Candor (9 page)

I hope they skipped the questions and took him straight to the Listening Room. I hope they stuffed him with so many Messages, there isn’t room for anything else. If I’m lucky he’s forgotten all about me.

“The boy needed some family time. He’ll be back to school on Monday.”

Does family time mean the Listening Room—good for me, bad for Sherman? Or does it mean snuggling with Mommy and telling her all my secrets?

Dad casts his line out again, straight and strong. The lure drops without a sound. It’s like the water just opened up and swallowed.

My cast stops short, with a splash. So much for casual and in control. I’m probably chasing the fish straight to Dad’s hook.

I thought I’d feel better when I knew what happened to Sherman. But now there are fewer questions, more fear.

I feel like I’m supposed to say something. Should I be happy he’ll be back? Or am I not supposed to care? For once the Messages are silent—just when I need them.

“You ever talk with the Golub boy?” Dad asks.

“Just … derivatives. Math stuff.” Like the hefty chunk of change he deposited in my offshore account.

No refunds. No matter what.

“Things could have been different.” Dad turns his head and looks at me. His hand keeps turning the reel.

Am I supposed to apologize? Agree? I wait for a Message to tell me what to do.

“You’re a leader. A boy like that would follow your example. He’d do what you told him he should,” Dad says.

A laugh fills my mouth. I press my lips shut to keep it silent.

“No need to be modest. We both know you’re my clone.” Dad chuckles and reaches his hand up toward my head. But when I meet his eyes, his arm drops to his side.

I try to transform the hysterical laughter inside into a proud smile. My lips tremble with the effort. “I wish I could help.”

Other than shutting down my highly profitable, intensely annoying-to-my-father business. That won’t happen.

“You will help.” His voice is so certain. “There’s another new one. Antonia Silva. She’s your age.”

Nia. I feel a drop of sweat roll down my spine. “The name is kind of familiar.”

Did someone tell him about the chalk and the sidewalks? Is this another test?

“Girl’s not adjusting well. Her parents are worried. They came by my office yesterday when they heard about the Golub boy.”

I “mm-hmm” and hold my hand over my eyes to look out at the pond. Like I can see fish leaping in the distance.

“I told them you’d help.”

I look at him. He’s still watching me. I keep my face blank. “Um. How?”

“You’re her new best friend. Wherever you go, she goes. You’ll keep her straight.”

The best thing for him would be to keep Nia far away from me. It would be the best thing for me, too.

“I think Mandi might be upset,” I tell him. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Give her a few days,” he says. “She’ll get over it.”

I think about the day I found Nia drawing in the park, when Mandi found us. She didn’t seem so happy then. Things haven’t been exactly cozy between us since the sidewalk thing, either.

I love this idea. And hate it. Safer to stick with the hating part. “I have midterms coming up.”

“Find a way to make it work.”

“And college applications. Plus all my chores. I wouldn’t want to stop doing my chores. It’s important to help one’s parents.” I get a perverse pleasure of spitting out his Messages when it’s inconvenient for him.

But it rolls off him. “This girl needs a good example. And it’s going to be you.” He casts his line out again, confident and smooth.

Who’s going to be my good example? Who’s going to show me how to ignore how she makes me feel? How I want to do stupid, dangerous things when it comes to her?

Anger washes over me. That would have been Winston’s job. But he screwed up. Everyone knows safety comes first. Even people who aren’t brainwashed.

I should be happy. I’m safe, at least for today. Sherman didn’t spill. Dad thinks I’m his adoring protégé.

I sigh. Shrug my shoulders. “I guess I can.”

“Just don’t get attached,” he says. “Everyone leaves eventually.”

He says it all the time. But he forgets: I’ve never left. Don’t I count? Even if I’m the only one?

Winston was gone first. He snapped his neck, flipping off the diving board at my tenth birthday party. Dad had told him not to. But he did it anyway. Winston was never good at listening.

They wouldn’t let me look. I stood by the cupcakes, my back to the pool. Chocolate frosting, with sugar cowboy hats, melting in the sun. Secretly I’d thought they looked babyish. I stuck my finger in one and licked it.

It tasted like sand.

The paramedics rushed him away with a siren and blinking lights. They acted like it was an emergency. Brought him to the hospital. But I heard people talking at the wake. Winston died before they pulled him from the water.

That was before Candor. Mom didn’t leave until after we moved here. She only stayed a few months.

Don’t go looking for me
. She wrote it on the back of a grocery store receipt. I found it under my pillow.

She didn’t write
I’ll miss you
. Or
Sorry to be doing this
.

But I’ve never left. I’ve always been the good son. And now I’m the only one.

Dad’s all I’ve got, too. He’s the only one I trust. I don’t like what he does. But he’s easy to predict.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I tell him.

“I never do.” He gives me a smile. And for a second I feel like I am good. I am exactly who my father wants me to be. Sometimes I want that.

“I’ll invite her over for flash cards,” I say. “And sit with her at lunch.”

“Good start.” Then his line jerks. “A bite!” He starts reeling.

It’s eighteen or nineteen inches, with beautiful gray-green scales. “You got a big one,” I say.

“Even the fish listen to me.” He grins and holds the line up high.

I watch the gills flap in and out. My stomach clenches. I think, for a second, that I’m going to puke.

“What a beaut.” He turns around and waves. Unbelievable. There’s the tour bus, creeping past us. Some of the tourists cheer.

It was for real. This isn’t a trap. I’m just a prop for the tour bus.

I reach for the fish. “It can’t breathe.”

“I’m done anyway.” He hands me the pole and heads for the bus.

I slide the hook out of the fish’s lip. Then I kneel and set the fish in the water. It stays in place. Waves its tail once, twice.

“Welcome to Candor!” I can hear Dad from here. He’ll climb on the bus next. Invite people to stay a bit. Get some cold water in our stunning model homes.

The fish twists its whole body.

“Go,” I whisper.

One more flex of its tail and it’s gone.

It’s not impossible to escape my father. It just takes a little help.

SHE SHOWS UP that night.

The doorbell rings when I’m scraping the pan clean of burned fish bits. Dad checks his watch. “She’s late. Work on that with her.”

“With who?” I ask. But he’s already gone to the front hall.

At first I think it must be an outsider. Saturday is family night in Candor. Some people go bowling. Others head to a G-rated movie. For most families, it’s just another night of brainwashed bliss, never fighting or wanting to be somewhere else. For me and Dad, it’s the only time we sit in the same room without a meal involved.

All the magic happens at the dining room table. Dad works on his laptop. I sit across the table from him. Either I do my homework or write a scholarship essay.

We don’t talk; it’s family night, not miracle night. But sometimes Dad gets crazy and makes hot-air popcorn. No salt, no butter, but it beats dry toast.

“Oscar, you’ve got a visitor,” Dad says.

I look over my shoulder. There’s Nia, dressed in a gauzy white shirt and tiny khaki shorts. My breathing goes unsteady.

“I know you just love homework.” She drops a huge book bag on the floor. “So I brought you mine.”

Dad chuckles and shakes his head. “Now, Antonia. Oscar can’t do your homework for you.”

She fixes him with a stare. “Everyone has a price.”

“You’re funny, very funny.” He pats her on the head like a dog. She ducks the second pat and steps away from him.

I want her here. Dad wants her here. But the Messages are pushing in.
Saturday night is family night. Save your weekends for family time. Make your family a priority
.

Can’t fight all of them all of the time. My brain forces out the words. “Why now? It’s family night.”

Something flickers across Nia’s face. Whether it’s hurt or amusement, I can’t tell.

I clench my hands into fists and force them back.
I control the Messages
.

“Everyone in Candor is our extended family.” Dad lifts his hand as if to pat her head again, then thinks twice. He jams his hand in his pocket instead. “And she needs some focused studying time.”

Nia lets out a big sigh. “No Scrabble for me tonight.”

I can’t tell if she’s sad or not. My eyes drift down to the white gauze of her shirt. Not as see-through as you’d imagine. Or hope.

“Go get your schoolbooks,” Dad says. “I’ll get Nia set up in the dining room.”

This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for Nia. Doing homework with my father watching isn’t going to lead to anything entertaining. But it’s better than a regular Saturday night. So I grab my calc and chem books and hurry back downstairs.

When I get there, Dad’s standing at the front door. He’s holding a small green paper bag with brown handles. The Candor crest is on the side.

“I have a delivery to make,” he says.

Only one thing goes in those bags: custom booster music. Dad never lets anyone else deliver them. He likes to jaw with the parents for a while when he drops them off. Then they play the music together. I think he likes to watch kids change, right in front of him.

He could be gone for hours.

Still, it must be pretty urgent to interrupt family night. I wonder if it’s Sherman. But what do I care? He just gave me a solo Saturday night with Nia.

It’s terrifying. And I can’t wait.

“See you later,” I say.

“Be good, son,” he says. His usual good-bye.

Nia’s got a book open on the table. She’s highlighting it yellow. It makes her look like a Candor girl chasing a perfect GPA. For a second, she reminds me of Mandi.

Then she shows me the book with a twinkly smile. “Look. My new masterpiece.”

There’s a yellow checkerboard pattern across the two pages. I don’t think it has anything to do with the exciting chapter about the nature of savanna climates.

“Never destroy school property,” I say. Or my brain says. Another Message, flying out of my mouth.

Her smile fades. She sets the book down and flips the page. “You missed a good time in the sprinklers,” she says.

An image of her dancing naked in the water pops in my head. But even my imagination refuses to put me there next to her.

“You’re mad.” I worried that she would be. Then I told myself I shouldn’t care.

But I do.

“Not mad, not surprised,” she says.

“Fine. Sorry. I just had to go.”

“I stayed there for an hour,” she says. “The sprinklers never turned off.”

A fresh swell of guilt fills my gut. I could have switched the sprinklers off, at least. Or told Mandi to do it.

“But then I peeked under my boot. It was all gone. Without me even knowing, it washed away.” She streaks her highlighter in a new pattern on the book.

I don’t know what to say. I sit in the chair across from her. Pick up her earth-science book. It’s the easiest science course Candor offers.

“They’re making me repeat a bunch of stuff,” she says. “I pretty much missed the last two years of high school.”

“Where were you?” Although I pretty much know.

“Places you’ve never been.” She tries to smile, like it’s a joke. But her lips tremble. She stares at the table.

“I could help you catch up,” I offer.

“You’d have to keep me awake first.” Her smile makes my mouth go dry.

“I … could try.” Weak, Oscar. Weak.

“Was tonight your idea?” she asks. “Did you make your father do this?”

“No. But he told me we have to hang out.” Great. Make her think you don’t want to be with her, Oscar. Can I say anything right tonight?

Her eyebrows flick up and down. “So you’re the positive influence my mother was talking about.”

“That’s me. Pretty ironic, huh?”

She shrugs. “Not really. Seems like you’re pretty good at being good.”

“I’m only good when it’s useful.” I toss the book on the floor. “Screw this.”

“Okay, then.” She slaps her book shut and leans back in the chair. Crosses her arms and stares at me.

“What?”

“What next, rebel boy?”

“Um.” I can think of a few things I’ve done with plenty of girls. But none of them seem right with her. I don’t know where to start.

“How long until he’s back?” she asks.

“Hours, if we’re lucky.” Twenty minutes if we’re not.

“Then let’s start with the grand tour.” She slides her palm over the glossy table. Her fingers leave streaks. “I want to see opulence.”