Swim the Fly (20 page)

“You’re going to die, Twig!” Tony roars.

I don’t doubt this, but I sprint anyway. It’s pure instinct.

I use the party guests as obstacles. I dodge in and out of everyone. Around this girl. Past that guy. In between this group. Sidestepping that couple. Some people reel back, raising their beers out of harm’s way. Others barely even give me a look.

“Excuse me,” I say. “Excuse me. Just need to . . . Thank you.”

I can tell by the “Heys!” and “What the hells?!” that Tony Grillo is whipping like a tornado through the crowd. I imagine bodies flying through the air as he tosses them aside like dirty socks.

I wanted to head for the front of the house, but somehow I’ve ended up at the back. The sliding glass door is stuck. I pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. I rattle it like crazy but still nothing.

“Come on.”

“Door’s locked, my nezzy.” It’s some guy wearing a wool hat and track suit. He smiles at me, his eyes puffy and half closed. He flicks the latch and the door glides open.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Ain’t nathan, dawg.” He winks and shoots me with a finger gun.

I bolt outside, swiveling my head back and forth, searching for a place to hide. I start toward the play set, but I’m instantly jerked back.

“Forget it, Twig.” I feel the weight of Tony’s hands on
my shoulders at the same time I hear his voice. He spins me around. We’re the same height, but it feels like I’m looking up at a basketball player. “You like to peep, peeper?”

I shake my head hard. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t see anything.”

“You think Kelly goes for pervs? Is that it? You think she’d like to know how you hide in closets?”

“It was a mistake.”

“Damn right it was a mistake. Your last one.” Tony squeezes my shoulders up into my ears and lifts me off the ground. “How about we see how good you swim the fly, huh? I’d like to see what I’m up against.” He grins out of the snarly scarred side of his mouth.

I want to plead my case, but Tony’s already thundering me toward the skanky pool like a SmackDown wrestler. The party crowd divides, stepping back like I’m contaminated. My one comforting thought is that Kelly is not here to witness my humiliation.

“Tony! Stop being such an asshole. Put him down.” It’s Valerie storming toward us. Great. So much for Kelly not finding out about this.

“Stay out of it, scrag,” Tony barks.

If everyone in the party wasn’t watching, they are now.

I shut my eyes and brace for the cold and the slime.

“Tony! Cut the shit!” I hear Valerie scream this as I go soaring through the air.

It seems like I’m falling forever. I still haven’t opened
my eyes, and I expect the splash to come way before it does. The smell hits before the water. It’s sort of fishy. Kind of like a five-day-dead salmon left out in the sun. I wonder why I didn’t smell it before.

When I finally land headfirst in the pool, it’s almost a relief. Because now I’m wet and covered in gunge and the suspense is over. Plus it’s warmer than I had imagined, so there’s that.

For a split second I think that I ought to just let myself drown because, really, it would be easier than having to deal with the load of crap I’ve gotten myself into. But then, in the same instant, I think of all the things I’d miss if I wasn’t around. Like the next sixty Stanley Cup finals, and maybe actually
having
sex someday instead of imagining it, and all the laughs and good times with Coop and Sean, and Grandpa Arlo, and Mom, and even, believe it or not, my brother.

And it’s too bad that I’ve come to this realization now because that’s when I feel a smack to my temple. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the planter, but it could just as easily have been the tricycle. And really, it doesn’t matter, because either way, I’m over and out.

THERE ARE SEVERAL THINGS
I didn’t know about being unconscious. First, it’s not like sleep. You don’t dream. Really, there’s nothing. I want to say there’s blackness, but that doesn’t quite capture the feeling. It’s more like you disappear for a certain period. Could be a minute. Could be a day. But there’s no sense of passing time. Which is weird.

And second, when you finally wake up, you’re very disoriented. So much so that you may even think Tony Grillo is trying to make out with you.

Everything’s blurry, but I swear I see an out-of-focus Tony coming toward me with his mouth open. There is no way I want my first kiss — or any kiss, for that matter — to be with Tony Grillo. I try to back away, but I feel like I’m pressed against a wall. Tony puts his lips over mine.

But he’s not kissing me. He’s pinching my nose and blowing air into my mouth. Down my throat.

I feel my stomach convulse and I cough, and then I turn my head and puke all over Tony’s fancy polo shirt.

I’m instantly aware that I’m in Ronnie Hull’s backyard. Lying on his lawn. Surrounded by a group of kids. Tony Grillo is kneeling beside me. His hair is wet, and his shirt is spray-painted with half-digested fish sticks and Tater Tots.

“Fuck me,” Tony says, clambering to his feet. His arms are wide like he’s hugging an invisible beach ball.

“Sorry,” I croak. I sit up and wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist. My head
wah-wahs.
My skull feels like someone took a bat to it.

Tony glares at me. “You weren’t supposed to drown, loser. You sure aren’t much of a swimmer.”

Everyone laughs. But it’s more of a relieved laughter than anything else.

Tony points hard at me. “You owe me, shit head.” With that, he turns and stalks off.

“Are you all right, Matt?” It’s Valerie. I didn’t realize she was there beside me. She brushes my wet hair out of my face.

I nod. I have to force myself to swallow. “Fine,” I say. My throat is raw, like I swallowed a handful of razors. “Just sort of soaking wet.”

“You’re lucky Tony’s a lifeguard,” Valerie says.

“Yeah,” I manage to rasp out. “He’s a real hero.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I’m okay.” I touch my temple and wince. Not so much from the pain but from the shock of the golf ball that seems to be sticking out of my head.

“You need ice,” Valerie says. “Let’s get you to the table.”

Valerie leans over and helps me to my feet. It’s a struggle, as my burning legs aren’t cooperating. I feel the water trickle down my back.

Valerie leads me over to the table by the pool and gently lowers me into a chair.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, dashing off.

The crowd of people has dispersed. I guess it was interesting at first to see if I might die, but now that I’m just some kid with a lump on his head, it’s not so fascinating anymore.

I’m trying to focus. Everything feels so foggy. I’d kind of like to go home, but I should wait until Valerie comes back with the ice. I’m sure she wouldn’t be doing any of this if she knew what really happened. Stupid Coop and his stupid ideas. I’m sure this will all get back to Kelly, and if dressing up like a girl doesn’t completely turn her off to me, then the Peeping Tom act should seal my coffin.

I’m rubbing my closed eyelids, trying to get all these scenarios out of my mind, when Valerie returns with a plastic grocery bag half-filled with ice.

“Here.” Valerie places the bag gently on my head. “It’ll bring down the swelling.”

I smile. “Thanks, Nurse Valerie.”

“It’s
Dr.
Valerie,” she says, sitting down next to me. “Dr. Devereaux, actually. At least it will be someday.”

“You want to be a doctor?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s cool. I have no idea what I want to be.”

“Oh, really? I thought you wanted to be a gardener.” She laughs. I can’t believe she remembers that stupid quiz.

“Hey. You only gave me
five
choices. Besides, I changed my answer to teacher. Even though I don’t really want to do that, either.”

“What
are
you interested in?”

I try to think but nothing comes to mind.

“I don’t know,” I say. “When I was, like, ten, I saw
Rocky
on TV, and for about a week I thought I wanted to be a boxer.”

This makes Valerie giggle.

“I know. I’m not exactly heavyweight material.” I lift the ice to show my injury as proof. “At the time, it seemed like a good idea. I drank raw eggs and chased my cat around the house to try and get my reflexes in shape.”

“Raw eggs can give you salmonella,” Valerie says.

“Yeah, well, Rocky did it, so I figured that’s what boxers do.”

“You’re pretty gullible.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay. I bet you didn’t know that
gullible
isn’t in the dictionary?”

“Seriously?”

Valerie smiles. “You see? Gullible.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.” I laugh weakly. “I wasn’t feeling like enough of an idiot already.”

“Any time,” Valerie says. Her cell phone rings. She digs it out of her little green purse and looks at who’s calling. “My dad’s here. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? We could take you.”

“I’m okay, really. But thanks.”

“How about a lift home, then?”

“I’m good. I’ve got a ride with Coop and Sean.” As
if.
I can’t believe they bailed on me like that. Bastards.

“All right, then.” Valerie stands, looking very serious. “But I’m going to call you tomorrow, anyway. Just to make sure you’re okay. What’s your number?”

I give her my cell number, and she plugs it into her phone.

“Keep that ice on for twenty minutes.”

“I will.”

Valerie waves, then turns and walks away.

I wait a minute before hauling myself up from the table. I keep the ice pressed to my head as I hobble my way around the side of Ronnie Hull’s house. I could call my mother, I guess, but it’s only a few miles, and I could use the walk home to clear the cobwebs from my brain.

MY EYES ARE OPEN,
but I stay in bed, lying on my side, staring at the putty blue wall of my bedroom. I have an apocalyptic headache that’s radiating from the lump on my skull.

Last night I dreamed that I was over at Coop’s house eating dinner but my teeth were loose and they kept falling out. I was really embarrassed by it, and I kept hiding the teeth in my napkin. It was pretty disturbing.

I run my tongue over my teeth now just to make sure they’re still all there and solidly embedded.

Coop and Sean both left messages on my voice mail while I was walking home last night, wanting to know if I made it out okay. So, even though I’m still a little ticked off at them, at least they didn’t completely forget about me.

My cell phone vibrates on my dresser. Last time I checked the clock it was ten thirty. Anybody who knows me knows that I sleep till noon on weekends.

And then I remember Valerie.

I throw my covers off and leap from my bed. My still-sore body grouses, and my brain slams against the inside of my skull. I have to steady myself as I grab the phone and flip it open. Valerie’s name is on the screen.

“Hello?” I say, hanging on to the dresser for support.

But there’s no answer. It’s gone over to voice mail. Which is just as well. I’d rather not start answering questions about why Tony was so pissed at me. Once Tony and Mandy spill the beans about me hiding in the closet, I’ll be as welcome as a hernia check from Jack Frost.

My bed calls to me. The tangle of the covers, the soft down pillow. But I’m already up. Might as well face the day.

I pick a few shirts off my bedroom floor and give them the sniff test. The only one that seems relatively clean is my bright yellow
BIG BONE LICK STATE PARK, KENTUCKY
T-shirt that Cooper got me for my birthday last year. He thought it was the funniest thing ever.

I slog out into the hall, toward the bathroom. As I look over at Pete’s closed bedroom door, my insides tighten up. It’s like a bear trap ready to snap on my leg. He won’t be back for another two weeks, but I don’t think I could make the accident look convincing even if I had two years.

After a half-gallon pee and a splash of water on my face, I notice I have a zit the size of Mount Vesuvius on my chin. My first instinct is to pop it, but Mom’s words
echo in my head. “Leave it alone or you’ll get an infection. It could disfigure you.” It takes some willpower because there’s something very satisfying about the bursting snap of a whitehead. Instead, I use the cranberry acne mud mask that Mom bought me last week from a kiosk in the mall. It’s supposed to draw out the oil and pus naturally. Or at least that’s what it says on the label. I slather the thick red goop all over my face. It smells like a fruit cocktail and feels cold on my skin. When I’m finished, I look like some kind of crazed, masked wrestler. I growl at my reflection and do a Mr. Universe pose.