs. Baird sat at her desk flipping through papers, and a girl, one I hadn't seen around campus, filed more papers into a cabinet near the stage. I knocked on the doorjamb, and Mrs. Baird looked up. “Oh, hello, Poe.”

I stepped in, swallowing a big hunk of pride. “Hi. Do you have a minute?”

She stood, coming around her desk. “Sure. What can I do for you?”

I glanced at the girl filing papers, then walked further in. “Well, I've been thinking about what you said the other day. About singing.”

She nodded. “Yes?”

Anna Conrad flashed through my mind, and I smiled. “I'll take the soloist position.”

Chapter six of David's new self-help book, untitled as of yet,
was about following through with ongoing issues. It basically means it's unhealthy to let something slide, because it will just fester and get worse. The road to recovery and understanding is communication, my father wrote. I sat on the front porch thinking about it. Pretty good, actually.

I heard the front screen open and looked to the side. He walked out with two cups of coffee in his hands. Still as the painting I'd imagined when I first arrived, the neighborhood was dark and silent. Not even a wisp of breeze. He held a cup out to me. “I put creamer in it.”

I took it, tucking my feet under me and inhaling the scent of the hot liquid. “Thanks.”

“Mind if I sit with you?”

I sipped. “Go ahead.”

He did, and, as usual, was silent. You'd think that as a counselor, he would yap his head off all the time, but he never did. We talked, sure, but it wasn't the constant jabbering like with my mom. He crossed his leg over his knee. “Nice night. Sometimes you can almost smell the grapes.”

I wondered how many nights he'd spent here in silence. Did he have a girlfriend? Friends? Was he truly a hermit? I breathed. “I thought you were gay when I first got here.”

He cleared his throat. “Hmm. Why?”

“The house, and the other pair of sandals by the door.”

He nodded. “Ah. I can see how you would wonder.”

“Are you?”

He took a moment. “No.”

A cricket sounded in the distance, followed by another. We watched a neighbor's car slide by slowly, the headlights piercing the darkness. “Why don't you ever answer anything?”

“I did answer, Poe.”

“Not really. Not like real.”

“I'm not a homosexual.”

My voice came soft, silken with the night. “What are you, though? Before I got here, I mean? What did you do?”

“You mean my schedule? I would mostly come home and write.”

“Do you have friends?”

He nodded. “I do. And I occasionally have them over.”

“Women?”

“Occasionally.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment. I dated a nice woman from Northburg recently, though. You remember Northburg? We purchased your iPod there.”

“What was her name?”

“Clara.”

“How'd you meet?”

“She's an elementary school teacher. We met at a seminar.”

“Was she nice?”

“Yes, she was.” He looked at me. “Poe, is everything all right?”

I looked out into the darkness, hearing the crickets, feeling the coolness of the night. “Why did you leave?”

Moments passed. He didn't move, just sat staring out at the same thing I stared at. “Your mother and I found our selves following different paths, and…”

“Please don't say that,” I said into the stillness.

“What would you like to know, Poe?”

“Why you left
me.
“

“I didn't leave you…. I left….” He stopped then, and the most uncomfortable silence I've ever felt followed.

“Did you just not love me?”

“No. Yes. I loved you. I've always loved you.”

“Then why?”

He cleared his throat. Another car passed. “Poe, sometimes in this world, things just happen. Two people think they're in love, they make plans and have dreams, and then they realize mistakes have been made.”

“Like having me?”

He reached across the little table and put his hand on my knee. I brushed it off. Then wiped my eyes. He took a deep breath. “No. Not you. You were never a mistake.”

“Then answer me. Why did you leave? Why did I meet you in person sixteen years after you left? Why, Dad?” I wiped another tear, trying to hide it. Trying to keep this man who was my father a stranger. An outsider to be kept at a distance.

He looked straight ahead. “I've hurt you.”

I sniffed. “I grew up wanting a dad so bad, you know? And Mom would never talk about it. Ever. Just the same old thing. You were gone. It didn't matter. We couldn't change the past. She never told me anything.”

“I'm sorry Poe. I never realized…” Then he stopped. He set his coffee next to mine. “I left because I was young and foolish and frightened. We were both in school, your mother was headed toward being the surgeon that she is today, and I was heading toward writing the great American novel. And we got married. Our romance was full of passion and freedom and all the things that I wanted and that I'd ever been told were normal and perfect, and with that, you came. But I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you, Poe.”

I bent my head, staring at my lap. “Why?”

“I was scared of being a father and all of the things that go along with it, and your mother despised me for it. It was weak, I was weak, and so I did what I thought best at that time. I left.”

“Did she want you to?”

“Yes.”

“She still thinks that way about you. I can tell when I bring it up. Contempt. She treats me that way, too.”

“Your mother is a strong woman. A woman with her opinions and her way of living. I didn't fit in with that, though I loved her and still do love her.”

“So you left.”

“Yes. I thought it would be better that I wasn't in your life.”

“That's stupid.”

“Yes, it is. And I've spent the last sixteen years being too ashamed of what I did to make it right. I've lived in this shell of a house trying to hide from myself, and then you came along, took that sledgehammer out, and pounded me on the head.”

I closed my eyes. “I wish you never left.” It came out a whisper, with the tears dripping from the tip of my nose and onto my folded hands.

There was nothing to say to that, so we sat, and he took my hand in his, and I let him.

Physical education class took place two times a week at
Benders High, and Friday rolled around with me heading toward the gym. Benders High had official physical education uniforms consisting of monogrammed sweats, shorts, and cheapo T-shirts. I looked terrific in my little outfit, and just being there made me want to become a pro volleyball player even though I was five foot one. I could barely touch the bottom of the net.

Mrs. Policheck, otherwise known by the original and apt title Coach, was the girls’ instructor, and the gym was split in half, one side for the girls, the other side for the guys. I looked for Theo across the cavernous sports place but only saw Velveeta, dressed as I was in a dandy outfit.

A hundred or so other red-colored dweebs wandered around hitting balls over nets before class officially started, and as the sounds of twice-weekly active young people echoed through the building, I sat on the bleachers and watched Velveeta.

While most of the girls stood on the courts talking, most of the guys grouped on either side of the nets playing
unorganized pickup games, spiking and bumping and setting. Velveeta stood on one of the courts as the balls sailed, shuffling toward balls that came close, then backing up when other guys swooped in to take them. Then I noticed something.

Dotted throughout the courts of red sweats and T-shirts were guys out of uniform from the top up. They wore their football jerseys. Apparently the regular Benders High T-shirts weren't good enough for them. I looked again at the girls. A few of them also had what looked like jerseys on from the volleyball and softball teams. As I watched, the boys’ coach came in and blew his whistle. Heads turned, including Velveeta's, as balls fell to the floor. All except one.

On the opposite side of the net where Velveeta stood watching the coach, a guy in a jersey held a ball. Colby Morris. He tossed it up, then jumped, spiking it like a bullet over the net. It hit Velveeta square on the back, and down he went, arms and legs tangled in a heap. It had to hurt, and the smack echoed from all the way across the room. Laughter ratcheted through the building as Velveeta writhed on the court, arching his back in pain.