Dead Ends (10 page)

Marjorie Benson sat next to him and gave me a short nod. I used to look forward to seeing Marjorie around school, but most of my old crew had seen enough of
her
to spoil the mystery. Still, she was hot enough that I couldn't figure out why she'd be sitting with Jake, until I realized most of her friends probably went to the alternative school now, too.

“What's up, Dane?” Jake asked, forking a bite of something brown and vaguely meat-like into his mouth. A few drops of gravy landed on his shirt, and he kind of smeared them in with his fingers.

This was the company I'd been left with when my friends evaporated.

“Nothing,” I muttered. “You?”

“Ah, you know. Usual. Putting freshmen in their place.” He gave me a conspiratorial grin, but I felt something stick in my throat.

“Which freshmen?” I asked. I narrowed my eyes at Jake, trying to decide if he was the type to pick on a kid like Billy—if Jake was the one who had scared him.

“Any freshmen. All freshmen. How should I know?”

“Any named Billy Drum?” My tone made Jake lean back a bit.

“I don't think so. Who's that?”

“Is that the special ed kid you've been running around with?” Marjorie asked in a bored voice.

“What do you know about it?” I snapped.

She waved a hand like it was old news. “Nina Sinclair was talking about it in gym. She says you walk him to school—like you're volunteering for some charity program or something.” Marjorie laughed. “She obviously doesn't know you very well. Stuck-up twit. You didn't go out with her, did you?”

Jake cut in before I could answer. “What's that about, Dane? You some kinda hero now?”

“Not a hero,” I grunted, embarrassed. “But if I find out you messed with him—”

“No way. I wouldn't hit a retard. And I sure as shit wouldn't hit a friend of yours, man. Swear.”

“He's not a retard. And he's not my friend.” I lowered my eyes to my tray on that last bit, knowing it was a lie. It felt strange to defend Billy in one sentence and insult him in the next. But I didn't like hearing what our hanging out was doing to my reputation. It was fine if a girl like Nina thought I was some kind of guardian angel, but I didn't want a bunch of guys getting wind of it.

I took a bite of my sandwich. “We have a kind of deal going.”

“A deal? Like you're doing him a favor or something?”

I looked sharply at Jake. “I don't do favors.”

Jake laughed. “Well, I wish you'd do me a favor and create some action around here. Been getting pretty boring.”

“Yeah, Dane.” Marjorie winked. “When
is
the last time you got any action?” She bumped my leg under the table with her foot, and I slid away out of her reach. I appreciated tough girls—girls who'd grown up in the trailers next door to my own street and who knew how to handle everything from whiskey bottles
to white-trash insults. Both would get knocked back in a single slug. I appreciated them, but I also knew to stay away from them.

“Not the action I meant.” Jake rolled his eyes. “I want to see you take someone out like when you made Jimmy Miller flip his bike. That was epic!”

“Any more epic moves like that, and I'm at the alternative school.”

“Better there than here,” Jake said. “Bet it's not boring, anyway.”

“If you say so.”

“Stare much?” Marjorie said to someone over my shoulder.

I turned to see who she was talking to and saw Mark shuffling by. I sneered at his khaki pants and knockoff polo shirt—obviously something his mommy had put together from a secondhand shop. Who did he think he was, wearing some rich kid's castoffs and trying to look like he lived anywhere but on my street?

“Oh, look, it's the big mouth,” I jeered.

Mark caught my eye for only a split second before looking away and pretending he didn't hear.

“Stop,” I ordered.

He did stop, and when he turned, I saw him puff up his chest a little bit. “Yeah?” he said, trying to sound tough.

I swung my legs to the other side of the bench to face him square. “I heard you've been telling my whole life story to your new next-door neighbor. You got a reason for that? You got a crush on me or something?”

Marjorie and Jake howled behind me, and their laughter made me feel stronger, meaner. “Well?” I pushed.

Mark seemed to summon all his courage. His skinny little arms tensed as his hands curled into fists. “Maybe Billy D.'s the one who has a crush on you,” he said. “He's the one who likes guys.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” My own hands were fists now, and they were wrapped in the itch.

“I caught that pervert looking in my bedroom window,” Mark spat.

I was on my feet and in Mark's face in an instant. I heard Jake scrambling over the concrete table behind me. “Say that again,” I dared Mark, the heat of my breath on his cheeks.

Mark's eyes darted back and forth between mine, his brain probably boiling over with the fight-or-flight instinct. He should have run for it, but it wasn't like any kid from our neighborhood to back down—even a shrimp like Mark. “I
said
your friend Billy D. is a pervert,” he repeated. “And you probably are, too.”

My hand grabbed the front of his fake designer polo, and the force behind it pushed him backward into the patio's brick wall. I twisted the fistful of cloth until it was squeezed tight against his neck. His head made a gritty sound as it moved back and forth against the bricks.

“You really don't know when to shut your mouth,” I growled.

Jake leaned casually against the wall next to Mark and whispered in his ear. “Nice move, dumb ass. My friend Dane is about to erase you from the planet.”

Something about Jake in that gravy-stained shirt with his creepy whisper and dangerous look in his eye—something about a guy like that calling me
friend
caused me to loosen my grip on Mark's collar.

Jake saw the slack and flipped his eyes from Mark to me. “What?”

I gave Mark's shirt one more rough shake before letting go and spitting at his feet. “Not worth it,” I said. I tried to sound like I'd made some calculated decision to let the kid go, but the truth was, looking at Jake had suddenly felt like looking in a mirror, and I didn't like my reflection. Mark probably deserved to get knocked around, but maybe—just
maybe
—I had started it this time.

Mark inched away from the wall, straightening his shirt. He looked at me with a question in his face, as if asking permission to run away now.

I nodded once. “Go.”

Mark scrammed, and Jake threw his hands in the air. “Lame! There's not even a lunch monitor around. You totally could have taken him down and gotten away with it.”

I shrugged, hoping I looked bored instead of weak. “He would've told. Anyway, he lives across the street from me. I can handle him later.” I moved back to the picnic table, where Marjorie was still picking at her lunch, looking utterly disinterested in the almost-bloodbath in front of her. I shoved the last of my sandwich into my mouth and scooped up my tray.

“Later, Marjorie.”

“Later.” She waved.

When I raised my hand to wave back, I realized the itch had faded but not gone. I was glad I'd managed to keep myself out of the warden's office, but some part of me still wanted to give Mark what he deserved.

Seely showed up at our next fight session on two feet. I spotted her gliding across the park as smooth as if she were on her skateboard. The graceful movement didn't match her tough, punky exterior.

“Where's your board?” I called out.

She yanked a thumb over her shoulder. “I just live across the street.” In her other hand, she was swinging a plastic bag full of something colorful. As she got closer, I saw it was candy, wrapped in shades of pink and purple.

“Easter swag,” she said, holding up the bag. If we didn't get a day off from school, I would have forgotten all about Easter. Outside of Christmas and birthdays, Mom and I didn't celebrate much. She tried hiding eggs for me when I was a kid, but I always found them too easily. One year, she was so determined
to hide them well that even she couldn't remember where she'd stashed a few of the hard-boiled ones. Months later, when a rotten smell led her to discover the nasty old eggs inside an unused flowerpot, we called off the egg hunts forever.

“What are you guys doing?” Seely asked.

“Fighting,” I said, at the same time Billy said, “Looking for our dads.”

Seely's eyes flipped back and forth between us.

“I'm teaching the kid to defend himself,” I said, hoping Billy wouldn't speak up again.

“Yeah, we fight. Then we talk about our dads,” Billy said.

So much for hoping.

“Your dads, huh?” Seely sat down next to Billy in the grass, where he was already pulling out the atlas. Before he zipped the backpack, I noticed the yearbook was still inside.

Seely unwrapped a piece of chocolate and passed one to Billy.

“No candy. Mom says.” He opened the atlas, ignoring Seely's outstretched hand.

Seely offered it to me instead. I took it. It was the good stuff, with nuts and caramel—not the cheap junk from the Buy & Bag.

“See,” Billy began. “We figured out
my
dad is in one of the towns on my maps.”

I didn't correct Billy's “we.”

“What are these riddles on some of the pages?” Seely asked. She read one out loud. “
Everyone thinks he lives in the North Pole, but he really lives here.
Santa?”

“Santa
Claus
,” Billy corrected. “That's in Indiana.”

Seely munched on piece after piece of candy while Billy
walked her through the atlas, showing her the clues. He struggled reading a few, and Seely helped him without being a mush about it. But most of them he rattled off without even looking at the page—not so much reading as reciting from memory. He babbled on about which ones he needed help solving and which ones he'd figured out all by himself. By the time he was done, Seely had a pile of wrappers at her feet.

“What about
your
dad?” she asked me when Billy finally took a breath.

I waved a hand. “I'm just helping Billy D.”

My dad was none of her business.

Seely shrugged off my answer and went back to inhaling candy.

“These names are great,” she said with her mouth full. She pointed at the atlas in Billy's lap. “Crapo, Maryland? That's hysterical.”

I sat on Billy's other side, and he flipped through the pages, pointing out his favorite funny names. Some of them were in his dad's neat handwriting and others were in Billy's big, childish scrawl. We all smiled at Toad Suck, Arkansas, and Bummerville, California.

I stopped him at Dickshooter, Idaho. “That's where Mark should live.”

Seely burst out laughing, and Billy joined in, even though he probably didn't quite get it.

Seely grabbed the atlas from Billy. “Sandwich, Massachusetts,” she said, her mouth half full of candy. “And Cheddar, South Carolina. This book is making me hungry!”

We were already cracking up when she turned the page and shrieked, “Chocolate Bayou, Texas!”

Billy and I just lost it, leaning into each other we were laughing so hard. The sugar high from the candy made all the names funnier, and by the time we got to Mosquitoville, Vermont, Seely was rolling on the ground, and I was clutching my side. Billy's belly laugh came out in a stilted “HA. HA. HA” that only made us crack up harder.

“Dude, that sounds like”—I gasped for air between my own wheezy laughs—“like a dog barking.”

Seely snorted and spit a little chunk of chocolate-covered peanut out her nose. Billy and I roared.

“Ow, that huuuurt,” Seely cried, but even in pain, she couldn't stop laughing.

When we finally ran out of breath, we were spread all over the lawn. I stared at the sky, trying to remember the last time I'd laughed that hard. The only person I ever made laugh at all was Mom, and it was never quite that fun. The clouds above us were turning a threatening shade of gray and moving toward each other from the east and west. A warm breeze spun white dandelion debris into the air.

“I think it's going to storm,” I said.

When no one answered, I looked over and saw Seely sitting up with the atlas balanced on her knees. After a moment, she said, “You could try an online directory, you know—just look him up.”

I sat up. “Yeah, I thought of that already.” Now I understood why Billy had said “duh” when I'd suggested it. “But there are
too many Paul Drums. Hundreds of them, all over the country. It would be crazy to try to call them all.”

Billy rolled over in the grass. “I wish Dad had a cool name like one of the towns. Then he'd be easy to find.”

“Doesn't your mom know how to find him?” Seely asked.

Billy went back to picking at the grass.

Seely looked at me with a question in her eyes, and I gave a tiny shake of my head.

“Well, anyway, I didn't mean looking him up by just his name.” Seely closed the atlas and ran her thumb along the spine. “I meant start by looking up the town—every clue leads to another town, right?”

Billy pulled himself upright and stared at Seely. “Yeah.”

“So … solve a clue, look up the town, and see if your dad is listed. One town at a time.”

Why didn't we think of that?

“You could start with the clues you've already solved,” Seely went on. “Look for Paul Drum in all of those first.”

“Yes!” Billy got to his knees, leaning in toward Seely and the atlas. “Let's do it. Let's do it right now. Do you have the Internet on your phone?”

“I don't have the Internet,” Seely said, holding up a beat-up, old flip phone.