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  I tilted my head over, giving No Neck a long, hard look.

  “What? You’re looking at me like I’m a Neanderthal — like I haven’t evolved.”

  “You chunked that ball at me like you were throwing rocks. You stole my clothes. That’s kind of low-level thinking.”

  “I didn’t steal your clothes, but I did watch ’em get snatched. I guess that makes me one of the bullies.”

  “That’s . . . complicated,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you make waves with the coach?”

  I took a minute. “Why make waves if you don’t know how to surf?”

  “You scored big yesterday. You didn’t narc. You didn’t call your mommy and go home. You looked like a dork in those boots and you acted like it didn’t touch you. That earns you a cool factor.”

  Factor. Was I getting a quotient?

  “Anyway, for my part of it, the ball slamming and watching the clothes thing go down, it’s my bad.”

  “Thanks.” The bus thumped along. I had no idea what else to say. Finally I said, “My name’s Wade.”

  “Most guys are calling you Alaska,” No Neck said.

  “Siberia,” I answered without thinking.

  “Sorry, I must have got it messed up. I’m Jay,” No Neck said.

  We chugged up to the school. “Siberia,” Jay said as he got up, “you don’t have to worry about your clothes today.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “No big.”

  No big, I thought as I headed for my locker. If you’d sat like a wet plucked chicken for what felt like weeks, the promise of not doing it again was more than just a pleasant thought.

  I kind of looked forward to my Indiana history class because the class’s resemblance to the Loon Platoon — the way most of them had either checked out or tried so hard to buck the norm — reminded me that I was heading in the right direction toward my goal of being normal. But I still understood them enough to relax and not treat them like “night crawlers,” like Dave did.

  A guy with a circle and slash self-tattooed high on his cheekbone approached me as I entered class the second day.

  “I heard about your clothes. I can arrange to have the thief taken care of.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I said, mildly amused. I doubted he was as frightening as the people I grew up with.

  He pointed to his tattoo. “That means don’t. As in don’t mess with me. I can have your guy taken out.”

  “Taken out? You’d kill a guy over a flannel shirt?”

  The guy stepped back. “Kill! Shit, who are you? I meant beat him up.” He returned to his seat, giving me a look of confusion. It appeared he couldn’t decide if I was kidding or not.

  Okay, I had just scared the snot out of someone who advertised hostility on his face. I had to watch my mouth and keep one step ahead of my cover story. There was no relaxing when you lived a secret.

  The next hurdle was gym. I dragged the duffel from my locker and returned it to Coach Tulling. “Thanks for the loan. All washed.”

  “Aw, that messes ’em up,” Coach said. “It’ll take forever to get the smell back in them. I hear you made quite a fashion statement.”

  I grinned. “Let’s hope I don’t have to make it again today.” I left the office and went into the locker room to change. On the bench were my jeans and flannel shirt folded into a neat square. Next to them were my duck shoes.

  Chapter 14

  LOVING MAKES LITTLE SENSE

  Doc had set me up for outpatient therapy with a shrink among the cornstalks. I had seen her before I started school, but this was my first session since meeting the beast.

  Dr. Lyman reminded me of a grasshopper on a leaf. Quivering and ready to leap at any time. She unnerved me a little, but she was interesting in her antennae-waving way.

  “I’m glad you feel the stolen-clothes incident was resolved well,” she said.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I’m not part of the equation,” The Grasshopper said. I swear she rubbed her hands together. Do grasshoppers have hands?

  “I’ve been accepted. It was the right way to go,” I said, but her statement was softening the edges of my confidence.

  “Was that your real purpose for suffering this indignity with such calm?”

  What did that mean?

  “You think I did it for another reason?”

  The Grasshopper didn’t answer.

  “I hate it when you guys do this,” I said.

  “Do what, Wade?”

  “That. All questions, no answers. I thought I had a handle on things, and now you’re . . . you’re creeping me out.”

  “I don’t think I could creep you out if you were as certain about your decision as you say.”

  I wanted to keep my cool with her. I wanted to be Wade, not Kip. Kip was gone. I was a normal guy, leading a normal life. So why was my heart racing and my fist clenching and unclenching?

  “So I should have pitched a fit?” My voice carried a sharp edge. “I should have ratted on a bunch of people my first day of school? Made enemies? You think that was the way to go? I think you’re a little out of touch with high school.”

  “But do you know much about high school?” The Grasshopper’s eyes bulged, but her voice stayed low.

  Wade lost. Kip won.

  “All right. I get it. I didn’t think wearing the boots and the sweats would just show how I could be stand-up. I did it because I think I need punishment. Is that what you want to hear?”

  I bolted from the chair and strode to the windows. I looked out so I didn’t have to look at her ugly bug eyes. “I think I need to pay and pay and pay some more for setting a little kid on fire. For causing him and his parents and my dad all that pain. So, I deserve any shit that gets shoveled my direction.”

  I turned around to see that The Grasshopper was all aquiver in her insect-y way. “That’s good. You know more about yourself than I gave you credit for,” she said.

  I took a deep breath and let it back out. Moved slowly back to the chair, trying for some chill. I sat back down.

  “People treat me wrong and I roll with it. Isn’t that what I was supposed to learn all those years locked up? How to control my anger?”

  “Yes, and it’s working. There’s nothing wrong with rolling with the punches. But there’s a difference between accepting guilt and seeking punishment.”

  “I didn’t ask those guys to take my clothes,” I muttered.

  “No. But accepting pain you didn’t earn is addictive. We need to work on that issue or you’ll end up with counterproductive behavior.”

  I rubbed my temples. I hadn’t had a headache in a while. “I don’t get it.”

  The Grasshopper leaned forward on her desk. “I mean, when things start going really well for you, you’ll think you don’t deserve it and seek to sabotage your own good fortune.”

  “That’s crap.” I blurted it out so loud it startled both of us. I swallowed and dialed it down. “I don’t even think I get your point.”

  The Grasshopper settled back. She seemed so certain; she tossed out her words like they were already history. “You’ll burn yourself if you get too happy, Wade. Just like you burned that child.”

  When I got home, Carrie was checking her e-mail. She looked frustrated.

  “I can fix your spam filter so you won’t keep getting all those offers for a quick fix for your wilting love life or a genuine Rolex for ten bucks,” I said.

  “It’s not that. It’s that I haven’t heard from Grant in three months.”

  “Your stepdad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t think you e-mailed all that often.”

  Carrie rat-a-tatted a message and hit send. “But I sent him a message and told him we were in Indiana now. He didn’t answer. That’s not like him.”

  I sat down at the table. “Carrie, what’s the deal with Grant? You hardly talk to your mom or your dad or your other stepfather.”

  Carrie turned around fro
m the computer. “Mom married Grant when I was six and divorced him when I was nineteen. Her third husband died.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So Grant was like a father to you?”

  “Absolutely. Some of my best memories were at his beach house in Texas. I loved it there. Grant and I would look for seashells, and he taught me to sail and fish. He was there when I needed him and I wasn’t all that charming to be around, you know?”

  “Um, Carrie, I doubt he plucked you out of a ward for the criminally —”

  “Just stop. That’s not who you are. Not now. Any-way, don’t be so self-absorbed. This is about me.” She grinned.

  I don’t know what happened right then. Maybe it was seeing Carrie so worried about Grant, and her remembering their good times . . . maybe it was because I saw for sure that Carrie loved me because she didn’t treat me like a head case . . . or maybe it was just her lit-up grin. Maybe it was the stress of my session with the shrink. Whatever it was, something broke in me. When Carrie told me to get over myself and care about her . . . for some reason, I did. I let myself completely love her, for the first time, like a mother.

  First it was surprised, silent tears, and then I put my head down on folded arms and shook with chest-heaving sobs that felt like they would crack ribs.

  Carrie stepped to my chair. “Move your skinny butt over.” I slid over a bit and Carrie perched on the chair and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. She rested her cheek against my bowed head. “Grant did this for me. Oh, honey, more than once. I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but I know it hurts.” She tightened her hug a little. “Trust me, it might get worse, but in the end, it gets better. It finally gets good. I swear.”

  She was right. It did get worse. Just not right away. Just like the breakthroughs, the bad stuff always takes you by surprise.

  Chapter 15

  THE FIRST CRACK

  I eased into school life. There were rich, popular kids that ruled the school, but I hung with the second tier. The utility bunch that make up most of a school’s population. Decent kids, decent grades, decent athletes. Decent is good, especially in the Midwest.

  I made a group of friends; I didn’t sit alone in the cafeteria; I had a reserved spot with nonlosers; I wasn’t considered a hostile force; Kip was further away and I was wearing Wade like old, comfortable shoes. But then I got careless.

  It happened in English. I had finished reading The Light in the Forest and was working on my paper. The rest of the class was finishing their Poe unit and discussing the last short story.

  “Wade, can you help me here?” Ms. Bales asked.

  I looked up.

  “Have you read and studied ‘The Masque of the Red Death’?”

  “Sure.”

  “None of these students seem to think the story is about anything but a party that goes bad. Can you give me some differing input?”

  “Oh, sure,” the superstud that played second string varsity quarterback while a freshman snarked. “The loony from the boonies that studied with his mama is going to teach us. Gimme a break.”

  I want to punch this troglodyte in the face. Clint Jons was the leader of the pack that stole my clothes on day one. But, like the khaki-clad teacher on the ward, I couldn’t swing at him with my fist.

  I glared the heavy-browed, short-necked, pecan-brained big mouth down and turned to Ms. Bales.

  “The first thing you have to know is what was happening in Poe’s life when he wrote the story.”

  “Be still my beating heart, a student that does more than read the assignment,” Ms. Bales said as she put her hand to her chest. “Maybe Mr. Jons should rethink his remarks as hasty and possibly ignorant?”

  The troglodyte closed his book and slumped in his seat. His nostrils flared.

  “Poe’s wife was dying of TB when he wrote it. So she would cough up spots of blood. His imagery of the red splotches on the skin probably comes from that. The red room is all about blood and, I think, fever, the fire that consumes the body.”

  “This is excellent, Wade, go on. Homeschooling seems to give you great insight into symbolism.”

  “Years of therapy does that.” I was so busy pummeling Jons with my smarts that it was out of my mouth before I knew how stupid smart can be. I saw Dave look at me, confused.

  “Therapy is what my mom called homeschool — my therapy.”

  Shit, that was worse. I had told Dave that Mom died when I was nine. “Mostly my dad taught me, but my mom called it that when I was a kid and my dad kept calling it that.” I raced on. “Anyway, the theme is about the inevitability of death. It gets us all. Rich, poor. Whatever. No escape.”

  Ms. Bales thanked me and started talking about the seven stages of life. I darted a glance at Dave. He was taking notes, but his forehead was still knotted.

  When the bell rang, I hurried out of the room toward Indiana history. That made me look even guiltier, I thought. I was such a idiot.

  A mammoth hand caught my shoulder and spun me.

  “You think you’re a real smart-ass, don’t you?”

  Clint leaned over me. Furious. He had never taken the stolen clothes episode well. He wanted me to grovel and I hadn’t. He didn’t like it that most of the school thought I had won that skirmish. Now I’d made him look stupid in class. Well, proved him stupid. He always looked that way.

  “What are you smiling at, moosefucker?” Clint growled at me.

  I was not going to fight this goon for two reasons: I promised Doc, and Clint Jons would seriously kill me.

  “Clint, you overestimate me. Those moose are tall, dude.”

  Clint leaned in, quivering with rage. “Then how tall was your mama?”

  All reason and sense fled. I lowered my head and rammed his gut. I think my head jammed completely into my shoulders, but Clint staggered back, more surprised than damaged. I used the opportunity to drive a kick between his legs. His eyes goggled, his face paled, and he collapsed with a thud.

  Nobody moved. I stared down the watching circle and then stepped over Clint. “Stay down and from now on, watch your mouth. This was a lesson in manners.”

  I walked straight to the office.

  While I tried to cool out, the principal tried his hand at fact gathering. I told him that Clint provoked the fight and I had finished it. Clint told him that there was no fight. The ice pack on his nuts was the result of an accident. How could a punk as little as Wade Madison bring Clint Jons down?

  None of the watchers knew where they were at the time of the incident. Mass amnesia.

  Ms. Bales did say that Clint had been baiting Wade earlier in class.

  There were obviously no marks on my knuckles and no bruises on me to indicate fighting.

  “So what do I believe, Wade?”

  “Whatever you like, sir.”

  “Get out of my office. If I hear from that kid’s parents, we may have to . . .”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Did you really take that behemoth down and come away without a scratch?”

  “I was . . . upset, sir.”

  “Don’t get upset again, Wade.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  When I got to lunch, Dave was lying in wait. He pulled me to the side. “Hey, Siberia, you don’t have to avoid me. It took me awhile, but I finally got the picture.”

  I stared.

  “You kind of had a meltdown in class today when you talked about fever. I’ll bet it reminded you of when your mom died. You had, like, a bad flashback?”

  I dropped my gaze to my feet. I should tell him, I thought. This was the right time to tell him who I was.

  “I’m betting you had therapy and don’t want anyone to know.” Dave held up his hand like he was stopping traffic. “You don’t have to say anything. But don’t think I’m going to think bad about you. Alaska must be pretty backward if you’re embarrassed that you needed therapy because your mom died.”

  “It’s not that way. It’s just that I was a little kid.”


  Dave gave me a tight grin. “I can listen. . . .” Then he laughed. “I know you don’t believe I can listen, but we could tape my mouth shut or something.”

  “Let’s go get lunch,” I said, wanting to change the subject.

  “You’re talking lunch and ignoring the fact that you took Clint Jons to the ground! He’ll never get over that,” Dave said.

  “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of,” I said.

  We turned to drop our books on our regular table. I wondered if Dave could smell the guilt coming from my pores. I was a fraud. A thief, stealing his friendship.

  Chapter 16

  FINDING BLUE

  I got through my freshman year with no other fights. Jons ignored me. Since he was a full head taller than I was, it was easy to overlook me. Absolutely Cutest and I had done the flirting dance, but she would flit close and then away. I think she sensed something in me that she couldn’t quite trust.

  Just before term ended, Coach Tulling asked me into his office.

  “Wade, I’ve got an idea for you.”

  I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me to be the football team’s manager for next year.

  “You’ll notice most of this town’s body type is made for football.”

  “Yup, that’s a little obvious, sir.”

  “Well, they’d break you like a twig if you played football, but you’re going to be long and lean, and with some work you’ll have a nice pair of shoulders. Just right for swimming. I think if you work with the coach this summer, you’d have a chance at varsity. What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t know how to swim.”

  Coach scratched his head. “Don’t know how to swim?”

  “Alaska. Ice. Really cold water. Not much swimming.”

  Not quite true. Who was going to put the Loon Platoon in a pool?

  “Son, that’s a serious problem. Okay, I’ll teach you to swim and then I’ll put you with Coach Redmon if you want to work hard.”

  Being part of a team wasn’t high on my most-wanted list. But all my friends played football, and then ran track when football season was over. I spent too much time alone with my thoughts. That was never good. Maybe swimming would exhaust me. Wade — he was born in the water, right?