Breaking Point Page 14

  8:10. Amanda came in late. Just about everyone turned to watch her walk down the aisle, hair flaming. The color of temptation. The choir was singing:

  Heavy is my tribulation,

  Sore my punishment has been,

  Broken by thine indignation,

  I am troubled by my sin.

  She sat across the aisle. St. John scooted close to her.

  8:11. A senior I didn’t know was doing the reading. It was “If Thy Arm Offend Thee, Cut It Off.” I barely heard it. Was that a siren screaming? Stupid. Just a sour note on the organ.

  Why hadn’t it gone off?

  Mom sat with the office staff. After chapel, she’d go back to the classroom building. I remembered her, Saturday, saying, Please don’t go, Paul.

  The bomb still hadn’t gone off. The bomb still hadn’t gone off!

  It was a dud, I told myself. It just didn’t work. But I knew. No one had turned on the lights yet. It would go off when everyone got to class.

  8:14. Reverend Phelps was praying.

  Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those…

  Oh, God.

  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

  I twisted to look at Charlie. He sat, hands in lap, neat. Innocent. When I turned back, Reverend Phelps was glaring at me. But still, he was praying. He’d finished the Lord’s Prayer and prayed for a litany of other things, the academic success of Gate’s students, the victories of our sports teams, the warmth of our school lunches.

  “And Lord, help us find another family to assist in the caretaking duties of the school.” A chance line, thrown in. Reverend Phelps continued, praying for the grass to grow, the weeds to die.

  I nudged the kid beside me. “What did he say?”

  The kid shook his head. “He said a lot—too much.”

  “About caretaking duties?”

  He didn’t answer. I knew the reverend was looking at me, but I had to know. I had to know. I didn’t look up. I nudged the kid again.

  The kid said, “Guess they’re still looking for someone to replace Old Carlos.”

  “Replace?” A hiss. Still?

  The kid didn’t answer. I nudged him harder. Finally, he whispered. “He left Friday—okay? He and his wife. They just took their stuff and cleared out.”

  Cleared out. Because of David, of course. Of course. I’d missed Friday. But Charlie had been there, and Charlie knew everything. Charlie knew Old Carlos was gone, knew there was no janitor to turn on the lights. He’d lied to me! He’d lied to me! I rose without realizing it and threw my hymnal to the pew. I had to go. If Old Carlos wasn’t there, Zaller would be the one to open the door. Zaller, and everyone in her class. I couldn’t let that happen. I’d only wanted to scare people, not hurt them. Not kill them. I could hear it already, above the choir. Screaming. I shoved the kid back and ran up the aisle, past the startled seventh graders and out the heavy wood-and-glass door.

  A rush of cool air hit my face. The hissing sound of trees. Then, silence. And my own breath. I stopped a second, couldn’t move. I checked my watch—8:16.

  “Where are you going?”

  It was Charlie. Charlie behind me. I didn’t hesitate. “To Zaller’s room. To stop her.” I started forward again.

  Charlie’s voice stopped me. “Why would you do that?”

  “I don’t want anyone hurt.” I knew that was right. I started walking again. Charlie followed me closer to the main building.

  “No one’s getting hurt, Paul. We were just screwing around. It’ll set off the sprinkler system.”

  I wanted to say something about him knowing Old Carlos wasn’t there, but I didn’t. I didn’t have time to fight with him.

  So, I said, “Look, it was a stupid idea, Charlie.” I thought I knew what his problem was, so I said, “I won’t get you in trouble. They won’t notice the missing file right away. We could do something about it, but—”

  His tennis-enhanced arm grabbed mine. “This isn’t about the file anymore.”

  Still, I tried to walk away.

  “I thought you knew that, but apparently, you’re really that stupid.” Charlie’s voice was flat. Behind me, I could still hear the outline of Reverend Phelps’s shouting. “This is much bigger than the file. We’re in deep shit if you tell.” For a second, his face wasn’t Charlie’s face at all. It was scary.

  “It is a big deal, Charlie. Really big. People could get hurt.” He didn’t understand, and I couldn’t make him, so I walked, pulling him with me. He was strong, but I was bigger, and finally, I pulled away. “I can’t do this.” I was yelling, not caring who heard now. “People could get hurt.”

  Then, I turned my back on him. I’d never done that before. I walked down the gravel path toward the oaks that divided the chapel from the main building. 8:17. The sun blazed through the cool air like fire, fire in my mind, fire maybe everywhere if I didn’t stop it from happening. I had to go. Had to get away from Charlie. Had to stop it. But again, Charlie’s voice stopped me.

  “Think you’ll be a hero?”

  I didn’t, couldn’t speak. His voice joined me again, there like the air.

  “Think they’ll pin some medal on you when you tell? Good old Paul, plants a bomb, then saves us from it. Think they’ll be grateful? No way. You’ll be expelled. We’ll both be expelled. And your mother will be fired from her pathetic job.”

  “I didn’t want to be a hero. I never wanted to be a hero.” I just wanted to be your friend.

  He laughed. “Well, good, because you won’t be. Think anyone will believe you didn’t know that bomb could hurt people? Do you even really believe that?”

  His voice was barely audible through the tree-winds. His face was dead calm.

  I stared at him. Close as he was, I had to look down to do it. Except you never looked down at Charlie, not really.

  “Did you really think you could plant a bomb full of gasoline in a school full of people and no one would get hurt?”

  I couldn’t respond.

  “Well?”

  “I thought…”

  I started to repeat that I’d thought it would go off with no one there. But I wondered. Had I? Had I really? And the horror of what could happen, would happen, unfolded before my eyes. Why had I done it?

  “I don’t know,” I said, answering Charlie’s question and my own.

  Charlie smiled then. “It doesn’t matter whether you do or not, Paul. You won’t do anything about it, won’t screw up your life worse than it already is. Will you?”

  I shook my head. Behind me, the choir started “Onward Christian Soldiers,” which always ended chapel. I glanced at my watch. Nineteen after. The numbers switched. 8:20. “You’re wrong, Charlie.”

  But his eyes held me there. “Do yourself a favor,” he said. “Skip class. Go to the beach, or go home, but this is real. It’s happening because we made it happen. You wanted it as much as I did.”

  I heard the organ thumping the final beats. Then, just the wind in the oaks. It was too late to do anything now. Finally, I said, “All right, Charlie. Okay.”

  “Good man.”

  I turned for the last time and started back toward chapel. But the doors were open, and a plaid ocean rolled forward, swarming toward fate. Behind me, Charlie yelled, “Go the other way, Einstein!” He was headed for his first class, in a portable on the other side of campus. I turned to do his bidding once again. I knew, as Charlie had said, something would happen. Something big. And, like Charlie, I wanted to be somewhere else when it did.

  I cut across the grass toward the athletic field. I saw Binky and stopped.

  I couldn’t say why I stopped. We hadn’t spoken in weeks. She hated me. But somehow, Binky was the only one I cared about. Binky had Zaller first period. I’d sort of put that out of my mind before. But now, she would be there when it happened. The explosion could kill someone. I ran back, the grass chafing against my shoes. “I’m skipping,” I said. “Come with me.” I checked my watch. Twenty-two after. Cha
pel had ended late.

  She looked at me like I’d peed my pants or something. “Not likely.” She kept walking.

  I grabbed her wrist. “I’m serious. Come with me.”

  “Go away!”

  She was strong for a girl, but still, I struggled against her. “Please. Just this once, trust me.” We’d entered the main building, the opposite of where I wanted to go. I gripped her arm harder. “Please. Just—”

  “Mr. Richmond!”

  We turned. Principal Meeks stood before us. He didn’t smile. “No time for love scenes, children. Reverend Phelps was a bit long-winded today.” He nodded at Binky. “Where are you supposed to be, Miss…”

  “Zaller. I was just going.” Binky pulled away from me and took off down the breezeway before I could speak again.

  “And you, Mr. Richmond? I believe you have Mrs. Sheridan this hour?”

  I nodded.

  “Splendid. I’m passing her room on my way to the office. I’ll escort you.”

  I nodded again and twisted my head to watch Binky’s plaid back fade, probably forever, from sight. I couldn’t believe I was going to hurt her. Maybe kill her because I was too weak, too tired to do anything else. And she’d been my only friend. Not Charlie. Not Charlie at all.

  “I’m waiting, Mr. Richmond.”

  I followed Meeks. It didn’t matter. My life was over, too.

  8:24. I reached Sheridan’s class. Zaller’s room was at the far end of the building, near the parking lot. But someone would be there soon. Someone would open the door. I sat. And I waited, thinking about what Charlie had said Saturday night, Something big. So, I waited to die. Waited for an explosion. Or maybe nothing at all, something too fast to hear or notice or feel. Would the end come instantly, in a cloud of smoke, a hail of flying bodies? Or slowly, in a fire that rolled across the buildings, taking lives as it went, taking my own life while, safely across campus, Charlie Good diagrammed sentences in a portable classroom?

  8:25. Nothing. 8:26. Nothing. Sheridan started class. I relaxed. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe it was just a small fire.

  Then, sirens in the distance.

  Lots of sirens.

  And the fire alarm, clanging, loud and rough through the whispering trees.

  And Principal Meeks over the intercom.

  “Students! Please evacuate the building! This is not a drill! Leave your books on your desks and exit in an orderly fashion. I repeat: This is not a drill!”

  Then, silence. And the screaming faces around me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  They evacuated us to the athletic field. It was drizzling. The neat lines we’d practiced in monthly fire drills fell apart in actual use, fanning across campus like ants on acid. The mood ranged from impatience to exuberance to near hysteria.

  I was numb.

  Our class was one of the first out, so I watched the others. A seventh grader screamed in the bleacher shadows. Mrs. Nordstrom, the school nurse, led her away from the group. Mustn’t upset anyone. Another kid was yelling at my mother. He wanted to go back to his locker to get his catcher’s mitt. “It was two hundred dollars, and it’s coming out of your salary.” Maybe blowing this place up hadn’t been such a bad idea.

  Charlie stood across the field, staring over the ficus hedge. Down the street, sirens screamed, closer, closer, drowning out words, thoughts. Closer. Then, they stopped. Three fire engines, one red, two vivid lime, screamed into sight. Firefighters swarmed like maggots on day-old kill, finally heading toward the classroom building. Charlie didn’t move. A frown stretched across his mouth. Someone who didn’t know him might have missed it. I knew him—at least, I did now.

  Binky sat Indian-style, halfway between Charlie and me. She hadn’t followed instructions about leaving her books on her desk. Most people hadn’t.

  As if on cue, she looked up, responding to my gaze. She knew. Knew I was involved in it and knew why. I shouldn’t have warned her. Now, I needed to act like it was all coincidence. Still, I couldn’t look away, like we were having a staring contest, seeing who’d blink first.

  Binky did. Her eyes wandered to Charlie, across the field, then back to me. She shrugged and returned to the book she was reading.

  By then, the teachers had given up on keeping order, given up pretending even. Girls got on guys’ shoulders to see over the hedge, and people wondered aloud if we’d get to leave. A group to one side took advantage of the break to cram for a test with homemade flash cards.

  Amanda was part of that group. But when she saw me, she came over.

  “You hear what happened?” When I shook my head, she said, “This place could blow sky-high, and it started in our room. Zaller’s room, I mean.” People had started to group around, and Amanda pulled back, making the most of her story. “We got there, and the door was locked. So, we’re standing there, and Old Lady Z’s fumbling with her keys.” She imitated Zaller’s trembling hands. “Finally, she gets us in. Then, she turns around and starts yelling to get out. She turned off the lights. That’s when we noticed…” Amanda flipped her hair, enjoying her audience. “The place reeked of gasoline.”

  The gas I’d spilled. That had saved them. Saved us.

  Amanda was still going. “So, she’s running as much as she can, screaming at us. And Pierre Loisel’s screwing around, dragging his feet until finally, Zaller just shoves him outside. Turns out … she thought there was a bomb in the ceiling.”

  She finished and stared over the hedges at the fire trucks. That was when the bomb-squad arrived.

  Amanda turned back, realizing. “Oh my God. It was real, wasn’t it?” She looked back at the bomb-squad guys, watching until they were sucked into the building.

  Coach Kjelson and Principal Meeks were patrolling with whistles, trying to chase everyone from the bushes. People ignored them. Amanda looked at the fire trucks and obeyed their orders. I did too.

  When I’d moved halfway across the field, I saw Binky again. How long had she been watching? She approached me.

  “Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

  “What?” I stared. “Of course not. To do with what?”

  “I think you know,” she said. “You warned me not to go to Zaller.”

  And for some reason, I relaxed. I looked her straight in the eye, hearing Charlie’s voice coming from me. “I didn’t know, Binky,” the voice said reasonably. “I was screwing around.”

  Across the field, Charlie still frowned.

  By noon, the rain had burned off, and Charlie had stopped ignoring me. They brought us lunch, so Charlie, Meat, and I crouched on the ground, slurping pizza. We didn’t talk. The lunch ladies—all except Mrs. Blanco—were circulating, threatening to write people up if they got near the school. But it was pretty clear it wasn’t blowing up, so people were bored. Someone had brought out a portable stereo, and music—I think it was Furious George—filled the air. Kids with cell phones called home. They reported back that we were on the news—only channel 7 because the networks were running soaps.

  Charlie was silent. Except one time, when Meeks passed, Charlie stood. “Uh, sir?”

  Meeks squared his shoulders. Then, seeing it was Charlie, his face relaxed halfway. “Yes, Charlie.”

  “Thank you for the pizza, sir.” Charlie made eye contact. “We were all very hungry.”

  Meeks smiled for the first time all day. “You’re welcome, Charlie.” He reached to squeeze Charlie’s shoulder. “Never let it be said that I’d neglect my students’ needs—even in the face of this sort of conduct.”

  “I appreciate that, sir. We all appreciate it.”

  When Charlie sat again, it was closer to Meat, away from me.

  Finally, they let us go. Mom was nuts all the way home, driving seventy down side streets, then slowing to a crawl for miles. She was repeating, “How could they do this?”

  The old instincts kept coming back. I wanted to hug her, make it better. I couldn’t. The lies I’d told fought battles with her lies. Neither won. I stayed
put.

  Later, I heard her in the living room making calls. Meeks had her organize a phone chain, calling parents to discuss today’s “incident,” reassuring them that Gate was still safe.

  “They’re doing everything possible to find the person responsible,” I heard her say. Then, “No, it couldn’t have been one of our students.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I lay awake a long time that night, waiting. Finally, I heard the knock on the window. I opened the blinds. It was Charlie.

  Come down, he mouthed. I wanted to say no, but I went.

  I scanned two rows of econo-boxes, identically gray in the dimness, before I found Rosita’s car. Good old Charlie, blending with the locals. His windows were black in the night. Air bubbles, where the after-market tint had come up, blocked my view. Charlie rolled down the window. He didn’t open the door.

  “Way to ignore me today,” I said.

  “It was necessary,” Charlie’s voice replied.

  “I don’t get that.”

  “You don’t get it period, Paul.” Charlie’s voice was sharp as the night air. “I pity you that.”

  I strained to see him, but only made out blond hair, bits of face. The rest was shadow. “What don’t I get, Charlie?”

  He ignored the question. “Mary flew home when she heard. She spoke with Meeks. As a concerned parent, not to mention a United States prosecutor, she felt entitled to information. She got it.”

  “What information?”

  “Apparently, someone planted a bomb at Gate,” Charlie said, like it was the first he’d heard about it. “A bomb with enough firepower to take out the whole wing, maybe the whole school if the wind was right. Needless to say, my parents were shocked.”

  I tried to nod, unable to speak. My stomach tightened, clear up to my face. The whole school. I hadn’t thought it was that powerful. Had Charlie known? He’d done all the prep work, after all. A dark van pulled into the lot, and Charlie hissed something. I ducked, listened to it roar past. I stood. Charlie rolled his window back down.