Rat (5 page)

“Meet me at the Brown Bean after school, okay?” I said. “We need to talk.”

She shook her head. “No. Let's let it all cool off for a bit.” And she walked off clutching her textbooks to her chest.

I was left feeling abandoned. What the hell was this? My one good friend was more worried about what kids would think than about me.

Later in the day, when my path crossed Stephanie's again, she smiled so sweetly that I stopped to speak to her. She seemed a little nervous, probably because of the way other kids were watching us. “Could I buy you a coffee at the Brown Bean after classes?” I asked.

She looked surprised and a bit awkward. She didn't have to say it. The answer was no. Maybe she didn't want to be seen with the rat either.

“It's okay,” I said. “Maybe another time.

She nodded and walked off. So much for my attempt at romance.

At home after school, I turned on my computer and looked up
rat
again, this time coming across “Year of the Rat.” I discovered that, traditionally, the Chinese had great respect for rats, which were considered courageous, shrewd, ambitious, inventive and highly adaptable. A rat year is a time of renewal and hard work. It even turned out that I was born in the year of the fire rat.
Fire rats
tend to be energetic decision makers.
They are loners and are also known to
have little self-control
. I could deny none of this Maybe the ancient Chinese knew what they were talking about. But then there was this:
Rats tend to make enemies
and often lack the tact to diffuse them
.

I had to laugh out loud.

So I took out my last plain white T-shirt and took out my markers. I thumbed through my sketches until I found the drawing that fit what I had just learned about rats, and about me. I took my time, making this one the best and most outrageous one yet.

And when I finished it, I put on the shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. I decided then and there this one was too good to hide under my hoodie. This rat was ready to face the world.

Chapter Eleven

Wearing my rat T-shirt on the outside definitely did the trick.

It caught everyone's attention, and the response ranged from being laughed at to being called a variety of insulting names. I kept my head high and tried to ignore it all, but on the second day of wearing my rat shirt, Emily ran toward me in the hall. I thought she was going to hit me. She looked all worked up about something.

“Take it off, you idiot,” she insisted.

“You don't like my art?”

“I like your art fine. You just don't need to draw more attention to yourself.”

I was still feeling pretty defensive and hurt about how Emily had abandoned me.

“Look,” she said. “Liam's mother was forwarded your email. So was Craig's father. It was bound to happen. They've been busted—by their parents at least. The photos of Marissa and Amanda are gone. And they're leaving me alone. You can back off now.”

I smiled. “Cool. What about that photo of me?”

“It's still there. I checked.”

I smiled some more. “Hell, I don't care. It means they still see me as a threat. And that's good.”

“You don't feel violated by that photo being up?”

“Not really,” I said. “It's not my body.”

“But other people think it's you.”

“I'm working pretty hard to avoid worrying about what other people think.”

“What about the shirt?”

“Okay,” I said and stripped it off, leaving me wearing my long-sleeved button-down shirt that I had on under it. “Now I look like any other guy at school.”

“No,” Emily said, suddenly allowing a smile. “You're way better-looking than those other guys.”

I must have given her a puzzled look. She'd never actually flirted with me before. “Go for coffee after school?” I asked.

She nodded.

I guess the train was back on the rails. For now at least.

Mr. Miller called me down to the office later that day.

“Where's the shirt?” he blurted out.

“What shirt?” I asked.

“You know what I'm talking about.”

I pulled it out of my backpack and handed it to him. He held it up to the light. His brow scrunched up as he studied it. “You make this?”

“Yeah.”

“It's good. Weird but good. You should be studying art.”

“It was dropped from the curriculum in last year's budget cuts, remember?”

“I'm just trying to say you have talent.”

“Thank you.”

“I was going to tell you not to wear this thing. Teachers say it is a disruptive influence.”

“Really?” I said, feeling defensive.

Miller noted my sarcasm. He shook his head and rubbed his nose. He was smiling now. “Look, Colin. I know what you did for Amanda and Marissa. I didn't like doing it, but I approved their transfer from here. I couldn't seem to solve that problem within the workings of the system. But maybe you solved it for me.”

“Are you congratulating me for that?”

“Off the record, yes. But I don't approve of vigilantism.”

“Another big word. So why'd you call me here, exactly?”

Now Miller looked a bit more serious. “I know I should have done something about those two. Truth is, I think that was small potatoes compared to some other stuff going on at the school.”

“Like what?”

“I can't say. You have any clues as to what I'm talking about?”

I was thinking of Jerome and his “tools.” And I was thinking about what Emily had said before about how the climate of the high school had changed. “Not really,” I answered.

“Well, maybe you could keep your ear to the ground for me, and we could have a little chat once in a while.”

I looked hard at Miller, feeling a little pissed off. He wanted to use me. “You want me to be your mole? Your spy? Your snitch?”

Miller was serious now. He handed me back my T-shirt and pointed to the artwork on the front. Yeah, he wanted me to be a rat—his rat.

I took the shirt and stuffed it in my backpack. “No way,” I said defiantly.

“Not in a million years.”

Chapter Twelve

It was a quiet week after that. I kept waiting for the ax to fall. Waiting for something to happen. Instead, it was just a dull old school week.

Until Friday afternoon rolled around.

Like everyone else, I heard the shots. Three of them. It was unmistakable. Someone was shooting in the hallway.

I was in history class at the time. Ms. Reitman stopped speaking and, as a couple of my classmates got out of their seats and started toward the door, she blocked them and then stood there with her arms folded. “No one leaves,” she said. “No one. You know the drill.”

I guess it was what they call a lockdown. After a few silent, tense minutes, we heard sirens and then saw four police cars pulling up in front of the school. Then we heard them in the halls. After about ten minutes, one of the cops tapped on the door and identified himself. Ms. Reitman opened the door. “Everything okay in here?” he said.

Ms. Reitman nodded, and he left.

When the bell rang to change classes, Ms. Reitman insisted we stay put.

Eventually, Mr. Miller came over the pa system. “I want to first thank you all for your cooperation,” he said in an authoritative voice. “What you heard earlier were gunshots. Someone—we don't know who—came into the school and fired three shots. No one was hit. No one was hurt. The shooter then ran off. As of now, the school is safe. Police are here, and they've searched the building. In a few minutes, we'll be dismissing you to go home. Police will remain onsite until the building is empty.

“I'd appreciate your further cooperation on this. Leave the building calmly and in an orderly fashion when your teacher dismisses you. And finally, if anyone has any information about this incident, anything at all about why someone would be shooting in our school, please come forward and speak to me. Thank you.”

We had to stay in our seats for twenty more minutes before it was our class's turn to leave. I was thinking about what Emily had said about things getting weirder and weirder at our school. Weapons, drugs. The two somehow tied together. It made my little problems with Liam and Craig seem pretty minor. But I couldn't help thinking about Jerome. Maybe he was at the center of this. And I remembered that he tried to give me some weed. Didn't he say he had other stuff? Harder, more dangerous drugs, for sure.

We weren't allowed to go to our lockers. As I walked out the front door of the school, it felt truly bizarre, like something out of a
TV
cop show. We walked past armed policemen lined up on either side. And there must have been at least twelve police cars on the street. Whatever had gone down, they were taking this very, very seriously.

As I walked on, I heard someone coming up behind me. And then there was a hand holding mine. Emily.

“I'm scared,” she said, squeezing my hand.

“I know,” I said. “I'll walk you home.”

“Thanks.”

We walked in silence until we were downtown. Once we were away from the school, the whole thing that had happened seemed completely unreal.

“Did anyone see what happened?” I asked.

“I don't think so. But word is, someone came into the school and tried to shoot one of the students. He must have been pretty brave to do it in the middle of the day.”

“Or pretty crazy. Was it a real gun or a pellet gun?” I asked.

“I saw the police looking at a couple of bullets that were dropped. They looked real to me. And it sounded like a real gun.”

“Why would someone do this?” I wondered. “And why do you know so much about it?”

“Drugs. Money. Some kind of territorial thing. That's the gossip. And I know because I listen to gossip and I pay attention to what's going on.”

“Who were they shooting at?”

“Jerome. He's been dealing. And he's new this year,” said Emily. “He's selling on what used to be some other dealer's turf.”

It started to make a bit of sense. And it was Jerome who had his own “tools” for self-defense. If he had knives, he probably also had guns. And so did his competition. “Damn. Do you think the shooter will be back?”

“I doubt it. Miller will have cops at the school every day now until they catch whoever did the shooting.”

“Does anybody know who it is?”

“It wouldn't be hard to figure it out. Jerome could probably name him.”

“But Jerome won't talk?”

“Of course not. If he did, he'd have to admit to what he's been doing.”

“But someone needs to say something. At least let the cops know that it was Jerome they were trying to shoot.”

Emily saw the look on my face. She squeezed my hand tighter now. “Don't get involved, Colin. Please, don't say a word.”

Chapter Thirteen

I considered tracking Jerome down myself and convincing him to go to the police. What if the shooter did come back to the school? Someone could get killed. It might not matter if police were there or not. Whoever was after Jerome was angry and reckless. Armed and dangerous. For sure, Jerome knew who it was. He needed to talk.

But that wasn't going to happen. The story was on the
TV
news and in the newspapers. No one from school was offering up any clues. One report even suggested that several students had seen the guy shooting but no one would say a word. Same as always.

My parents were both home for dinner that night, a rare event for sure. They wanted to know all about what happened at school. I'd never seen them so concerned. My dad, who had never laid down any rules since I was thirteen, said, “I want you to stay home tonight. I'd rather you didn't go out.”

“Sure,” I said. I didn't go out that much anyway. Even on a Friday night.

I holed up in my room instead and returned to the fantasy world in my sketchbooks. I was moving on to creating fantastic winged creatures. And while I was drawing, I realized how easy it would be to go to a pay phone, make an anonymous call to the police and just let them know it was Jerome who was the intended victim. It would at least set them on the trail.

But I didn't do it.

Instead, I fell sound asleep.

I didn't hear the news until the next afternoon. Emily called my cell and blurted it out. “Jerome was shot dead. He was home. I just heard it on the news. The police aren't saying much more.” Emily sounded upset. And scared.

I was shocked. “I almost called the police last night and told them about Jerome. If I had, this wouldn't have happened.”

“You can't blame yourself for this,” she said. “Jerome brought this on himself.”

“But he didn't deserve to die,” I said.

“Can you come over?” Emily asked.

I took a deep breath. “Not right now, Em. Sorry. I just need to be by myself.”

I needed to get out of the house, though, before my parents heard the news and came home to lay down more rules. So I walked.

Somehow the streets, the houses, the trees all looked different. It wasn't like Jerome was some great guy. It wasn't like he was a close friend or even a friend at all. But he was just a kid like me, and he'd made a couple of wrong turns. And then this. Damn. Was it that easy to screw up and end up dead? I couldn't stop thinking that if I had said something— anything—to Mr. Miller, even, it would have set in motion a completely different chain of events. They might have opened Jerome's locker. The police would have questioned him. Maybe he'd even have been arrested.

But at least he'd be alive.

I walked down to the harbor and looked out over the water. It was calm and peaceful. But it wasn't enough. I should have done something. But I hadn't. As I walked home, I convinced myself that it was too late now to do anything. It was over. The deed was done.