Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand (10 page)

“I know.”

“Wow, Madison Lukas joked about ripping my clothes off... just...
wow.”

When put like that, I'm reminded of all the disgusting stuff in my Facebook profile and I take another big bite of burrito to hide my wince.

He sees it, though. “Everyone knows the Facebook stuff wasn't you, okay? And Ryan and his group blabbing about seeing Jean-Pierre climb in your window, nobody's gonna listen to them. It's not like they've got any credibility.”

Except that they're right, I think. That would explain why Tatiana didn't just mock me, but instead elected to kick me in the face.

I eat the rest of my burrito and then wonder if I'm going to have to trade a size up in my jeans. I've had two deep fried burritos in two days. Disgusting.

Carson holds out a hand for my garbage, and stuffs it into the paper bag. We walk back to town, him kicking the occasional rock along the way to send it skipping ahead into the darkness. “Thanks for hanging out,” he says.

“It was nice.”

“Did it make your day any better?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Cool.” He gives me a wistful smile, and I can't help but notice all over again, he is really good looking.

W
hen I get home and climb back in my window, I can hear my mom moving around in the kitchen. “That you, Madison?”

“No, it's a burglar.”

“Well, you picked the wrong house. There's nothing to steal.”

I go join her. “Carson came by and-“

“Make sure you close your window. The heating bill is high enough.”

“Okay. So-“

“You have a good night.” She brushes past me and goes to her room.

T
he next day, JP gives me a surreptitious wink and smile during lunch, but I don't dare return it. A note in my locker promises he'll be by tonight, but I don't know how I feel about that.

That afternoon at work, I have an email from John.

Hi Madison,

I'm home now, and just dropping you a note to say hi. Sorry I didn't get to spend much time with you, but here's my phone number. Contact me any time.

I love you,

John

I stare at the “I love you.” That, I have to admit, is weird.

The library is quiet this afternoon, as always. I start scanning in books that have been returned while two people talk in hushed voices at one of the tables. Siraj is humming to himself back in the office. Some younger kids come in and grab novels, which they sit and read over by the window.

And then there's the sound of tires screeching and glass breaking outside. I jump to my feet and run over to the front doors to see what's going on. There, in the middle of Wilkstone, is Officer Li's car, with its lights flashing, and in front of it is Alex with a fist-sized rock in one hand. I watch as he bashes the headlight again.

C
old fear grasps my stomach and I feel like I should run and hide, but I can't look away.

Officer Li gets out to stand by his car, waving his hands in a gesture for Alex to calm down. Alex responds by smashing the car's other headlight into a thousand little shards that sprinkle across the asphalt.

Voices on the cop's radio blare in an incomprehensible stream of syllables. I can't hear what the dispatcher is saying, but I can only assume that more cops are on their way. There's an officer in Sequoia Ridge which is only ten minutes' drive.

Alex bashes the rock into the cruiser's hood with a bang like a gunshot, creating a dent and some impressive scratches.

Officer Li pulls his gun.

I suck in a breath and don't exhale. I'm about to see one of my schoolmates shot to death.

But Alex's shoulders sag in defeat. He leaves the rock on the cruiser's hood and puts his hands in the air.

Officer Li orders him to take off his army jacket and throw it to one side, which Alex does. In just his shirt and jeans, it's clear he hasn't got any more weapons. He doesn't do baggy clothing like some of the guys in his clique.

I stare in disbelief as he's made to get down on the ground, hands and feet apart, until Officer Li goes to pin him with a knee to the small of his back while he grabs each wrist to snap on handcuffs. At this point Alex's face is obscured by his long hair. He tosses it back as the officer hauls him to his feet and loads him into the back of the cruiser. He doesn't look to the right or the left as the car pulls away, just stares straight ahead.

Siraj steps up behind me and watches the cruiser drive off. Everyone else who was in the library is now on their way out, whether to rubberneck or to tell their friends, I don't know.

“So how was your day?” I quip.

“Fine – oh I see. It does just roll off the tongue automatically, doesn't it?”

“I always knew he was a psycho. The way he just hangs around town, totally silent.”

“It's called selective mutism, I believe. Or is it voluntary mutism?”

“What?”

“A person who can't talk for psychological reasons. Someone who can only talk to certain people or in certain situations. You usually don't see it in someone that old.”

“What, you're saying Alex is like the lady in
The Piano?”

“Well... yes, that's what she had.”

I consider that a moment. “He talked to me. Threatened to chase me with a switchblade.”

“Ah, well, apparently threatening unarmed girls is not a situation that intimidates him. Assuming you were unarmed?”

“Yeah, and it was the middle of the night.”

“Even better then. Did you tell the police?”

I shake my head.

“Even that? Not noteworthy enough to mention? Not even to me when I ask how your day was?”

“My life is just so exciting. You really mean to tell me that Alex is too intimidated by people to talk? He just vandalized a police car. I'm not seeing a shy person there.”

“Well,  I'm no expert. I think what I read – and its been a while – is that it's often a kind of social anxiety. People who are nervous in large crowds or with people they don't know very well. But different things can cause it. I read about one case of a girl who was like that all through school because she was from a small town and everyone labeled her as the girl who never talked, so she went along with it. I remember wondering if that were Alex's situation. I get teachers in here every now and then who want to look up the condition so they can understand him a little better.”

I touch my nose gingerly and stare at the shattered glass in the road. “And does being a selective mute make you insane? Like, take on a cop car with a rock kind of insane?”

“I suspect that had to do with his mother. He's very protective of her and Officer Li is not always very understanding about her condition.”

“Still.”

“I wonder if Grace is being involuntarily committed.”

“What, you mean like carted off to an asylum?”

“It'd be the psychiatric hospital, but yes.”

“So that was what? Alex finding out he has to go into foster care?”

“I believe he's over eighteen, so he won't. After what he just did though, he may have to go to jail.”

“Good riddance.”

“I won't argue with you there. It's a very sad situation.”

K
ailie calls right before it's time for me to leave and I text her back that I'll call in a few minutes.

She texts:
Come 2 the Inn?

My reply:
OK

So after Siraj and I close the library, I walk across Wilkstone, and motion in the gutter catches my eye. It's Alex's army jacket, still lying where he threw it before Officer Li took him away. I debate whether or not to leave it, but an image of Alex wearing it back when he was in fifth grade flashes in my mind. I can't just leave it there.

When I pick it up, though, the first thing I notice is that it reeks of cigarette smoke. Gross. In the pockets are a pack of cigarettes, that stupid lighter of his, and a cellphone. Clearly he talks to someone, or maybe he just types texts.

On the front of the jacket is the name “Katsumoto” on one side and “U.S. Army” on the other. It seems extra sick to me that he had his own name put on the jacket. I wad the thing up and stuff it in my backpack.

W
hen I get to the Inn, Kailie's father is standing by the back door, talking to someone I assume is a guest. The guy throws his head back, laughing hard at whatever Mr. Beale just said. That's the thing about him. When he wants to be charming, Mr. Beale can be the life of the party.

Inside the Beales' house, things are more somber. Kailie answers the door and the lights in the front room are off. The furniture isn't stacked against the wall anymore, but part of the flooring's been ripped up.

“Hey,” she says. “Exciting afternoon?”

I follow her in and up the stairs. “You have no idea.”

We cross the landing to her room, where I stop as if I've hit a wall of glass. All of her furniture is gone. There's just a little pile of blankets in the corner and the area rug.

“Yeah,” she says. “My dad says that if I want to behave like a delinquent, he'll treat me like one.”

“What did you do?”

“I yelled back at him last night. He was all threatening me.” She mimes someone standing over her with a fist raised. “He was sure the guests heard me shout, so he and Mom took my furniture and stacked it in the guest room.” She steps into her room, does a slow pirouette with her shoulders shrugged as if to say, “whatever”. “So you're okay? Alex didn't charge the library?”

“No, Officer Li subdued him with his gun before that happened.”

“No way. I-” The sound of a car going past on the street outside catches her attention and she goes over to the open window. “Come look,” she says.

I wonder why her window is open in the middle of winter, but don't ask. Instead, I go to join her. A white van heads along Ridge Road, past all the little restaurants and shops, and turns the corner. For a moment we lose sight of it, but then it reappears along the bluffs.

“Wow, I was kind of kidding. Maybe it really is them,” says Kailie.

“Really is who?”

“The psychiatric hospital people. Alex's mom is gonna be committed.”

“So that is why he trashed Officer Li's car?”

“Guess so.”

“How did you know about his mother?”

“My dad heard it, I dunno from whom.” She shrugs. “How much do you wanna bet Alex comes to school armed?”

“Do
not
joke about that. It's not funny.”

“Is it a joke? The guy's got a mentally unstable mother and attacked a police car.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, maybe we shouldn't go to school Monday.”

“Maybe we should all ditch,” says Kailie. “But my father would, I dunno... confiscate my clothes? Send me to school in my underwear? Never goes real well when I dream of that happening.”

“Do you really think Alex would do something drastic?” As soon as the words are out, though, I hear how dumb they sound. Of course he would. This is Alex.

Kailie leans against the wall and stares at the white van, which is now making its way back. “He's the perfect stereotype, you know? Alone all the time, never talks, plays with his lighter, no sense of humor.”

I disagree with that last part. He does have a sense of humor, albeit a warped one. It's not worth voicing my disagreement aloud, because it's only over a technicality.

“And the military jacket,” she says. “It's classic. You know, I
get
how these situations happen. We can all see this coming a mile away, but what is anyone doing about it? They could expel him, but that might just push him over the edge.” She shudders. “They need to lock him up.”

The door downstairs slams. “Hang on,” Kailie says, “I gotta put my phone back in my parents' room before they find I have it.”

I wince. Her parents look in her logs and they're going to see that she texted me, unless she deleted it. She's smart enough to remember to delete it, I reason. I watch the white van drive past the house. It's impossible to know whether it really is from the psychiatric hospital. I glance at my backpack, where I've stuffed Alex's jacket.

Kailie slips back into her room. “Okay, so, anyway,” she says, “want to... uh... sit on my floor?”

I smile and plop down in the middle of the room. “So, other than our schoolmate having a psychotic break, what's new in your world?”

“I want to know what happened with Jean-Pierre.” She sits down across from me.

“That's kind of embarrassing. My brother showed up and tried to defend my honor.”

“Spill.”

“It was bad.”

“Well, so what now?”

“I don't know. I think I may want to go back to being the dateless nobody.”

“I'm with you on that. Let's both be nobodies.”