Bait (8 page)

When they finally pulled apart, she gave him a long steady look that he didn’t exactly understand. He knew what he wanted it to mean, but he wasn’t certain that’s what she meant.

“Thanks for a really nice time,” she said. “See you at school tomorrow.” And then she was walking up the sidewalk to her door, waving and smiling.

As he slowly drove home, he thought about their kiss and how perfect the entire afternoon had been. Maybe—just maybe—he could be normal after all.

D
IEGO COULD HARDLY WAIT
for his next appointment with Vidas, eager to report on his date with Ariel. Before leaving home he grabbed a bag of caramels his mom had bought, and when he got to Vidas’s office, he pulled the bag from his backpack.

“They’re for your jar,” he told Vidas. “It’s getting low.”

“Great, thanks.” Vidas filled the jar and listened attentively while Diego told him all about his date—everything except their kiss. That was too personal.

“She sounds like a nice girl,” Vidas commented.

“
Nice?
She’s more than just
nice
. She’s amazing!”

“And apparently she likes you,” Vidas added.

“Don’t know why,” Diego replied, even though she’d told him why.

“You were honest with her,” Vidas offered. “That’s a good thing. You told her you’re on probation and let her know about your cuts.”

“Yeah, I told her about probation because my mom
made
me promise and about my cuts because she’d noticed them. I didn’t
want
to, I
had
to.”

“But you did it,” Vidas argued. “Give yourself some credit. And you paid for her aquarium ticket. That was generous.”

Diego hadn’t thought of it as generous. He did it because he liked her—and he wanted her to like him.

“Now, come on,” Vidas persisted. “Name at least one other thing she might like, something you like about yourself.”

It amazed Diego how easily Vidas could come up with good stuff about him. When he tried to look inside himself, all he saw was the bad stuff. He took a breath and in a low voice confessed to Vidas, “I cut myself again.”

Why he admitted it, he wasn’t exactly sure. He could have kept it to himself. Vidas would never know.

“When?” Vidas asked, sounding curious, not angry.

“Um, right after our last meeting.”

Vidas thought for a moment, as if attempting to recall what they’d talked about.

“Are you mad at me?” Diego asked.

“No, but I’m concerned. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Diego.”

Diego slumped down in his seat, kind of wishing Vidas
would
be angry. Anger gave him something to fight against. Concern made him feel hopeless. “So, what’s going to happen to me?”

“That’s largely up to you,” Vidas said.

“Are you going to send me to jail?”

“No.”

“But what if I can’t stop cutting?”

“I believe you can stop. But you’ve got to believe it too. You need to believe in yourself.”

Diego slipped a little farther down in his chair. How could he believe in himself when he kept screwing up over and over? He felt as though he was sinking, and neither Vidas nor anybody else could save him.

“What if I asked you to hand over your shark’s tooth?” Vidas said. “Would that stop you?”

Diego shook his head. He didn’t want to let go of the tooth. “I’ll just use something else,” he told Vidas, expecting an argument.

But Vidas didn’t argue. He sat silently, seeming to consider what else he could say.

While Diego waited, he glanced out the window. Several sailboats were tacking across the bay. The sight made him think about his dream—the nightmare. What if he told Vidas about the shark? He’d probably think Diego was crazy. What if he
was
crazy?

“Do you, um, know anything about dreams? Like what they mean?”

“I’m no expert,” Vidas said. “But if you’ve had one you want to tell me, maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Well”—Diego sat up in his chair—“I keep having this dream…where I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean, all alone, being pulled by a current toward this shark that’s coming at me. It seems so real.”

He paused to swallow and Vidas asked, “What happens?”

“The shark charges at me. Then there’s a gunshot. And I wake up…. What do you think it means?”

Vidas scratched his chest a moment while thinking. “Dreams sometimes express feelings about our waking life. You said the dream starts with you stranded, all alone. Do you ever feel that way in real life?”

“Yeah.” Even when he was with other people he often felt alone, like no one really knew him. He sometimes thought that if he died, it wouldn’t make any difference. Nobody would care. His whole existence was pointless.

“In your dream,” Vidas continued, “you say you’re caught in a current. Maybe in real life you feel like you’ve gotten caught up in something you can’t stop.”

“Like cutting myself?” Diego asked. He figured that’s what Vidas was getting at.

“Could be,” Vidas said. “Or maybe whatever is beneath your cutting, the pain that’s pulling at you.”

Diego shifted in his seat. “And what about the shark?”

“Well…” Vidas pursed his lips. “What do you feel when it comes after you?”

“Terrified. What would you feel?”

“Terrified,” Vidas agreed. “Have you ever felt that scared in real life?”

Diego’s mind flashed to the night in the fishing boat with Mac, trying to get away, with nowhere to go. He’d been stranded.

“No,” he told Vidas, not wanting to talk about Mac again.

“Never?” Vidas peered across the office at him.

Diego shuffled his feet. “What do you think the shark means?”

Vidas continued staring a moment before finally releasing a sigh. “It could be lots of things…. Feelings swimming around inside you, beneath the surface…Fear. Rage…It might be that destructive part of you…. Or maybe it’s something in your past, pursuing you, eating at you…. A shark is a predator, an attacker. You mentioned a gunshot. Were there times you were around a gun? Mac’s gun?”

“No.” Diego glanced away, recalling the night before the suicide, in his room with Mac.

Vidas leaned forward in his chair. “Like I said before, Diego, whatever he did wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to protect him.”

Diego clenched his jaw as images of Mac flooded into his mind: Mac shuffling into his bedroom at night, waking him, his hot breath, smelling of cigarette smoke and whiskey…Even though he’d torn Mac out of all those photos, his face still haunted him, perfectly clear, hollow-eyed, smiling, wanting him.

“Protect him from what?” Diego asked. “He’s dead.”

“Protect him from the truth,” Vidas answered. “Maybe you’re afraid the truth might hurt your family. Or perhaps you’re scared of what you think it would say about you.”

It almost seemed as if Vidas already somehow knew what had happened with Mac. But how could he know? And if he did, why didn’t he just say so?

“Sometimes,” Diego replied, “it feels like a shark is really out there somewhere, waiting for me. Do you think that’s crazy?”

“No,” Vidas said. “People stay with us after they die, through the things they said and did. Even though Mac’s dead, to you he’s still alive.”

A chill passed through Diego as he thought about the part of the dream he hadn’t told Vidas: of Mac’s body bearing down on him.

“What else do you want to tell me?” Vidas asked.

“Nothing,” Diego lied. He wished that Vidas would press him harder, somehow force him to talk. But Vidas kept silent, staring across the room at him for what seemed like forever.

“Okay,” Vidas said at last. “I’m glad you told me about your cutting. Promise you’ll tell me if you cut yourself again?

“Sure, but…aren’t you going to, like, punish me?”

“It seems to me you’re already punishing yourself. Punishing you more isn’t going to make you stop. Is it?”

Diego stared at him, not knowing what to answer.

Vidas stood and arched his back, stretching. “And thanks for telling me about that dream. I’ll walk you down the hall.”

Diego remained in his chair, feeling a sudden urge to tell Vidas everything—all that had happened. But how could he? It would be like reliving it.

Vidas glanced down at him. “You want to talk more?”

“No.” Overcoming the urge, Diego quickly stood up.

When they got to the reception room, Diego recalled the previous time when Vidas had promised not to touch him again. True to his word, this time there was no pat on the back. Although Diego knew he should feel glad, instead he missed it.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
Diego arrived at school early, like he had every day since his date with Ariel. While waiting for her, he organized his locker, shuffling books and arranging pens, until she appeared across the hallway.

He smiled and waved, wanting to ask,
When can we go out again?
Instead, he ended up exchanging inconsequential conversation about their fish and teachers and classwork. And when the bell rang, his heart gave a pang as he watched her walk away.

On Saturday, he biked to work as usual and spent the day stocking shelves and helping customers. The following day it rained, so instead of going to the beach, he and Kenny went to a movie—an action pic that Diego enjoyed but that Kenny thought was kind of gore-heavy. Afterward, they grabbed some pizza at the mall food court.

They’d just finished eating when Kenny announced, “Hey, there’s Guerrero.”

He was ambling through the crowd with Gomez, one of his buddies, and three girls with mascara-fringed eyes whom Diego had never seen before.
They must go to a different school,
he figured.

“Should we say hi?” Kenny asked, sounding a little worried.

“Nah, I better get home. I’ve got curfew, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kenny nodded as if relieved.

Guerrero almost walked past without noticing them, but then he glanced in their direction and shouted, “Yo, guys!” as though they were best friends.

“Now, if he starts anything,” Kenny whispered, “just ignore him. Okay?”

“Yeah, I know.” Diego chewed the ice remaining from his Coke as Guerrero led his group over to the table.

“Yo, we need you guys’ help here,” Guerrero explained to Diego and Kenny, while behind him the girls giggled and made shameless direct eye contact. “Gomez and I met these three lovely ladies who want to go to the movies. So we need a third male companion for…” He turned to the smallest of the female trio, who was peering from behind a curtain of permed hair. “What’s your name?”

“Gaia,” she squeaked.

“Your name’s
Gaia
?” Gomez asked, cracking up. “That’s so gay!”

The most brawny of the girls smacked her fist on Gomez’s arm so hard that he stopped laughing.

“Look, either all three of us go,” announced the third girl, “or none of us do.” She was the tallest, a flaming redhead, and obviously the group leader.

“Come on, guys.” Guerrero told Diego and Kenny. “One of you help us out here.”

The girls were good-looking and seemed nice, but Diego wasn’t interested. His heart was set on Ariel. He turned to Kenny, who often complained that girls treated him like he was irrelevant. “You go ahead.”

But Kenny wasn’t interested either. “Can’t. I’ve got to go home.” His tone was final, even though he told the girl, “Sorry.”

Guerrero glowered at Kenny. “Yeah, we already know you’re a mama’s boy.” Then he addressed Diego. “Come on, MacMann. I’ll owe you one.”

One what?
Diego wondered. “I wish I could,” he politely told the girls. “But I’ve got to go home too.”

“Yo, come on!” Guerrero protested. “You and Kenny
both
got to go home? What are you, a couple?”

Diego took a breath, trying to keep calm. He could feel the anger rising inside him, from his gut through his chest, across his shoulders, and down into his curling fists, as he told Guerrero, “Shut up.”

“Don’t mind him,” Kenny urged, tugging on Diego’s arm. He seemed to sense Diego was about to lose his temper. “Let’s go!”

“Yeah, never mind me,” Guerrero chided. “Let’s see you guys hold hands.”

The girls behind him giggled, and Diego’s head began to burn. He leveled his gaze at Guerrero. “Screw you.”

He’d almost said the stronger thing, but caught himself because of the girls, who now went silent, sucking their cheeks in worriedly. Guerrero bristled. And Kenny watched intently to see what would happen.

“Screw me?”
Guerrero narrowed his eyes at Diego. “Instead of going to the movie with this good-looking babe you want to screw
me
?” Only he laughed at his joke. “You must really be a faggot.”

In an instant, Diego sprang out at Guerrero, sending him reeling against the table and knocking over a chair. Unable to control himself, Diego leaped on top of him, pounding wildly with both fists. He punched and clobbered him without thinking, unaware of the girls screaming or Gomez trying to pull him off or Kenny shouting, “Stop it, Diego! Let him go! Stop!”

It took two mall security guards to pry him away and pin him down onto the food court floor. Next thing Diego knew, the police were handcuffing him while paramedics arrived to attend to Guerrero.

A woman police officer led Diego through a crowd and outside into a squad car, where she asked him a series of questions, writing his responses on a clipboard: Name. Age. Height. Weight.

“Have you ever been charged before?”

“Um, yeah,” Diego admitted, figuring they’d find out anyway. “I’m on probation. Are you taking me to juvie?”

“You’d better believe it,” the male officer said, starting the engine.

The car pulled out and the steel cuffs bit into Diego’s wrists.
It’s finally happening,
he thought. To his surprise, he felt an odd sense of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore if and when it might happen.

“Will you call my mom?” He could imagine how angry she’d be. Would she tell Eddie what had happened?

“They’ll phone her from detention,” the female officer replied.

Diego slumped down in the seat, wondering if Ariel would notice his absence at school. And what would Vidas say when he found out?

He stared out the window, remembering his last appointment and all the good things Vidas had pointed out about him. Obviously, the good wasn’t enough to outweigh the bad. Even though he’d tried to deal with the anger, it was dealing with him—and winning.