Still Waters (3 page)

J
anie thought I should do it. It took her a while to get there, though. She just has to talk stuff out. And if it keeps her from gnawing on her cuticles for five seconds, I guess it’s worth it.

So after about thirty minutes of us talking it out—otherwise known as me listening to her worry—she said okay.

She agreed there was more to it than I was being told, but she said, “You’re right, probably not much more.”

And we both knew the money was too good to walk away from.

She told me about something she’d read online at her school library. About this stupid pact that a bunch of girls made in some school, some junior high school, get that, that they would all get pregnant. Janie said it was proof that kids will get into stupid-ass stuff just to have some event going on. A way to pass the time. She said that Michael’s “crew” had money to burn, so they needed something else.

As for us, we needed the money.

“Maybe it could be good for you,” Janie said, but it was more like a question. A hope. “You should hang out with people more.”

Janie and Clay both bang this drum often. The give-people-a-chance thing. Which makes me want to scream.

It’s not like I’m completely antisocial. I just know the truth: Most people suck.

“You’re going to have to think on your feet,” Janie said. “I bet once you’re not so scary, those cheer girls will climb all over you.”

“Fringe benefit.”

She punched my arm. For a fourteen-year-old girl, she can really wallop. She brought her finger to her teeth and started gnawing off slivers of skin. “Just keep your head down and your powder dry.”

“Live to fight another day,” I finished.

“Right. You have to watch out for the girls as much as the boys, you know.”

As if I didn’t.

She scooted around the drywall partition to her side of the room. I heard the soft creak of her bed as she lay down. We quit talking. No doubt she was reading a library book, one of those happily-ever-after stories with a couple on the cover gazing at each other intensely. The kind where any problem’s solved by the last page.

Our two-story unit is in the center of Lincoln Green. One of the oldest buildings here. But since it’s one of two stories, Janie and I pretty much have the upstairs to ourselves, at least at night. My dad only comes to the second bedroom upstairs to sleep when the night has passed and gray light tinges the horizon.

I stared at the permanent moisture stain on the ceiling. Sometimes I see different shapes in it—a witch’s profile or something.

Tonight it just looked like a stain.

I thought about Michael’s cold house and the plush furniture. Imagined Michael and Cyndra cuddled in his room, a king-sized bed for a kid with a vintage Mustang. I imagined me in that bed with Cyndra. Her hot breath in my ear and my hand down her shirt or gliding up her impossibly long leg.

I flipped on my side and tried to think of something else.

The coffee can secretly stashed away—filled with a roll of bills. I imagined the roll doubling in size and tripling in value. The future and some city where Janie and I would live. Me with a job, acting as her legal guardian. Her in school and us living in some other government crap land, but not here. Not with him.

The Plan.

Repetitive clangs of the weight bench and grating laughter sounded outside. Music blared through the unit.

“Keep your head down and your powder dry. Live to fight another day,” I whispered. The mantra Janie came up with when I came back from juvie. She read it in one of her books, and neither of us understood about old-fashioned guns and gunpowder. We just liked the sound of it. Then I stopped talking to most people and started living it. I liked the idea of living to fight another day.

I imagined bloodied knuckles and the wet crunch of his breaking nose. Bending an arm behind his back until it dislocated the shoulder. A kitchen knife twisting into his muscled gut. I fantasized about buying a gun and holding it to his head while he slept. Red mist and blood pooling out of his ear like evil syrup.

The gun in my hand after. Still in my hand. Heavy and promise-filled.

After a while, I slept.

The next morning, Janie and I got dressed and out of the house. Some mornings, one of Dad’s buddies might still be awake or barely conscious, watching infomercials. Today the unit was silent.

I waited with Janie for her bus.

“Remember, you’re supposed to act like you’re with them, so that means eye contact, Jason. Probably talking some or at least making listening sounds,” she said.

“Mmmm.”

“Very funny.”

“I can handle it. Chill.”

Janie had to stretch to push my hair out of my eyes. She smiled. “I almost feel sorry for those cheer girls. They don’t have a chance.”

All I can say is Janie lives in a dreamworld sometimes. But if it makes her happy to imagine me covered in girls, well, I can go along with that. It’s not a bad thing to imagine, as far as things go.

After getting her on the bus to junior high, I walked to Clay’s. On the way I thought about what to say to him. How to explain the job with Michael. Which felt like a betrayal, even if Clay would understand.

I got to the slumpy, concrete steps and jumped up them. Knocked softly, because maybe Clay’s mom was already home sleeping.

“Okay,” Clay said from inside.

After a minute the door opened. Clay nodded, slapped a quick shake, and then he was out the door, locking it and turning around in a fluid motion that was still somehow the opposite of smooth.

“Jason, you’ve got to read this book,” he started, before I could even take a breath. “I think you’d like it. It’s about survival, and it’s about long odds and justice and how do you know the right thing. And how sometimes you know the right thing, but you can’t do it. And there are zombies, and that’s awesome. Okay, so they’re not really zombies, but they really should be, because anything that’s trying to eat you and is humanoid, that’s a zombie, right?”

But he wasn’t asking a question—he was inhaling.

“Sounds great,” I said before he could continue. “I need to talk to you.”

He shot a glance at me, and his steps shortened.

“I took a job,” I said. “It’s a secret, though.”

Clay started shaking his head. The words gathered behind his teeth.

“It’s not drugs,” I said. “It’s for Michael Springfield.” I explained about all of it. Michael picking me up and taking me to his house, Cyndra’s teasing, the thin-ass explanation that it was just to convey an impression to someone.

Clay wasn’t walking anymore. I stopped moving, too. Every now and then a car whooshed by us.

“Fifty dollars
a day
?” he exclaimed. Disbelief that was only for the reality that Michael, or anyone, had that kind of money. “That’s two hundred and fifty dollars a week, and that’s only if you work during school!”

“I know.”

Clay started walking again, slowly. “That’s insane. He’s got more money than sense.”

I nodded.

“What does Jane think?”

My shoulders bounced, shifting the duffle strung across my back. “Take the money and run.”

“Huh.” The sound was of agreement. “Well, it’s not like you can’t handle yourself in a fight. If it comes to that.”

It had been my first thought, as well. That Michael wanted me to fight someone.

We arrived at the crosswalk to the school. Cars were already filling the student parking lot. Somewhere over there was Michael’s cherry Mustang and his sexy girlfriend. Along with the rest of his “crew” and whatever he was really going to be paying me for.

My shoulders bunched tight.

The light changed, but we didn’t cross. Clay thumped my upper arm.

“Well, go make some money, Champ.” Like I was a prizefighter. “If anyone deserves easy money, it’s you.”

Clay stepped forward to the curb.

I fought the urge to pull him back, like he would step out into traffic and get flattened.

“I guess I’ll see you in the gym after school,” he said. “Unless you get another assignment. In which case, go for it.” Clay stepped into the street, long slouchy steps. He never looks both ways. Just trusts that the cars will all stop for him.

I slid a step ahead of him.

Once across the street, Clay slowed down. Gave me a funny look when I waited for him. “Go on, you’ve got a job to do. They’re probably waiting already.” He nodded at the student parking lot.

“Sorry.” The word didn’t feel big enough.

“I can take care of myself.” Grit in his words. Like he knew and resented that I didn’t think he could.

“Fine.” I started taking longer strides. Clay paced me for a final line.

“Try not to flatten them with your charm,” he said. “And remember, use protection. Cheerleaders have STDs, too.”

“Asshat.”

“Dick.” He thumped my back like a blessing, and I walked faster, leaving him behind.

Instead of heading straight to the cafeteria, I cut into the student parking lot.

Someone shouted my name.

“Over here!” Michael and his friends were lounging around showroom-ready cars. “Gotcha breakfast.” Michael held up a bag from Burger King.

If I’m supposed to be Michael’s new best friend, I’d lean against his car.
Girls giggled as I pushed through the crowd. Some guys glared at me. I wondered who was in on whatever game this was.

Who was the show for?

“Here you go, man.” Michael handed me the bag and a drink.

“Thanks.” We slapped a handshake like old friends.

I opened up the breakfast sandwich. It looked good, but I wasn’t so stupid that I didn’t suspect anything. I flipped through its layers and didn’t see anything weird, so I took a bite.

It tasted fine. Little conversations started around me. Heavy music blared through car windows. Some of the girls kept glancing at me and smiling, and since I don’t have Janie’s delusions, I knew something was up. Cyndra caught my eyes and shook her head slightly.

That’s when I knew for sure that there was something wrong with the food. Or the drink.

I finished them both.

When I’d swallowed the last gulp, the hyperjocks started whooping and pounding each other’s shoulders. Some of them reared back, curling their hands in front of their mouths like they’d just witnessed something so funny they had to contort their bodies or they would fall to pieces. Their girls were less animated, hugging their books and giggling.

“Pay up,” Michael said. He held his hand out to Dwight, one of the football studs.

“Screw that.” But Dwight was laughing and digging in his wallet. He handed over a couple of twenties. A few other jocks pressed bills into Michael’s hand. I’d just earned my pay for a few days.

“Hey, man, welcome to the gang, right? No hard feelings?” Dwight held out a hand, making wet snorting sounds that reverberated in his head. He coughed the loogie into his mouth and made a face. “Anyone have a cup? I don’t want to spit this monster on the ground in front of the girls.”

The jocks started pounding each other again.

I handed the Burger King cup to Dwight. “Here, use this one.” I waited until everyone was quiet. “Again.”

The laughing stopped. Everyone held still as if a bee hovered nearby and they were all allergic.

Dwight leaned forward and let the glob of phlegm plop onto the dregs of ice in the cup.

I wanted to fight him. Not because I cared about the first loogie in the drink, but because it looked like he actually would fight me. He wouldn’t be able to back down in front of all his friends.

But then I imagined the coffee can, and I thought of the fifty I’d already earned.

Dwight handed the cup back to me. I hawked and spat into it, snapped the lid back on the cup. “I wonder what we’re having for lunch. You buy lunch, don’t you, Dwight?”

The whole crew erupted at the look on Dwight’s face.

“Burn!” Michael yelled. The jocks howled, turning on a dime from ridiculing me to laughing at their buddy. Several slapped hands with Michael.

“I told you he was cool.” Michael looped an arm over my shoulder and shook me gently. “My man. Psycho Iceman.”

I fought off the urge to push his arm away.

Some of the gang slapped hands with me and told me their names, as if I didn’t know already. Like I was a transfer student they were meeting for the first time instead of someone they’d been ignoring all along.

More cars began to fill the lot. Stereos warred with each other. 

“Sorry about that,” Michael said softly when there was a lull and it seemed no one else was paying attention. “That’s just, like, hazing—now you’re in. You’re cool.”

“Whatever.”

Cyndra picked up her books.

“Time to go to class,” she said. “I think Jason should walk with me, since we’re on the same hall.”

“Sure, Cyn. We hang in the courtyard during break,” Michael told me. He kissed Cyndra and grabbed her ass.

Cyndra walked away. She was moving fast, sending her red-gold hair swinging.

When we were near her classroom, she stopped and whirled. “You knew, didn’t you? I thought you didn’t suspect, but when you saw me shake my head, you knew.”

I shrugged.

“I would never have done that,” Cyndra said, and at first I thought she meant that she would never have played their stupid trick on me. “I would never have taken that.”

I felt my lip curl. “Well, I’m guessing a little girl like you doesn’t have to take much of anything.”

She moved closer, suddenly smiling all sweet and cute, like I was Michael instead of me. “Is that what you think?”

I took a step back. “It’s what I know, princess.”

She was smiling before I called her princess. When I finished, you could strike sparks off her eyes.

She stomped into class. I smiled at the way her hips whipped from side to side. She sat down near two preppy girls I’d seen hovering in the parking lot that morning. They cut me glances and whispered.

I leaned in through the open doorway. “Hey, Cyndra!” I called across the room.

The class went silent. Eyes shifted to me. Even the teacher stopped puttering at her desk.