Stupid Fast

Chapter 42: FOOD FIGHT




Andrew wasn’t home or at least wasn’t inside. There was no banging or music. And I don’t mean piano music. He never played piano anymore. Not forever. The house was so silent, except for Jerri’s TV, terrible and dead. Jesus Christ, I missed his piano.

I sat down on the couch because it was the closest seat to the garage door. I stared at the spot on the TV table where the TV had been. I’d missed cleaning that spot. The table was filled with trash. My trash. My food wrappers. No TV. Dead wrappers. I sat for maybe five minutes, but it felt like a year. My lower back throbbed, and I groaned.

If old Andrew had been there, I’d have crawled upstairs and asked him to play me a song to take my mind off the pain.

What happened to him?

I knew what happened.

Andrew had made good on his promise not to take Jerri’s behavior sitting down. Andrew stood up tall. He’d taken all the dark in this story and pushed it right out to the outside. He turned his clothes black. He’d turned his eyeballs black. He’d turned into a pirate. And I’m not talking about a funny movie pirate. Give me a bottle of rum! Arrggh! Feed my parrot! I’m talking about the kind that would board your ship and kill you for your hamburger.

Me? I ran away up a cliff and then fought to keep both him and Jerri away. Andrew turned all Black Night Bart and refused to disappear. What a kid. The real Barbarian. Not me. I ran away.

I wanted to be with my little brother.

Or I wanted to seriously run away.

My little brother was gone, and Ken had broken my back. I had no brother left—and no ability to run.

I moved my leg, and the pain took away my breath.

I seriously moaned.

I sat, trying not to freak, for another twenty minutes. But my head spun. Get out. Get out. Get out. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I was totally freaking out.

Then I thought: Go upstairs. Get ice. Ice back. If the back is iced, it might feel better. And I was hungry. Goddamn it, so hungry. I’d lifted hard before Ken’s attack. Eat cheese and bread. I’d put bread and cheese in the refrigerator the day before. I bought it at Kwik Trip so I wouldn’t spend so much money.

I could hear that awful TV in Jerri’s room. She was up there. But I wouldn’t bother her. Only Andrew bothered her. She wouldn’t come out of her room. I didn’t want to see her and have her not care about my back. She wouldn’t come out, I was convinced. My bread and cheese. Then ice.

So I got up. I moved across the basement as silently as possible. I hobbled up the stairs. As I climbed, my back muscles pinched, almost taking me down. I gasped but tried to hold it in so as not to make noise. Should I crawl? No. I kept moving.

At the top of the stairs, the floorboards creaked, and I stood still both from pain and worry. Claustrophobic. I released my muscles, my brain telling them to let go, and I worked my way into the kitchen, holding on to walls, propping myself up on tables, etc. The pain burned in my back. Hunger burned in my gut.

Then I stumbled up to the refrigerator.

First things first. Bread and cheese.

I opened the door and looked in. Where was my bread and cheese? I bent, although it pained me, and rifled through the mess of expired eggs and black and mushy vegetables—and found nothing. No, there was no Kwik Trip bread. There was no cheese. What? Adrenaline rushed. Did goddamn Andrew take my cheese? “Where the hell’s my damn cheese?” I whispered. Heat rose in my face. No food? I was stuck, broken, in this house with no food? Adrenaline pumped in my veins. Okay, pirate. Okay, Black Night Bart. Tell me right now: “Where in the freaking hell is my goddamn Kwik Trip cheese?”

Just then Andrew came in through the front door. He was wearing his stupid black trousers and his black pirate T-shirt. His hair had grown back enough that you could tell he had regular hair, but it was no longer. His face was dirty, and his plastic nerd glasses sat crooked on his nose. He was carrying a really big zucchini.

“Look what I found in the yard,” he said.

I stood straight, and my back killed. He wasn’t my little brother. He was a pirate.

“Did you eat my bread and cheese, you jerk?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t eat your white man bread.”

“It was white bread, not white man bread, jerk.”

“Okay,” Andrew said. “Hey. Listen. I’m hungry. How do you eat this thing? It’s big.” He held up the zucchini.

“Where. Is. My bread!” I shouted, not even thinking of Jerri.

“I don’t know, Felton!” he shouted back.

“Jerri wouldn’t eat that white man bread, Andrew. That’s why I bought it. Now tell me, where the hell is my bread?”

Andrew’s face fell. His pale skin heated up. He was almost crying.

“I didn’t eat your stupid bread, you stupid jerk. Why are you such a stupid jerk?”

“I’m a jerk?”

“You’re an assface jerk!”

Oh, that was it. I’d had it. I was done. Old Andrew was gone from my brain. Night Breed Bart was in front of me. I didn’t care if he was my brother. I’d totally had it. I took a step toward Andrew so I could finally throttle him once and for all. Andrew’s eyes got huge and teary. He gasped really hard, then raised the zucchini above his head so he could brain me with it. I took another step, ready to kill him, all the sweet thoughts and memories erased. Then my back knotted into a tight ball. Flames shot up to my neck. I spazzed and shouted. I crumpled onto the floor, screaming in pain.

Andrew dropped the zucchini.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he cried.

“I hurt my back,” I tried to say. But it just crushed me. This pain just completely crushed. I could only cry out.

“Felton, what’s wrong? I’m sorry!” Andrew shouted. “I’m sorry! I tried to save your cheese. I told her she shouldn’t eat it.”

“Owwwwww!” I moaned.

Then Jerri cried from her room, “I can’t help you. I can’t help you. I can’t help you.” I mean, she was crying.

I breathed: Please release muscles. Release! I rolled over to the wall and propped myself against it, breathing hard.

Jerri sobbed from the other room. I could hear her throwing things. Calling out “I can’t” as she twisted in her sweaty sheets.

Something thunked loud against the wall.

“I think Jerri just threw your cheese,” Andrew cried, tears pouring down his face.

In her room, Jerri kept sobbing.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. “What the hell’s going on? I was about to kill you, Andrew.”

Andrew bent over me, his eyeballs bleeding, his lips trembling, his nose all snotty.

“I’m sorry, Felton. I told her not to eat it.”

“Andrew,” I said, breathing hard, “You know…” I gasped with pain. “I think…ahhhh…this…this thing with Jerri…it’s really serious.”

“What the crap, Felton. I know. I know,” he cried.

“I believe she’s gone totally and completely bat-nut crazy.”

“I know. I know. She really has. It’s my fault.”

“No, I don’t think she’s…I don’t think she’s going to get better.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” Andrew cried.

“I think we need help.”

“I burned all my clothes,” Andrew sobbed.

“I know.”

“I told Jerri I wished she were dead,” he cried.

“It’s okay. It’s not you.”

“Nobody cares about us,” Andrew drooled.

“I know. I know.”

“What are we going to do?” he cried.

Jerri continued her hissy fit.

“I have to think.”

And then Andrew kneeled down and clung on to my neck and cried for like two minutes (which hurt my back a lot, but it was worth it). We both calmed down a little.

“Let’s get away from Jerri,” I said.