Saving Montgomery Sole (19 page)

I felt there was a little bit of an excessive emphasis on
evil
. It ricocheted around the room and ended up bouncing on the floor and rolling under my desk.

“Maybe.” Mrs. Farley paused. “Maybe. That's very interesting. Anyone else? Montgomery?”

“Maybe”—my mouth was a jar of cotton—“maybe the hero is the person who fights back.”

More murmurs from the back.

“Interesting. Now, class. Hey. I said, ‘
Now
, class,' and that means eyes up
here
.”

Cue bell
, I thought.
Cue bell. Please.

Then the bell rang.

*   *   *

Lunch felt like some psychedelic scene in some weird music video. I was supposed to go help Thomas, but instead I just bumped around the school like a zombie. Everyone felt too quiet or too loud. Like they were all acting. Or waiting. Or something. I could feel students' eyes on my back as I walked down the hall. I don't think I even meant to look in the door, but then I heard a familiar voice.

And there was Naoki standing in the physics lab, talking to Kenneth White. She was wearing a white smock, a white stocking hat, and what looked like white cowboy boots. Hugging a book to her chest and holding another book out to him. And she was smiling.

I must have made a noise because Kenneth turned his head to look out the door.

I stepped back, a giant step, bumping into someone who shoved me forward.

“Hey!”

Inside the classroom, I heard Naoki say, “Who was that?” Something about her tone. Like I must have been an intruder.

I guess I kind of ran down the hallway.

What was she saying to Kenneth? Maybe something about me?

Somehow I made it to class for my second bio test of the month. The heart. Which I had studied, though not recently. I remembered most of it. It's amazing that tests are basically just these flimsy pieces of paper. On which you're supposed to put these names of things that you're supposed to have memorized.

Ventricles. Aortas.

I colored in the veins with a black marker. Then I colored the whole thing in, with a series of spiraling strokes.

I looked over and noticed Naoki looking at me from her desk. I felt the corners of my mouth turn down. Naoki's eyes widened.

Hey
, she mouthed.

I looked back down. Curled over my drawing.

After we handed in our papers, a little paper square landed on my desk.

me
?
you

I crumpled it up and walked out.

Whatever Naoki was doing with Kenneth, I didn't care. Let him be her new friend. They both liked white. They would be perfect together. They could honeymoon somewhere even whiter. In a cloud. A perfect cloud of “why should I care?”

Study hall was like some sort of torture test, pretending to read while I basically just watched the clock tick. Finally, I got a pass and went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and do what you would normally do in a bathroom—escape—when Madison walked in.

She was talking to the Parte twins, but as soon as they spotted me, they all stopped talking. One of the Partes went to go to the sink, but Madison put her arm across the front of her, like a human seat belt, and whispered loudly, “Wait till she's gone.”

I turned. “Can I help you, Madison?”

Madison's voice was quiet but sure. “I told my mom what happened to Matt. What you did. My mom said you'll never understand the difference between right and wrong, because you come from a broken family,” she said. “So. I should feel sorry for you.”

I had to close my eyes. The world was trembling.

“My family is not broken!” I screamed.

There was a gasp. Something dropped to the ground and shattered. A soda bottle or something. Foam spread across the floor. I looked up. It felt like the room was about to boil. I could feel my eyes darting from Parte twin to Parte twin to Madison. I looked down and the tiles rippled and swam in front of my eyes.

I tripped forward and slammed through the bathroom door.

By the time I got to the front doors of the school, I was running.

*   *   *

When I got to Yoggy, Tiffany was behind the counter, wearing a weird-looking, frumpy sweatshirt. It was too big, and she had the sleeves rolled up. She looked tired. Her dreads were all limp and hanging around her face like … limp dreads, basically.

“Hey,” I said.

“Did you run here? You look like crap.” Tiffany sighed, pushed a cup in my direction. “Go ahead. Take all you want. My treat. I'm quitting.”

“What?” I grabbed a cup and started in with some Banana Sensation swirled with Orange You Glad.

“Yeah, I'm leaving in a week.” Tiffany rubbed her eyes. “I'm going home.”

What?
The spiral of pink and yellow continued to pour into my cup, folding over and over itself until I realized I was letting it overflow. “Crap.”

“Uh, yeah. Take it easy. You can have two cups. Take as much as you want.”

Holding the cup steady with two hands, I walked carefully to the nearest table. “This isn't your home?”

Tiffany shook her dreads. “My mom's in Michigan. I'm gonna go live in her basement till I can get my … you know, my situation straightened out.”

“What situation?”

“You know,” Tiffany said as she snatched a handful of mini marshmallows from the tray. “Anxiety and stuff. Since I left school. All of that. I'm not sleeping. All I eat is this crap.”

Looking down at her hand, she walked over and flicked the marshmallows into the garbage can.

“See what I mean?” she said. “I need to eat a salad.”

My face must have frozen. “A salad? This is California.”

“Look, Monty. It's not that simple, okay? You just thought I was some genius who happened to be working a minimum-wage job in a hamlet in California after leaving a master's degree?” She shifted a few chairs back into place around the tables before sinking into the chair across from mine. “You thought that was just my idea of a good time?”

The tips of my fro-yo were melting, losing their crisp swirly edge and oozing little orange-and-banana tears.

“I just thought you were working on your, you know, your research on the, you know, the SorBetties…” The smell of melting yogurt wafted up from my bowl. Like gum. Old gum.

“Right. My research. Yeah, well. It's not healthy.” Tiffany looked at my bowl and raised an eyebrow.

“No toppings,” she said. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, I'm good.” My voice echoed from somewhere under my angry stomach.

“You know, last night, I was up all night. Thinking, like, you know, no one cares about”—Tiffany sighed—“oppression. It makes me so mad. All these women, all they care about is being skinny. That's it. They don't care about anything else. They watch their calories because if they weren't doing that, they'd actually have to do something. They'd have to think about themselves and all these things they take for granted about the world around them. And they don't want to.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled, still not eating but adamantly stirring my frozen yogurt into liquid. “It's like, get a life.”

Tiffany placed her palms flat on the table. “Yeah, and I'm just as bad because I hate them all.”

Under the flickering fluorescent lights, Tiffany's face was looking a little yellow. Not unlike the color of the soupy mess of banana and orange I had created but would not be eating. Possibly feeling my gaze, she looked up. Squinted. The machines whirred as we stared across the room at each other.

Her eyes like onyx.

“Well.” I was determined not to blink. “Maybe some people deserve to be hated.”

Tiffany stood up, shoving her chair back. Shooting me a look, a mean look, like I'd said the worst, dumbest thing. Like I'd just said that foreshadowing can only happen after dinner.

I sat back, pushing my cup away.
What even made me think Tiffany was so cool, anyway?
I thought. Just because she hated skinny yoga chicks didn't mean she got what it was like to live here. Like, live here being a kid who has no choice but to deal with these people every day.

Tiffany dropped her hands by her sides. “Do you even hear what I'm saying, Monty?”

It was all too much. I just started backing out of there. “Well, it sucks you're leaving,” I said. “Thanks for the yogurt.”

“Yeah.” Tiffany turned and headed into the back room. “Later.”

As soon as I got outside, I realized I'd just left my cup there. Like some stupid SorBetty.

But I couldn't go back in.

I started walking. Past the bus stop. I tried to focus on my footsteps, to match them with my heartbeat, which is something I read is helpful for … something. Maybe mind-body control.

At some point I looked up.

There he was. Taped to an old newspaper box. The Reverend White.

“Oh, of course,” I said, leaning in to stare the reverend down. “Of course you're right here!
Of course! Hello! Nice to see you again and again!
”

THE REVEREND WHITE IS HERE TO HELP YOU TAKE THE PATH TO SALVATION

I didn't even want to touch it with my hands. I stepped back and pulled it down with the toe of my boot, leaving half of it dangling.

When I got home this time, Momma Jo and Mama Kate were waiting. The principal called, Mama Kate said. Because I'd left early. Skipped study hall. Was reportedly having trouble in both Bio and English. Plus he said he'd heard some students talking about how whatever had happened to Matt Truit had started with an altercation. With me.

I dropped my bag. “They said I hit him?”

Momma Jo looked at Mama Kate. “No, he said ‘altercation,' not that that makes any sense to me. He said some students saw you fighting with Matt before he collapsed. Is that true?”

“No. I mean, I was there. But I didn't. I didn't hit him.”

I tried to take in their faces, which were a mix of twisted and concerned. Did they think I hit him?

The living room clock
ticktock
ed.

“Okay.” Momma Jo looked up at Mama Kate. “We didn't think you hit him. It just seems like … Maybe something else happened. Which you can, of course, tell us. And you
should
tell us.” It sounded for a second like Momma Jo was trying to convince Mama Kate. “He's in the hospital, Monty.”

“Because of me?” My throat felt like it was closing, cutting off air to my brain. I tried to stare at a spot right behind my moms so I could look up, without having to actually look at them.

“No,” Mama Kate said, hesitantly I thought. “Just … Monty, he's still very ill.”

“We just don't get along,” I said quietly. “But I didn't. I didn't do anything to him.”

They looked at each other. Sending lesbian mom psychic signals.

“The principal also said there was some damage to your locker,” Momma Jo said.

I looked down at my boots. I could feel Mama Kate staring at the top of my head.

“Why are you skipping class?” Mama Kate said softly. “Monty, it just seems like there's something happening here. All this…”

“It's just study hall.” I shrugged. “Everyone skips.” I started sending out my own psychic signal.

Please just send me to my room.

“Um, and the locker,” I added. “Yeah. No. It's just old paint. It's always been there. It's a crappy school.”

Please just send me to my room.

I'm sure there's no kid who wants to talk to their mom or moms or dads or whatever about the crappy stuff that goes on with them and crappy people at school. I'm sure that's just true. I know Thomas never tells his parents anything, because he says he doesn't like talking about the inevitable.

Upstairs, I could hear Tesla jogging on the spot to pop music.

“Do I have to go to the principal's office?”