I’m walking home feeling so angry I can’t see straight. I want to kill Derek for trying to get rid of me, wipe his name off the tech board, off the call sheets, off the play program forever. I think about Reach’s offer to come up with a plot to bring him down. Why shouldn’t I take him up on it? Derek doesn’t give a crap about the work I’ve done for him. And if I make a mistake, I’m gone. So what do I care if Derek goes down in flames? It might even be better for me.
I don’t wait for the light to change at the crosswalk, I just step into the road. A big SUV blares its horn at me. I jump back onto the sidewalk, my heart racing.
It wasn’t close. But it was close enough.
The SUV guy gives me an angry fist wave, throws the truck into gear, and roars away down the street.
I’m tired of being that guy, the one who is afraid all the time. I fantasize about being brave, but I do nothing.
The fairy girl, Reach, Derek.
My whole life is like that. I need to speak my mind and I don’t. I need to stick up for myself and I don’t.
That’s what fear does to you.
I think about the kind of person I’d be without fear. I try to imagine myself brave and honest, but I can’t.
Instead I think of my brother, Josh.
He’s that kind of guy; nothing fazes him.
When Josh went to school in Montclair, he pretty much ran the place. He played sports, he had clear skin, he was captain of things, and he had girlfriends. Emphasis on the plural. There were girls around Josh from as far back as I can remember. When he was in fifth grade, girls started coming over to the house to ask for him. There would be a knock at the door, and I’d open it to find some girl standing there looking nervous, biting a fingernail or twirling a strand of hair. When I asked Josh about them, he said, “They’re friends. No big deal.” That just confused me more, because my friends didn’t show up unannounced and they didn’t bring gifts.
Josh got his first actual girlfriend in seventh grade, then another more serious one in eighth. He had three or four in high school. Maybe more. I lost count. The longest was Meredith, who he dated for two years. She was gorgeous. Sometimes she came over the house when Mom wasn’t home, and she and Josh would go into the den and close the door. I used to pretend it was me in the den with her instead of Josh. I’d sit in my room alone watching TV, but in my mind I was in the den with Meredith, and Josh had never been born.
I thought girls would come to the house looking for me just like they did for him. When it didn’t happen in fifth, I told myself to be patient. Maybe I was a late bloomer. Then it didn’t happen in sixth or seventh.
By eighth grade, I knew I was in trouble. Girls weren’t going to show up for me.
Josh and I may have been brothers, but things were different for me. Girls didn’t see me the same way.
I was going to have to do something, or high school was going to be terrible.
When Dad died in the summer before ninth, that was it for me. I started high school with this weight on my chest. I couldn’t talk to anyone, especially girls. I could barely get up in the morning and drag myself to school. I didn’t shower, didn’t change my clothes. For a while everyone was super nice, but eventually people started to avoid me.
Except the techies.
Showering is kind of optional with us.
Reach brought me into the fold, and I’ve been there ever since, my picture up on the Techie Wall of Fame inside the Cave.
What if Josh was in the same situation as me now?
He’d know what to do.
I need to talk to Josh.
The thought hits me hard.
It’s been a million years since we’ve spoken, and that’s not right. He’s my big brother, and brothers talk about things. At least they’re supposed to.
So I take out my phone.
I hate dialing Josh’s number. I’m sure I’m bothering him and he’s going to be angry with me. Isn’t that crazy, when you won’t call your own brother because he might be angry?
To hell with it. I dial the number.
It rings once, twice, and then I hear Josh’s voice, happy and excited.
“Hey, what’s up?”
I chuckle to myself, thinking I was stupid to worry. Josh checked his caller ID, saw his baby brother, and snapped up the phone. He’s even excited to hear from me. What was I so worried about?
“Hey, Josh. What’s going on?” I say.
“It’s Josh,” his voice says. “Go ahead and leave a message. If you can make me laugh, I’ll call you back.”
It’s one of those phone message that tricks you into thinking it’s a conversation.
The phone beeps, and I hang up without saying anything. My face burns red, and I feel like an idiot all over again.