Nothing Special (9 page)

My ass is killing me.

Just checked. No word on the flight. I am very stressed out.

Do you get stressed out, Aleah? The only time I'm not at least a little stressed is when I'm playing something (like football or Frisbee). Track is sort of stressful to me (not the practice part, but the actual events, because everything is riding on one shot—which I don't react well to sometimes—like when I false-started and barfed at Regionals when I was a sophomore). Even with football, recruiters stress me out, so I don't know if I'll enjoy playing this year.

Jesus, I really, really don't want to spend my whole life feeling like that. I don't want to stay awake half the nights of my freaking life sweating sweaty bullets, Aleah.

Do you ever wonder if you're not cut out for life? You probably don't. I know you don't. I wonder about my dad. Is this how he felt?

• • •

The morning Gus and I hatched our plan, I actually studied the one picture we have of Dad in the house. It's the only one Jerri saved, remember? As part of Jerri's new-style peacemaking with the past in February, she put the picture on the refrigerator. In it, I'm like a toddler, blurry big head in the front left-hand corner. Jerri and Dad are behind me, him behemoth and square-jawed and happy, with the same Jewfro hair that I have. Jerri looks young and pretty and happy (which I know wasn't the case).

Dad looked happy.

He wasn't happy. He couldn't have been.

I want to be happy, not look happy.

Gus called while I sat at the table staring down at that thing.

“So, you have an idea?” Gus asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. I wasn't actually sure I wanted to say it. (I knew Gus would do something with it, start plan making.) I took a deep breath. “I'm supposed to go to a football camp at the University of Michigan this weekend. You want to drive me there, but not drive me there?”

“Oh,” Gus said.

“Uh-huh,” I said. I could feel myself flush. Fear.

“Oh hell, yeah.” I could hear Gus thinking. Gus's gears turned. “I can work with that. Uh-huh. I think I need to make an academic visit to the University of Michigan,” he said.

“Yeah. That makes sense,” I said.

“Good school. Mama Teresa will like this…”

“Mama Jerri might not,” I said.

“Call you back in a bunny breath, dude.”

It took Gus ten minutes to get back to me. (The whole time, I stared at my dad's picture and got more and more hesitant to go to Florida and face my grandfather.
Why
is
Andrew
so
interested
in
the
family
, I wondered.
Why
isn't he scared?
)

“Okay,” Gus said. “Michigan is the fourth-ranked public university in the country. I used that. The parents are in.”

“Oh shit,” I said.

“They're giving me a credit card for the gas and the Motel 6 I pretended to book, and a Triple A card, whatever the hell that is.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“Only one hitch—my dad wants me to meet up with an acquaintance of his from grad school. I'll figure a way around that.”

“Why are they so easy?” I asked, really not believing it.

“You get near perfect on the SAT, you get what you want,” Gus said.

It's true. He missed like one freaking question.

“How about Jerri?” he asked.

“She really wants to drive me. She wants to see Aleah's dad for some reason.”

“Let me talk to her. You'll mumble and crap. You sound like a liar even when you're not lying.”

He's right. I do sound like a liar. Also, isn't it weird that I didn't know about our parents' affair in June? Did you know, Aleah?

We decided Gus would come over before dinner to talk to Jerri. (He said flat out he wouldn't stay for dinner because he wasn't going to eat another shitbag, veggie-slop, Jerri-made meal ever again.)

• • •

Wait…

Someone is saying my name on the loudspeaker?

I'm at a new gate. I'm flying to Charlotte, North Carolina. We're boarding in a few minutes. From there I'll go to Fort Myers. Fine. Who cares? I want to go someplace.

Cody just texted me to say Coach Johnson moved his son, Kirk—a stinking
sophomore
—from flanker to running back this morning.

Aaaahhh…I'm so, so, so pissed!

Jesus. Makes me want to kick something. It's so freaking dumb. I'm the tailback, Aleah. I'm pretty good at it (duh). Why would Coach Johnson do that? Kirk is fast and super athletic (just like his brother Ken). If we have him opposite Karpinski in the passing game we'll be great this year.

When I wrote back
WHAT????
Cody texted:
Coach
isnt
sure
you
be
back
for
game.

Jesus.

You know, nobody forced me to miss practice. I made the decision to not be in Bluffton today. I'm fine with that. I'm fine that I'm not there. It was totally my decision.

Man, Aleah. I do worry. Am I destroying my football career?

• • •

Skipping Michigan hurt. After Gus asked his parents if he could take me to Michigan and they said yes, I emailed the offensive coordinator at Michigan to tell him I couldn't go due to family reasons. He called me up right away—I'm serious, like ten seconds after I hit
Send
on the email—but I didn't answer and I never got back to him. (I was lying on the floor on my stomach when he called.) A couple of weeks ago, Coach Johnson told me Michigan is no longer interested in me.

I worry. I worry. I worry.

Here's what I worry about most: I was so damn relieved not to have to go to that camp. How am I going to choose a college and go play football there? Why was it so easy for you to go to Berlin?

• • •

Okay. There it is. There's the call. I'm boarding a plane for freaking Charlotte, North Carolina. This is
now
. I'm on my way.

Uh…Okay…

I'm sitting next to a very large man who is very unhappy to be stuck in the middle of two teens. (There's a girl in black reading a zombie book on the aisle). The man is wheezing and is very gross. He just ordered a tiny bottle of wine.

Go to Florida instead of practice football? This is where my good intentions get me: jammed against the airplane wall by a giant wine-sucking wheezer man. Huff, huff, huff. (Sound of him breathing while he stares at the side of my head.)

• • •

Okay, so Gus's parents were on board with the drive to Michigan. Right?

There was just the Jerri question left.

It was a big question too, Aleah. First, Jerri was stung that Andrew had requested a solo bus trip to his orchestra camp (although Jerri knew not the entirety of the situation). Second, Jerri had made plans with your dad to stop in Chicago on Saturday on our drive to Ann Arbor. I sure as crap didn't want to be at your apartment, but Jerri was very excited. (“I haven't
seen
Ronald in four months!”) I didn't think there was anyway she'd let Gus drive me.

When Gus arrived, Jerri was in the kitchen making us some ugly looking hippie hummus and bean sprout sandwiches. (I like hummus, but I don't like sprouts—they get stuck in my teeth and then people make crap of me—at least Abby Sauter did one time in fifth grade—“booger tooth.”) Jerri didn't act like a nice hippie, though. When Gus and I entered the kitchen, she smiled really fake and said, “If it isn't my favorite nicotine addict! Has your girlfriend gotten any tweens drunk lately?”

Gus stood there with his mouth open, his face turning red. “Um. Not that I'm aware of, Jerri.”

“Great. Great to hear, Gus.”

“That's not why we're here, Jerri,” I said.

“Really?” Jerri asked. “Why are you here? Is it because you live here, Felton?”

“What's with the sarcasm?”

“I'm just a little angry with your little friend, I suppose,” Jerri said, glaring at Gus.

“Jerri,” Gus whispered. “I quit smoking. It's bad for me. I got a hacking cough. And Maddie? She's really crazy, you know? But she tries hard. And she's got a good heart. She's really a sweet person. I'm serious.”

Gus was working Jerri. Jerri grew up a townie girl like Maddie. She couldn't not feel for her. Gus's lies actually made me feel kind of bad. He still smoked! Maddie did not try hard!

Maybe she does try hard?

Maybe she's like me who isn't Peyton Manning because her family (my family) is screwed up? Complicated.

Jerri nodded. She swallowed. She stared at Gus for a moment. Then she said, “Tell her not to get eighth graders drunk, okay? It really upsets me. It's also dangerous. Emily Cook can't weigh more than eighty pounds, you know?”

“I know, Jerri. Maddie feels bad about what happened,” Gus nodded.

“That's not why we're here, though, Jerri,” I said.

“Okay, then. Why are you here, Felton?”

Gus jumped in. “Something pretty cool happened today. My dad's friend at U Mich, Hector Johns—he's a professor there—invited me to take a campus tour while Felton's at football camp.”

I nodded.

Jerri said, “Oh? That's nice…You're welcome to ride with us, if you'd like.”

“That'd be great, but I actually need to have my own transportation because I'll be going back and forth from campus to the Motel 6 where I'm staying all week. So, I'll be driving.”

“Yeah! Pretty great, huh, Jerri?” I piped in. Gus sort of kneed me in the thigh.

“I'll be driving, so really Felton should just catch a ride with me,” Gus said. “No reason for us to pump double the carbon dioxide into the air. I guess more like quadruple, really, since you'll be driving back to Bluffton, then returning to Ann Arbor to pick Felton up.”

This was very smooth operating by Gus. Best way to break a nice person like my mom is to make her think doing what she really wants to do is going to harm the environment and stop all future generations from existing.

Jerri shook her head, put her hands on her hips, and looked up at the ceiling. She said, “I was really looking forward to this drive for some reason.”

Of course, I knew why. I didn't
know
know (didn't think they were going to be like…boyfriend and girlfriend), but I knew she wanted to see your dad. Before Gus could stop me from talking, I said, “Jerri, I think maybe you should just visit Ronald this weekend even if I'm not with you. You could stay a couple of days, then help him move stuff back here for the summer session.”

Jerri looked at me. Squinted a little. “You think, Felton?”

“Oh, yeah. If I could visit Aleah, I sure as hell would,” I said. (I really didn't know they were becoming a couple!)

“Nice language, son,” Jerri said. “Maybe I will.”

“Chicago's not far,” Gus said.

“Shut up, Gus,” Jerri said. “Enough rhetoric, okay?”

“Huh?” Gus said, as if he didn't know.

This was definitely the weekend when our parents became an official unit, Aleah. You have my lying to thank for it.

Anyway, it was a done deal. There. We did it. Gus was driving me to Ann Arbor, except not to Ann Arbor at all.

Out on our driveway Gus whispered, “What's up with Jerri? She's kind of mean these days.”

True. Jerri was not acting the part of the Jerri I'd known my whole life. This was not a bad thing. “I think she's snapping out of the depression she's been in for like eleven years, maybe. I don't know, exactly.”

“Oh,” Gus said. “I like it.”

So, we were all set up with lies and bull crap, all set to hit the road. Apparently I have enough courage to seriously, crazily lie to my mom, even if I'm scared to go to a camp by myself.

• • •

Oh Jesus, Aleah, the plane is bouncing up and down. I think we're possibly crashing. Seriously. The big dude just spilled a tiny bottle of wine all over himself. This is a disaster. Oh God. Jesus.

Turbulence. The big guy smiled at me. “F-bombing turbulence.” Now he's reading what I'm writing:
Hello, man. My name is Felton
.

He just said, “Hiya, Felton!” I think he's had four tiny bottles of wine.

No, only three. “Three, Felton!” he said.

He is saying out loud anything I type.

I'm a big, drunk jerk!

He didn't say that.

Sorry
.

He said it's okay.

The girl with the zombie book is laughing. Why can't she be my girlfriend, Aleah? She's right here. She's cute.

Sorry. I don't mean it.

The man just read that whole thing out loud to the girl. She laughed at me.

I'm going to close the computer.

The big drunk guy is snoring like Grandma Berba when she has a cold.

Chainsaw McGraw.

I almost fell asleep, but then the little girl in front of me moved her chair back and smashed my knees at the same moment my favorite big drunk ripped on his chain saw. I woke thinking I was in a horror movie (with zombies chain-sawing through the door of the tiny, smashed closet I'm hiding in).

No. I'm just smashed on a plane, Aleah. (You should see how I'm typing—like a hobbit with arthritis, all bent up in a tiny hobbit-sized space.)

Also reminds me of being smashed in Gus's smoky car for like a thousand hours. Gus and I didn't get along very well on our trip. It started bad and got worse.

The start?

On Friday morning when we were supposed to leave, he was totally late to pick me up. He was supposed to get me right after he finished the freaking paper route. “Oh yeah, about six, man. I'll be there.”

Jerri and I waited in the living room, my big bag filled with false football stuff and lying on the floor. And I felt horrible and guilty and sweaty and afraid. It got later and later. I called Gus at 6:40 to see what was the matter. He didn't answer. Why wouldn't he answer? Because he didn't want to.

Freaking anxiety! There were many, many lies afloat in the Bluffton air, Aleah.

As it got lighter and brighter and later, Jerri sat there in that same gross robe she'd worn all last summer when she was getting more and more depressed until she didn't get out of bed and didn't shower and just wore that ugly robe day in and day out, looking like a dead lady wearing a robe. I hate that robe.

I didn't say anything about her robe.

Jerri didn't say anything about anything for that whole hour we waited. Together, we stared out the window at the empty main road. Together we sat in silence waiting for the great, late douche Gus.

Then, after it became 7 a.m. and not the six o'clock hour at all, probably to break the tension she could tell was totally exploding inside of me, Jerri said, “Talked to Andrew late last night. He's having a great time. Really loves that Tovi girl.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” I said.

“Tovi is an interesting name,” Jerri said. “I've never heard it except your dad's sister named her kid Tovi. Do you remember Evith, your aunt?”

“
No!
” I shouted.

“What?” Jerri asked.

“I don't remember her,” I said.

“It's funny, you know? Evith and I got along really well back in the day. Why do people treat each other so poorly? I lost my husband too. They didn't just lose their son and brother.”

“Wow,” I said.

“It's been over eleven years now. I can't believe it.”

“No!”

“Yeah, we've never talked much about your dad's family…”

“Never!” I said.

“It's high time. I don't know why I hid things. When Andrew gets back from camp, we should really sit down and try to collect all these bits and pieces and…Do you know Ronald and Aleah specifically sit down once a week to discuss her feelings about her mom?”

“Jesus!” I said.

“Felton?” Jerri asked,

“Wow!” I said. I could feel sweat beading up on my forehead. I jumped off the couch and started pacing around. Did Jerri know what was going on? What was this about you and your dad? Why was she bringing this family business up now? Did Jerri know something more? Had Andrew told her what was going on? Did Andrew talk to you and you talk to Ronald and Ronald talk to Jerri? “Whoa,” I said.

“Uh,” Jerri looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. “Are you okay, Felton?”

“No.”

Just then, just in time—as I was just about to blow this whole wicked sham out into the open, drop the bomb, drop everything—an hour and fourteen minutes later than Gus was supposed to be, his Toyota rolled down the main road toward our house. The windows were down and smoke billowed out. Have you ever seen a Cheech and Chong movie? They're on cable sometimes. Billowing smoke.

“Ah, crap,” I said. There were two people in the car. “Freaking Maddie.”

“That Gus is such a two-bit sack of B.S.,” Jerri shouted, standing up. “I don't want you to go with him.”

“I have to go with him, Jerri.”

“Does Gus take drugs?”

“No.”

“You swear on…You swear on your Grandma Berba's grave?”

“Grandma Berba isn't dead.”

“She will be one day. And she'll be buried. And you'll have to live with this lie for the rest of your life, kid.”

This call to honesty was not exactly the kind of thing I needed to hear at that moment, but I kept my composure. As far as I know, dipshit Gus—who smokes and acts all irresponsible while maintaining excessively high grades—is not remotely on drugs.

“Jerri,” I mumbled, my brow and hands sweaty and gross, “I swear on Grandma Berba's future grave. Gus is not on drugs. I haven't known him ever to take even a single drug. He is totally clean in that way. I say this to the best of my knowledge, okay? So you can't blame me if Gus does take drugs and I don't know about it, okay?”

“Okay.” Jerri narrowed her eyes at me. “Grandma Berba can safely die now.”

“Jesus. Shut up, Jerri.”

Jerri blinked at me. “I'm just joking, Felton. No big deal.”

“When do you joke?” I said.

“Whenever I want,” Jerri said.

I was wound tight, I tell you.

Then Gus honked and Jerri flew out the door and started giving him and Maddie the wholesale business regarding smoking cigarettes and being late and getting little kids drunk on lemonade. By the time I dragged my bag out there, Maddie and Gus looked truly terrified, mouths opened, nostrils flared, like a great, terrible wind blew in their faces. Then Jerri gave me a big hug, helped me throw my gear in the trunk, gave me a hug again, pointed at Gus and Maddie and shook her head, then waved and smiled. Gus put the car in reverse and turned around.

“Your mom is a savage, savage woman,” Maddie said.

“Who knew?” Gus said.

“I sure as hell didn't,” I said. Then I looked back at Maddie. “Please tell me you're not coming.”

“No,” she said, her fake French face getting all pouty. “I have to stay in Bluffton to do Gus's stupid paper route.”

“Come on, not just that…You have to baby-sit your cousin,” Gus said.

“And baby-sit my diaper-assed, worm-filled, little skank of a cousin.”

“She's a two-year-old,” Gus said to me. “Kids are pretty damn gross, man. I saw her eat a cricket.”

When we dropped Maddie off at her house, she and Gus made out for about ten minutes, all wound in a tight ball, falling over on the hood in broad morning light. While they made out, I sat in the passenger seat with squirrel-nut anxiety firing down my legs and arms. We needed to get the crap out of town before somebody stopped us or somebody figured out who Tovi was or somebody gave me enough of a brain to stop the madness and just go to Michigan. Gus and Maddie kissed and kissed. Ridiculous.

(Also made me miss you, Aleah. A lot.)

When Gus finally got back in the car he said, “Why are you so sweaty?”

My mouth took off! “Are you kidding? We lied to your parents and told Jerri that you were meeting up with some U Mich professor Hector dude, and Jerri wanted to talk about Dad's family this morning, and if you don't meet up with this Hector and Jerri sees your mom or dad and asks about how your visit with Hector is going and they call him to ask…we're totally busted. Totally screwed.”

“Felton,” Gus said. “Calm, buddy. We're going to be busted, okay? There's no doubt. Our parents aren't idiots. We said all that crap so we could get the hell out of town. Once we're gone, we're gone. Then when the crap hits, we'll tell the truth. It's not like they're going to call the cops on us, you know? So, just relax and enjoy the ride, okay?”

“Oh,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Okay.” I looked straight forward, not at Maddie, who was being bitched out by her mom on her front step.

And then Gus took off like a bat out of Bluffton (a very slow bat, because his Toyota is not a fast car at all).

• • •

Oh man. Turbulence. Chainsaw snoring man's head just bounced off my shoulder.

Oh shit. I hate this flight. I could be home. I'm so stupid.

Oh, now Drunky is awake. He's even drunkier than he was before he fell asleep. He's reading this again. He just told me I'm not stupid. The girl on the aisle just said, “Why do you think you're stupid?”

“Because I'm so dumb,” I said.

“That's redundant,” she said.

“Smarty pants,” the drunk dude said to the girl. Then he laughed really hard.
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

I have to put the computer away. These people are in my business. (Trying to hide the screen.)