Inside Out (5 page)

Skinny shuts up.

The phone rings again.

Frosty snatches it up real quick, “Listen, asshole,” he yells “we're talking about what to do, we're …” He stops suddenly. His face turns real red. “I'm sorry,” he says. “No, ma'am.” His voice sounds different, quiet now. “No, ma'am, he's fine, honest!

“I'm sorry,” he says, then, “Yes, he's right here.”

The next thing, Frosty turns to me. He puts his hand over the phone and whispers, “Sorry, Zach.” He sounds like he's just had a bad spanking. “It's your mom!”

“Hi, Mom,” I say, and my mom starts to cry. “Don't cry, Mom. I'm sorry I'm late, but Frosty says I gotta stay.”

I say, “I'm sorry” again, because I know that's what normal people say when somebody is crying and because saying it always makes my mom feel better.

“Are you okay, honey?” Mom asks. She's stopped crying, so the “I'm sorry” worked.

“Yes,” I answer. “But I'm kinda hungry.”

“Okay, honey,” Mom says. Then she asks, “Zach, are you hurt at all?”

I think about it. “My butt's kinda sore,” I say.

Mom asks real quick, “What did they do to you, Zach?”

“The floor is hard and kinda cold.”

“Oh,” Mom says, and asks, “Are the guys who are holding you being mean?”

“No,” I say, although I'm not sure exactly if that's true or not. I mean, having the guns pointed at us is kind of mean, I suppose. But Frosty hasn't called me Wasteoid once, and Stormy just seems to do what Frosty says. So I don't know for sure.

Mom says, “I've gotta go, honey. The police need the phone. But I'm waiting here for you, okay? The police can't let me come in, but I'm waiting right here, Zach, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” I say.

Mom asks, “Is there anything else you need? Is there anything we can get for you?”

I think about it for just a second. I look at the zombie girl again. She makes me nervous. “Yeah,” I answer, “I need my medicine.”

Mom says, “I know, honey, I know. The police can't let me come in, but I have it right here.”

After I hang up, I think more about my medicine. I'm really worrying that Dirtbag and Rat might show up soon. But maybe they can't get through the cops—maybe. I hate it when they come—it's the worst. Lots of times I'm a little late with my meds and nothing bad happens, but when I'm under stress … well, sometimes … I don't even want to think about it....

“Listen up,” Frosty says. “I want to let you guys outa here. This wasn't supposed to go down like this, and this offer from the cops sounds like our best chance. But I don't trust the police. We have our reasons for doing this, and they're important, so don't think we won't do what we have to. But if there's some way we can get you guys out of here without screwing us up, we'll do it.”

The nice-smelling old lady sitting next to me says, “You might think you have a good reason, but it's still wrong!” Her words sound even meaner than before.

Frosty looks at her and quietly says, “You wouldn't understand, lady.”

But the old lady keeps talking. “Whatever's wrong in your lives, do you think it will help anything for you to go to jail? You think it will help anything if the police gun you down like a couple of dogs?” Her voice is like she's swearing even though her words aren't swear words.

The other old lady touches her friend's arm and says, “Ethel, please.”

The mean lady says, “Well, they deserve whatever happens to them. They're punks!”

The nicer lady says, “They're just boys whose mother is ill....”

Stormy asks, “How'd you know that?”

The nice old lady looks up at him and says, “I heard you mention something about it. That's right, isn't it? Are you boys doing this to try and help your mother?”

Stormy starts to answer, “Yes, ma'am. We need money to—”

Frosty interrupts Stormy. “Shut up,” he says. “Listen, lady, no offense, but it's a private family matter.”

The nice lady looks at Frosty and nods. She turns to her mean friend and says softly, “They're just boys, Ethel.”

Frosty looks at the ladies and takes a deep breath. He doesn't say anything. He looks pissed. Why did that old lady have to say the thing about them being gunned down? I don't think that helped.

Stormy asks Frosty, “We gonna let them go?”

Frosty nods. “I guess so. We're gonna have to do something, or the cops are gonna bust in here sooner or later.”

“What if the cops are lying about everything?”

Frosty answers, “We'll have to take our chances.”

Stormy yells, “No! If we let everybody go, they'll just come in and shoot us, won't they? That's what's gonna happen. We're gonna be dead—Mom's gonna have nobody! Great idea you had here, genius.”

Frosty screams, “Shut up, Joey. I'm gonna figure something out, but we gotta let these people go or it'll be worse. Just stop bitching.”

As Frosty talks, his voice gets higher and higher, and for the first time since they came in, he sounds like
he
might start crying.

Frosty yells, “Maybe we should just shoot everybody and then kill ourselves! What's the point of anything, what's the difference?” He's waving his gun around while he's yelling.

Everybody's quiet. The store guy still has his arm around the girl's shoulders (if he's not careful, she could turn him into a zombie, too). Nobody takes a breath.

Frosty finally says, “We'll let everyone go but one person. Somebody's gotta stay and—”

Fat suit interrupts. “Keep the loony”—looking over at me.

Without planning it out or thinking it through, I say, “Sure, I'll stay with you guys....” Frosty and Stormy just look at me like they don't understand, so I explain, “If you're worried about being in here by yourselves, I'll stay.”

Frosty says, “Jesus Christ, Zach, that's all we need, to be stuck in here with
you
for the rest of our lives.”

The fat suit lets out a loud laugh, but when he does, Frosty glares at him and the fat suit stops laughing right away.

Frosty turns to me and says, “I don't really know if it would even help for you to stay here, Zach.”

I don't know either, but they look really scared. I remember what being scared used to feel like, so I say, “If you'd let me call Dr. Curt, he'll make the police let me have my medicine—then I can stay. If I don't get my medicine pretty soon, Dirtbag and Rat will come—”

Frosty looks confused. “Who the hell are they? Friends of yours?”

I answer, “No, no way. But listen, Dr. Curt—”

Frosty interrupts me again, “Who's this Dr. Curt guy?”

“He's my doctor,” I say.

Frosty asks, “Do you trust him?”

I do trust him, he's my friend, so I answer, “Yeah, he helps me.”

Frosty asks, “Do you think he'd help us, too?”

I ask, “Do you need medicine?”

Stormy mumbles, “What a moron!” He says to Frosty, “You can't trust this idiot!”

Ignoring Stormy, Frosty says, “No, Zach, we don't need medicine, but do you think your doctor would talk to the cops? Doctors take oaths to help people, right? Do you think that maybe he'd look at what they write and help us get out of here?”

I don't understand Frosty's question. But I think zombie girl has a new friend. Skinny suit just keeps staring at the floor like a zombie now too. I need to talk to Dr. Curt and I need my medicine now! The only thing I can think to answer Frosty is, “All I can tell you is that Dr. Curt always helps me.”

Frosty thinks for a second, then shrugs and says, “That's good enough for me. Let's call him up.”

Dr. Curtis picks up his phone after the second ring. “Cal Curtis,” he answers.

I say, “Hi, Dr. Curt, it's Zach.”

“Hi, Zach, how are you?” he asks.

“I'm good,” I say.

“Everything's going all right?” he asks. “Your mom's okay?”

“Oh, yes,” I say. It occurs to me that I should say “thanks for asking,” that's what a normal person would say. So I say, “Thanks for asking.”

I should explain to Dr. Curt why I'm phoning, but I can't think how to start. Finally I say, “I'm glad you were at your phone. At your office and stuff, I mean.”

Dr. Curt says, “Yes, it's nice to hear from you again too, Zach. But I've got a patient coming in just a few minutes, so I don't have much time to talk right now.”

“Okay,” I say. “Well, it's been nice talking to you—”

I'm about to hang up the phone when Frosty grabs it from me and says, “Hello!”

He says into the phone, “My name is Alan Mender, and Zach is here with my brother Joey and me. He said we could trust you. We're in a hell of a lot of trouble!”

Aha! Now I know their real names, Alan and Joey. I liked Frosty and Stormy better.

There's a pause, a long one. Dr. Curt is saying something to Frosty—I mean, Alan.

Finally Alan says, “Yes, Dr. Curtis, I know your first concern is Zach. I'll put him on the line, but listen to him, okay?”

He hands the phone to me. “Tell him what's going on here, Zach.”

I take the phone and try to think of the words. Before I can say anything, Dr. Curt asks, “Are you all right, Zach? What's going on there, and who is that? He sounds pretty shaky.”

I say, “He's real, Dr. Curt.”

“I know, Zach, yes, he's real.”

I still can't even think how to start, so I just say the things that are in my brain. “I guess his real name's Alan....”

I think, I wish his name was Frosty.... It's such a cool name. I wish his name was Frosty and
mine
was Stormy, not Wasteoid.... I wish …

“Okay, Zach, it's okay,” Dr. Curt says. “Can you explain what's happening?”

Now the words just tumble out of my mouth. “He has a gun and it's real. His brother Joey has one, too, and he shot the drawer and the little girl peed her pants—I mean her dress. I can't go get my medicine or any maple bars because the police would shoot us, but there's two guns and two brothers and everybody gets to leave if you'll come here and bring my medicine, 'cause I'm gonna stay till you help us, okay?”

Dr. Curt says, “You bet, Zach.” He pauses a second, then asks, “Can I speak to Alan? The boy I spoke to a few moments ago, can I speak to him again?”

I say, “Sure,” and I wait for Dr. Curt to say something more.

Dr. Curt finally asks, “Zach, would you give Alan the phone
now
, please?”

I say, “Oh, yeah, sure.” I turn to Alan. “He wants to talk to you again.”

Alan takes the phone and listens for a few moments, then says, “I don't want to use the word hostages, but yeah, nine counting Zach.” Alan pauses for a few seconds, listening to Dr. Curt. Now Alan explains about the police and the old ladies and the suits and everything else.

Alan finally says, “The cops say they'll put a deal in writing, but we don't know if we can trust them. This Zach kid”—Alan looks at me—“he says you can help us, mister. To be honest, we're pretty scared and right now we just wanna get out of as much trouble as we can. Zach says we can trust you. I don't think Zach lies much, you know? I don't think he knows how. So can you help us?”