Stick (28 page)

I shifted away from him. “I know a girl named April. I don't know her last name. She was Willie's cousin. She cut my hair last week. On my birthday.”

“So I guess        that makes you       fourteen now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But you told her your name was        Bosten McClellan. That you were sixteen.”

“I didn't think I'd get into any trouble if I pretended to be older.”

“Nobody        said you're in trouble,” Sheehan said.

“Then why are there four cops from three different states here at my aunt's house?”

I knew I shouldn't have said it as soon as the words came out of my mouth. It was the kind of thing that would get me slapped at my house.

Berkowitz leaned back in his chair. “You ready to tell me what happened     at that houseboat?”

I waited; took a couple breaths.

“I don't know what happened at that houseboat. I was hiding in Willie's room. I heard five gunshots. Exactly five. I was too scared to come out. Anyway, I was scared of Willie and this other guy, an old man named Brock. They were doing cocaine all night, so I just hid in the room.”

I didn't tell them the other stuff Brock tried to make me do or how he stole money from me.

Then Guy Sheehan got really close to me, trapping me against the edge of the table, between him and Berkowitz. “Did you do cocaine            with them,          Stark?”

I heard Aunt Dahlia inhale as soon as he asked.

And I lied, “No.”

Well, it wasn't technically a lie. Willie forced it into my mouth.

Then I said, “I don't do shit like that. Nothing.”

I looked at Dahlia. “Sorry. I didn't mean to cuss.”

I turned red.

She patted my hand.

I heard the diesel rumble of a school bus churning down the street in front of the house. I wanted so desperately to run outside, even in my underwear, and beg Evan and Kim to get me out of there. Into the water.

The detectives stayed for almost two hours. When they finished asking me questions, they had me write out a statement about what happened in Scappoose. As I signed it, Guy Sheehan said, “Your father         didn't want us to take you in for driving his car without a license.”

I finished writing my statement. I should have saved that grocery bag for them. It had the same words trapped on it.

“I'm sure it's not worth his trouble.”

*   *   *

I peeked through
Dahlia's front window until I was certain the cops were gone.

When they disappeared down Ocean Avenue, I got dressed.

Aunt Dahlia looked worried. It hurt to see her like that, because I knew I was the cause of her suffering. I swore then that I would never do anything again to bring trouble into her house. I hugged her and told her I was sorry, and she rocked me back and forth in her arms and said, “Don't be foolish,    Stark. You didn't do the first thing         to be         sorry about.”

And even though I was dying to get out to the beach and see Kim and her brother, I sat at Dahlia's kitchen table with her and, together, we filled out the registration papers for my new school. Aunt Dahlia never had children. She asked me what an “athletic supporter” was, and why it was that only boys were required to have one to go to school.

So I told her. But I told her my version—the “Stick” explanation—not the myth that the Mr. Lloyds of the world expected you to believe.

We both laughed about it, too.

*   *   *

When I sat in the cool sand,
digging my fingers in like I was trying to hold myself in one spot—finally—on the earth, watching Evan and Kim struggle to catch the chopped-up waves next to the jetty, I decided I'd ask Aunt Dahlia if I could call Emily that evening. Just the thought of hearing Emily's voice put a weight on my chest, and I honestly wasn't sure I'd be able to talk to her without crying.

But I had to make myself not cry, I thought.

Because things were different now.

Evan finally noticed me sitting there when his leash came off and he had to chase his board all the way into the sand, about fifteen feet in front of where I sat.

“Holy      shit!” He dropped his board, then turned back toward the water and hollered, “Kimmy!  Look who's here! Stick            came back! Holy shit!”

Evan pulled me up by my hand and then slapped my shoulder. “What the fuck? I thought you    guys were back     in Washington.”

I kept looking past Evan, watching Kim as she came out from the surf.

“My brother's not here yet. But it looks like I'm moving back for good.”

“School and       everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Then     I'm       ditching tomorrow. Let's    go to C Street.”

Evan got closer to me. He cocked his head like he was looking at something under a microscope. “Did I         say something wrong? Is something the matter,    Stick?”

“It's … I got a really long story to tell you guys.”

“And where's      your        wetsuit?”

Kim was out of the water now. She bent down and unfastened her leash and climbed the last few feet up the sand bank to where we stood. Then she was there with us. If it was possible, Kim Hansen looked even better than I remembered, even better than I imagined, those times I'd fantasized about her since my Easter vacation ended.

“I have it at my aunt's. I'll come out with you tomorrow, okay?”

“You        came back,” she said. Kim sounded genuinely happy to see me.

And before Evan could say anything else, his sister wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss, right on the mouth.

I would have drank an ocean of salt water at that moment, as long as it tasted like it did on Kim's lips. But it was a quick taste. After all, her brother was right next to us. Still, it left me feeling a little weak and winded; and plotting for some time in the immediate future when Kim and I might be able to do it better.

EMILY

“Hi, Em.”

“Oh my God, Stick, are you okay?”

“I miss you so much.”

Aunt Dahlia cleared her throat and made it obvious she was leaving to go outside.

“I love you, Emily.”

“I love you, Stark McClellan.”

Make yourself not get choked up.

“Please tell me you're coming home.”

“I love you so much, Em. I wish I could hold you, and just hold you forever.”

“Stark?”

“I don't belong there with Dad.”

“Please come back.”

“I have to live here now, with Aunt Dahlia.”

When I said that, Emily began crying.

“You will like her, Em. She promised you could come stay with us this summer. And I will sleep out on the couch. Unless nobody notices I'm not there.”

“What will I do without you?”

“Summer's not too far away.”

“I know you can't come back. I hate this.”

“I love you.”

“You promise I can come?”

“Yes.”

“Will you wait for me?”

“I think Aunt Dahlia wouldn't care if we took a bath together.”

“You better not do that with anyone else.”

“I promise.”

*   *   *

When Aunt Dahlia came back,
she carried strawberry ice cream from the Corner Store—a place that sold bait, surf wax, and beer—that was just at the top of the Strand. She put a birthday candle right in the middle of the carton and lit it, and she promised that she would never forget my birthday again.

Then, after we watched television until we both started dozing off on her couch, Aunt Dahlia tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead.

“I suppose        now that you're       fourteen years old, I've missed out on an entire lifetime of chances to tuck you in and kiss you good night,       Stark.”

“Not too much,” I said.

She flicked off the light and closed my door, and the words that Emily said tried to eat their way out of me.

*   *   *

I know you can't come back.

*   *   *

On a Friday

before Saint Patrick's Day,

Emily Lohman planted a miracle in me.

When I woke up

*   *   *

when I woke up

*   *   *

in the morning

my chains were loose.

*   *   *

I know you
can't come back.

MOM

The following Monday
I started school at Anacapa Junior High.

I wore my Steelers cap.

I was afraid.

*   *   *

Aunt Dahlia drove me there.
We sat in the parking lot together. It was almost an hour before the first class, and hardly any kids had shown up yet. I was nervous about this new situation. I didn't know anyone at all. Evan and Kim went to high school. I couldn't imagine feeling more out of place than I did at this new school.

But that was only part of it.

I had been in California for a week now, and we hadn't heard anything about Bosten. Aunt Dahlia knew what was happening to me. I felt like I was dying, like I was completely losing my connection to the most important thing in the world.

*   *   *

They did not put me in the mentally retarded class.

I don't think they had one in Oxnard.

But during homeroom, they called me up to see the school nurse, a big brown woman named Mrs. Mendoza, who had very warm hands and big teeth that showed when she smiled.

She asked me to take off my cap.

I knew what this was about.

“I'm not mentally retarded.”

Teeth.

She put her big, warm hand on my shoulder.

“My     goodness, I'll bet you're         six feet tall. Do you play basketball?”

I shook my head.

I imagined they'd be measuring and weighing me in gym class today.

“And who ever said you were        mentally retarded?”

I shrugged.

I took off the cap.

Mrs. Mendoza gave me some candy. It wasn't bad at all, I mean, having her look at me. She was very nice, and it felt warm when she touched my neck, feeling around for things that I didn't know were in there.

Anotia.

She said a name for it: being born without an ear.

Anotia.

All this time, I never knew it had a name.

That it was something.

The word went in my head, and stayed there.

It sounded nice.

It felt comfortable.

Like I was something.

It made me feel so good that I wanted to hug Mrs. Mendoza. She knew who I was, like I was just another kid, and maybe for the first time in my life, I started to feel like it really was no big deal.

I wondered if she knew the name for being born with three nipples.

“You aren't the first boy       I've seen who was born this way.”

There were others.

“Really?”

“Really. One day, maybe you and your aunt can         come in together and we     can       talk about it.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“You            just let me know if it's giving you any        trouble doing things in class, and we'll work on it. Okay, Stark?”

“Okay.”

“And welcome to California. I hope you like your new                school.”

“Oh. I do.”

When I went back to class, I felt taller.

Anotia.

I wrote it down, so I could see what it looked like.

*   *   *

Anacapa Junior High School
was different in just about every possible way from the school I went to in Point No Point. To begin with, the kids were all kinds of colors. There were Mexicans, Filipinos, and black kids; and even the white kids weren't as Elmer's-Glue white as the kids in Washington.

Up in Washington, just about everyone was the color of fish stomachs.

And the PE coach didn't wear dark glasses that hid his eyes. Maybe he was inexperienced, but he didn't carry around anything to keep records in, either. And we played
outside
, too.

The kids called him “Coach Mo.” His real name was Mr. Mortenson, but I guess Coach Mo was easier to say. Anyway, it sounded good. It sounded like
anotia
.

During gym class, Coach Mo told a boy whose last name was Sage to take me into the locker room and have Jerry stencil my T-shirt and shorts. All the boys had their last names stenciled in black on their gym clothes, and Jerry was the guy who worked in the locker room, in charge of running the showers, passing out towels, and stenciling stuff.

The kid named Sage had thick black-rimmed glasses and lots of freckles.

“Come on. Follow      me.”

Then he said, “What's       your name?”

“Um. Stark.”

“
That's
your       name?        I thought          Coach Mo called you McWilliams or something.”

“Oh. Stark's my first name. My last name's McClellan.”

“That's       your
first name
?”

“I know. It's weird.”

“Well.             Not really. My first name's Miles, but nobody calls me that. They call me             Ed. My middle name's Edward. What's your         middle name?”

“Alden.”

“Eww.” Miles Edward Sage was obviously not afraid of being honest. “Well, I                  won't tell no one. Stark.”

“A lot of people call me Stick.”

“That's     dumb, too.”

I shrugged.