Chapter 20

“so who is this ella girl?” Mom asks while passing me a bowl of steamed vegetables.

I didn’t want to leave Ella’s, but it was time and I felt bad that Ella kept pushing back lunch. Her dad came in and asked if he could eat without her. But a look passed between the two of them that said that was clearly not an option.

“She was the girl here the other night.” Dad lowers his head and smiles.

“I know that, but who is she? Greg, how do you know her?”

“She’s in my film class, and we’re working on our projects. She needed some help because she broke her finger.”

“So why did she need your help? Why not someone else?” Mom asks.

“Huh?”

Dad chews his steak. “Yeah, what he said.”

Mom gives a little toss of her head, as if she’s clearing her thoughts. “It’s just that a pretty girl like that always has friends, boys, whatever, to choose from. Why you?”

I bite into my steak just so I have a moment to consider what she’s driving at, even though it’s pretty obvious: Son, you’re a loser. Why would some hot girl want to hang with you? I swallow. “We just have a lot in common and she needed help. I’m good at editing, so why shouldn’t it be me?”

Mom sighs. She’s yet to eat a forkful. “I just don’t want you to get used, that’s all. You’re vulnerable right now, sweetie. Girls, they can sense these things and they take advantage.”

I am going to starve to death. “What are you even talking about? How am I vulnerable and how is she taking advantage?”

Dad keeps eating and watching us as if we’re on some reality show.

Mom sips her wine. “You’re losing weight. Things are changing for you. You’re excited and I don’t blame you, but you have to watch out. You’re getting graded on these portfolios, right?”

I nod.

“Well, I’d rather not have your work become Ella’s grade. That’s not fair.”

I chew on this last piece, eat some vegetables, and wonder just what she sees in me, in Ella. I can’t blame her for not knowing everything, but seriously, aren’t parents—at least mothers—supposed to have some kind of intuition? “Helping Ella is the least of my concerns,” I say and fill my mouth with steak. It’s dry and overcooked, but I force it down.

Mom has a question, but I look away and pull my phone from my pocket. I’ve got a text from Ollie. Want to swing by tonight?

I reply before I even know where he lives. Yes. Time?

“Hey, no phone at the table,” Dad says.

Ollie responds. 7:30?

Perfect.

I tuck my phone away. “Hey, could one of you bring me to Oliver’s in about an hour?” I look directly at Mom. “He just wants to hang. I promise, I won’t help him with anything.”

Her eyes tighten along with her mouth. Dad offers to drive, and I swallow the rest of my steak.

• • •

Ollie’s is a few miles away and Dad jokes that I should walk, but he notices how much I’m struggling to get around. It’s not that I’m limping, it’s more that my legs don’t want to bend at certain angles. I climb out and tell him I’ll call later about a ride.

I ring Ollie’s doorbell and he answers, looking flushed, eyes bugged.

I step back. “Everything all right?”

He looks over his shoulder and joins me on the porch. “Uh, shit, do you remember how I said my grandfather is sick?”

“Yeah, yeah. Why?”

Ollie takes a second and my stomach twists. He’s been crying. “He’s not doing well. In the hospital and all that.”

“Shit, I’ll go. I’m sorry.”

Ollie grabs my shoulder. His grip is not only strong, but desperate. “No, don’t. He won’t let any of us in to see him anyway. Told the staff and all. So we’re here, just sitting around waiting by the phone.”

“All right.” I want to run back to my house so bad, and might if it weren’t for my legs. “You don’t want to be with just your family?”

Ollie shakes his head. “Come on in. I’ll show you.”

I wish at this very moment I had some way of recording without him noticing. Because the phrase he used should always be followed by film. Or should it? If I’m going to use other people’s lives for my films without permission, then I can’t be upset if people think I’m an asshole.

We walk into the house and it’s the smell that tips me off. Fried onions and cheese. Grease. Standing in Ollie’s living room, I see the mound of food in the kitchen. Sam’s sliders, little burgers so good that in two bites one is gone, and then another, and on and on. They’re like crack. Around this pile is Ollie’s family: mom, dad, and sister. Everyone is Capital F, fat, and elbows deep in hamburgers.

“I only had two. Figured that was all right. But I’ll be like them. And Greg, I don’t want to.”

I feel like an AA sponsor must. I totally understand where he’s coming from, yet hate being the one to say no. His grandfather’s dying. Why can’t he eat some burgers? But I know what will happen. Tomorrow he’ll eat two dozen pancakes and a pound of bacon. An hour or two later a giant sub and an entire bag of chips. Then pizza.

“Your room?” I ask.

“Yeah. You can meet them after they’ve cleaned up.”

I follow Ollie up the stairs and down the hall and as soon as he closes his door, Ollie collapses on his bed. I settle into his desk chair—seems to be my place—and let him breathe. A moment later he sits up. “Thanks for not bolting. I know that was gross downstairs, but you have to understand . . .”

I raise my hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve eaten eighteen sliders before.”

“Damn, I only got to fifteen.”

We both laugh. “How you feeling? Your legs, I mean. Shot?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ollie says. “Dad’s been ripping on me all afternoon, asking what I really did with you two.”

“That’s nasty.”

“That’s my dad.” Ollie looks away. “Anyway, how was Ella? Hand all right?”

“Yeah, she’s tough. We, uh, well, she’s been doing some research, and I saw some things that got me thinking.”

I tell him about Callaghan and Mallory, and about the bros, the hacking, as well as the info from Ella’s dad.

“That’s just a whole shit-ton of crazy. What are you going to do?”

I chuckle. “It’s not me, it’s us. I’ll explain. But first, can I borrow this?” I point to his computer.

“Yeah. Hop on. Do your thing.”

I go straight to Twitter and kick myself for not thinking of this earlier. I follow @kyle_thompson.

Ollie must sense something because he asks, “What’s up?”

“Waiting to see if Kyle’s Twitter is safe from the bros.” And just like that, Kyle follows me back. “Time to send him a message.”

“Balls.”

“Balls is right.” I type to Kyle basically what I said on Facebook and send. Then I DM @ellafaint. Sent Kyle a message. Will keep you posted.

“Who was that to?” Ollie asks.

“That’s Ella’s username.”

A moment later I have a DM. The message isn’t from Ella.

Twitter is safe. I think. We should talk. When? Where?

Ollie reads over my shoulder. “Shit, is that from Kyle?”

“Yeah? What should we do?” I know what I want to do, but understand that Ollie’s calling the shots here. His grandfather’s dying for fuck’s sake.

Ollie sighs. “Hold on.” He heads out of his room, and I open up a browser and check his favorites. Classic: Epic Meal Time, This is Why You’re Fat, Food Porn Daily. I should delete these for him, but that would be cruel.

His door opens, and I close out the screen. “There’s the Quick Mart just down the street. If he can meet us there, that’s cool.”

I send the message to Kyle. A minute later he responds. Give me 15.

C u then.

“You don’t have to go,” I say. “Stay with your family. I’ll come back when we’re done.”

“You remember what happened last time you tried to meet up with Kyle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not letting that happen twice.”

I’m embarrassed and ashamed for dragging him into this, especially with what’s going on. “Thanks, Ollie.”

“Don’t mention it.”

We head downstairs and Ollie’s family is on the couch, looking bloated, eyes glazed, like every picture I’ve had taken of me for the past eight years. His dad stands. “Greg, pleased to meet you.” We shake hands and he crushes mine. “Real sorry for having to meet you this way, but my father-in-law’s touch and go. You understand?”

I don’t, really, but I say, “Of course. Nice to meet you.” I wave to his mom and sister. “Nice to meet all of you.” They don’t wave back.

“We’re just getting some air, Dad. We’ll be back in a little bit.”

“No worries. Can’t change anything at this point.”

We step outside and Ollie says, “Should we text Quinn?”

I laugh because there’s no way in hell Q wants any part of this.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’ll check with him now.” I text and we walk.

“How long you and Quinn been friends?”

I shuffle along because I can’t move much faster. “Long time. First grade? Second grade? Something like that.”

“But you two don’t hang anymore, do you?”

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s screwed up. But, well, I guess Quinn’s got his own problems, doesn’t he? His dad?”

I exhale. “Yup. And there’s more to it, I think. I just don’t know what.”

“There always is.”

My phone chirps with a text. Quinn. Good luck. Keep ur head low.

I show Ollie the response. “At least that’s good advice.”

We sit at the picnic table outside the store. It creaks under our weight and Ollie and I look at each other. “We’re going to break this thing.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ollie says.

Kyle appears under the streetlight, circling around on his bike. I’m relieved to see him, but am still tense at the thought of it being another ambush. “Kyle? Hey?”

He spots us and rides over, but looks all around. “No phone, right?”

As much as I’d like to I can’t. Not even on the sly. “No. We’re just talking.”

“Cool.” He straddles his bike.

I look around one last time and think about where to begin. “Kyle, I swear, I’m trying to help. What’s going on with you guys is terrible, but I hit a snag. What can you tell me about Alva and Gilbey and Callaghan?”

He shakes his head like someone who’s seen too much. “Besides what you’ve seen?”

“I guess,” I say. “I haven’t seen it all, you know.”

“Yeah, I get that. But you know how Stephen got his rib broken and me, my nose. I heard you got the shit-eating recorded, too.” He waits for me to answer.

“I did. I’m so sorry.”

“You should be, for not doing anything with it.”

“I tried to get it to the superintendent.”

“Really? And what happened?”

I don’t know how much I want to say. He’s been terrorized, but I also know from experience that the kids who get it handed to them also become the ones who stick up for those assholes the strongest. Case in point: Alva and Gilbey. “Complications. Something with my email.” That’s safe.

He nods as if he understands. “I don’t know it would have changed anything, anyway.”

“Why’s that?” Ollie asks.

“Philmore and Callaghan went to school together. Callaghan showed us the picture, early on, before, well, everything. He was talking about how much the school supports the lacrosse program and part of that is because he and Philmore are so tight.”

This blows my mind. I guess Callaghan and Philmore could be the same age. It’s just that Callaghan seems so downright evil, it’s aged him. “Did Philmore play lacrosse?”

Kyle seems to come back from somewhere else. “Uh, no, no. Callaghan didn’t say anything about that.”

I feel a little better, but not much.

“How much do they talk about Max Mallory?”

Kyle leans back. “An entire presentation dedicated to that dude. He’s like everything we’re supposed to become. Good student. Went into the military, became a bomb expert or some shit, and volunteered for more tours. We all know he didn’t make it back.”

“IED,” Ollie says. “I remember. The whole town shut down.”

We’re silent for a moment, and I think back to the day of Max’s funeral. They closed school, all the businesses, and everyone in town went. They used the word hero so many times. I’m sure I have footage of it saved somewhere.

“Doesn’t seem like your captains got the message behind the presentation,” I say.

“Yeah, Mallory and Callaghan don’t oversee things like you’d think coaches would. It’s pretty much Alva and Gilbey running the show. Don’t get me wrong, they know their shit about lacrosse. It’s just all the rest that’s the problem.” He looks in my eyes. “So what now? What’s your plan?”

“I have some ideas,” I say, “but I’m going to need more evidence. And since we got booted from the weight room, I’m not sure how I’m going to get that.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.” Kyle seems so hardened, like all of the shit that’s happened has become a cast around him. “You want evidence, you should be with us during spring break.”

“Why? What’s going down?”

Kyle looks over his shoulder and I wonder how long his paranoia will last. A lifetime? “It’s the lead up to the big tourney, you know? Hell Week. All sorts of bad shit’s supposed to go down. It’s all Alva’s been talking about. This is where we ‘show our strength,’” Kyle says in a voice matching Alva’s flat monotone.

I think of the list of injuries and wonder how many bros will have something bruised or cracked or broken.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t just quit,” Ollie says. I thought I made this point clear to him, but he understandably has other shit on his mind.

“I just told you that the principal and super are friends. Who the fuck am I going to talk to?”

“I don’t know, the cops?” Even as Ollie says it, I know it’s stupid. This town is literally indebted to the bros. You’d have to be an idiot to think the cops would try to shut that much money down.

Kyle laughs a shrill note that makes me look at Ollie. “Do you know who came to talk to us one day, right after the hazing started?”

I don’t answer. Neither does Ollie.

“The chief of police.” Kyle lets that settle. “Yeah, you think that wasn’t on purpose? You think he’s going to help us, or all of his officers who used to play here? They all come to the games. Who’s left, Dun? You think I want to tell my parents about this, huh? I’ve got nobody.”

He’s right and he’s wrong. There are others—lawyers, state troopers. But I understand his point. Word would trickle back and it would be handled and he would have to pay. “How’s Stephen?”

The anger drains from Kyle. “Fucking vegetable. His parents keep asking me why he’s so quiet and why his grades are tanking. I tell them I don’t know. They scheduled an appointment with guidance. Did you know that Mr. Martell used to go here? Guess what sport he played?”

It doesn’t surprise me one bit that the head of guidance is a former bro. “Kyle, thanks for coming. I promise I’ll figure something out. I mean it.”

He looks at me and in his eyes is a tinge of disgust. It’s only a matter of time before he’s one of those kids in the hall tormenting everyone else.

For the second time, I actually feel for Alva and Gilbey. I can blame them all I want, and I don’t think anyone would argue. But if I do what I’m supposed to, look big picture, then it’s impossible to dismiss all that’s fucked up in this town. And based on what Ella’s found, that begins with Callaghan. And no one’s telling that story.

“Just need to figure out a way to get in on your Hell Week,” I say.

Kyle’s eyes light up as he mounts his bike. “Keep me posted. If you’re serious, I’ll help you figure out a way. And if you make it there, you don’t know me. Understand?” I nod and he pedals away.

“Greg, you’re not serious, are you?”

But I am. There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t, but there’s one very good reason why I should, and sometimes even if the scales are unbalanced, you have to move ahead. “Why not?”

Ollie shakes his head. “Let’s get back.”

We return to his house and the reality of what has happened hits us both.

“He’s dead, Oliver. Gramps is dead.”

Ollie sways and falls on his knees at his father’s words. His mother and sister are tangled in a knot on the couch, crying. Oliver’s father bends down to his son and holds him. Our eyes meet and I mouth, “I’m sorry,” and back out the door.

I stand on Oliver’s steps and the wailing increases. I walk down the street a bit and begin to call my house. I stop and dial another.

In fifteen minutes, a car rolls up. I climb in and Q starts driving.

“Do you even want to know?” I ask.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“Stop the car.”

Q looks at me like I just farted.

“Now!”

He pulls over. “What’s the deal? You called, I picked you up and now you’re yelling at me?”

I ignore his perfectly reasonable argument. “Why are we still friends?”

Q shakes his head. “G, what the hell?”

“I’m serious. We don’t hang out. You drive me to school and try to kill me in the weight room. You won’t talk to me about what’s up with your dad or Heather. Fuck! It makes no sense.”

Quinn stares out the window for a long moment. “G, I just got my way of doing things, that’s all. It’s not personal.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Greg, you’re still my friend. I just have a lot of shit going on in my life. . . .”

“And you just don’t have time for me.”

“The fuck are you talking about? Who’s training you and Ollie? Who got you a free membership after we got booted? Who’s picking you up right now? And who’s still helping you with the bros?”

I don’t answer.

“You want to know what’s up? My dad’s an asshole, loves his job and his douche clients more than he does me. And Heather, I don’t know. She’s older and I don’t know if she’s interested or not. And I don’t know if that’s because she works for my dad, or if it’s me. Do you want me to answer any other questions?”

If I could feel small, I would. He is a good friend. Maybe I haven’t been the best. Or maybe it’s been both of us. Who knows? Either way, Q’s as much a part of my transformation as I am. I need him to help me down this road. And I think he needs it, too.

“You got plans for spring break?”

“G, what?”

“Seriously?”

He laughs. “No, I don’t. Why?”

“You do now.”

He doesn’t laugh again, and he doesn’t ask questions. And in the silence between us is our unspoken commitment.