“One of yours?” I ask.
“So, twenty years ago, your mom and dad were already living their grown-up lives—married with real jobs, thinking about having kids, and living in a house a lot smaller than the one you’re in now. I was doing the struggling-artist thing full time at that point, a lot like I am now but with a lot more struggling. I borrowed money from them a couple times, something I didn’t want to do but had to. Anyway, the city council announced a contest for local artists to design a sculpture that would go right there. The contest was obviously a big opportunity, not only because of the money but also because of the exposure. So I worked on my idea for a couple weeks and came up with something that sort of looked like the pieces I make now. I showed your parents the idea, and your dad liked it, but your mom, man, she hated it. I mean, really hated it. She told me that if I was going to live as an artist, I needed to do something a lot more commercial, because the city council would make their decision based on what the whole town would like. At first I hated the idea, but you know your mom—she kept talking about how this could really launch my career, and eventually she just wore me down and I gave in. I ditched my original idea and presented a new, more commercial concept to the city council. And as you guessed, yeah, that’s the one they chose. The final’s right there in front of you.”
We both look at Boyd’s archway for a few seconds without saying anything. A man and woman in business attire walk under it on their way to the front entrance without giving the arch a second glance.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “Why would Mom hate you because of that? You won the contest.”
“Because,” Boyd says lighting a cigarette and pointing it at the building, “that arch is a piece of shit. It’s boring and common and not me. It did nothing for my career except force me to take the long way through town for the rest of my life so I don’t have to see it. And your mom knows it’s terrible too and feels guilty about it. Your dad’s told me as much. Shit, just sitting here looking at it makes me want to go sledgehammer happy. I snuck in when it first went up and removed the placard with my name on it, but everyone in this town still knows it’s mine. I hate that. What’s worse is I can pretend it’s not mine, but I know it is, and I sold myself out for the opportunity.”
“I’m not sure I see how that story relates to my problem.”
“Give it some time. You’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks a lot,” I deadpan.
“Sorry, man,” Boyd says. “But if you’re expecting me to tell you what to do, I’m not going to do that.”
I think about Boyd’s story on the way back to the house and am no closer to an answer than I was when he picked me up. Still, I thank him as I get out of the truck.
“I think you’re wrong though,” I say before closing the door. “Mom’s a lot more practical than you think. Guilt isn’t why she doesn’t like you.”
“You’re probably right,” Boyd says and laughs. “Your dad’s still not allowed back in Vegas.”
Inside the house, the first thing I do is check the phone for messages. No calls. So instead of having to come up with a reasonable answer for why I wasn’t here, I’m free to spend my brain power working out Boyd’s story and which path I’m going to choose.
Three days of headache-inducing thought later, I have my answer.
? ? ?
When I return to school after my ten-day suspension, there’s no hiding in the auditorium or nurse’s office like back in September. Instead, I walk the halls steely eyed, ignoring the whispers of “He’s the one” and “He’s back.” Crowds part for me as if they know to stay out of my way, as if people know the decision I’ve come to thanks to Boyd. The decision? Simple. Quit trying to be the version of Max that will sell and start being the one I actually like.
I’m at my locker before first period, trying to remember my combination, when I hear Ellie say, “There he is!”
I look up to see the other members of the Water Tower Five heading my way. Ellie’s the first one to me, practically laying out a group of freshmen in her rush to hug me. If I had known this would be her reaction, I would’ve gotten arrested years ago.
“Welcome back, dude,” Wheeler says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” Adleta says. “How was the vacation?”
“It sucked.”
“Because you missed us?” Ellie says.
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Good answer!”
“We’re all happy you’re back, Max,” Malone says.
“Yeah, dude, the conquering hero returns,” Wheeler says.
“Hero?”
“Yeah, you’re a legend in this place—the Guy Who Trashed Stranko’s Office. They’ll probably erect a golden statue of you now that you’re back.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Malone says, “He’s not exaggerating as much as you’d think.”