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As the final bell rang, Michael sighed. One day down. A hundred eighty-four more to go.
He plodded to his locker through a murmuring crowd, the hum like a shallow wave endlessly rolling to shore. Most around him likely felt the same way he did, awkward in their own skins after another day of trying to fit in and of exhaustively being conscious of what others were saying or thinking about them. Everyone could relax just a little with the day finally over, shuffling to the locker rooms, the bus stop, or the parking lot, wanting to forget school but taking with them homework that would not let them.
At his locker, Michael unloaded his backpack, only to stuff it again with all the books he would need to take with him. The last to go into his heavying burden was his worn copy of Moby Dick. He ran his thumb over a plastic sleeve that protected what little remained of its cover. Who names their son Ishmael? He’d gotten as far as that line before goofing off with the new kid. With another sigh, he dropped the book into his pack, zipped it up, then grunted as he threw it over his shoulder.
He closed his locker and turned just in time to see Robbie run by, heading for the locker room.
“See you tomorrow!” Michael shouted, feeling invisible as his friend kept on running. Invisible was good, much better than being the subject of gossip. The day had gone by quietly, with Michael not noticing a single person whispering to another while looking or pointing in his direction. He wondered if he’d already become old news and was back to being inconsequential. Yeah, invisible was good, but sometimes it was lonely.
I’m still not doing cross-country, he thought, silencing Sam’s voice as it chimed up in his head. With another heavy sigh, he hunched under the weight of his pack and headed for the exit.
Outside, his detail waited. He waved, thinking he saw Officer Tagliamonte in the passenger seat. He considered asking him for a ride home, but in spite of his load, he opted to hoof it over taking the bus or a personal escort. He’d walked to school his freshman year and had always enjoyed the time to let his mind go blank. Sam’s apartment was farther than his last foster home had been, a good three miles away even if he cut through a couple of yards between parallel streets. His entourage might have a problem with his route if not because trespassing was illegal then because they couldn’t follow him. Turning to leave, he wondered if the cops would trail behind him the whole way. And as he began to walk, they began to roll.
Still, Michael didn’t want to go home and sit in an empty apartment, waiting for Sam to return with some greasy fast food or pizza. He certainly didn’t want to start his homework or read a book about whaling. He didn’t have to be a psychic to know he’d be Googling the plot of Moby Dick in his near future. The walk was a dramaless way of killing time, and he had time to kill.
Before he’d reached the bottom of the bus lane, someone called out to him. He turned back to see Dylan hustling down the hill toward him. Despite it being a rather warm September day, the new kid wore a navy blue North Face jacket that looked brand new. An EMS backpack, looking conspicuously lighter than Michael’s, was slung over one shoulder.
“Where are you heading?” he asked, showing off his metal mouth.
Michael shrugged. “Home, I guess. You?”
“Work. Mind if I walk with you?”
“Cool by me,” Michael said, sounding more eager than he would’ve guessed he felt. He pointed to his left. “I’m headed that way. What about you? Where’s work?”
“Brentworth Hospital. My dad works there too. He got me a job in the daycare center. Basically, I play hide-and-seek with four-year-olds while their parents get colonoscopies or radiation or whatever treatment their wrinkled old sick bodies require.”
“That sounds... fun?” Michael laughed awkwardly, then kicked a pebble along the sidewalk. He thought about mentioning that he knew a couple of patients there, then thought better of it. He shrugged, shifting the weight on his back to a more comfortable position. “Well, at least you’ve got some money to spend.”
“Oh, my dad gives me plenty of money.” Dylan shook his head, likely attuned to Michael’s sudden rise of anti-snobbery feelings. “That sounded wrong. Sorry. What I mean is, my dad doesn’t have me do it for the money. He says it builds character or some crap like that. I think he just likes having me around.”
Michael studied the sidewalk, looking for another rock to kick. Having a father who wanted him around was not a problem Michael could relate to. He chewed on his cheek, countering the burgeoning self-pity with the knowledge that sometimes having a father was even worse than having no father at all, like in Tessa’s case.
Tessa. “I’ve got a friend at that hospital,” he said quickly, anxious to fill the silence that had formed between them and landing on the one topic he’d already vetoed.
“Oh, yeah? Is he sick or something?”
“She... well, there’s a he too. And yeah, they’re sick. Sorta.” He looked up at this stranger who’d become his friend in less than a day—that’s what we’re becoming, isn’t it? Friends? Michael didn’t know. He didn’t know how to make friends, at least not with anyone normal. He pushed away the thought. “Maybe you know them. Tessa Masterson? Jimmy Rafferty?”
“No, sorry.” Dylan adjusted the strap over his shoulder. “I don’t really interact with any of the patients.” He flapped his arms. “I mean, I may recognize a few faces, but I don’t really know anyone staying there... or in this city, except maybe you now.”
“Believe me, if you knew anything about me, you’d be walking in the opposite direction.”
“I don’t know.” Dylan smiled warmly. “You seem all right to me. I’m guessing maybe a little hard on yourself sometimes, but otherwise, you know, normal.”
Michael guffawed. “Normal? Me?” He shook his head. “I’m anything but normal.”
They fell into a silence. After crossing a main road, they took a left at the bottom of the hill into suburbia. A lawnmower roared, out of sight behind one of the mismatched houses—a cape here, a Victorian and a raised ranch over there. The scent of freshly cut grass tickled Michael’s nose and made his eyes water. On the other side of the street, a pit bull barked as it followed them along a chain-link fence, its nub of a tail wagging. As the sounds of both dog and mower faded, the soft rumble of an engine reminded Michael of his escorts, having previously tuned out the sound before it had been drowned out by the others.
Dylan threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Does what you mean about being normal have anything to do with the police car that’s been following us since we left the high school?”
“So you noticed them, huh?” Michael asked in a hushed voice. He chuckled. “They’re my bodyguards.” He blew on his fingernails, then mocked tossing his hair back. “They keep all the ladies from swarming me. Maybe you haven’t heard yet, but I’m kind of a big deal at Carnegie High.”
Dylan smiled, his braces glinting in the late afternoon sun. “Big enough to get a police bodyguard? You sure you’re not some serial killer they just don’t have enough evidence yet to put away? Maybe after you kill me and toss my body in a river, they’ll have enough to hang you.”
“Nah-ah. There’s no death penalty in Massachusetts. You’ll have to get yourself murdered by some other badass back in South America if you want that to happen, assuming they’ve got that there.” Michael frowned and continued his search for rocks to kick. “That’s me—regular badass. The only kid in the high school to have almost drowned in a toilet.”
Dylan stopped and fixed Michael with a grave look. “So what’s the deal, really? Are they harassing you? If you want, I think I know a way we can ditch them.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Michael searched for the words to explain. Just talking with Dylan, someone his own age who wasn’t locked up or—and he knew the thought was unfair as soon as it occurred to him—Robbie, was something he thought he could get used to. Talking like a kid with a kid—even though Dylan didn’t talk too much like a kid—just being a kid was something he hadn’t had a lot of time for before.
“They really are”—Michael blushed and looked away—“like bodyguards. My foster mom is a detective. About a month ago, someone attacked us. Attacked her, really. But now she’s all paranoid and thinking I need a babysitter twenty-four seven.”
“Wow!” Dylan’s eyes widened, and he poked Michael’s arm. “That is serious. They didn’t catch the guy? Do they know who he is?”
“No idea.” Michael tugged on his lip. “I think Sam—that’s my foster mother—has some idea who it might be, but she isn’t telling me anything. So yeah, I can’t go anywhere without the boys in blue. Except—” Michael sprinted across the next property at the curve in the street, slowing only to climb the stone wall in the back. When he saw Dylan keeping up, giggling, Michael said, “Let’s see them follow me this way.”
The boys laughed as they ran through another yard, this one with a swing set in the back. They listened to the police car’s engine rev then speed away, Michael knowing it would be back in less than a minute.
“Well,” Dylan said, backing away in the opposite direction Michael needed to go. “The hospital’s this way. I’ll catch you later.”
“I’ll probably be heading there on Saturday. Maybe I’ll see you if you’re working.”
“Seriously?” Dylan raised his arms out to his sides. “Won’t I see you tomorrow in class? How else am I going to know what happens in the first four chapters of Moby Dick?”
Michael smiled. “You could try reading it.”
“You first, Badass.” Dylan pointed at him. “You first.” He waved. “See you tomorrow.”
“Later.” Michael watched him go for a moment, still smiling, then turned as he spotted the police car heading up the road toward him. Finishing his walk home, he thought about how much better his first day as a sophomore had been than as a freshman.