“Is Simone coming?” I ask.
“Nope,” Mallory tells me. “Said she had homework. I don’t buy it. I feel like she wanted to search for Liam. She told me she was concerned because she spotted his mom’s car circling the school. She thought Mrs. Avery was looking for him, too. I’m worried, Kent. What should we do?”
I never thought there’d be a time in my life when Mallory deferred to me. The great irony of this whole situation is that she and I are becoming friends. Like, she’s nice to me, has been hugging me and stuff and sending me texts to see how I am. I’ve smelled her hair and everything.
(Very flowery, five stars, would recommend.)
All I want to do is tell Stephen every detail...and then I remember. The most fucked-up part is that she and I wouldn’t even be buddies if he were still here.
Believe me, I would trade a lifetime with her for five more minutes with him.
“Specifically, why are you worried?” I ask.
“Liam taking off without saying anything is out of character. He’s Mr. Can’t Be Alone Ever. So I told Simone, if she could, to check out the bluff at the end of Mayflower Road. There’s a huge pine tree a couple of steps off the path. I used to sit with him in the open space under the branches. He and I would meet up so he could decompress whenever his dad hurt him.”
Owen winces. “Was that, like, a usual thing at his house?”
Jasper and Mallory glance at each other, feeling out what the other person knows.
Jasper says, “The old man stopped knocking Liam around on the reg a couple of years ago. Probably because he got taller than his dad. But the man’s still a flaming dickbag to him, which is almost as bad.”
“That sucks,” I say. “I had no clue. You never really know, do you?”
Mallory nods. “The few times his father lost it when we were together would send Liam reeling. He’d go mute, like, all fragile, forgetting that he was a huge athlete and could punch back ten times harder. I think when you’re walked on for so long, you forget you have any power.”
Jasper runs a palm over his slicked-back hair. “Everyone deals with something. Some of us are just better at hiding it.”
No one comments. We’re all surprised to hear any sort of disclosure coming from the guy who embodies “perfect,” who’s the epitome of “lucky.”
Jasper claps his hands together, uncomfortable at our attention. “So, if Simone’s handling Liam, what do we do? Malibu, Kent State, what’s the plan?”
“We figure out our next steps for the Gatekeepers,” I say, taking control of the group. “We have to exist, you know? It’s imperative. If we can’t work within the system, we find a way around it.”
Owen pumps his fist. “Yaaas. We owe that to our friends.”
I say, “Mallory, you look up how other clubs in schools get around the no-charter thing. Owen, check out any spaces in North Shore where we could gather. Could be a church or a rec center. Jasper, see if you can ballpark costs for us to open and run our own Gatekeepers center. Theo, find out who’s in the parents’ organization. You said your mom’s on the email, maybe everyone’s carbon-copied. Let’s appeal to each parent individually, see if we can change their decision. As for me, I’ll try to get in touch with Mr. Gorton.”
We each pull out our various electronics. As we work, I catch Mallory sneaking glances at me. What’s that about? Uh-oh. She can’t read my mind about the underpants, right?
“I have his Facebook profile up,” I say a few minutes later. “Gorton posted ‘On Administrative Leave, FML.’”
The fuck-my-life abbreviation makes Owen laugh. “FML, Mr. Gorton? You never consider our teachers or counselors existing anywhere but in the school, do you? In my head, it’s like they just climb into lockers at the end of the day and wait for first period the next morning, like putting a ventriloquist’s dummy back into the case. You don’t assume they have a regular life, and, like, eat dinner at the Olive Garden or buy socks at Target.”
“Right?” Mallory says. “Sometimes I forget that we’re just their jobs.”
I tell them, “One time we ran into my fourth grade teacher at the grocery store and it blew my mind. I looked in her cart and was all, ‘Why would she need toilet paper?’” and everyone laughs.
“I’d really like to hear what Mr. Gorton thinks. Can you send him a direct message?” Mallory asks me.
“On it,” I reply, head bent over my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Check this out,” Theo says, holding up his Android. “I Googled ‘North Shore’ and ‘Parents’ Association.’ Here’s a Facebook post by Stephen’s mom.”
That catches my attention.
Theo scans the text. “Let’s see... She’s talking about the meeting last night. Says decreasing the workload will ‘make us less competitive going forward.’ Says ‘holding students to a lower standard will just spit in the face of Stephen’s legacy.’ Also, ‘lower test scores impact property values.’”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, springing out of my seat. “You know she’s been texting me, saying she wants to talk? I’ve ignored her because I’m sure she’s going to lay a huge guilt trip on me, and, let’s be honest, I am chickenshit. But, now? Boom, the gloves are OFF.”
Owen puts his good hand on my forearm. “Bro, it’s okay. Settle. Stephen’s mom’s hurting and she’s doing the only thing she can think of right now, which is pushing forward. Do not hold her responsible for anything when emotions are so raw. She gets a pass today, okay? I don’t forgive anyone else for not wanting to ease up on us, but she gets a pass.”
He does make sense. I fall back onto the banquette, defused.
“You cool?” he asks.
I say, “I think so. Honestly? I don’t even know that Mrs. Cho was Stephen’s problem. Was she super strict? Hell, yeah. My own mom’s a lot like her and sometimes her micromanagement’s a lot. But I can handle it because I understand why. That was Stephen’s problem. He never understood why. He just figured he was destined to do everything wrong, which is why she was always bitching at him.”
More to herself than us, Mallory says, “Trying to figure out why will drive you mad.”
I nod. “With Stephen, he held himself to a higher standard than Mrs. Cho ever could. Shoulda seen him before our Physics meets. He’d practically slip into a trance, he was so intense. He’d stay up all night for a week to prep. And for what? To win some stupid trophy to be sold for a quarter at a yard sale in ten years?”