“It wasn’t your fault.”
All kinds of people said that. The cops. Coach. The team. But it wasn’t true. Because the people that mattered most—they didn’t believe it. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not Randy. Not me.
Mom tried to comfort me. But how could she? How could she be kind to the kid who caused her so much pain? I heard her crying. Missing him. How could I let her hug me and pretend like things were okay? Like she didn’t wish it was Randy in her arms—and not me.
Dad worked more at the office. Avoided his grief, and the cause of it, altogether.
And I…well, I don’t know what I did really. These past thirty-one months, the 939 days since my brother died, they’re all just one long blur.
I quit the team. Quit talking to Izzy. And, after a while, she quit calling. It was better that way. People were so uncomfortable around me. I felt their stares, heard them whisper as I walked past. I was famous now, finally famous. But for all the wrong reasons. Even the teachers seemed to tense just a little when I happened to come to class.
Why bother?
“It is what it is,” Coach said one time when we straddled our bikes at the top of the Gatineau Hills, waiting for the rest of the class to catch up. “It’s a damned tragedy. But punishing yourself for the rest of your life, well, Hogan,” he looked off into the sky, “that’d be a tragedy too.”
He never said anything more after that. Which was just as well. That one sentence gave me a lot to think about as I rode back home.
“When it came to his big little brother, Hulk Hogan—Randy loved to brag,” Izzy says, trying so hard to convince me of something that isn’t true. More than anything, I wish it were. But how could he be proud of the brother that put him in his grave?
I clench my jaw.
“Oh!” Xander says, like he’s just put two and two together. “Hulk Hogan, the wrestler. I get it. Your name is Hogan. Yes, that makes sense now. All this time, I thought you were named after the Incredible Hulk.”
We look at him.
“You know, Dr. Banner and the gamma rays?” Xander says, like we all speak geek. “It’s a Marvel—”
“I know who he is,” I snap.
“Of course you do. He’s famous now.” Xander rummages in his bag and pulls out the Marvel Encyclopedia. Flips to Incredible Hulk’s page, even though I bet he’s got the whole thing memorized. “He appeared in 1962, but for the first five issues the Incredible Hulk was not an immediate success. Probably because he is not typical hero material.” He looks at me. “You know, you might be more like him than you think.”
“Great,” I say. “Thanks.”
Xander continues, like anyone cares. “And—”
“This isn’t the time for trivia,” Alice interrupts. This from the queen of fun facts.
“But don’t you get it?” he continues.
“What?” I ask, sure I’ll be sorry I did.
“For years, he was just the sidekick in a bunch of other heroes’ stories.” Xander flips the page and holds up a two-page spread of the Hulk: torn purple shorts, bulging green arms, boulder-sized fists clenched overhead. A typical teeth-gnashing pose. “And…” Xander continues excitedly, like he’s saving the best for last, “he’s the symbol of subconscious rage.”
Everyone looks at me like I’m going to explode.
I stare back. What’s their problem? Why are they looking at me like that?
“What?” I say, defensively.
No one speaks.
Finally, Alice clears her throat. “Um…you do give off a bit of a…hostile vibe.”
“Hostile vibe?” Izzy snorts. “That’s one way to put it. Seriously? You’ve been an angry ass since Randy died.” She pauses. “No offense.”
That I can agree with. That I know to be true. I have felt nothing but anger or numbness since Randy died. Anger at him for pushing me. Anger at myself for taking the bait. Anger at my parents for loving him more. At him, for always being better. And especially, anger that he wasn’t better that day in the change room, in our last match. Even when I win, with Randy, I always lose.
Oh yeah, Hulkster! When you gonna learn? You can never win against me.
“You’re right—” The words snag in my throat and I say it louder. “You’re all right. Even Xander…I’ve always felt like I played second best to my brother. Even after he died.” I pause. “Probably more now.”
No one says anything. In the corner, Noah hums.
Xander closes his book and puts it back in his bag. He seems proud of himself for sharing—even though he seems to have no idea what just happened here.
“But the Hulk did eventually get his own successful strip in 1968,” he says, and smiles that weird smile. “And today, he’s one of Marvel’s key characters.”
“Which goes to prove,” Alice adds, directing her statement to Izzy, “that even a hero can play the role of supporting cast.”
“Or,” Izzy points out, pulling out her phone as it buzzes, “even a supporting character can become a hero herself.”
Funny how people can see the exact same thing in so many different ways.