One Man Guy (2 page)

“God, Mom, don’t you understand, nobody is looking at us. Nobody cares what we do. I can stand on top of this table and throw bread at him and they wouldn’t care.” To demonstrate his point, Alek picked up the piece of now-soggy bread, drenched in oil and balsamic vinegar, and aimed it across the table at Nik.

“Aleksander, that’s enough,” his father scolded him. “Now put that bread down, sit at this table like an adult, which is how you’re always asking to be treated, and enjoy the meal we’re paying for.”

The meal Mom’s paying for,
Alek thought to himself. But he knew better than to say that out loud. Ever since his dad got laid off from his architectural firm last year and his mom had to return to work full-time, Alek’s dad had been especially sensitive to the money issue.

“Well, thanks, guys,” Alek said, the saccharin pouring off his voice. “Let’s see—you think I’m an idiot, you tell me one week before school ends that I’m going to have to spend the rest of my summer in the den of despair that is my high school, I can’t go to tennis camp even though you
promised
I could—is there anything else you want to lay on me?”

“Well,” Alek’s mom said, fidgeting with her napkin.

“Oh my God, are you kidding me? What else can there possibly be?”

His mom looked at his dad for help, but he was scrutinizing the menu as if it were the Ark of the Covenant.

“You don’t have to be in the top five percent of your class like I am to figure it out,” Nik observed. “If you’re doing summer school, you’re not going to be able to go on the family vacation.”

“Now, Andranik, we’ll handle this,” his father said, finally looking up. Nik, who’d sprouted another four inches his junior year, had the decency to shut up for once. “You see, Alek, when we committed to going to Niagara Falls with the other families from church this summer, we bought into a group deal. If we pulled out now, we’d jeopardize everyone else’s vacation.”

“Not to mention that I had to ask special permission to get those days off from camp,” Nik added.

“You’re telling me that you’re choosing the people from church over your own son for our
family
vacation?” Alek asked incredulously. “And I’m sure the fact that Nik’s girlfriend is one of those people is a total coincidence, right? I mean, I’m used to you choosing Nik over me, but choosing Nanar over your own flesh and blood? That’s a new all-time low.”

“She has nothing to do with it,” Nik interjected.

“Whatever.”

“Alek, Nanar’s family is just one of the many families we’d be letting down if we backed out now,” his mother explained.

Nik flipped through the menu, the disdain with which he turned the pages making it clear he wasn’t impressed. “Besides, all of us from Armenian Youth are planning on researching our heritage projects in the Toronto Archives.”

“Not to mention losing all of our money,” his father concluded.

“I still don’t understand why we didn’t just take a normal family vacation by ourselves,” Alek asked petulantly.

“Well, if that’s what you want to do next year, that’s what we’ll do. Your father and I decided that because you can’t go this year, you’ll get to choose where we go next summer.”

“If I don’t have to go back to summer school, you mean,” Alek rifled back. “Because who knows? Maybe I’ll get another”—he gasped for dramatic effect—“God forbid—another C, and they’ll threaten to kick me off Honor Track again, and I’ll have to sacrifice another summer of my life to the cruelest institution in the history of mankind.”

“Be reasonable…” his father began, but stopped when he saw Lizzy walking back slowly, balancing a pot of hot water and four mugs with tea bags in them.

Alek’s mother smiled at the waitress when she reached the table. Lizzy took it as a good sign, but Alek knew better. “Do you have any loose tea?” his mother asked.

“Loose tea?” Lizzy asked meekly.

“It’s just that some studies show that the paper in tea bags—”

“Oh my God!” Alek exploded. “Why are you torturing this poor girl? She’s not even related to you! And nobody gets cancer from drinking tea in bags. Do you hear me? NO ONE. And no one gets cancer from drinking Evian in plastic bottles!” The way the other customers in the restaurant were looking at Alek told him he was probably using his outside voice, but he didn’t care. “This is supposed to be my meal? My consolation prize for being betrayed by my parents to a summer of hell? Then we’re going to do it my way.” He looked at Lizzy, whose befuddlement was quickly morphing into gratitude. “The tea is great, thank you.” Alek slammed the menu shut. “I’ll have the pasta carbonara. They’ll split the grilled steak. And that jerk with his mouth gaping open like a fish in the corner will have the lasagna. And make sure the meat is well-done, okay?”

Lizzy nodded yes, furiously scribbling into her little pad.

“Now quickly, go before they have a chance to say anything!”

Lizzy didn’t need any further encouragement. She sprinted away, her apron strings flopping behind her.

The moment Lizzy was out of earshot, Alek’s mom leaned in. “I do hope they cook the meat all the way through,” she confided. “Otherwise I’ll simply have to send it back.”

2

“Goodbye, you hellacious den of sin
!
” Becky screamed at the top of her lungs. She had just popped on her right Rollerblade and was struggling with the left. A few of the kids walking by her locker laughed, but most were in too much of a rush to escape the last day of school to pay her any attention.

“Are you done?” Alek asked miserably.

“Goodbye, you heinous concrete monstrosity!” Becky continued, ignoring him. “Goodbye, you culinary atrocities that parade as lunch! And you barely conscious teachers, a very special goodbye to you!” Becky turned around lopsidedly, still wearing just one skate, and looked through the window at the yard in front of the school, where even the buses lined up looked impatient. She called out to the students outside, knowing they couldn’t hear her. “And most importantly, goodbye to you, lemming peers of mine.” Becky waved to them vigorously. Some of the students, misinterpreting her, waved back, inspiring Becky to continue. “For three blessed months, my life will be free of you all.” Becky had gotten her second skate on and began circling the halls joyfully. “No more meaningless homework assignments and school assemblies. No more—”

“Becky, that’s enough,” Alek cut her off. He ran his fingers through his thick curly Armenian hair and adjusted the hunter-green JanSport book bag he’d prayed would fall apart every day since his mom gave it to him the first day of seventh grade. “Can we get going, please?”

“Well, somebody’s underwear is all knotted up today. Just because you have to go to summer school doesn’t mean I should forgo my last-day-of-school ritual.”

“I’m just saying, a little bit of consideration wouldn’t kill you. I’m still going to have to deal with all the stupid things you’re saying goodbye to.”

“It’s not my fault you’re stupid.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a bitch,” Alek shot back. He looked down the school corridors, not believing that only six days had passed since his parents had informed him he’d be denied the well-earned summer respite that was every teenager’s sacred right. “By the way, 1999 called. They want their Rollerblades back.”

“Should I hand over your entire wardrobe while I’m at it?” she asked, one-upping him as usual. “I still don’t get why you’re even doing it.”

“I told you, my parents are making me! Ms. Schmidt told them that if I get A’s in algebra and English, I can stay on Honor Track, and then I might even be able to get on AP by junior year.”

“Ms. Schmidt is a cow. How can we be expected to take advice from someone who decided to become a guidance counselor? That’s like asking a blind man to help you pick a pair of glasses.” Becky finally snapped on her last safety pad. “Are you ready? I’ve been waiting for you for, like, forever.”

Alek rolled his eyes.

“Catch me if you can, slowpoke.” Becky kicked off and skated down the main hall, where green-and-white athletic banners from past years hung like sloths. A hall monitor halfheartedly called after her, “No rollerblading in the hallways,” but Becky ignored the reprimand and flew out the main entrance onto Western Avenue. Alek didn’t bother running after her. He knew she’d come back eventually.

Alek made his way up the small hill in front of his high school, trying to figure out why his freshman year had been so miserable. He even missed middle school, he was embarrassed to admit. He might not have been the most popular kid in eighth grade, but he made honor roll without trying, played first doubles for the tennis team, never had to worry about finding a partner for class projects, and had been invited to enough birthday parties and bar/bat mitzvahs to keep himself busy on the weekends.

High school, however, was its own world with its own rules, as Alek was still figuring out. As his grades started slipping, his freshman year fast-forwarded into a blur of conferences and parent-teacher meetings, none of which made any difference. And the harder he tried, the worse he did, like medicine that just made you sicker.

And when Alek’s parents didn’t let him try out for the tennis team, they effectively cut him off from all his old middle school friends, like Jason and Matthew. Alek’s social life hit a new low in humiliation when his mother reached out to some of those kids and invited them over for a surprise birthday dinner party. Alek could tell they only showed up because their parents made them, and that they’d all have rather been at the movies or playing video games. And instead of ordering in pizza, which is what he would’ve wanted if they’d bothered asking him, his parents insisted on making an entire Armenian feast. What grownups didn’t realize was that nothing was more embarrassing than when they tried to help.

The Khederians lived close enough that Alek could walk to and from school when the weather was good, and he and Becky made a point of doing it together. Whenever she didn’t have to stay after for band practice, they met in front of her locker after eighth period. Then she’d wheel ahead, eventually circling back up with him just past the tennis courts and the large black ash tree that got hit by lightning last spring.

The sound of a sharp whistle penetrated Alek’s brain. He squinted up into the afternoon June sun. “Pay attention, young man,” an elderly crossing guard reprimanded him, the folds of wrinkles on her forehead arching in concern. Alek looked up, startled, and stepped back onto the curb, mumbling thanks. He caught a glimpse of Becky up ahead, weaving her way through pedestrians on the sidewalk.

Alek just wasn’t one of those people who thrived under pressure, like his old doubles partner. Seth wasn’t a better tennis player than Alek, but when it really mattered, Seth would deliver, serving an ace or slamming the forehand winner down the line.

But when Alek felt pressured, time sped up and out of his control, like when he and Seth had played in the final match last year against Steinbrook. The two teams had been evenly matched, reaching a tiebreaker in the fifth set. Alek and Seth were down five to six on Alek’s serve. They needed to win the point to stay in the match.

Seth had trotted over to Alek after he faulted on his first serve. “I’m counting on you, man. You can do it.” Seth gave Alek an encouraging pat on the shoulder and resumed his position on the court.

Faulting again would lose them the point and the match, so Alek prepared for his simple-but-reliable second serve. As he planted his feet and prepared to throw the ball in the air, Alek had decided to give the serve everything he had. He hoped the unexpected force would surprise the opposing team. Besides, this was the last match that he would be playing as an eighth grader, and he wanted to make it count. Alek aimed at the corner of his opponents’ advantage court, threw the tennis ball high in the air, arched his back, and swung his racket up and around to hit the ball with maximum strength, hoping with every part of himself that the serve would find its mark.

Instead, the ball had slammed meaninglessly into the net. Alek had double-faulted, losing the point and the match.

In the locker room afterward, Seth tried to pull Alek out of the black hole he’d sunk into. “Don’t worry about it, dude. It’s just tennis.”

Alek had looked up, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since his faulty serve. He thought about how much he would miss his tennis partner next year, since Seth would be going to the fancy private high school two townships over. Even though they hadn’t really known each other until they started playing together and they didn’t have the same friends or hang out together, their tennis partnership had blossomed into its own special type of friendship.

“Hold on to this.” Seth held a tennis ball out to Alek.

“Why?”

“It’s the ball from your last serve.”

“So?”

“I had to get it out from the net. You hit the ball so hard that it got stuck. That’s not an easy thing to do, man. If your serve had landed, you would have aced them, no question.” Seth leaned forward, and the light caught the gold of the Star of David necklace he had started wearing after his bar mitzvah.

“But I didn’t. I double-faulted and lost us the match.”

“Come on, man. I’d much rather play with someone who gives it everything he’s got than someone who takes the safe route, okay? That’s what made playing with you so fun this year.”

Alek had stretched out his hand to accept the ball from Seth, and their fingers brushed. Alek kept his hand there, their hands holding the ball in midair between them. Their fingers had remained linked, connecting them and embracing the suspended ball.

Alek thought he saw Seth leaning in right before they both heard the locker room door swing open.

“Aleksander, are you ready?” Alek’s father shouted in.

“Yeah, Dad—one sec!” Alek had grabbed the rest of his things and scrambled out. “Hey, Seth…” He wanted to thank Seth for having been such a great partner and friend, for being kind to him when most partners would’ve ripped him apart, but he didn’t know how to do any of that without sounding stupid or corny. “Thanks for the ball,” he finished, looking away.