Mad Skills (11 page)

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Authors: Walter Greatshell

BOOK: Mad Skills
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They even had a chance to perform their dog and pony show in public, on the open-air stage of their front porch, before a select audience of reporters and TV cameras. And the act must have been convincing, because the resulting news stories all presented them as exactly the sort of close-knit clan they were pretending to be. Everybody in the world called with congratulations and support. So it must be true.
All that grinning was exhausting, however, and when it was over, Maddy compensated by spending her last few days of freedom lounging on the couch. From time to time, there would be the irritating
thud thud thud
of some kid’s car stereo passing outside, or a loud motorcycle setting off all the car alarms.
It got her thinking about a magnetohydrodynamic pulse emitter—something focused, that could jam a specific target without frying the whole neighborhood. Easy enough—there was toluene-based paint thinner in the garage; it would work as the propellant in a crude flux-compressor, utilizing parts from her dad’s old motorcycle to harness the reaction—why had she never thought of this before? The muffled chrome tailpipe, properly insulated, would serve as the EMP cannon. A stator winding, some simple capacitors—bye-bye, bass thumper!
Maddy was contemplating principles of harmonic resonance when there was a shriek from the kitchen. It was her mother. She jumped up to see what was wrong.
“Mom?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. Did I disturb you? I’m so sorry. It was a mouse in the cupboard—it startled me. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t really napping.”
“No? You need your rest; are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Not really, I just think I’m all caught up.”
“Oh. Well, it’s these
mice
. I don’t know how they get in, but every year, as soon as the ground starts to freeze, they come inside. Just these little gray field mice. They’re harmless, but they scare the bejesus out of me when they catch me by surprise. And I hate the smell—can you smell it? That mouse-pee smell.”
Maddy nodded sympathetically. She knew about the mice, one of her mother’s seasonal pet peeves, along with squirrels in the attic and mildew in the basement. Mice nested in the walls during the winter and returned to the fields in the spring. Personally, Maddy never minded them; she thought they were cute. Over the years, her dad had tried many methods of getting rid of them, including an easily discouraged cat, but ultimately her mother didn’t have the heart to kill them, and anyway, the mice were too clever.
Theatrically sniffing the air, her mom tried tracing the mouse funk to its source.
“For some reason, there are more of them than usual this year,” she said. “They must have had an early litter.”
Maddy asked, “Why don’t you hire an exterminator?”
“Oh no—it’s not as if they’re rats or something. It’s too expensive, and I don’t want any poison bait lying around for the cat to find, or dead mice rotting in the walls—ugh. We went through that. I just wish there was some other way to get rid of them.”
The thought of mice in the walls caused something to trip. With a hitch in her voice, Maddy said, “Mom? What’s wrong with me?”
“Wrong with you? Nothing, honey. Why do you say that?”
Before she knew what was happening, Maddy was sobbing. The words all came pouring out in a rush:
“No, there’s something
wrong
with me! It’s like I can see through everything! Why does it all seem so flimsy all of a sudden? You know what it is? It’s like I went away, and everything I knew was replaced with some cheap, crappy substitute. Even the people! I don’t know how else to describe it. You know those computer pop-ups, that spyware? Whenever I focus on something, that’s sort of what happens in my head: All these thoughts come up, just exploding out of nowhere—this mass of overlapping images littering my screen until I can barely think straight.
“Whatever it is I’m looking at becomes pure hypertext, telling me more than I ever wanted to know about it. But it doesn’t
matter
what I want, it’s too
late
—I already know it. I
know
it. And once I know it, I can’t forget it or ignore it … because it’s
true
. And that’s depressing because nothing is as simple as I used to think it was. It’s like the smarter I get, the stupider I feel. Looking at people I used to love is like looking at bugs under a microscope—I just see all these strange, mechanical
things
. Even you and dad. It doesn’t lend itself to empathy or compassion, you know?
“I used to think people could be good or bad, ugly or beautiful, happy or sad. Smart or stupid. It was all so simple: Some people I wanted to be like, others I didn’t, but most fell in between, neither wonderful nor awful, but just …
normal
. I always thought of myself as one of those, and I guess I must have been pretty comfortable there. I never realized it at the time, but there’s some kind of solace in not being either too perfect or too imperfect. It’s the consolation prize: the consolation of being ordinary.
“But now I see that it’s all a game, just animals following patterns of instinct and brute conditioning, like rats in a maze. I don’t know exactly how or when it happened, but somehow my whole stupid pageant of girly fantasies just died, and I must have slept through it. Where’s my fairy tale, Mom? What happened to my white wedding and my handsome prince? Who killed them? Was it your divorce or my own puberty? Or was it the doctors at the clinic? Did they take it along with my braces and a chunk of my head? I don’t know, I don’t know. And I’m starting to think I’ll probably never know … will I?
Will
I?”
Her mom listened, unable to comprehend or contribute anything more than her own tears. The doctor had told her there would be times like these.
“I don’t know, honey,” she said, “but I promise it’ll be all right. Just hang in there, okay? It’ll be all right.”
Late that night, as if sleepwalking, Maddy went to the kitchen and cut the tops off some empty two-liter soda bottles, smeared peanut butter inside the bottles, and sprinkled in a few mouse turds. Then she taped the tops back on upside down, turning them into closed funnels. She propped the bottles upright amid the canned goods and went back to bed.
In the morning, they were full of mice. Every single one in the house. On the way to school, Maddy’s dad pulled over, so she could release them into the fields.
TWELVE
 
ON THE QUAD
 
RETURNING to school was an interesting experience.
Maddy had always felt more or less insignificant at school, a minor player of modest talents who tended to disappear into the woodwork. Neither the smartest nor the dumbest, the cutest or the ugliest, the nicest or the meanest, the strongest or the weakest, she was solidly, safely embedded in the boring majority: the prairie-broad middle ground of the “average.”
That was okay; Maddy was accustomed to it, accepting and even defending her role in the pecking order. Because after all, who could complain about being normal? Everybody wanted to be normal. If you couldn’t be a star, the next best thing was to be average, an ordinary person whose mediocrity neither merited nor begged special attention but consigned one to the bland horde of the mainstream, those plodders and pluggers whose dull reliability in tedious yet essential work enabled all the fruits of human civilization.
But they weren’t going to let her be normal.
News crews were waiting at the front of the school, and when she told her dad to drive around the block, they found more reporters staking out the rear.
Maddy was accustomed to thinking of herself as a gray pigeon in the thrall of brilliant and beautiful parrots, social animals like her best friend, Stephanie. Stephanie wouldn’t have been afraid of all this attention; she would have loved it. Maddy just wanted to be left alone.
“Dad, drop me off around the corner.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I just need a minute alone to get psyched up for this.”
“But you’re gonna be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Really.”
She kissed him good-bye and got out of the car. As soon as he was out of sight, she walked to a nearby convenience store and browsed the automotive shelves. Making chemical connections in her head, she bought various items and took them behind the store, where she fashioned a peculiar device out of plastic bottles and volatile compounds. It looked like a toy spaceship. The warhead was a can of degreaser with a steel penetrator made from a lug bolt. It took a few minutes to assemble everything, then she had to hurry with it down the street—she didn’t want to be late for school.
A few blocks over, she found what she was looking for: a clear view of the local TV news affiliate. Estimating trajectory, she angled the device just right and lit it off. It went
shoosh!
and streaked upward, arcing high over the town common. A second later, there was a crash and a puff of flame—the station’s big satellite dish was on fire. People came out, yelling and screaming, and in minutes the news trucks started showing up.
Maddy passed them going the other way. The front of the school was clear of media people. She slipped onto campus unnoticed, grateful that she hadn’t missed the bell. Nobody even gave her a second glance … just as usual.
There was a tap on her shoulder.
“… Maddy?”
“Steph! Hi!”
“Oh. My.
Gawd
. This is
ridiculous
!”
They fell into a tearful hug, Stephanie’s shrieks drawing a throng of curious onlookers.
Maddy broke it off first, feeling awkward. Wiping her eyes, she said, “It’s ridiculous all right.”
“Oh my God, you are like totally normal! Guys, you know who this is? This is my friend Maddy Grant! From Special Ed!”
People crowded around, ogling her. Her name bounced around the crowd:
Maddy Grant, Maddy Grant—it’s her. No way. Yes it is—check her out. Damn! Chick is busted!
Some of the girls made perfunctory gestures of welcome and sympathy, but most of the onlookers treated her like a two-headed snake.
Maddy said, “Thanks … I guess. This is a wig.”
“Oh my God,” Stephanie said. “I can’t believe how incredible you look. You’ve lost so much weight!”
“Yeah. Hospital chic—it’s the next big thing.”
“I’m
serious
! This is just—you
totally
have to hang out with us today so everybody can get used to seeing you like this. For the past year, you’ve been so … different. Do you even remember any of that?”
“Not really. It’s like a weird dream or something.”
“Wow, that must be s
o
weird! God, I can’t even believe you can
talk
. Last time I saw you, you were like … severely mentally disabled. I mean really out of it, you know? We all felt so bad for you, seeing you like that. It was sad, dude. People are gonna shit when they see you, seriously. I mean, we all heard about you on the news and all that, but it’s not the same as seeing you in person. I tried to call you about fifty times, but your phone is always busy.”
“We’ve had to leave it off the hook. Why didn’t you just come over?”
“Mr. Batrachian said we shouldn’t. He made an announcement saying you needed time with your family, and that we shouldn’t bug you until you came back to school. Scared the crap out of me, man. Everybody was thinking you’d maybe be able to sing the Alphabet Song or something at the next assembly. Nobody expected you to just show up today, totally normal! I’m blown away.”
“Me too.”
One of Stephanie’s friends, a blond girl Maddy didn’t know, said, “I heard they’re putting you back in Special Ed.”
“Yeah—just until I get up to speed.”
“But then they’re going to make you finish junior year, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, well … you know.”
“But I guess you sort of missed it.”
“Sort of.”
Smoothing over the rough spot, Stephanie piped up, “God! I can’t believe I can talk to you again—it’s been so long! Did you hear that Marina Sweet died?”
“I know.”
“Everything just seemed to happen at once. And then Ben’s funeral. I mean, it was so terrible what happened to you and Ben … but at least he was at peace, you know? We all went to the funeral. His dad had him cremated and all, but still, the whole ceremony made it easier to let go.”
While Maddy had been terribly jealous during the brief time that Stephanie and Ben had dated, she now felt her friend’s pain like a bridge between them. She wanted to say,
I loved him, too
.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say it because Stephanie was saying something else entirely. Not with her mouth, but with her evasive eyes, her guilty tone, her whole manner. Maddy could read between the lines, the myriad hidden “tells” which came across much more clearly than the actual spoken words. Stephanie was saying:
With you it’s been harder. All these months and months afterward I keep thinking I’ve moved on, then somebody will mention you’re back from the hospital, that you’re making progress, or I’ll see your folks wheeling you around town or catch sight of you between classes
…
and I keep being reminded that it’s not over. I can’t count how many times somebody got my hopes up only to realize nothing had changed
…
nothing would change. I couldn’t stand to see you like that, so I’ve sort of been avoiding you. I got another girl to take your place and started living my life again. I gave up on progress and stopped hanging on hope. So many times I’ve wished you could just quietly die like Ben, all nice and neat. So I could forget.

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