In the distance, I saw Finn coming out of the school, tugging his hat on. My vision honed in on him, the only clear thing amid the stinging of my knees and elbows, the dizzying pain coming from my arm. He registered me on the ground and started walking faster, then slowed as he took in his brother at the edge of the crowd. Finn’s eyes went back to mine, and the storm in them broke, the sky opening.
I can only describe what happened next as the type of transformation I’d seen in Charlie’s superhero movies, when Wolverine slid out his claws or that guy turned into the Hulk.
Finn’s whole face hardened and he started running for Johnny. He hunched forward as he ran and aimed straight for the back of his brother’s knees, screaming as he made contact, knocking his brother off his feet so hard that both Johnny and the Walkman smacked against the blacktop at the same time, the Walkman shattering into multiple pieces this time.
“You can’t hurt her. I hate you!” Finn howled, his fists pummeling Johnny’s back. His brother struggled to turn over, to push Finn off him. But Finn didn’t stop, landing a blow in his brother’s stomach and then right on his nose, continuing to yell. “You can’t hurt her, too!”
At this point, the third-grade teacher, Ms. Felleman, was helping me up, leading me gently by the arm that wasn’t hurt, while the fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Dufault, and Principal Fitzgerald were pulling Finn off Johnny.
Finn was furious, his face red, his arms struggling against the men lifting him, his legs still spinning in the air, while he yelled over and over at Johnny, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!?”
Johnny, meanwhile, pulled a hand away from his face, dazed, seemingly surprised by the bright red blood there.
“I hate you!?” Finn continued to scream, and right then, even though he was my friend, all that hate scared me so much, my teeth started chattering.
I turned to Ms. Felleman. “I need to find my brother,” I said. “I need Charlie.”
She led me away, and I left Finn behind, his screams echoing inside me for hours after.
That night, when I came back from the doctor’s office, Charlie decorated my cast for me, filling every inch of white space with color and words—pictures of superheroes and cats and knock-knock jokes—making sure to leave space for my parents to sign their names. Matty added to it the next day after school. In fact, the cast was so full that by the time I went back to class two days later, my classmates were disappointed there wasn’t more room for their autographs.
I was surprised they cared.
Turns out, everyone wanted to see my cast. The boys asked if it was true that I had heard my wrist crack when I fell (yes) and if my bone had poked out through my skin (no). The girls, the same ones who had called Finn smelly and said all those mean things about the lost-and-found box, invited me to join them at lunch, offering to carry my tray for me and splitting their favorite desserts. I never had to sit by myself during gym class either—a few kids routinely took turns joining me on the bleachers, while everyone else ran around wild, played basketball, or ran relay races.
A week later, when Finn finally came back after his suspension, he sat by himself at lunch, scowling. I waved from my new spot with the girls, but he ignored me. After lunch, I approached him carefully.
“Finn?”
He looked up, squinting, furious.
“I missed you,” I said.
His face broke into a sneer just like his brother’s. “Why?”
I stepped back, my hand half circling my cast. I didn’t recognize him, and it felt like my heart was on the outside.
Finn’s eyes took it all in, how I backed up, my hand on my wrist, how I was scared of him. “You’re not my friend,” he said.
It was like breaking my wrist all over again, only worse. This time the insides of me were breaking.
My parents had talked with me the night before, telling me Finn needed a lot of help, gently suggesting maybe I should find some other friends. I didn’t want to listen to them.
But right then, all I could see in front of me was Johnny’s brother, not my superhero friend.
“Go away,” he said, his voice a growl.
I took another step back, trying not to cry.
“I said go away!”
I flinched and ran, not looking back.
Finn and Johnny transferred out of our school a few weeks later.
I never got to ask Finn if he was mad at me for not protecting his Walkman and his cassette tape.
I never got to ask him if he found Major Tom.
I never got to ask him if he ever learned to fly.
Twenty-Five
THAT NIGHT WHEN I get home from the Float, I hear Dad upstairs in the home office, his voice raised and irritable, which means he’s on a work call.
There are quieter voices out back, so I follow them to the deck, only to find Mom and Charlie in the dusky light.
I falter for a second. I don’t know if it’s seeing Johnny tonight, or thinking about Johnny and Finn back then, but right now, even though things with Charlie suck, I need my family.
I slide open the screen door and poke out my head. “Do you guys want me to turn on the light?”
“No. We’re looking for lightning bugs,” says Mom.
“And we don’t want more of those guys,” says Charlie, pointing up to the moths batting themselves to death against the screen of Dad’s office window.
Mom points at an empty seat. “Come join us.”
I slide the door shut behind me, pretty sure I just let in a moth or two. “Dad sounds pretty crabby.”
“He’s on the phone for work,” Mom says. “There’s some problem with a client presentation.”
“Avoid him at all costs,” Charlie mutters, and I feel my shoulders ease. A muttered warning is better than silence.
“So how was your internship today?” Mom asks.
“Good.” I pause. “I met my supervisor. Carla. I mean Dr. . . .” I scramble for a second. “Dr. Smith.” Em’s words replay in my mind, but there’s no way I can tell my parents the truth. “I think she’s pretty cool. She’s going to be a good boss for the summer.”
“That’s wonderful, Parker,” Mom says, but she’s stopped by the sound of Dad’s raised voice coming from upstairs.
“But it happens every single damn time!” he yells.
I feel rather than see Charlie tense, hear his exasperated sigh.
“You know, I was thinking maybe for Dad’s birthday this fall, we could do something that would encourage him to get back into writing about music again,” I say.
“That’s a really cool idea, Parker,” Mom says, sounding surprised. “What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was just remembering how much he loved doing that when we were kids. Do you remember that, Charlie?”
He doesn’t respond.
“What did you have in mind?” Mom asks.
“Maybe we can find him a writing retreat weekend or something? There’s that new Writer’s Space place in Hyde Park. Or we could set up a blog for him? I don’t know. I’ll have to keep thinking on it.”
“It’s a good idea. I’ll think on it too,” Mom says, right as Dad yells, “Are you kidding me? That’s a terrible idea!”
She sighs and stretches. “I’d better go see if your dad’s okay.”
“Good luck with that,” Charlie says.
She leaves, and I remember the day Johnny broke my wrist, how Charlie got to the nurse’s office before Mom arrived. I couldn’t stop crying, but he waited with me, his arm sure around my shoulder, his low voice whispering, “I got you, Parker. I got you.”
I turn to him now. “How was tutoring?”
“Fine.”
“And therapy?”
“We’re really going to do this?” he asks.
I sigh, worrying the fabric of my sundress between my fingers, and try again. “Have you talked with Matty since he left?”
I’m obviously a glutton for punishment.
“No.”
This conversation clearly isn’t going anywhere, and I’m just about ready to leave when Charlie says, “But I texted him an apology for some of the stuff I said on Saturday.”
“You did?” I don’t know if I’m more surprised that he apologized or that he’s telling me about it.
“Yeah. I don’t know if he got the text, though.”
I choose my words carefully. “What were you apologizing for?”
“Because I gave him shit for going to Europe without me.”