Trigger (24 page)

After our third lunch, we made each other take showers and get dressed, and after our third dinner, Dad tried to tell me that Mom leaving wasn’t my fault.

He was sitting at the table when he said it. Fast, not slow. I was putting my dishes in the sink. Slow, not fast.

Dad cleared his throat. “You don’t think it’s your fault, do you? Because it isn’t, Jersey.”

I dropped my plate on top of my glass by accident, but it didn’t break. “Don’t, okay?” I said.

He leaned forward, like he could reach me to pat my back. “But you need to know—”

“I know!” I turned around fast not slow and I almost fell. Dad stood up to help me but I shook my head. Fast, fast. Not slow. He backed off and sat down as I pulled on the edge of the cabinet to stand straight. “Straight. Slow. I know. It’s my fault.”

“No. We had fights before you ever shot yourself. And while you were at the hospital, and since you’ve been home—”

“Have ears,” I cut him off again, knocking my good hand against my ear. “They work better than my eyes. Please stop. Ears.”

Dad closed his eyes. Opened them. Rubbed his hand over his beard-stubble. “I just don’t want you to be upset.”

Dad needed to shave. He needed to shut up.

That volcano-feeling started in me again, way down
deep, hot and hotter and hotter, moving up to my chest, down my arms to my fingers. They twitched. My ears burned. “Ears. Hurt myself. You don’t want me upset because you think I’ll hurt myself again. I know. Straight. I know. Slow. So does Mom.”

“Jersey, she—”

“Found me! Needs more time!” Down, volcano, no blowing up but I have to blow up or my head will blow up, blow off. “Mom thinks I left her. I left Mom. Ears! I don’t—I don’t want to talk now, okay?”

Dad finally leaned back. He looked like he was giving up. Good. Glad. Ears. All the lava inside me went back down.

He let out a long breath. “She said in her note that she’d call tonight.”

“Don’t want to talk,” I said so fast I messed up talk like
tawk
. “Tomorrow, school and stuff. I just need ears. I mean, school. Back to normal.”

“Okay.” Dad folded his hands and stared down at his fingers. “School tomorrow.”

The bus was late. I was missing Algebra. And talking to Leza, if Leza would talk to me. She might be mad. She had called after the third dinner, but I didn’t talk to her then. I told Dad to tell her “later.” Mama Rush called from The Palace. Dad told her “later,” too. Mom called. Dad didn’t tell Mom “later.” He just listened. She said she’d taken a week off from the bank, and she was at the beach. When she came back, she was checking into a hotel.

Maybe she’d stay at the beach. Maybe the beach fixed broken people. Or maybe the way I broke people, they
couldn’t ever be fixed. Ears. At least the bus finally came. At least no Algebra.

When I got off the bus, I saw the Wench standing by the front doors in a black dress with black shoes that didn’t have any laces, not even black and gold springy ones like mine. She saw me and waved. I didn’t wave back. As I went slow, slow, good boy, bad boy up the steps, the Wench just stood there with this weird smile and her hand up from when she waved.

Don’t say ears. Don’t say Santa Claus, and especially don’t say devil. No devils. Ears would be better than devils. Slow, slow, slow.

The other kids from the bus banged past me. I felt hot down in my stomach, like the volcano was trying to grow again, or swell, or get bigger, or whatever volcanoes did. But I didn’t even know why. Ears. The Wench hadn’t moved. She wiggled her fingers at me one more time. Maybe if I waved back, she’d go away.

As I got to the top step, I tucked my memory book under my bad arm and sort of nodded to her. Not a wave, but better than nothing. She smiled and came toward me.

Ears.

All the other kids got inside before the Wench cut me off in front of the doors.

“Jersey,” she said, all serious with that funeral face. “Your father called this morning. I’m sorry about your mother.”

Tell her to drop dead.

Tell her to go away.

Tell her to go to a funeral or go inside or leave you alone or you don’t want to talk. Tell her anything. Tell her to go away!

“You don’t have any shoelaces,” I said.

The Wench stared at me. “Okay, well, we wanted to see how you were doing.”

We. We who? Teachers? Other kids? Ears? Did they have another assembly? Oh, look, the geek-freak’s mom left. He’ll probably put a bullet in the other side of his head. Ears. He’ll probably screw everything up all over again. Hide all the live chickens. Don’t say chickens. Don’t say ears. Don’t say devil. Don’t tell this woman to jump off the highest football stadium bleacher and fly to Alaska or fall down some volcano. Don’t blow up. Don’t pull the trigger.

“Mom didn’t die.” I tried to shrug, but I felt too stiff to do it right. “Trigger. She’s just at the beach. But, thanks. Ears. I need class. To get to class, I mean.”

“We thought maybe I should stay with you today and—”

I walked around the Wench, went through the doors, and left her talking to herself.

She probably followed me. I didn’t care. If the Wench followed me all day, I might hurt her. I thought about finding some paint to draw happy faces on her stupid black dress. My teeth hurt because I had them shut so hard. Scary red spots dotted the outside of everything I could see. Lava. Volcano. If I kept listening to the Wench, I’d get red spots and start talking back and I’d be a total Big Larry ruiner volcano and nobody would like what I said. Fast. Too fast. Slow down. Slower. Slower.

When I got to Civics, the teacher, one of our baseball coaches, looked up from his desk like he might ask me for a note. He saw it was me, and he didn’t. Great. Did Dad call everybody? Thanks, Dad. Or maybe the Wench talked
to everybody. Maybe everybody at school was “we.” Whatever. Thanks, Wench.

The coach jerked his head toward an empty desk and put his finger on his lips. Everybody was writing like crazy.

A test.

It was all about presidents and electoral colleges and Supreme Courts and stuff. Definitions. True and false. Matching. Fill-in-the-blank. Short answer and an essay.

Define
republic
. And
democracy, monarchy, oligarchy, dictatorship …

The words got all blurry when I looked at them. Fast. Reading too fast. Needed to slow down. Red spots showed up on some of the paper. I was clenching my teeth again. Red spots, like lava and blood and red, white, and blue. Was the Wench in the hall? I should have told the coach I couldn’t take the test. Now if I said I couldn’t do it, he’d get mad and I’d have to go to the office and the Wench would stick to me for sure. Red, red spots.

When does a new president get inaugurated?

How many electoral votes does California have?

Match the following Constitutional Amendments to their proper number
.

Explain the difference between a federation and a republic
.

Is an oligarchy better than a dictatorship? Support your position
.

Support my position. Red spots. Ears. Could I even say
inaugurated
with my dumb half-a-mouth? I could barely write the answer even with my working five fingers.
A president gets inaugurated every four years
. Or did he mean the month? I scratched out the word
ears
I wrote by mistake
and started to put down January, then tried to remember if it was January or February. Ears. When did a president get inaugurated? Maybe it was December. I knew this stuff Before. If Mom could see me taking the test, she’d cry, because I was all stupid and different and I had scars on the outside, and I couldn’t say
inaugurated
even if I tried. January. February. I didn’t know. Ears. Spots. Slow down. Stop the red. Stop the volcano.

I took a deep breath, and another, and one more. The red spots turned black, then gray. My eyes squinted. Test words got narrow and blurry. The inside of my head felt too big and stuffed all full, like my eyes might pop out, but I kept breathing, kept staring at the paper, and I didn’t blow up even when I tried to explain two reasons for the separation of church and state.

When the bell rang, I was still trying to answer a question about true or false, the American flag is always higher than other flags. It looked true, but it might have been false. Most of the questions on my test were still blank. True or false, Jersey got a big fat “F” on this test. True or false, Jersey Hatch is a freak-geek moron with stupid-marks. Inauguration. Ears. January, February, and I didn’t know the definition of
federation
or
oligarchy
, either. American flags. I needed to go to Earth Science. I needed to hide from the Wench in case she was waiting in the hall.

When I turned in my paper, the coach didn’t look up from the book he was reading. Something about bulls and bears and the history of Wall Street. It looked boring but lots more interesting than oligarchies and red spots. Ears.

I followed two basketball players out, trying to keep right behind them so the Wench wouldn’t catch me. Out of the
corner of my good eye, I saw her hovering by the bathrooms, so I couldn’t go there. Ears, ears, ears! I could hold it for one class. Just one more, to do without the Wench. I tried to get to Earth Science with the basketball players, only they turned down a different hall, so I tried not to limp too much with my bad leg and to walk fast like everybody else. The Wench was still looking at the Civics classroom door.

So far, so good.

I turned the corner to Earth Science and Todd’s girlfriend almost opened her locker right into my face.

“Oh! Jersey. Sorry.” She took a book out of her locker, slammed it, and gave me a twitchy smile. “You got here fast. Usually, I’m gone before you come by.”

No Wench. I glanced back toward the corner. Still no Wench. Good. But … Maylynn knew where I walked? When I walked? Her smile kept twitching. Don’t say “ears.”

“Sorry I was fast,” I said. “It’s the Wench. After me.”

“Ms. Wenchel?” Maylynn looked over my shoulder toward the corner. “Is she supposed to be your aide again today? Leza said that was over.”

“It was, but I missed three days. Ears. Mom. Ears. I mean, the Wench and the school—Mom—it’s okay.” My smile probably twitched, too, at least the half that worked. Maylynn had really big dark eyes. She was pretty. Not as pretty as Leza, no, still not, but pretty enough.

People elbowed past us. Almost time for the bell. Mom was at the beach. Red spots and beaches and ears. There weren’t any bells at the beach. Ears. Maylynn started to walk away, but I asked her to wait.

“Can you help me talk to Todd?” I took a step toward her, staring at the blue book in her hands. Red spots on
blue. “I need ears. I mean, to know. Stuff. And I can’t get him to talk. Neither can Leza. Will you help?”

Her mouth came open. “I—don’t know. I need to go or I’ll be late for class.”

“Please? I see spots.” I reached for her book, for the spots on her book.

She backed up fast, bumped into somebody, and let out a little shriek.

“What the—” The shout came out of nowhere.

Todd came out of nowhere.

When he grabbed my shoulder, I tried to turn around, but he pushed hard. I slammed against the lockers. Pain shot through my bad shoulder. When I bounced back, Todd caught me. All around, people fell all over the place getting out of the way.

“You stay out of her face,” Todd growled. His black eyes burned as he glared at me and clenched his jaw. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He had me by the collar with one hand. The other hand made a big fist. “Man, don’t you know when to leave
anything
alone?”

Lights out for Jersey. Big fat “F” for Jersey. Ears. Too fast, too fast. Spots and ears. My shoulder hurt. Ears. If he hit me I’d hit him back. If I could. Volcanoes. Hot inside. Way, way down inside, flying up, trying to get out. I’d hit him back. Hit him. Why didn’t he hit me? People watching. So many kids in a big circle. See the geek? He’ll get his head bitten clean off. Volcanoes. The biggest volcano ever.

“Spots,” I muttered, then bit my lip. Stop the volcano. Stop it. But it’s coming. It’s blowing.

“It’s my fault.” Maylynn grabbed Todd’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

“Hit me,” I said, quiet even though I felt so loud inside. “Don’t care. My mother’s at the beach.” More hot, flying up, about to blow out, about to cover everything in red.

Todd’s eyes got so narrow I couldn’t see anything but lids. He pulled me closer, held me tighter. He could punch me even with his girlfriend hanging off his fist-arm.

“Todd,” she said, louder this time.

“Hit me!” The words slammed up, up, and out, out. “Break my head more. Hit me. Hit me. Hit me, Todd. Ears. Hit me!”

From behind Todd, I heard someone start yelling. Leza.

Todd lurched forward and dropped me.

I stumbled back and banged into the lockers again, this time with my head. More spots. Black with red. Blue with red.

“… Get suspended, you total idiots!” Leza was shouting. Todd yelled back but I barely heard him. Arms and legs brushed against me as everybody scattered.

The Wench was coming. I could hear her whining, “Ohdearohdearohdear …”

Leza pushed Todd again, harder than ever, pushed him down the hall away from me and away from the Wench. Maylynn ran after them.

I couldn’t move. I needed to move, but I just couldn’t. Too many spots. Too much hot. I turned around and kicked a locker. Almost fell down and had to grab at the lockers not to bust my face. Now my foot hurt, too. Spots. Why wouldn’t they go away? Red spots. Black spots. Blue spots. I turned back around.

Time to go.

But the Wench got to me about the same time Leza got
back from pounding on Todd. Both of them cornered me against the lockers. Through my squint-eyes, the Wench had another weird smile on her face. When I turned my head, I could see Leza’s teeth, but she wasn’t smiling.

“Jersey,” the Wench started, but Leza yelled like the woman hadn’t even talked.

“What kind of moron are you? ‘Hit me, hit me, Todd. Hit me.’” She balled up her fist. “I’m gonna do it!”