PHIL

AS WE NEAR final announcements, the whole of Jefferson High is a wire pulled taut. If this is a guitar string, surely it will snap. Metaphors are not my strong suit.

Has today been decent entertainment? I do not know. Gus and I have spent hours dodging stares and bizarre attempts at human connection. I’ve been more shield than shadow, warding off ne’er-do-wells who want Gus to know they support him.

Here is an outline of the day, as we experienced it:

1st Hour, Homeroom: For the last ten minutes of homeroom, Gus and I completed homework in unusual quiet. Our teacher pretended to read with his feet on the desk. His eyes glanced frequently over the top of the book. He rarely turned a page. Gus was not studying so much as plotting, writing a long unknowable list in his notebook.

Before 2nd Hour: Gus and I visited his locker to fetch his textbooks. Lilies lay at his locker’s foot. Valentine-like notes of condolences were pasted down its front.

“I’m not dead,” Gus said.

Within his locker Gus discovered an anonymous hate letter, its angry scrawl incongruous against the backdrop of red hearts.

“ ‘You’re father would be ashamed,” I read. “Next time date hitler why dont you.’ Not a correct apostrophe in evidence. Appalling.”

Gus did not reply.

2nd Hour, AP Government: Our notoriously strict teacher, Mrs. Ollette, would not alter her method for something so measly as a murder scandal. She did not balk at discussing the intricacies of the judicial system. Eyes had a tendency to fall upon Gus whenever the word “jury” was uttered.

3rd Hour, AP English: Soft-hearted Mr. Alfonso did balk. Our test was canceled; we were granted the entirety of class to free read. He claimed it was a “homecoming treat,” but when Gus shut his copy of 1984 after two pages and began scribbling down words on his mysterious notebook list again, he was not asked to stop.

Before Lunch: Gus was summoned to the office.

“Your mother stopped by,” Ms. Patrick informed him.

Gus deflated. “Um. Do I have to leave?”

“No. She dropped this off for you.”

Gus took the bag with his good arm and sagged under some surprising weight. He leaned against the glass window and pulled a large shoebox from the bag. Eventually he contrived to prop it open. We were treated to a vision of cherry-red leather boots.

Gus stared as if they were the most incomprehensible mystery of all.

I solved it. “Ms. Patrick, which mother was this?”

“Oh. It was, um . . . the gardener? Tammy, is it?”

“Tamara, the landscaper,” I amended.

“I like your socks,” Ms. Patrick told Gus as we left.

Lunch Hour, Speech Therapy: I’d met Gus’s speech therapist before, at potlucks during which Dad invited coworkers to our home as if to say, “Yes, my wife left me, but I can still have dinner parties and raise our children well!” never mentioning that one son lives perpetually in the basement and another is devoid of human empathy. We walked in on the speech therapist gnawing on a peanut butter sandwich and watching cartoons on a portable DVD player.

“Gus, it’s been a while! I wasn’t expecting you. Avoiding the cafeteria?”

Gus nodded.

“Right. Here’s the deal. We can start therapy today, or we can postpone that to next week and you can sit quietly and watch Avatar: The Last Airbender with me.”

I watched a girl bend water to her will; Gus laced up his tall red boots and scribbled in his notebook.

Before 4th Hour: For the first time since parting this morning, we encountered Kalyn in the hallway. Officer Newton held a student, a member of Garth’s Gaggle, by the scruff of her black tee while Kalyn wiped brownish spit from her face. Her unbound half head of hair was ever more tangled. She looked furious but also, perhaps, scared.

She marked Gus and her aspect shifted; immediately a mask fell into place. She smiled at his boots, then seemed to remember herself and looked away.

Gus wanted to go to her.

“Officer Newton is right,” I reminded him. “Best not to engage.”

Gus didn’t argue.

4th Hour, The Pep Rally: We chose to take refuge in the library. The librarian led us into an empty computer lab and sat us in the carrel farthest from the door. “No one will come by during the rally.”

We entered this bunker two minutes ago. I tucked the keyboard behind the desktop to allow us room to rest our heads.

Gus slides his cryptic notebook toward me with a sigh.

“These are the thinks, um. The thinks, the things I’m thinking about.”

I stare at words transcribed in smeared lines. He has ineptly titled the document “Clues?” As always, his penmanship leaves something to be desired.

Clues?

1. Gary Spence Signed Dad's yearbook and appeared in photos with Dad, too. Good friends? If so, why would Gary Spence claim Dad bullied him?

At first I cannot fathom how he spent hours writing this entry; Gus turns the pages for me to reveal that each of the next several is dedicated to a numbered “clue.”

2. Dad's body was found in the trunk of a red 1985 Ford Taurus at Spence Salvage. who found it?

3. Gary Spence confessed to the murder immediately. why?

4. New DNA evidence (a jacket) clears Gary Spence of guilt. How?

5. Mom said something like, "You wouldn't live through what I've seen." what has she seen? was it the murder? Is she involved?

6. Dad was shot. Why was a knife belonging to Gary Spence found in the trunk with him?

7. Grandpa Ellis hates Mom. Is this why? or is it because she's gay or something else?

“Um. Anything to add?”

“You spent all day on this? Gus, you need to better acquaint yourself with the internet.” I amend the list with basic background knowledge, brushed up last night at John’s desktop while Gus slept. I make impeccable additions with my fountain pen.

Clues?

1. Gary Spence Signed Dad's yearbook and appeared in photos with Dad, too. Good friends? If so, why would Gary Spence claim Dad bullied him?

The two things are not mutually exclusive. Or, perhaps, like you and Kalyn, the general populace was not aware of the true nature of their friendship. There are social factors to consider. Spences and Ellises likely could not be seen together.

2. Dad's body was found in the trunk of a red 1985 Ford Taurus at Spence Salvage. who found it?

Research reveals this was a woman named Kathy Sturluson. She was the Life Skills teacher at Jefferson High and would have known both boys. She is probably still alive. We can likely interview her.

3. Gary Spence confessed to the murder immediately. why? Typically this sort of thing occurs when someone is protecting a secret or the true guilty party. You should be familiar with the idea of “taking the fall.” The real question is not why, but whom? Whom did this behavior benefit?

4. New DNA evidence (a jacket) clears Gary Spence of guilt. How? This information will be revealed in court, if there is a retrial.

5. Mom said something like, "You wouldn't live through what I've seen." what has she seen? was it the murder? Is she involved? This might explain some of her eccentricities. Is this why your mother is upset with you? Did you accuse her?

6. Dad was shot. Why was a knife belonging to Gary Spence found in the trunk with him? This is bizarre, agreed. Even if Spence was trying to frame himself, why plant a knife rather than the actual murder weapon?

7. Grandpa Ellis hates Mom. Is this why? or is it because she's gay or something else?
I fail to see why this is relevant.

Gus lingers on my amendment to number five. “I didn’t accuse Mom of murder. I accused her of a thing, I mean. Something worse.”

“Ah? How so?”

His face flushes. “Um. I asked her. I asked why she didn’t abort me.”

“Gus. You know I’m not especially adept at social interactions. But that hardly seems worse than a murder accusation.”

“I know.” He stares at the paper.

“Was it a genuine question?”

“I mean. Who wouldn’t um . . . ​regret. I mean. Resent me. A little?”

I can’t comprehend his thinking. “Nonsense. She’s got nothing but blind, foolish affection for you. When you’re in her vicinity, she tilts herself to orbit you. That’s no act of resentment; it’s a compulsion, gravity and motion. I study such things.”

“But people don’t have a choice, with gravity.”

“Of course not. It was merely a metaphor. I don’t know how to placate you.”

“I know,” Gus replies. “Thanks for trying.”

I can hear riotous stomping from the gymnasium. Nothing so mundane as murder can put a damper on school spirit.

The door to the lab opens and the noise intensifies. Kalyn appears when she is not expected, and therefore appears now. Gus rises, but she attempts to bow out—­

“Shit, I didn’t—”

Officer Newton propels her inside. “Go on. I’m watching the door.”

Scraps of paper speck the wilder side of her hair. She’s tamed the tangle into a bun: half Princess Leia, half newborn. I can’t retell scenes I did not witness, but Kalyn’s face is bruised where it was not previously, and the red in her eyes is more pronounced.

“Kalyn,” I ask, “care to regale us with your exploits?”

“That’s a hard no, Quillpower.” Kalyn scurries close to occupy the chair in the carrel beside ours. That’s not enough proximity for Gus apparently, as he wheels his chair out and over so that he’s aligned beside her.

“You okay-lyn?”

“Oh gust dandy. Same old shit. What’s this?” Kalyn reviews Gus’s list, whistles, frowns. “Lemme borrow your pen.”

“Certainly not. This is a Faber-Castell. It’s not for casual—”

Gus pulls it from my hand and gives it to Kalyn. She makes a point of licking the tip. “Thanks, Quillpower.”

Her contributions are not insignificant.

Clues?

1. Gary Spence Signed Dad's yearbook and appeared in photos with Dad, too. Good friends? If so, why would Gary Spence claim Dad bullied him?

The two things are not mutually exclusive. Or, perhaps, like you and Kalyn, the general populace was not aware of the true nature of their friendship. There are social factors to consider. Spences and Ellises likely could not be seen together. yeah, apart from the photos and the yearbook there’s a picture where your mom and dad are on the hood of a car on fourth of july and to me it’s always looked like it was taken on grandma’s property @ spence salvage. I think they hung out.

2. Dad's body was found in the trunk of a red 1985 Ford Taurus at Spence Salvage. who found it?

Research reveals this was a woman named Kathy Sturluson. She was the Life Skills teacher at Jefferson High and would have known both boys. She is probably still alive. We can likely interview her. OK to Kathy Sturluson but I don’t see how that’ll help, not like she knows anything special just because she found him. Also we should interview the secretary here at JHS. She knows something too.

3. Gary Spence confessed to the murder immediately. why? Typically this sort of thing occurs when someone is protecting a secret or the true guilty party. You should be familiar with the idea of “taking the fall.” The real question is not why, but whom? Whom did this behavior benefit? This is my number 1 question and the question I’ll be asking Dad next time he calls.

4. New DNA evidence (a jacket) clears Gary Spence of guilt. How? This information will be revealed in court, if there is a retrial. IFA is building a case because the jacket submitted as evidence proves Dad was facing the other way when the gun went off because of the way that the brain matter hit him. (graphic—sorry, Gus)

5. Mom said something like, "You wouldn't live through what I've seen." what has she seen? was it the murder? Is she involved? This might explain some of her eccentricities. Is this why your mother is upset with you? Did you accuse her? No way. I’ll ask her if you want. Your mom has no right to be upset with you gus so that’s some bullshit and I won’t say sorry this time.☹

6. Dad was shot. Why was a knife belonging to Gary Spence found in the trunk with him? This is bizarre, agreed. Even if Spence was trying to frame himself, why plant a knife rather than the actual murder weapon? I don’t know the answer to this except that maybe it wasn’t a framing? GS and JE were in shop class together. So maybe it was like a borrowed knife or something, I don’t think it has to do with the case.

7. Grandpa Ellis hates Mom. Is this why? or is it because she's gay or something else?
I fail to see why this is relevant. No idea, but fuck him double if that’s true.

Kalyn goes one further, adding an additional page.

8. Here’s my big question. What’s with the kidnapping story? I mean my dad didn’t kidnap your dad, your dad left a football game at halftime. What made him do that? Who made him do that?

“You think, um, Ms. Patrick knows something?” Gus asks.

“Likely many citizens have useful information,” I supply. “Perhaps the court will call them to the stand. At the very least, Gus, your mother really is implicated now.”

“This sucks,” Gus says.

“Yeah, it does,” Kalyn says.

“I fail to see why. We’ve made significant progress, considering we’ve spent less than two days investigating.”

“Phil, you dope. That’s exactly why it sucks.” Kalyn knocks my temple with her knuckles. “It sucks that the three of us figured all this out in a day. Because you know what? It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t hard, but no one else has bothered doing it! It’s been two decades, but no one tried to sit down and put this shit together. Fucking. Shitsboro.”

Gus clutches his curls in his good hand as though attempting to puncture his scalp with his fingernails. “And also. It sucks that Mom is implicated.”

“I know the feeling,” Kalyn says, savagely or sagely.

Gus pulls his fingers upward until his curls unwind, puff out as if electrified. “It’s been just two days. Two days, a single choice. How do we have this much bringing, collected already? Why don’t the police have this much?”

“Perhaps they do but have not been inclined to say so.” I adjust my glasses. “Oftentimes, police would rather have a tidy case than a correct one. ‘Dirty cops’ are a genre staple.”

“Tidy.” Gus clenches his fist. “But the world isn’t tidy. People aren’t tidy!”

“Color me unsurprised. Shitting on poor people. Bet that’s a trope, too, hey, Phil?”

“Indeed, Kalyn. There are a thousand precedents. Read The Grapes of Wrath.”

“Yeah. See. That bias I know about. But what I don’t know? Why is my dad okay with framing poor people? And why the hell hasn’t he called me?”

If this outburst feels as incongruous to Gus as it does to me, he does not say so. He leans back in his chair with his eyes closed. Perhaps he did not sleep well, having asked his mother why she did not abort him.

“We have a list of facts here. I would like to compile some theories.” They stare at me. I forge ahead. “Why might Gary Spence murder his best friend? Or, if he did not, why would he assume the blame? The obvious notion—that he is covering for a mutual friend—seems to point directly at your mother, Gus.”

“Mom’s not a murderer,” he says. “She’d have no motive.”

“Then why has she lied about knowing him? Perhaps James and Gary had an affair, and she killed James in a jealous passion?”

Kalyn snorts. “I’m all about gay romance, but my dad’s about as straight as a broomstick. Just doesn’t seem likely.”

Gus looks queasy.

“Maybe they really are covering for someone, though,” Kalyn says. “But who?”

“The next suspect on my list is your grandfather, Gus.”

Gus groans. “Grandpa Ellis is an asshole, but I can’t camera, I mean, picture him murdering anyone. He’d hire someone else to do it.”

“And there’s no way in hell my dad would take the fall for that guy,” Kalyn says. “Maybe it was all an accident. Maybe they were playing around and the gun went off and, I don’t know . . .”

“And your dad just accidentally hid the body, too?” Gus whispers.

“Unlikely,” I say. “No matter what theories we concoct, there’s that notion to contend with: the body was found on Spence property, and a Spence willingly took the blame. As much as we might want to blame an outsider, aye, there’s the rub.”

“If by rub you mean fucking tragedy, then yeah,” Kalyn spits.

“Do you know what I’ve never enjoyed about true-crime stories?” I ask.

“No, but you’re going to tell us.” Gus sounds distinctly unenthused. Kalyn snorts.

“They frequently lack resolution. The most infamous cases, JonBenet and Jakob Wetterling, the West Memphis Three, they’ve never been resolved. I’ve read stories that leave entire mysteries intact. Children who may or may not have fallen into lakes, husbands who may or may not have slit the throats of wives—”

“Enough examples,” Gus interrupts.

“There are myriad questions but rarely answers. But then, there’s a certain sensationalism to the unknown. Many audiences prefer unsolved mysteries.”

“Because they aren’t living them,” Kalyn growls.

“Can we talk about something else?” Gus slumps. “Anything else?”

I suppose I’ll allow them their humanity, but doing nothing is tedious. “Shall we plan a new campaign while we wait?”

Kalyn lays her head on Gus’s shoulder. “Whatever. How does it work?”

“Well, you create characters by assigning them a race, a class, alignments. Your Dungeon Master—me—refers to the manual and oversees a storyline for them to occupy.”

They close their eyes. My explanations of cantrips and character sheets are occasionally interrupted by echoes from the gym, but in here interruptions have ceased.

When I pause to ask if they’ve any questions, Gus’s head is on his arm.

“On second thought,” Kalyn says. “I’ve created enough characters this year.”

The door opens. Enter: the girl from this morning, followed by Officer Newton.

Kalyn stands. “Sarah? What—”

She is breathless, ruddy cheeked. “Kalyn, you have to leave. Now. They announced homecoming court at the assembly.”

“And?”

“And you won the nomination.”

I cannot determine whether we are surprised. Kalyn clasps her hands under her chin and cries, mockingly, “Wow, I’m popular.”

“People are going nuts. Tearing down banners, chanting, stampeding, the works.”

“The dogs of war indeed.”

Officer Newton clears his throat. “Boy, you kids are theatrical. Come on, Spence. I’ll give you a ride. You and your entourage.”

“Kalyn,” Gus says, “what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Damned if I do or don’t. Gus?”

“I’m not you. You do things I’d never do.”

“Don’t know about that.” She smiles grimly. There’s a mad gleam in her eye. Ophelia. “I do wanna give everyone in this town the finger.”

“Then you should do it, Kay.” Gus hoists himself to his feet.

“I don’t blame you,” Sarah says. “I’d feel the same way.”

Kalyn rolls her eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because, for the hundredth time, you’re my friend!”

“Er. Sorry.” Our catalyst, taken aback?

I tally these interactions in my head, on character sheets unseen.

“Right. I’m gonna parade in front of a town full of angry hillbillies. Any plans about how we go about this? I don’t want to be egged to death any more than I want to hear Phil ramble on about D&D.”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, for one,” growls Officer Newton.

We gawp, collectively.

“But Principal What’s-her-face said that the school couldn’t ensure my safety—”

“Principal Walton isn’t paying me. You won your damn pageant.”

When Gus lifts his eyes from his cherry toes, the gleam has infected him. “Kalyn. Are you sure you’re done inventing characters?”

“How do you mean?”

Gus divulges his plan in a single, mad sentence that feels almost out of character.

For a moment, silence. Then Kalyn, in a single graceful motion, swoops one arm around his neck and cuffs his ear. “It’s got balls, Gustivus!”

“It’s a little weird,” Sarah says. “Where did you get the idea?”

“Um.” Gus blushes. “Alexander McQueen?”

Sarah smiles. “I love it. And I have keys to the copy room, actually. Perks of being on the yearbook committee.”

“As a storyteller I approve,” I say, “but bodily harm seems probable.”

Officer Newton sighs. “Well, kids. It’s your funeral.”

It may be, but it’s fine entertainment. “ ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’ ”

“No one’s going to die,” Gus says. “It’s only a parade.”

“Often funeral processions are,” I retort.

“I don’t plan on wearing black,” Kalyn says, showing her teeth.