Mario hasn’t returned by the end of class. The others leave. I put my pen in my backpack, unable to write further, waiting for Mario. My head feels like rap music’s playing inside, and I stare at the ceiling fan. Finally, I hear the doorknob. Mario comes in. “Nick.”
I turn. He stares at the floor, pressing his lips together. Finally, he says, “You were friends … weren’t you, with Leo?”
I nod, remembering our last encounter.
Mario sits by me. His face is weary, his eyes rimmed red.
“It never gets easier,” he says. “When I started doing this, they told me, you win some, you lose some. Always think about the ones you’re helping, but…” His head twitches. “Leo’s dead, Nick.”
The room is silent except for Mario’s voice and the ceiling fan’s hum. Funny how you can know something and yet not believe it’s possible. Whether it’s sheep cloning or space travel. Or the fact that, last night, Leo Sotolongo broke into his girlfriend’s bedroom and put a bullet through her skull. Then he turned the gun on himself. Mario’s words seep through my skin, but my brain is bargaining. I see only possibilities. What if I’d answered Leo’s calls? What if he’d come back to class? But it’s over. Mario’s stopped speaking.
“He never thought there was a problem,” I say.
“You mean he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of admitting it, even to himself.” Mario’s sad voice is angry too. “It wasn’t the first time he held a gun to that girl’s head. The police gave it back when she dropped the charges, though. He made sure of that. He called last week, said he wanted back into class so she’d take him back. Not that he needed counseling, not him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I can only help people who’ll let me.” Mario watches a train pull by, maybe remembering, as I am, the story Leo told us. “But that’s not enough people.”
I can’t stay. A second later, I’m out the door, Mario’s words still in my ears.
I sprint downstairs, then six blocks to the station. The escalator bears me to the platform. I can’t breathe. And I’m cold. The sun bakes the red-brown tiles, suddenly so close, so bright. I shut my eyes. Neysa. What did she look like, even? But I see Caitlin’s face, Caitlin’s blue eyes, staring.
Could it have been me, me and Caitlin? No. I want to scream it. No! My brain tells me different. You and Leo were the same, it says. Lonely, obsessed. Angry and out of control too. I saw it in Leo, I see it in myself. All I did to Caitlin, everything I said. Of course she’s afraid of me. I’m no different from Leo. I wasn’t, and I’m not.
But can I be?
Is there time?
The train’s in sight, white light piercing the sun, and I think of Leo’s brother. Then Leo himself, ending it when life became unbearable. It would be easy for me too. Who would care? Not Caitlin, not Tom. Not my father. One final shock, then no more pain. No pain. I feel in my pocket for the ring, Caitlin’s ring. My fingers meet coldness, and I take it out, hold it to the light. Purple prisms reflect around me. The train descends. I clutch the ring. Only the ring supports me. I step toward the tracks. The horn sounds. I hoist the ring to the sky and raise my arm.
Then it’s flying out, out over the track, then crashing to the street below. I watch until, finally, I can’t. The train pulls in but still I see the ring. Hitting ground somewhere below, its stone shattering on impact. The doors open, and I walk inside. I collapse into a seat and stare out the window. Where is it? Where’s the ring? It should be a mile wide, but it’s gone. The train pulls out, and still I look. I try to picture Caitlin’s face, but I can’t.
I only see my own face, reflected in the glass.
I’m sitting here with a flashlight, Caitlin’s pen, and my journal, which, in addition to being smudged, torn, and rippled, is now pretty much covered in wet sand. I have to finish it, though. I don’t want to, but I have to.
The pain in my brain was at tumor level by evening. Yet, somehow, I had a front-row seat, watching Saint O’Connor and company, in wigs, dancing to “Short Shorts.” Caitlin squeezed my hand, and through the deafening laughter, I heard her voice.
“I love you, Nicky. You don’t have to be a football hero for me to love you.”
I pushed her back, her words like a hand clutching my throat. Onstage, Saint ground his butt. I glanced away. Then, I noticed the dolphin on the calf of one of the wigged dancers. Tom. He wore a red bouffant wig, kicking and strutting with the others—without me. They belonged together. I was the oddball. For the first time in my life, I wanted to go home. Finally, the lights came up for intermission.
“Wasn’t Tom funny?” Liana said. I noticed then that the seat by hers was empty. “He wanted it to be a surprise.”
I started toward the doors. Cat stood to join me, but I said, “You following me to the men’s room?” She shook her head, sitting.
I stayed away a long time. When I returned, Tom and Saint were there, wigless. Caitlin was gone.
“Where’s Caitlin?” I said.
“And congratulations on a fine performance to you too,” Tom said. Then he saw my face. “Nick, I’d have asked you to do it with us, but you’d have said it was stupid.”
“It was stupid. Where’s Caitlin?”
“Backstage.” Liana’s face was smug. “Mrs. Reyes came looking for her because she’s listed to sing. We wouldn’t let her wimp out.”
I looked around, unable to believe she was really gone. I started to protest that she wasn’t dressed to sing. Then I realized she was. The aqua dress she wore was my favorite. I thought she’d worn it for me. She wore it to sing. She’d tricked me. I rushed up the aisle and crashed through the doors.
The courtyard outside the auditorium was empty. No one saw me run across or around to the back. No one heard the pounding, screaming in my head. I beat the stage door, but no one answered. My lungs felt overfilled. I was sweating, almost crying. My knuckles throbbed. I fell to the ground, exhausted, and sat, eyes closed, seemingly for hours. Finally, I dragged myself back to the auditorium and fell into my seat.
Caitlin’s solo was next. The song she sang was sexy, about love and meeting the man of her dreams. I felt every eye on her. Slut. I watched her face for some sign she meant me. Nothing. Not a glance my way. My neck muscles tightened. My eyebrows were frozen in position, my mouth paralyzed in a smile. The ungrateful bitch had betrayed me. I felt like shit, and it was her fault. All she wanted was to control me, use me. And I’d let her. I’d let her humiliate me, but this was the last time. She couldn’t treat me like this.
When the lights came up, I bolted for the door.
I stood behind the auditorium, waiting. Caitlin was one of the first people out. I grabbed her arm. She turned toward me, hope written on her face.
“Did you like it, Nicky?”
I didn’t answer. The door opened, and more people crowded out. Derek patted her shoulder. “Good job, Caitlin.” He moved on.
“Good job.” I mocked her. I yanked her away and out to my car. The parking lot was deserted. Cars were shadows, illuminated by towering light poles. I pushed her toward my car, parked near the back.
“Get in!”
She struggled against me, somehow managing to break free and run several steps before tripping. I caught her. I tried to carry her back to the car, but she yelled and kicked and thrashed against me.
We were under a light pole, our shadows tall as dinosaurs. I threw her against it. My mind was reeling, detached from my body. All I could think was to show her she couldn’t do this, couldn’t defy me, treat me like I didn’t matter. Caitlin’s face was white in the glow. She sunk to the ground. All the time, her mouth moved, forming no words. Finally, she said, “Please, Nick… I … Mrs. Reyes said … and Tom and Liana. I thought you’d like it once you saw.”
“Bitch!” I slapped her across the face and reeled back from the force of the blow. Her head smashed the lamppost. I stumbled, regained my footing. I advanced on her, yelling, “Why?”
She began to sob, holding her hand to her cheek as if those little white fingers would shield her. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Over and over she said it.
I hit her again. This time, my fist was clenched, my feet set. The earth shuddered to a stop, gained momentum with my fist. Knuckles meeting her jaw. Words streaming forward without even knowing. Her white hand, flying up, away from her face, no protection. Fingers floating against darkness. I was small, weak. Gaining power, though. Gaining power by taking it from her and the words coursing from my throat. I hit her again, not seeing her face, couldn’t make her real if I wanted. Only anger, red, violent, on me like a cloak. My hands closing around her neck, barely knowing who she was. Then she was on the ground, not even crying, whispering something I couldn’t hear.
“Get up!” I screamed.
“No.” I could barely hear her. “Please, Nick. No more.”
“Get up!” I leaned to pull her toward me. I didn’t see her face then, but I see it now, bruised, broken. Blood seeped from one nostril and out her mouth. Only her eyes were Caitlin’s eyes. Caitlin’s blue, blue eyes stared at me, pleading. Her hands still struggled to protect her face. I pulled her up, pulled her toward me so I could hurt her.
Someone walked by, heading for a car. And another, and another. Caitlin called weakly, and I laughed. A dozen people passed like nothing. I dragged her up again, my arm arching back. No one could stop me. Then, hands on my shoulders, pulling me away. I lost my hold, and Caitlin staggered to the ground. I turned. Knuckles met my jaw. Stumbling backward. Knees, then my head hit asphalt. Everything was black, starry. When I woke, seconds or hours later, someone was crouched over Caitlin. Others came, so many faces. Liana. Derek. But I couldn’t make out the figure in the lamplight, the one holding Caitlin. The person who’d hit me.
Then I saw the dolphin silhouette on his leg.