Holding Up the Universe (31 page)

Rachel wants to know what happened.
This is a person who has seen you through your very worst. When you met her, you were taking up two hospital beds after being rescued from your HOUSE. She has been there for you and loved you through everything , just like a mom, only she isn't your mom.

I tell her I don't want to talk about it, not now, and we ride in silence most of the way home.

In my room, I open my copy of
We Have Always Lived in the Castle.
Even though she's done a terrible, horrific thing, Mary Katherine doesn't feel anything—no pain or remorse or emotion. Not even when the villagers trespass across her property and chant songs about her.

Merricat, said Connie, would you like a cup of tea?

Oh no, said Merricat, you'll poison me.

Merricat, said Connie, would you like to go to sleep?

Down in the boneyard ten feet deep!

Merricat is happy enough in her house with her sister for company, but she still thinks about the villagers and wishes their tongues would burn right out of their skulls.

I remember being so full of pain and anger that I wished nothing but tongue-burning on everyone who hurt me, especially Moses Hunt. But here's the thing—Merricat poisoned her entire family. The only crime I committed was being fat.

“Why weren't you in the living room with the other kids?”

“I didn't feel like playing their games. I went out to the back porch to study my lines.” The crying seems to have stopped, but he won't look at me directly.

“Did Tams and the others want you to play with them?”

He shrugs. “I don't think they missed me.”

“But everything's cool with Tams, right?”

He takes a few seconds before each reply, and I can hear the hurt in his voice. The hurt I put there. “I guess.”

I let him be, my mind racing, my heart still going
BAM BAM BAM.

As we pull up in front of the house, Dusty says, “Jack?”

“Yeah.” I want him to tell me he forgives me, that he loves me anyway.

“I really wish you hadn't tried to kidnap Jeremy.”

“Me too.”

“What if Tams's mom had called the police? What if they sent you to jail?” His voice shakes, and he looks like he's going to cry again.

“I'm not going to jail. I wouldn't have let them send me to jail. It was just a misunderstanding. That's all it was. I got confused.”

He gets out of the car without a word, and as we go up the walk, I say, “Hey, little man, do you mind not mentioning what happened today to Mom and Dad?” The rain has let off, but I can still feel it in the air.

He hesitates, and I can tell he doesn't want to promise me anything. Ever. He tilts his face upward and latches his eyes onto mine. These are eyes that are shutting me out. They are looking at me but from very far away. Finally he says, “Okay.”

After he goes inside, I sit down on the front step, damp as it is, because I'm not ready to go in yet. It's been a long day, and the evening is quiet and cool, like a hand against your forehead when you're running a fever. I stare out at the street and then up at the sky. My hands are still shaking. My heart is still pounding.

Today was really, really bad. Your brain is broken. It will never get better.

I can't tell you what Jeremy Mervis looks like. If he was to walk down the street right now, I wouldn't be able to recognize him. But I will never forget the look of terror in his eyes as I tried to drag him out of there. And I will never forget the look on my brother's face as he watched.

Today could have been worse.

I repeat it over and over even as I try to think of the five ways it could have been more horrible, but I can't because really what's worse than accidentally trying to kidnap some kid you don't know? My mind goes reeling back to Dusty. He's carrying around things that I can never know about, just like I am, just like we all are. I'm not sure what these things of his are, but I can guess. Dusty's sensitive, he's honest. He's a little eccentric. He's almost certainly gay, but I doubt even he knows it. Like Libby, he's not going to pretend to be someone he's not, and he's not afraid to be different. But other kids won't always like that.

I don't believe in God anymore, if I ever did, but out loud I say a kind of prayer.
Just keep him safe. Don't let anyone hurt him. And while you're at it, look after Libby and old Jonny Rumsford too. And my mom. And Marcus. And even Dad.

I don't add myself to the list because that feels selfish. But maybe I think it, just for a minute.
And me, I guess, even if I don't deserve it. Maybe look out for me too.

When I get inside, my mom is on the phone with Tams's mom, and my dad is on the phone with the parents of Jeremy Mervis. So much for secrets. Everyone is apparently very, very pissed.

My mom holds up a finger at me. “Jack Henry. Stay.” She points to the living room.

Ten minutes later.

Mom: “What is this about?”

Me: “Maybe I need glasses.”

“I'm not just talking about the Jeremy Mervis kidnapping. I'm talking about all of it, Jack. Getting in trouble at school. Fighting. This isn't you.”

Me: “I've just had a bad run, Mom. I'm the same lovable boy you raised. Still your favorite child. Still me.”

Mom: “I don't know what's happening with this family, but this behavior ends now. If there's something going on, you need to talk to us.”

And here's my chance to spill it all out onto the floor, right next to the stray piece of popcorn that's poking out from under the couch and the PlayStation remote lying on the rug.

Mom: “Jack? Tell us what's going on.”

But in that moment, I don't know what to say. Everything that's wrong with me seems made up because it's not like I can point to any of it and actually show them—my dad's secret affair, my secret brain disorder.

Me: “I'm sorry. I'll do better. That's the best I can do.” I look at my dad. “That's the best any of us can do.”

And maybe because he knows some of this might be his fault, my dad says, “I believe you, Jack, but this is pretty bad. You need to make amends with the families.”

Mom: “We also want you seeing a counselor. Mr. Levine or one of the others. No going out for two weeks. School, work, home. That's it.”

I want to say
Two weeks? Ground me for the rest of the year. Ground me from school while you're at it. Let me stay at home like Mary Katherine Blackwood, like Libby. It will make things so much easier.

I feel all tied up. Hands, legs, feet. Every single part of me. Like they might as well stuff me in a box and leave me there.

I call the Mervises first. And then Tams's mom. In this dead voice, I apologize. I tell them I'm still reeling from my dad's cancer, from all the stuff happening at school. I say, “Please don't punish Dusty for my bad behavior. He's the best person I know.”

As I hang up the phone, I add a postscript to my prayer.
Don't let anyone hurt him. Including me.

I don't feel like dancing, but I get out the pink toe shoes and tie them on. I drop onto my bed and lean against the pillows and pull George onto my chest, inhaling a mouthful of musty fur. He starts kicking, so I let him go, and then he does something he's never done before—he sits beside me, petting me with his sharp, dirty little claws.

I cross my ankles so that I can see my toe shoes as I'm staring at the wall. For a minute, this feels like old times—lying in bed, locked away from everyone. I pretend I'm in my old house, across the street from Dean, Sam, and Castiel, my imaginary friends who were never actually my friends at all.

I'm Libby Strout, America's Fattest Teen, maybe the World's Saddest Teen, alone in her room with her cat while outside that room, the rest of the world goes on.