Dead Ends (17 page)

Just one Billy, just one.
I balanced on my toes, ready to bolt across the street when he needed me.

“Where you going?” the big boy asked.

“The bus stop,” Billy said. I could hear a tremor in his voice.

Don't talk to them. Just get close enough to knock one down.

“Oh this bus?” The boy jerked a thumb at the bus stop. His voice was dangerously friendly—sweet on the surface but with something menacing bubbling underneath. “Nah, you don't want
this
bus. You want the short one.”

The other boys laughed, but even from across the street, I could see the flicker of confusion on Billy's face.

“No, I want the regular bus.”

The boys laughed harder.

Billy was close enough to get a head-butt in now, if he gave it a good running start, but instead, he stopped on the sidewalk. Their laughter frightened him.

Come on, Billy, just one, then run for it.

“He wants ‘the regular bus,'” one of the other boys mimicked Billy's speech, exaggerating the high tone and affecting a lisp.

My palms began to itch. Billy garbled his words sometimes, but he never sounded like his mouth was full of marbles. I fought the urge to leap over the bushes and take them all out myself. Instead, I focused my anger toward Billy, hoping somehow he might absorb some of it and just go berserk already!

“I don't think the short bus stops here, Window Licker,” the big boy said.

What the hell is a Window Licker?

“What's a short bus?” Billy asked.

I slapped a hand to my forehead. He walked right into that one.

“The short bus,” the big boy said, “you know, for retards—like you.”

“I'm not a retard.” Billy's hands balled into fists at his side.

Here we go.
I leaned into the gap, eager to see Billy do some damage—to see the looks on their faces when he let loose.

The big boy noticed the fists. “Whatcha doin' there? You gettin' mad? You wanna hit me?”

Billy flinched, and I saw his fingers relax a little.

The boy took a few slow steps forward, and his pals fell into step just behind him. He crossed his arms as he reached Billy, and leaned into his space. I watched in frustration as Billy backed up a step.

“Come on, Flat Face, take a shot.”

Billy hesitated, his whole body arched backward, ready to take another step away.

Now, Billy. Head to the gut. Right now.

But Billy waited a beat too long. As he teetered in that awkward backward lean, the boy unfolded his arms and threw them to either side of Billy's head.
“Boo!”

The guy didn't touch Billy, but the surprise of it tipped him off his heels and onto his ass.

I was over the bushes and onto the sidewalk before Billy's fall was even over, but something grabbed my jacket, holding me back. A thorn from the bush had hooked itself into the zipper lining and was threading its way through the fabric. I played tug-of-war with the bush for only a second before I gave up and struggled to get the jacket off instead.

“Dane?” Billy whimpered.

“I'm coming!” I said, fighting with the second sleeve.

“Dane!” Billy's voice was louder this time.

I finally spun out of the sleeve and jumped into the street, already running, but all I saw on the sidewalk ahead of me was Billy—still on his ass and beet red.

“Where'd they go?”

“They saw you,” Billy said as I reached him. “They saw you and said ‘oh shit.' Then they ran away.”

I looked up the sidewalk and down an alley. “Which way?”

Billy gestured vaguely at the yards across the street, at the wooded area behind the bus stop. “All ways.”

I held out a hand to help Billy up, but as soon as he was on his feet, I pushed him hard in the chest—harder than I'd meant to, but it felt good, because my palms were still itching.

“What the hell was that?” I shouted at him.

Billy's jaw dropped, and I suddenly hated the way his tongue stuck out, the way his teeth were spaced too far apart, the way his heavy eyelids always made him seem a little sad. I hated that he looked like such a fucking victim, and I hated that he
acted
like it even more.

“You had an opening. You had
two
, actually. Why didn't you go for it?”

Billy closed his mouth, and I noticed his lower lip was trembling. I guess it should have made me feel sorry for him, but it only pissed me off.

“Did you even really want to learn to fight?” I asked, putting a finger in his face. “Or were you just wasting my time?”

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes went all glassy, and I could see we were about to have a waterfall. I glanced up and down the deserted street. Well, at least if he had a fit now, there was no one to see it and blame me. Although, with Billy standing there on the verge of tears, a little voice in my head told me maybe I
was
to blame.

I clasped my hands, willing the itch to go away, and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Okay, shit, I'm sorry. I just meant—”

“You
should
be sorry!” Billy yelled.

“Wha—?”

“You didn't tell me what to say. You didn't tell me when to … or where to … or how—how—how—”

Billy's whole body was shaking in a way that frightened me. His hands were in fists again, and they were vibrating worse than the day I'd scared him on the way to school.

I reached for his shoulders the same way I had then.

“
No!
” he screamed, backing up. “No! No! No!”

He took off at a run, shouting it over and over again. His heavy backpack flopped behind him as he pounded down the street. I was too stunned to follow, so I just stood and watched him run until he finally turned a corner. I could still hear him shouting “No!” long after he'd disappeared from my sight.

When I finally couldn't hear him anymore, I sat down to wait for the bus with my head in my hands. I had been right the first time. I was no Mr. Miyagi, and Billy D. was no Karate Kid.

Billy didn't show up on the walk to school on Monday. Or the day after that. He wasn't there on the way home, either. At first I was pissed. Wasn't this what he wanted? What had we been doing in the park all those days, if Billy wasn't going to stand up for himself? At the very least, he could have been there for my first day back from suspension—to let the warden know he was still on my side. By the time Tuesday afternoon rolled around, I realized how much that mattered, having Billy on my side.

I wasn't sure how he'd done it, but that little foot-stomping blabbermouth had made me give a shit about him. It kind of ticked me off, like he'd pulled one over on me. I channeled that anger into my fist as I pounded on his door after school. No answer. And Billy's mom's car was gone. I pounded again, harder this time.

“Bang all you want, but no one's home,” a voice called up from the street behind me.

Seely was leaning on her skateboard with one hand stuffed in the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“His mom took him to see a therapist. Four, actually—before and after school. He said she's taking him to a different one every day this week, testing them out.”

“So apparently he's still talking to
you
.” I crossed my arms.

“Relax, you big baby.” Seely propped her board against the curb and met me on the sidewalk. “He's still talking to you, too.”

“You don't know,” I said. “There was a fight … or an almost fight—”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Seely scowled at me. “What were you thinking, Dane?”

“Me?” I waved a hand at Billy's front door. “He asked for it! That's why I've been teaching him to fight.”

“To fight three guys at once?”

I stuffed my hands in my back pockets. “Maybe that was too much. But he doesn't have to ice me out.”

“He's not,” Seely said. “He just doesn't want you to know he's seeing a shrink.”

“A shrink?”

“Yeah.”

“Why doesn't he want me to know?”

Seely smirked. “You really don't know the effect you have on him.”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, not sure what Seely
meant. “What are you doing here, then? If you know he's not home?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I happen to know someone else who lives on this street.”

“Oh.” My cheeks felt warm. “You … you want to hang out or something?”

“I actually came over to tell you Billy and I figured out the first part of the clue.”

A flash of anger sent the heat from my cheeks to my palms. “You guys worked on the atlas without me again?”

“Not really,” Seely said. “I just guessed at one bit. ‘The place with no shoes.'”

“And?”

“Well, I thought—bare feet. I called Billy last night, and he said there's a town called Barefoot in Kentucky. So we have the state!” She smiled, looking proud of herself.

The twitch in my palms subsided as my brain started whirring. “Nice. But there's no clue in Kentucky.”

“Right.”

“So if we figure out the town—I mean, that could really be it.”

Seely bit her lip.

“What?” I asked.

“Something just seems …
off
. When Billy talks about his dad, do you ever feel—I don't know—like you're not getting the whole story? What if the guy really doesn't want to be found?”

“But what if he
does
?” I asked.

I invited Seely into the house, and we continued the
conversation sitting side by side on my bed, with a bag of chips wedged between us.

I reminded her what Billy had told us about his dad screaming outside the car the day his mom took him away, but Seely wasn't convinced.

“Dane, he's obsessed with his dad. Maybe he has some rose-colored goggles on, or whatever they say. He's looking at that moment in a rearview mirror, and maybe it's distorted, y'know?”

I let that sink in. It felt true; Billy might be exaggerating how badly his dad wanted to find him.

“But why won't Billy's mom even let them talk on the phone?” I asked. I mined the last crumbs from the bag, then crumpled it up into a ball and tossed it on the floor. Seely inched over slightly to fill the space it left between our hips. “It's like the guy just disappeared.”

Seely gasped and grabbed my arm.

“What?” I jumped. “What's wrong?”

“Dane.” She tightened her grip on my arm, which would have hurt if it didn't feel so good, and looked straight into my eyes. “What if he's in jail?”

“Nah. They still let you make phone calls in jail.”

Seely leaned back again and let go of my arm, but I could still feel the pressure where her hand had been. “You're right,” she said. “I just thought … maybe she's protecting him from the truth—from something bad about his dad that he doesn't know.”

“Yeah, like he's a cheater.”

“What?”

I told Seely my theory about Paul Drum being a shitty husband and Billy's mom punishing him for it.

“But if Billy's mom wanted to keep him from his dad, why wouldn't she just get divorced and fight for custody?” Seely asked. “Don't moms always win those things?”

“I don't know.”

“Did your mom?”

Our backs were flat against the wall and our legs stretched forward. Her foot kept tipping to the side, so her right pinkie toe touched my left one. I watched our toes gravitate toward each other and away again, like magnets.

“There was no fight,” I said.

Seely was quiet for a moment. “I wonder why she's taking him to a therapist.”

“Uh.” I almost laughed. “He's got some issues, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Therapists are expensive,” Seely pressed on. “It has to be pretty serious if she's spending that kind of money. And how is she paying for it? It's not like they live in a nice neighborhood.” She swallowed hard. “I mean—”

“It's okay,” I said. “You're right. In fact.” I sat up straighter. “I tried to ask her where she worked, and she got all weird with me, like it was a big secret. What if she does something—I don't know—
illegal
?”

Seely laughed like I was kidding, but I wondered what other secrets Billy's mom was keeping. My eyes drifted toward the window and through it to Billy's house across the street. Their car was in the driveway now—the car she had used to drag
him all over the country—parked in front of the house filled with boxes never unpacked. I thought about Billy calling his mom a liar and about the scene he said his dad made when she drove away.

Was it still kidnapping when someone stole their own kid?

Seely scooted even closer to me on the bed. Now our pinkie toes were definitely touching. And our knees. And our elbows. Thoughts of Billy and his mom grew fuzzy and slipped away. Seely's hand slipped into mine. It made my palms tingle in a way that was better than the itch. I reached my other hand to Seely's cheek and turned her face up toward mine. I was wondering how I could feel so at ease and so jumpy at the same time, when she kissed me.

I probably should have been the one to go in for the kiss. Most girls let me lead, but Seely was different. I almost pulled away and started over, but then her hands touched my face, and her lips moved down to my jaw, and I forgot all about how the kiss began. I just didn't want it to end.

I reached instinctively for the hem of her shirt, making the usual attempt to steal second base, but my hand froze when it touched her skin. Her stomach was so soft, my fingers lingered, not caring if they grabbed on to anything more substantial. Seely's skin was enough. And I wanted to touch more of it. My lips found her neck—even softer than her stomach—and every time I kissed it, another girl's name was erased from my memory. I imagined all of the Saras and Annies and Marjories disappearing from my speed dial.