Here’s something I started thinking about that day, something I’ve been thinking about all summer, Aleah: my actions have an effect on crap. For my whole life, they really haven’t, but now they do.
When I was a little kid, I couldn’t really do anything. I had no power to change anything. Gus and I were always there for each other because there weren’t any other choices. I had no other friends. He didn’t either. He didn’t have a girlfriend. We just were together. I didn’t know much and I couldn’t do much and whatever I did didn’t matter much. (Nobody got hurt; nobody got better.)
Now I know about my dad and I have a weird brother who depends on me and I have teammates and I know that Jerri isn’t remotely perfect, and all the stuff I choose to do—like miss a camp at Michigan or go to Florida with Gus or miss my brother’s concert—makes all this other stuff happen or not happen.
I have all this responsibility. Seriously. It makes me want to throw up sometimes. And it isn’t going away, I don’t think. I’m not ever going to brainlessly ride my Schwinn Varsity over to Gus’s house to watch a Muppet movie again, you know? That’s all gone.
I want my family to be okay. I need them to be okay.
Action, reaction. Whatever I do makes it better or worse. It took me many weeks to figure this out. I wasn’t ready last time I was in Florida.
Just like Tovi told us to, Andrew and I walked to the DQ near the pier to talk. We walked in silence.
We ordered our hot dogs (what Tovi ordered us to order) in silence.
We sat and ate our hot dogs in silence.
Finally, as Andrew was finishing his, while staring at the table in front of me, I said, “How can I help you?”
“Fail to be born,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Disappear,” Andrew said.
“I can’t,” I said.
“Go home,” he said.
“I might. I really might. But I want to know why you’re so pissed. Then maybe I’ll make a decision.”
“It doesn’t matter, Felton. I can’t get my old life back.”
“What old life?”
“The one where I don’t feel like a failure just for existing,” Andrew said.
I didn’t know how to respond. Nothing like that had ever come from Andrew’s mouth. “Why would you say that?” I asked, after staring at him for like ten years.
“Because,” Andrew said.
“That’s a lame answer.”
“You’re a lame answer.”
“That’s not nice.”
“You’re not…”
“Don’t do that,” I spat.
“Go home.”
“I can’t.”
“You should. You’re not wanted here,” Andrew said.
“You’re not wanted here either. Tovi told me that our grandpa doesn’t even know you’re you.”
“I have a better chance with him than I do in Bluffton.”
“Everybody loves you in Bluffton,” I said.
“No they don’t,” Andrew said. “They hate me to my core.”
“Jesus. What’s wrong with you, Andrew? Not true.”
“Yes. That’s what I feel. I’m claiming my emotions,” he said. “I have a right to my emotions. Big Rod said I don’t have to hide behind you or Jerri or…or…
“A child detective?”
“Right. I can just be as mad as I am. And I’m very mad about how you’ve treated me, and I’m not just going to roll over and be happy to see you, okay? Because you’re terrible to me and just being related to me isn’t good enough anymore.”
“How am I terrible to you?” I shouted. (What a dumb thing to ask, Aleah.)
“Concert. Pharmacist. Tell me to get lost when I need you. Say ‘shake it off ’ when I’m very worried. Don’t listen when I talk. Don’t thank me for working all night on your website. Run fast…”
“Run fast?”
“Run! Fast!” Andrew shouted so loud everybody in the DQ stopped eating and started staring.
“I can understand how it might make you feel pretty freaking crappy when I don’t show at your concert or when I call you a pharmacist or am ungrateful and mean, but I can’t really help it that I run fast.”
“Are you going to apologize?”
“For running fast?”
“For everything else!” Andrew shouted.
“Everything?”
“You’re a big, fat, stupid jerk all the time!” Andrew screamed.
Then came another voice. “You two. Get out. Now. Door. Go.” It was a man in a DQ hat and apron. He also had a mustache. He walked toward us fast, shaking his finger at us. “Door! Door! Now!”
I jumped out of my chair and was out the door in a blink.
I waited for like a minute. Andrew didn’t come out. I pressed my face to the glass. Andrew sat inside and shook his head at me. I opened the door and poked my head in. The mustache man was back behind the counter. He yelled, “Get out!”
“What the hell?” I yelled at Andrew.
“You just abandoned me again, Felton. Ran away without me. Left me to the dogs. But this isn’t Bluffton. This gentleman is making me a Heath Blizzard.”
“Jesus Christ,” I shouted. All the people stared at me and shook their heads. “Did you tell him our business?”
“Get out,” Andrew said.
So I left. In retrospect, I failed my test by not getting Andrew out of the DQ with me.
I have no idea what he told the mustache man to get a Heath Blizzard. But I was pissed. I vowed never to go to a DQ again (a vow I have since broken sixteen times).
Then I sort of realized what I’d done by bolting so fast.
Oh yes, it was a long, sad walk back down the beach to the White Shells. Here’s what I thought: I’m not only too fast, I’m a really terrible person and Andrew has finally figured it out. Now he’s gone completely apeshit in Florida, and it’s my fault.
See how my actions create reactions? (A boy calls his brother a pharmacist; the brother turns Super Crazy-Ass.)
I have responsibilities, Aleah. I do.
Andrew didn’t come back to the room that night.
“He’s started staying at Big Rod’s when I’m at Papa’s,” Tovi said. “He’s there, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”
Gus looked worried.