That was your wife? How is she? Do you like being married, Mr. Rodriguez?
I do want to get married. Definitely. I want to have kids too so I can be really nice to them and raise them right. I’d like to have a family band or orchestra or something. Gore could be a dancer because she doesn’t play an instrument. Maybe I could teach her to play though.
Oh, yeah. Sorry. We were disco dancing with Mr. Wettlinger’s pals.
Dad showed up.
I’d totally, 100 percent forgotten that he’d been in the shop that morning, that I’d stayed overnight at Gore’s the night before, that he’d told me to come straight home after work, and that I’d totally stuck that crap right in his big, sad nose. I was wearing Gore’s T-shirt still. I’d led a huge protest, been involved in a brawl, lost and found the woman I love, gotten involved in a dance-off on the lakeshore. I had forgotten Dad. Seemed like everything was going on at once.
He just appeared. He didn’t ring the doorbell as far as I know. I looked over to my right at one point and there he was standing in Gore’s backyard, watching me like a screwed-up, giant ghost that had arrived out of thin air. His shirt was untucked and his hair was all messy. Gore’s dad saw him, and they shook hands and talked for a minute. Then Dad motioned for me to follow him. Gore stared at me, her mouth hanging open. I shrugged. Whispered “Bye.” I think I also whispered “I love you,” which is a little over the top, I guess. Then I followed Dad away.
No, it wasn’t late. It was like 8:30, sir. Not even totally dark out.
In the car, he wouldn’t look at me. I told him all about the protest and how I’d led it (in a lot of words, sir! I went on and on) and how Deevers had responded. I told him about how I might have a girlfriend and how things were getting better for me so fast.
Dad breathed deep and said, “Shaver was fired this afternoon.”
I stared out the window into the growing dark. “Oh, no,” I said. “I forgot that was even happening. So much—”
“You’re forgetting a lot.”
“Well, there’s a lot going on,” I said, raising my voice.
Then Dad whispered, “Dancing with those men?”
“What?”
“You defy me and go dancing.”
“Please, Dad. Please understand. This has been a crazy week, okay? Please?”
“Dancing,” he said, shaking his head.
At our house, he pulled into the driveway, into the garage, then got out of the car. I got out too. Then he turned to me and said, “Give me your phone.”
I stood staring at him, hating him.
“Give it to me now, Gabe. You’ve lost your privileges.”
“Did you hear me? I have a lot going on right now.”
“Now,” Dad hissed.
“Fine,” I said. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and put it on the floor next to me.
Dad glared hard. “Go in the house. New rules.”
I walked into the dining room. Grandpa leaned over the stove, stirring a pot. He nodded at me. Real nervous. Not like Grandpa at all.
Dad followed me in a second later (I guess after he picked up my phone). “Sit down in the living room, Gabe,” Dad said.
I took a breath and did what he told me to do. In the living room, I said, “Dad, please. I appreciate that you’re upset and I get it. But you’re not hearing me. This week has been—”
“Shut up,” Dad said. “Shut your mouth. I’ve heard enough.”
“I…just wait. Dad—”
“I said enough!” he screamed. He breathed hard. His eyes watered. “Here’s how it’s going to be. You’re not to leave this house. You’re not to talk to anyone. No computer. No phone. No landline. No job. No girlfriend. No nothing! Do you understand?”
“No job?”
“I’ve already talked to Dante. You’re not to go in.”
“Dad!”
“You will obey me. You will pay attention to what I say. You will not live under my roof and eat my food but treat me like I’m some minor annoyance you can swat away without thinking twice.”
“Dad, I never—”
“You will do nothing!” Dad screamed. His chin began quivering. He let out a little cry, sir. I’m serious. Like the beginning of a sob. Then he turned and stomped away back to his room, where he slammed the door shut.
I looked over at Grandpa. “He took your computer,” he said.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” I shouted. “Dad!”
No answer.
Grandpa shook his head. “Boy,” he whispered. “Tough times. Come here, Gabe. You want some spinach soup?”
“Shit,” I whispered. “No,” I said and I headed for my terrible doghouse.
Hey. “Did you know somebody egged our windows?” Grandpa called after me as I climbed down the stairs. “Ten minutes ago. Three boys. Let launch about a dozen before I chased them away. You know what that’s about?”
I didn’t answer.
What about Shaver, sir?
Yeah, school board. Met at Kaus’s house, for God’s sake. With Mr. Deevers’s consent, they dismissed Mr. Shaver not only for his drunk-driving ticket but because he had gotten on Facebook and incited a riot at the school. That “riot” had nothing to do with Shaver. He held no sway over us. The school board is just wrong. They know they’re wrong. They don’t care. They just like slapping us around.
Jesus. It’s still all new, sir. This whole thing. Shaver’s such a good guy. Why did he get drunk like that?
Yeah, we’re not a band at all anymore.
Okay. I went a little crazy.
When you’re used to being connected all the time and suddenly you can’t get any word about anything that’s going on and someone has egged your house and your band teacher has been fired and you’ve just gotten what seems to be your first legitimate girlfriend but you can’t talk to her, you start to go crazy. At least, I did.
I lay down in my bed, tossed and turned, then showered because I smelled like a sweaty donut. Then I lay down in my bed again and started to sweat again, getting all twisted up in my sheets, and I cursed Dad’s name because I felt a great hatred for him deep in my guts.
I started thinking about what he’d said. It wasn’t “No work for a week.” He’d said, “No work.” For how long? Forever? Was crazy, terrible Dad cooping me up in the house forever? I’d be like some pale freak trembling in the corner of the basement when the police finally came for me?
Then I thought, Oh, my God! We’re being egged. Shit! I knew exactly what that was about. Seth Sellers was coming after us! Shouldn’t I call Gore to let her know? I needed to call her! Shouldn’t I Facebook Austin Bates because Seth would be coming after him? And Mike Timlin and Raj? The jocks would beat those guys hard, right? Not just throw some eggs! I needed to do something. I couldn’t do anything.
Just me and my thoughts, sir. Not a good combination.
The school board fired Mr. Shaver! They took our money, drove Shaver crazy, and then fired the guy!
Look who loses. Look at the loser. I’m the biggest loser in the world.
I’d only been down there for like forty-five minutes at that point, I swear. But I lost all hope, plowed into the swamp of despair, and the hole opened up.
Okay. For more than a week, I hadn’t gone into the refrigerator, you know? In that week, I’d become the leader of a movement (a small and dumb-ass movement that was losing bad—but hey). In that week I’d gone from having friends who call me Chunk to hanging out with a great quarterback and a hot goth chick who respect me. I can’t tell you how hard I’d worked, Mr. Rodriguez. I tried so hard and Dad was taking it all away. No Dante’s meant no RC III, no Gore. Trapped again.
Yeah, trapped, sir. After Mom left, I went to Justin’s for a week. When I came back home, I pretty much stayed with Dad all day long, all night long, all weekend long. It wasn’t because Dad stopped me from going then. He never said that I couldn’t leave and see friends, but he was so ripped up, okay? He just kept crying and I was scared. Mom told me to take care of him, so I didn’t want to leave him alone. I’d pay the pizza guy at the door or walk over to the IGA to buy chips and cookies and crap. I called into the college a bunch of times to tell his secretary he was sick and I stayed home from school a bunch of times to keep an eye on him. On Saturdays, when I would normally be over at Justin’s playing video games or whatever, I sat in front of the TV and I ate with him because I didn’t know what to do, because I wanted him to be okay. And look what happened to me. Look what became of me.
Dad didn’t want me to escape Chunk.
I did the wrong thing, Mr. R. I reacted badly.
I felt empty. I felt alone again. I thought, Screw it. I’m going to fill this. I’m going to eat myself to death if I have to. You like that, Dad? You want me to be Chunk?
Because I’d been so under control, I was weirdly excited to go after it. I got a burst of adrenaline.
I leapt back up the stairs from my sweaty bed and went into the cupboard, where there are usually chips. There weren’t potato chips, just a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips, which didn’t sound like it would hit the spot. If I was going Mexican, I wanted real tortillas. Grandpa stared at me from the table, a bowl of soup in front of him.
“Spinach soup?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “We have tortillas?”
“Fridge,” he said.
I went into the fridge and grabbed tortillas and shredded cheddar and sour cream and salsa and I assembled a bunch of cheese burritos on a platter.
“Gabe?” Grandpa asked.
“Mexican,” I said.
I stuck them in the microwave for like thirty seconds. The cheese didn’t even melt completely, but I was hungry. I whipped a bunch of sour cream on top and then headed to the table to eat. Grandpa took a deep, sad breath, got up, and went into the living room.
Oh, balls, Mr. R. I sucked those suckers down. Didn’t even taste them. Inhaled the crap out of them. Then I was still hungry, but we were out of tortillas. I went back into the cupboard for the old tortilla chips, dumped them on a plate, dumped cheese on top, microwaved the pile, and ate the stack with salsa and the rest of the sour cream. Didn’t taste a thing. Sucked the suckers down.
I needed more. So I opened the fridge again. Bread, ham, butter. I pulled them out of the middle shelf. I couldn’t find Swiss cheese, which is what I like on my ham sandwiches. I bent down to look in the back of the fridge and saw it. Not Code Red but straight-up old-school Mountain Dew. Two 20-ounce bottles. “Holy shit,” I whispered. “Shit.”
Grandpa wouldn’t buy that crap. Dad bought it. Dad doesn’t drink Dew. He’s a Coke guy. He bought it for me, Mr. R. He had to have bought it for me.
My dad doesn’t know how to care for me. He was trying to be nice in the crappiest kid of way. I know it. That asshole! Fine, I thought. You got it.
I reached for a Dew. I pulled it out. I opened it. Took a swig. The liquid fizzed in the back of my throat. The sugar stung in my mouth. I took another swig and choked a little. Then I felt the real weight inside me. I’d eaten dinner at Gore’s. I’d eaten six burritos. I’d eaten a giant plate of nachos. I’d kissed the enemy, the lip of the Dew. My stomach turned hard. I coughed, choked. “Oh, shit. Oh, no,” I said. “Oh, shit!”
“You good, Gabe?” Grandpa called from the living room. “You okay?”
I coughed more, put the Dew on the counter, and stumbled downstairs.
In bed, my whole body ached and I could barely breathe. After an hour, I tried to throw up, but I couldn’t. I sweated so much and my head pounded. I lay back down and tried to sleep.
Then around eleven, something weird happened. I was buried in pillows, suffering huge nausea when the landline rang. Our landline almost never rings. Nobody knows the number. It’s unlisted. It’s only for emergency. In fact, because me, Dad, and Grandpa all have cell phones, I don’t even know why we have it. Of my friends, only two knew the number.
Justin and Camille.
Grandpa answered and I pushed myself up in bed, strained my ears.
“No…no…he can’t come to the phone. Grounded. No. No. I told you, no!” He hung up.
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted. There was silence, but I could tell Grandpa was at the top of the stairs, looking down. Then my guts totally turned on me. I went to the bathroom and threw up bad. While I did, a door slammed above. I stopped barfing and heard Grandpa yelling at Dad. Then the door slammed again.
They were fighting about me.