The Hurt Patrol (4 page)

“The Christian school?” Beau asked. “Why?”

“She wanted to go when she was younger. She was, like,
really
religious when she was a kid. And my parents were fine with it; they thought it would keep her from turning out like Lindsay Lohan or whatever.”

“Oh. Did it work?”

“She wouldn't have, anyway. She's really chill. I mean, for a little sister. Not a bit crazy.”

“That's super cool . . . she sounds super cool.” Beau was entirely losing his grip on vocabulary.

“Yeah, dude. You should go say hi. She would
totally
love that,” Pete urged, compelling, persuasive, his dark eyes mesmerizing Beau.

“I'll think about it,” Beau said, caving. He knew they were totally going to walk over.

Pete beamed and nodded like they were about to perform a raid.

“ 'K. Say when and I'll walk over with you and introduce you to my parents, so it'll be like that's the reason why we walked over.”

Beau nodded, feeling like he was weightless, floating overhead, his back up against the ancient, speckled-tile ceiling. He examined his options as he floated along. None.

“Come on! Let's just do this!” Pete said and grabbed his arm. They rose and strolled over. That is, Pete strolled; Beau was pretty much just caught in his gravitational pull.

However it happened, they both approached. Beau had been pounding snacks all afternoon, but now his mouth was dry and he had zero appetite. His heart lurched and wobbled around sickeningly like the vid of the drunk squirrel hanging off a tree trunk.

“Mom, Dad, this is Beau.... Beau, these're my parents: David and Barb . . . and you know Jules from school.”

Beau looked again into the lightest green eyes ever. Like emerald green . . . no . . . more like jade.

“Hi, Jewels,” he offered. This was way more random than it was at school.

“Hi, Beau,” she replied. Their gaze met and then ricocheted to their feet. Suddenly they were uncomfortable with each other for the first time, as seconds or hours passed.

Then David, the dad, was saying something to him. “. . . have you been, Beau?”

“Um, yeah: good; not long—over there . . . uh, Saline County?” Beau offered, trying to guess the answer to whatever it was David had asked. The result was Barb, their mom, looking at him more closely. She smiled kindly.

“Which church does your family go to, Beau? We haven't seen you at Greatest Love yet.”

(Now, the real answer was that they didn't go to church. His mom had long ago called a moratorium on church when Beau asked why there weren't any girl angels. She asked where he heard that. He said his Sunday school teacher said so, but girls can go to heaven, right, even if they can't be angels? It made her
very
angry. She'd said
that
was the kind of happy horse shit that gave her headaches and she had enough headaches without getting gussied up every Sunday to go check out a few more in Crazytown. Unremarkably, this produced a fight. Not that anyone was so into going to church, they were just so into fighting. So that's why Beau didn't go to church anymore.)

“Uh, we haven't found a new church yet, actually,” Beau answered, carefully, after a barely noticeable eye-glaze on his part. Flashbacks to the bad old days don't take long.

“Well, we would sure love to see you at Greatest Love. Our pastor's Reverend Jim. We call him ‘Rev'; he's really fun and hip, right, honey? Very young and cool . . . all the kids like him a lot!”

“Yep, he's pretty neat,” David agreed.

Beau nodded noncommittally. He peeked at Pete, who looked amused. Beau smiled, wondering if adults here in this new town were going to pop off with words like
hip
and
neat
. He figured they were just being welcoming and nice, but if not, it was going to be hilarious till they moved again.

“Well, we'll keep an eye on you! It's never too late to get right with Jesus!” Barb said.

“Amen, son,” Dave added, cheerfully. He smiled mildly into Beau's eyes, so Beau felt briefly ashamed for thinking jerky thoughts. He nodded, also smiling, though he ducked his head quickly when Dave gave him an encouraging wink.

As they returned to the Scouts' long picnic table, Pete poked Beau with his thumb. “I can tell—she
really
likes you. She was looking right at you, whenever you looked away.”

“Yeah?” Beau thought of Jewels's pale flashing eyes and smile.

“Oh, yeah. I have a hunch you are going to get friended tonight.”

“You think so?”

“By my mom! Yeeeeeeee!” Pete punched Beau's arm.

So they all got to be buddies. This was great because it made the school project much more fun. Which was lucky because even when it was a current event in 1881, the subject matter was very unfascinating.

James Garfield, for whom the school had been named, had been a fairly momentary president. The student body had to learn about him as freshmen. He'd been assassinated because he was so boring, after only four months of presidency, Pete explained, and had he known about the high school that would be in his name, he would have probably tried to prevent it by making a law right before he croaked that they couldn't name any schools after him that sucked so profoundly. Pete gave permission to quote him as an authority.

When Beau mentioned that at least it was cool to
have
a high school, to have a place to be from, Pete was unimpressed. “Nope. Boring . . . I mean, look at it . . . just flat and . . .
flat
. It's stupid.” Pete shook his head.

“Yeah, but it's like an actual place. You can say, ‘Oh, here's me. I'm from here' and point to a
place
on a map if someone asks.”

“So?” Pete shrugged. “Then you can change the subject and talk about something interesting.”

“Whatever. It's way cooler than you think.” Beau was starting to pant. It was hot.

“I guess.”

Pete and Beau were on a hike. It was Saturday. Just the two of them trudged along; Jewels had agreed to a babysitting job before this outing was planned. They were going to a river where the others hung out. Pete had decided Beau needed to be introduced around, so he was going to do it at the LP/S, their “Last Party of Summer,” a tradition at Garfield High because school started in August.

They were hiking to the Ol' Swimmin' Hole. The Ol' Swimmin' Hole. That was what the kids called it.

Beau could hear the water in the river before they could actually see it. Then he could smell it.... Finally, they walked around the last bend, and Beau could see the river. It was good sized, split unequally by a small copse of wooded land. This tiny island in the stream created the Ol' Swimmin' Hole, weirdly tranquil and warm, that slowly eked through the bend before rejoining the rushing water. On the far side, through the island, they could hear the others. On their side, the river was a brook, slow and shallow, maybe two feet deep in the middle. Very user-friendly to ford.

It was here that Pete signaled to cross. They waded across and entered a deer trail that was faint and unremarkable, even close up. He led the way as they disappeared into the fresh canopy. The temperature dropped slightly as they entered. Inside was calm and green. The air was clean and invigorating, though it was small, as glens go. They followed the cool leafy path that led to light and echoing laughter.

As they reentered sunlight, they were encircled with the sound of happy shouts and voices. They'd made it to the outskirts of the hangout. Pete looked around. Then he froze.

“Dude, she's here,” Pete said. His voice was stark.

Beau followed his gaze and saw a girl with a shower of long curly black hair and glasses. She looked like an American Girl doll. She was wearing a purple bathing suit and standing behind a picnic table so Beau could only see her from the knees up. She noticed Pete long before the others did, and deliberately turned her back.

Pete beamed. Beau glanced at him and said, “Seriously, you like her? She looks like a pencil.”

Pete bristled. “Well, she's not. She almost died when she was a baby and she has a
thing,
okay? Which she is getting fixed. And damn, she looks very good this year . . . check the boobs.”

Beau was nonplussed. He stood there, regarding buff, good-looking Pete, and then the tall, skinny bespectacled girl in the purple bathing suit. He could see she was taller than the other girls. She had freckled arms. He couldn't see all of her, but her thighs were about as sexy as a stork's.

“Well . . . I guess . . . she has that thigh gap that all the girls think is so awesome,” Beau whispered, goofing. He snorted at his own hilarity.

Pete threw him some serious shade, unamused. Beau subsided. He would never have said it to
her,
anyway. They looked back over at the girl, who was saying something to someone, when to Beau's great astonishment, she suddenly hopped off the picnic bench she'd been standing on—and he could see she wasn't taller than everyone—she was
tiny
.

Her legs had been blocked from his view by the rest of the picnic table. The girl wasn't taller than the others; she wasn't taller than a ten-year-old. Beau sat back and readjusted his notions. He could now totally understand Pete's protectiveness.

Then Pete gave him a look, like pre-inspecting him, and Beau remembered that he had to act like someone cool enough to be Pete's friend. He composed himself for group review. They approached the party.

“
Peeete!
” the cry went up as they were noticed. “Hey y'all!
Pete's
here—with the new guy! Hey, Pete! Cool, we were hoping you'd show!”

The two of them were absorbed by the cluster of people. It was one of the only times Beau had ever just been swallowed into a group without weirdness. It was awesome. He knew he had Pete's generosity to thank for it. Some people just bring the fun and thus are naturally popular.

All afternoon of that year's awesome LP/S, Beau had a chance to look around and see what these new people were like. It seemed they corresponded to the new school: the same and different. The same because they were white kids of the cornfields, close-knit and comfortable. Different because they were older and more rebellious.

Pete and Beau wandered over to a group that was busy tapping a keg. The guy tapping poured a beer and offered Pete a red cup. Pete took it and handed it to Beau before taking one of his own. Beau took an experimental sip. It was his first kegger . . . still yuck, though. His dad had only ever drank from a can, but it was the same lame beer taste. They wandered on, greeting millions of people. Everyone yelled when they saw Pete.

At first, Beau didn't notice the effects of the beer much. It smelled familiar, tasted bitter. And then, just when he had begun to wonder if it was near beer, it all kicked in.

Beau got buzzed.

The feeling of confident well-being was glorious and unusual. In Beau, it became a peaceful dreamy feeling . . . like how a lil' bee must feel on a big-ass flower. But then it seemed the lil' bee had a sting. Suddenly, he realized he sounded stupid. Just woeful. Then he realized no one was talking to him. Then he hoped no one had noticed him being stupid. Then he was lying on the grass by himself, trippin' balls as he realized he was
invisible
because everyone was looking at someone else . . . because
everyone was someone else
. . . whoa,
dude
. Then he realized it was all good . . . he sounded so stupid, even talking silently to himself . . . but he was invisible, so even if they did hear, they couldn't.

Beau had a
lot
of realizations that afternoon. He noticed after a while, however, that the effect was a bit different on others.

He heard a bellow and turned to see Pete and another guy chugging their beer. As he frowned, thinking he was going to have to remember to remind them about that movie in health class (something about no chugging, not even beer), they finished, chucking their red cups on the grass, and dashed into the water, yelling that they were going to race to the dock.

As they hit the water, splashing, some of the others watching started cheering them on. Pete easily outstripped the other guy, who wasn't as buff. He pulled away and swam expertly to the dock and scrambled up, no contest. He shook his hair and tapped his ears theatrically. He took a bow as the other kid hopped up on the dock beside him. Then they took elaborate turns bowing and saying “after you—no, after you” as they invited each other to dive off the dock. Finally, the other guy went first. He made a long, high arc and knifed the water cleanly like a seal. It was very slick and good. Everyone cheered.