The Thunder in His Head Page 11

  I aimed the camera and captured the shot. “Hold it,” I said quickly before he could move. “Let me get another one.”

  Six shots later, I finally let him go. “Here, take a look.” I showed him the shots I’d taken. “I’m gonna get these blown up into posters and put ’em on my wall.”

  “You’re crazy.” He pulled out his own cell phone. “Now it’s my turn. Come here.” He looped an arm around my neck, pulling me down so we were cheek to cheek. He held up the phone and snapped the two of us. Right away, he showed me the picture.

  His smile was open and sweet. My grin, understandably, was ear to ear.

  “We look good together, don’t we?” said Dwight.

  “Hell yeah.”

  He leaned in and kissed me again. When he started to pull away, I grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him back.

  “This could be habit-forming,” I groaned, pushing him away at last. “Go. Get out of here before I do something to get myself in trouble again.”

  He gave one last wave, slipped his phone into his pocket, and left, closing the door behind him. And I breathed out in one long, tremulous sigh.

  Stuffed and tired, I was ready for a nap but decided it would be best to go ahead and catch up on the reading in my World History and English classes. The swelling was down in my right hand, and it would most likely be back to school for me tomorrow. I grabbed my backpack from my room and headed for the screened porch.

  The door to Mom’s home office was open. That space, along with her bedroom, was off-limits to me. Naturally, finding the office door open as I made my way down the hall, I was compelled to stick my head in and take a look around. Mom wasn’t as neat as Dad, and the place looked in need of a good organizing. She did a lot of reading on her computer and iPad, but she preferred reading off actual paper. There were plenty of books and magazines scattered around, most of them open, the pages dog-eared with passages highlighted in yellow.

  There was a folded slip of paper lying atop one of the magazines. Even at a glance, I could tell it was a doctor’s prescription. A little twinge of apprehension shot deep into my stomach. Putting down my backpack, I went into the room and picked up the paper.

  The writing was the usual physician’s chicken scratch. I could have been looking at a recipe for penguin soup. There was only one word that I could make out: PreNexa.

  I pulled out my cell phone, went to the Internet, and did a search, holding my breath while the results came up. To my relief, I discovered that PreNexa had nothing to do with cancer, heart disease, mental illness, or any other horrible condition. It was a prenatal vitamin.

  Prenatal vitamin? What in the world would Mom need with prenatal vitamins?

  Oh.

  Oh, crap.

  Thirteen

  THE next morning, walking up to the front of the school with my backpack over my shoulder, I saw Chain sitting alone in our usual spot, head down, knees bouncing. I knew right away that something was wrong with him.

  Concerned, I quickened my pace to get to him. Ty came out of nowhere, intercepting me before I had gone three steps.

  He looked ticked. “I need to talk to you,” he said tightly.

  Ty was sort of shoving me with his shoulder, guiding me toward the west side of the building as we walked. That pissed me off. Picking up my pace, I moved out of range, hurrying along in front of him. “Yo, what’s up?” I asked irritably.

  He didn’t answer until we rounded the corner of the building. “What’s up is those damn lies you’ve been spreading,” he snapped, his voice an angry whisper. “You can’t just go around saying crap like that—”

  “Crap like what? What the hell are you talking about, man?”

  The anger in Ty’s face flared even brighter. If he had been just a little bigger, I think he would have popped me upside the head then. “Don’t play me, Kyle. You know what I’m talking about. You’ve been telling people that your mom caught you and me screwing around at her house. Why would you—”

  “Whoa, wait a second. I never said anything like that. I told this one friend of mine that my mom caught your boy Dwight undressing me in the living room. That’s all.”

  “That’s not what people are saying.”

  “Well, people got it wrong. Come on, man. You know how it is with rumors around here.”

  Ty looked as if he were going to start banging his head against the brick wall. “God. This is bad. This is so bad.”

  “Don’t sweat it, dude. I’ll take care of this right now.” I stepped around to the front of the building, where maybe a hundred kids were gathering, some in the midst of being dropped off by their parents. “Hey!” I waited a second or two until they all turned to look at me. “For the record, my mom didn’t catch me with Ty Simmons! It was another dude she caught me with! If you’re gonna tell my life story, dammit, get it right! Okay?”

  Ty grabbed me by the arm and yanked me back. “Hey, careful with the paw,” I said, pulling my bandaged right hand clear.

  “You think that’s gonna change anything?” he asked. “You probably just made it worse. Now they’ll be talking about how crazy you are.”

  “Man, I don’t give a flip what those idiots say about me.”

  “What about this stuff?” Ty was digging furiously down into a pocket on the outside of his backpack. He came up with a handful of torn, folded slips of notebook paper. “Why’d you leave all these notes in Carla’s locker?”

  Okay, this was getting bizarre. A weird, crazed yip of laughter jumped from my mouth. “Are you on drugs or something?”

  “You think this is funny? Look at this mess.” He shoved the notes against my chest, forcing me to clutch them with my left hand. “All this stuff you’re telling her about how I’m not really into her and that she should leave me alone. She’s been getting them for days, but she never said anything to me about it until word started going around about you and me having sex.”

  I looked over the notes. “Ty, this isn’t my handwriting. And the notes aren’t signed. What would make Carla think these are from me?”

  “She says there’s something about the way you look at me.”

  The laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. “Aw, come on. Dude, no offense, but you are so not my type. I don’t ‘look’ at you any differently than I do anybody else. You know that. Your girlfriend’s full of crap. Sorry.”

  “This is freaking me out.” Ty took the notes from me and stuffed them back into his backpack. “Carla is so upset. She won’t even let me touch her now.”

  “You want me to talk to her? Because I will be happy to set the record straight.”

  “She’s not gonna listen to you.” He turned and hurried off without another word, heading around to the main entrance.

  I stood there for a few moments, wishing he hadn’t taken the notes back. I’d recognized the handwriting: it was Jill’s. Her leaving those notes for Carla was so pathetic it made my chest ache.

  I walked back to our spot at the main entrance. Chain was gone. I waited until it was time for homeroom, but Chain didn’t come back and Jill never showed.

  “MR. MANNING?”

  “Uh… yeah? I mean, yes, ma’am?”

  “What relevant fact about the Hittites did Miss Perry omit from her otherwise excellent summary?”

  “Oh. They… they lived in what is now Turkey.”

  “That was the first thing Miss Perry mentioned.” Mrs. Campbell hardened her gaze at me. “Weren’t you listening?”

  “No, ma’am. Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “I see. Well, you obviously need time for your thoughts. Will an hour in detention today be enough?”

  I kept myself from cursing at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I HAD waited for Jill outside her Spanish class. One of the guys in the class told me she hadn’t been to school all week. Between fourth and fifth periods, I went to the auditorium, where the music teacher held band class. I caught up with Chain just as he was making his way to the stage with
his trumpet.

  “Hey, how’s it going, man?” I said.

  Chain turned his head, gave me a quick glance, and looked away. He stopped in the aisle. “Hey, Kyle.”

  “You know what’s up with Jill? Some dude in her Spanish class told me she’s missed school every day this week.”

  His hangdog expression became pained. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again as if he’d thought better of it. After a long pause, he whispered, reluctantly, “She’s in the hospital.”

  “What?”

  “I kept calling her cell phone Monday when she didn’t show up, but she never picked up. After I got home that day, I called again, and this time her brother Eddie answered. He told me that their dad had taken her to the hospital because she’d swallowed a bunch of pills.”

  I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink. I just stared at Chain, my mouth hanging open.

  “I’m sorry,” Chain mumbled. He gave me a worried glance over his shoulder. “Don’t tell anybody, okay? That she’s in the hospital. Eddie made me promise that I wouldn’t tell.”

  He started away. I grabbed his arm. “Wait,” I said. “Why would she do something like that?”

  Chain hesitated, his mouth trembling. Then he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and he hurried toward the stage.

  “TIME’S up, Kyle. Get out of here.”

  Surprised, I looked up at Mr. Barnes, the teacher who was in charge of detention today. The hour had gone by faster than expected. I had a lot on my mind, and I spent that time pondering everything that was bothering me, but my thoughts were no clearer now than they had been when I walked into the study hall after school. I got up without a word and walked out, leaving behind four guys who were serving longer sentences than mine.

  It was strange to see the halls so empty. The place had an otherworldly feel. That added to the odd sense I’d had all day that I was floating outside my life. Today was the first day of basketball practice. I was still expected to attend, even though Mom had already called Coach Weyland and explained that I couldn’t actually work out because of my injured hand. Detention took precedence over practice, however, and Coach always made sure players who missed practice because of a detention paid for it at the next practice session. That was something else for me to look forward to.

  Chain was sitting on the steps outside the main entrance. He turned when he heard me come through the door.

  I wasn’t in the mood for company. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I had band practice,” Chain replied. He stood up, falling in step with me as I walked down the steps. “We just got finished a few minutes ago. I saw you in detention, so I waited.”

  “If you’re looking to talk, man, find somebody else.” He had the little guilty look he gets every time he makes a mess of something, and I knew he wanted to unload about whatever it was. But we lived in opposite directions, and I wasn’t about to stand around on some corner while he unburdened his soul.

  Chain refused to be put off. He followed as I reached the street and turned toward home. “I’m sorry, Kyle, about getting so mad at you last Friday. But you know how Jill is. Every time she eats something, she freaks and has to walk, run, or do something to burn it off. Friday, just before you got there, she ate an apple. Not even a minute after she finished, she was trying to get me to jog around the track with her. I talked her out of it. And then you came along and—”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. How was I supposed to know she was trying to purge calories?”

  “I’m not blaming you. I’m saying that I’m sorry. I got mad at you for doing something that hurt Jill. And then I went and did something that hurt her even more.”

  I stopped and turned to him. He looked smaller and more vulnerable than I had ever seen him. “What did you do?”

  He pulled a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his blazer and handed it to me. “Monday morning, I put a copy of that in Jill’s locker.”

  I unfolded the paper. It was a picture of Ty and Carla, arms wrapped around each other and kissing deeply in one of the hallways at Pemberton with crowds of students passing around them. Below the picture, in the awkward, left-leaning script I’d seen before, was the message: He doesn’t want you. He never will.

  I crumpled the paper in my fist. “You’re the one who’s been leaving all those crappy notes in Jill’s locker?” I snapped.

  Chain flinched. “I was trying to get through to her. You can’t talk to her about her problems, she gets so freaked out. This was the only way I knew to get through to her. So I took that picture, printed it, and left it for her. I was watching when she pulled it out of her locker Monday morning. She… she started crying and ran out, ran out of the building. And then she took those pills and had to go to the hospital—”

  “Chain, that was so stupid of you!”

  He flinched again, stepping back from me. “I didn’t mean for her to hurt herself, Kyle. You gotta believe me.”

  I stepped toward him, both fists clenched, shaking with anger, about to cuss him out. The look in his eyes stopped me. He was afraid and ashamed, hating himself for what he’d done. He seemed so small. I couldn’t bring myself to add to the pain he was already feeling.

  I wadded the paper into a ball and dropped it at his feet. Then I turned and ran from him.

  I COULD hear their voices as I came through the front door.

  “Kyle, is that you?” Mom’s voice was all light and breezy.

  Dang. I hurried across the living room, trying to make it upstairs to safety.

  Mom came into the hall as I was going up the stairs. “There you are,” she said. “Reece and Jami are having dinner with us tonight. Where’s Ty? Reece said he was supposed to walk home with you. Is he still at basketball practice?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, everything’s ready. Get changed and wash your hands and come join us in the dining room.”

  I couldn’t stand to be around anyone right now, least of all Reece. I felt twisted inside. “Mom, I can’t. I’ve got homework.”

  “You have to eat, son. The homework can wait an hour.”

  “I can eat later. Or you can bring a plate to my room.”

  Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Kyle, we have guests—”

  “They’re not my guests! I didn’t invite ’em.”

  Mom stepped closer to me, her hands going to her hips. “Young man, regardless of which one of us invites them,” she said through her teeth in a low, angry voice, “people who visit this house are guests of our family. And they are to be treated as such. Reece wants to see you, and I need for you to keep Jami company.”

  My own temper was flaring. “Mom, the girl is twelve. What would I have in common with a sixth grader?”

  “A lot, since you’re behaving like one! Do as you’re told. Get upstairs, get changed, wash your hands, and come down to dinner. Now!”

  I went upstairs and into my room. As angry as I was, I knew better than to stomp or slam doors. That would just bring Mom raging after me and get me grounded on top of everything else. I wanted to stand in the middle of the floor and scream out every rotten thing I was feeling. Instead, I sucked it down, held it all in. I stripped off my school uniform and went into my bathroom to wash up, using a soapy towel to clean around the bandages on my right hand.

  When I was done, I put on jeans and a polo shirt and my best loafers and I went down to the dining room. And I smiled and made small talk with Mom, Reece, and Jami, who looked like a smaller, prettier version of Ty. She was shy and seemed to be on the verge of tears every time I spoke to her. Worst of all, I sat and watched Reece smile lovingly at my mother, wishing I could know what it was like to have him wrap his big arms around me and tell me everything would be okay.

  LATER, after Reece and Jami left, I stood over the basin in my bathroom while Mom cleaned the wound on my right hand with hydrogen peroxide and wrapped it in fresh bandages.

  “You were great with Jami this evenin
g,” Mom said as she worked. “She started at a new school this year, and she hasn’t made a lot of friends. You drew her out and got her to open up a lot just now.”

  Yeah. That was my overriding purpose in life, helping repressed middle schoolers come out of their shells. Maybe I should hang out a shingle. I remained both sullen and silent.

  Mom sighed. “Kyle, I’ve been thinking about what you said, that I’m with Reece one way or another every day. I don’t blame you for feeling neglected. You and I don’t really spend much time together these days. When we’re home, you’re usually working on something in your room and I’m researching or writing a column. I’m going to talk to your dad about swapping off a weekend now and again so that you and I can have time to hang out. Just you and me. How does that sound?”

  I had to give her an answer, but I couldn’t give her the honest one, which was that I thought the idea was pointless. Whether we spent a weekend or an entire year together, she’d never tell me a thing about what she was going through. I shrugged. “So, what would we do when we ‘hang out’?”

  “Whatever we want. See a movie. Ride the bike trails at Shelby Farms. Go out to lunch. Talk.”

  I looked at her pointedly. “Talk? You and me?” That would be headline news: Lela Manning Opens Up to Worried Son.

  “Sure.”

  “As in, you actually telling me stuff, instead of me just talking all about what’s going on with me.”

  She frowned at me, a small, suspicious smile forming on her mouth. “Of course.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Kyle. Is there something you want to ask me?”

  “Yeah, Mama. Here’s my question. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  She looked down, focusing as she taped over the gauze she’d carefully wrapped around my hand. “No, not particularly, son.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Finished, she tossed the used cotton balls into the trash can and began placing the gauze, tape, scissors, and other stuff back into the first-aid kit. “There’s so much going on in your life now. You have basketball and that charity work you’ll be doing with the Civics Club this year. You have to start looking at colleges. You’re dating. That can be a lot of pressure. You can talk to me about anything, you know. I want to know how you’re doing.”