In second period, the substitute teacher doesn’t know what to do so he goes up and down the aisles, asking students to talk about what college they’re going to. People get all excited about that, yeah. A few are set for the Ivy Leagues. Most are going to State. When the teacher gets to me, there’s a brutal hush, and I’m kind of like, Really? And the substitute teacher just skips over me. I didn’t get to say, “I’m going to State!”
Oh, bummer.
I really, really wanted to say that.
In Mr. Yan’s class, he’s lecturing but, as usual, I’m not really able to pay attention. It’s just facts mixed in with his own rambling, stuff that he likes, his interpretation, stuff that’ll be on the final exam. What will be on the final exam? Everyone in the class takes notes. I’m staring blankly at him. I start to notice that he ignores me. It’s like he completely closes his eyes when he looks to the right of the room, where I sit.
At lunch, I sit where I always sit, but they aren’t there, the people I barely know. The table is empty.
Well, look at that…
As it gets on in the day, I really see how people are, how “fair-weather” they really can be. I mean, I wouldn’t stick around either. That’s kind of expected. I don’t think we were ever more than people we sort of knew.
But then I see that asshole being an asshole as usual. He really isn’t going to wander over, is he? If he does, it’s just to spite me. Because he’s an asshole.
Brad stops, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to, but maybe he has an actual thought and maybe that thought was “Dude might fuck me up,” so he walks over and sits down across from me.
He says, “Bro, um.”
Doesn’t really want to look me in the eye, but does anyway.
Then he says, “Oh, man, you look like hell, dude.”
He looks down at the table in front of me. I’m not eating anything, no. I don’t have much of an appetite anymore. Brad, on the other hand, really rips into that sandwich of his. He’s nervous. When people are nervous, sometimes they eat.
There’s a conversation that I’m not really involved in. It has to do with what Becca’s been doing.
Sure, I’ll chime in. “What is Becca”—I have to breathe in, catch my breath; being around people exhausts me—“doing?”
Brad’s like, “Bro, you don’t know? Fuck, man, she’s spreadin’ word that it’s real serious. We all fucking saw it at your party. Dude, you look like shit. Everyone’s talking! You caught a bad one. Real bad. Like, bro, it’s eating you up.”
I stare at him, just long enough to make him feel awkward.
“Bro?”
Yeah, that worked. I say, “Oh.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Brad chugs an energy drink.
“You don’t need any more energy. Bro.” It sounds cold.
I think it’s funny. I don’t know why, I just do.
It kind of messes with Brad. “Yeah, well… um, are you okay, man?”
I do my best to smile and realize that the entire time we’ve been talking, I have had my hands folded in front of me, back straight, eyes wide, barely blinking, staring, really just glaring at him.
That’s intense, right?
I know, I know.
But I get to have fun too.
If they can use me, I can use them.
Brad won’t get a word out of me. This is as good as it’s going to get.
I mean, I treat him like shit. I know. But I can’t help it. I kind of just go with it. The words, and that sense of inaction — just happens. It’s like I’m getting revenge but I can’t remember why.
Brad’s an asshole.
That’s what I’m thinking, but there’s part of me that’s like, “But he’s still your friend.”
But in bold letters, like it’s a future tattoo of mine, I think, “What makes a true friend?”
And that’s why, basically, I keep rolling with it. I treat him like shit and he deals with it. He sticks around, probably because leaving halfway through lunch would be too obvious.
Brad changes the subject, putting something on the table. “It’ll be cool, bud. Real soon. Just be tough, and then we’ll get so damn drunk during the after party!”
I look down at the card.
Don’t make me spell it out. Don’t do it.
Becca. It’s always Becca.
But he does. He makes me say it. That asshole.
“You get the invitation, man?”
“No, but you’d think I’d get one. It’s my exorcism.”
I look around and it’s like they weren’t there until just now. Invitations, the whole school. I spot a few in people’s hands.
I look back at Brad, who finishes the rest of his energy drink. Then Jon-Jon sits down next to me, slapping me on the shoulder. It’s like, What the hell are you doing here? Jon-Jon doesn’t hang in the cafeteria.
Look on Brad’s face matches how this isn’t normal.
Look on other people’s faces, same.
Jon-Jon looks at me like I’m made of money. “How are you faring, on a scale of one to ten, ten being I’m a demon now?”
Fuck you. I don’t say anything.
Brad says, “He’s going. Not going well. But going.”
Jon-Jon nods, a wink. “Need anything? Anything at all?”
I don’t need anything from you.
Needs to be noted that I am still sitting up straight, hands folded. It’s funny to me, the way I look, the way it makes other people feel weird.
But Jon-Jon’s about business. He’s about money. He showed up because he just wants to protect me, his investment. I want him to get caught. I want him to get arrested. I feel like I could — all this gambling and dealing is no good.
He could be done in one single tell.
But then they start talking about my exorcism again, and I can’t stand it.
Jon-Jon sees the card on the table. “Got mine this morning too.” He runs his hand through my hair, like I’m some little kid. “You’ll be fine, buddy. You’ll be drinking and smoking with the best of ’em. And think — when you shake this demon shit, you’ll be the talk of the town. Not just the school. The whole town.”
Brad lights up. “Yeah, buddy, now that’s what I’m talking about. Fight that shit demon. Fight it and then make bank off it!”
Jon-Jon kind of looks at Brad’s hyper response and just says, “Exactly.”
Trying to be all cool, huh, Jon-Jon? Trying so damn hard to keep with it.
He leaves as quickly as he showed up, saying that he’s got clients looking for him. Brad’s like, “I’ll be over in a bit.”
And I know he said that because he’s looking for a way to leave the table. Sure enough, when he’s done scarfing his food, he tells me, “Going to head over to JJ’s.” He stands up, picks up the garbage, bags it, and asks me in a way that’s not really asking at all, “You wanna go?”
Maybe I say no.
Maybe I don’t.
Can’t really tell. He leaves in a sprint, basically.
And I stay right here.
Keep in mind that I’m the same — straight posture, hands folded. Staring. I bet I look insane, and I find it so damn funny.
Around sixth period, I spot Becca handing out those invitation cards.
I have time to reconsider but, yeah, why not? I walk over. She gets all nervous when she sees me approach.
“Hey… Hunter, are you keeping with it?”
I’m acting all action-movie tough guy. “Ran out of sick days so I brought the demon with me.”
She pretends to laugh. She’s getting scared; I can see that eyelid twitch thing that she does when she gets really nervous.
“He’s moonlighting,” I tell her.
“Who’s what?” It’s a gut reaction, but she gets it before I say anything. Too late though.
I tell her, “H.”
Nervous laughter and then: “Hunter, you have to stay strong. Please, stay strong!”