Saving Montgomery Sole (20 page)

Momma Jo and Mama Kate exchanged looks again. “No,” Momma Jo said. “We just wanted to check in with you.”

“Monty,” Mama Kate whispered. “Is it the posters? The Reverend White?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets.
Just look at them
, I thought.
Look calm
. If you can look at them and look calm, they'll think everything is fine, and then this will all be over.

I took a deep breath. Looked up. Looked at Mama Kate. Looked at Momma Jo. “No,” I said. “It's nothing. Everything's fine. I'm just tired. I'd really just like to go to bed.”

“Okay. Can I give you a kiss?” Mama Kate pulled on the ties on her sweatshirt.

“Yeah.”

Mama Kate tentatively walked over and gave me a hug and a kiss on the head. Which made me feel …

Kind of terrible.

Maybe that's terrible to say.

But how much more terrible would it be if I told them everything?

Pretty terrible.

I went upstairs.

And there, on Tesla's door … was a cross.

A cross.

I pounded on her door until it swung open.

“What is
this
?” I snapped, jabbing my finger at the cross. It looked like the same cross I'd pried off my locker a week ago.

“Mama Kate said it's okay,” Tesla said, her face sweaty from her jog, her eyes fixed and fierce.

“Why do you want a cross?” I hissed, jabbing my finger at the door.

Tesla put her hands on her hips. A single curl stuck to her forehead. “Because I do. Because I want to pray. It's not a big deal. Mama Kate said it was okay.”

“Where did you get it? Did you get it from the Reverend White?” My lips were going numb.

“Hey, what's going on up there?” Momma Jo called from downstairs. “Monty?”

“I don't even know who that is. I got it from Mary at school!” Tesla screamed.

“Mary who?”

“Stop yelling at me!”

And she slammed the door closed. It shut about a hair away from my face. Leaving me face-to-face with a melted-looking Jesus.

“
You don't need to slam the door!
” I fumed, and I turned and ran to my room.

“What is going on?” The house shook as Momma Jo pounded up the stairs.

“
Nothing!
” I screamed from my room, slamming the door.

Two seconds later, there was more pounding, this time on my door. “Monty!” Momma Jo hollered.

My fortress felt small that day. Like a tiny wall of cushions that would never protect me from how messed up the world was. “Just leave me alone, okay? Please?”

I could hear Momma Jo sigh. Then a murmuring behind her.

“Okay. Monty. We love you,” Mama Kate said. Her voice sounded heavy and sad.

I pulled a pillow over my head and tried to make myself disappear.

“You are getting sleepy,” I whispered. “You are getting tired.”

It didn't work. It doesn't always.

I pulled the stone off my neck and pressed it against my cheek. It was still cold.

Me: Thomas?

Thomas: Yes?

Me: You're still my friend, right? You're not going to change and become some Christian freak and start hating me or something are you?

Thomas: What are you talking about?

Me: R u my friend?

Thomas: I'm your friend. Where were you today? I looked for you and someone said you took off. Find me tomorrow okay?

Me: Ok.

And after all that, I put the stone back around my neck and went to bed.

 

10

“Unfortunately, it appears Mr. Truit will no longer be able to take part in our theatrical production,” Mr. Gyle stammered, then coughed. Then looked around the room. “Due to illness.”

Eyes wandered in my direction.

Matt Truit was still not back in school. I wondered if he was any better. Clearly, it was bad enough that the principal called my parents. Even though it was also clear no one knew what had happened.

Including me, really.

The card said something about black light and “not be.” But wouldn't “not be” mean dead?

“Eyes front, class!”

Could I have killed him?

Matt Truit had an understudy, but it turned out the understudy was just doing it to hang out with Matt and thought the idea of actually being onstage acting was, in his words, “gay.”

Sipping from his massive water bottle, Mr. Gyle tried a weak smile. “Ah, so, kids.” He looked like
he'd
had a heart attack.

I wondered if Mrs. Farley was getting sick of his pre-class announcements.

“I'm actually, uh, on my knees here, folks.” He chuckled nervously.

“I'm sure someone will be up for the job,” Mrs. Farley said, stepping forward and opening the door for him to leave.

Which he seemed to do kind of grudgingly.

Maybe they had a thing,
I thought.

Mrs. Farley turned back to the class. “Okay. Now, let's see if we can get through this novel. Who wants to start with the homework questions?”

On my way out of English, I spotted Naoki gliding toward me across the hall. Her hair was tied up in a bunch of white ribbons that flapped behind her.

“You're not talking to me,” she said, slowing down next to me.

“Looks like I'm talking to you now,” I said, speeding up slightly.

“I want to ask if everything is okay. But I
know okay
is a bad word. Because it doesn't really mean anything.
O
and
K
.” Naoki paused, jogging a little to keep up with me.

We turned the corner and ran into a crowd of students.

“Don't really have anything to say,” I called over the noise.

Naoki touched my arm. “Hey,” she said. “Stop please?”

The wave of students trampled past.

“I have chemistry,” I said, looking down the hall.

Someone was skateboarding. I could hear the wheels grinding on the floor. “Okay. Well, I wanted to say that I didn't ask Kenneth to be in the Mystery Club,” Naoki said, looking into my eyes. “I want to make sure you and Thomas are both comfortable with it.”

Another two-hundred-pound pause. The sound of wheels faded.

Naoki shifted. The crystal she was wearing around her neck spilled little rainbows onto her face. It made me think of the time Thomas decided we should have an
Alien
party and Naoki showed up with binoculars because she thought we were literally going to see aliens. When Thomas pulled out the
Alien
DVDs, it was the first time I saw her be kind of bummed out.

Finally, I asked, because I was actually curious, “Why do you like him?”

Naoki frowned. “Kenneth. Yes. He's smart. He likes to read interesting things. He's like a map to a place I didn't know existed. Just like you.”

Naoki was thinking maps. All I could think of was posters. “He doesn't want to save us all?”

Naoki looked up at the ceiling. “Saved. Hmmm. Saved. Saved.”

I know she was just feeling the word over, but hearing it repeated like that, like some sort of chant, was freaking me out.

Finally she looked at me. “I just feel like we're all supposed to connect. I really just feel it.”

The halls were empty. Which always feels like a kind of no-man's-land to me. An unnatural territory.

I turned. Shifted my bag on my shoulder. “Okay. Well. Like I said, I gotta go.”

*   *   *

Despite not having a lead, Jefferson High's production of
The Outsiders
did have a fantastic set, which I worked on that day while auditions went on during lunch.

Thomas seemed relieved to have me in the backstage area, his domain, where he could just give me little tasks to do and, I was pretty sure, keep an eye on me. Mostly I half watched the auditions and half painted. It looked like the new lead role was between Kevin Barton, the goalie from the soccer team, who looked the part but also looked like he didn't want to be there, and Percy Moffatt, whose name pretty much says it all. Percy spent most of his time playing piano, and Thomas said he was only auditioning because he found out he needed some school activities on his application to Harvard.

“And he doesn't want to paint sets?” I asked, smoothing out the tarp underneath what felt like the billionth wall I'd painted for this thing.

“I don't think you can paint sets in cashmere pants.” Thomas snorted. Which was a little odd because why would Thomas of all people disdain a cashmere pant?

Thomas was painting a drive-in sign. Which was going to be strung with little lights so it would look like a real sign.

“Hey,” I said, dabbing my brush in gray. “Is Percy gay?”

“Uh, no.” Thomas finished the curve of the
D
. “It seems that Percy is one of the few Percys alive who is not gay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” Thomas left his sign and walked over, peering at my wall. “Is that the same gray as from the last group?”

“Yes. How can you be very sure? About Percy?”

Thomas stood back and squinted at the wall. “Because we went for coffee, and I thought he was flirting with me, so I kissed him goodbye, and he shoved me and called me a fag. I think his parents are superreligious or something.”

He turned his head slightly, walked away, walked back toward the wall. Sighed. “It looks like a different gray.”

I tried to catch Thomas's eye, but he was lost in gray. “That sucks,” I said.

“Well, you wanted to know why I only date older men, there you have it. Stop painting. I want to make sure it's the right color.”

It was around three thirty when I finally left the theater, in search of Thomas, who'd left to find some “better” gray paint. It was last-bell time. Cheerleaders grabbed pom-poms; jocks grabbed gear. Band geeks grabbed appropriately shaped black suitcases. Lockers slammed.

I walked and texted my way through the corridors, bumping past kids headed for various games and home.

Me: Where did u go? It's just gray paint. Can I go home and we'll do it tomorrow?

Me: If you don't answer, I'm leaving.

Me: 5, 4, 3, 2 …

I turned the corner.

There, just down the hall, stood Kenneth White and the Reverend White. The reverend was at least six feet tall. Taller than Kenneth. A tower. He was wearing a pale blue suit, matching his white hair.

He was right there. In the flesh.

At some point, the crowd pulled away from me and I was alone in the hall. That was when Kenneth looked up. His face was like a statue's. Stone. Cold. Kenneth looked up, and he pointed.

At me.

The Reverend White looked up. His eyes narrowed.

In a flash I remembered the one and only time I spent a day with Mama Kate's parents alone. I think I was, like, four. This was pre-Tesla. Back when we still lived in Canada. I remember they didn't stay in the house, because Mama Kate said they wanted to stay at the Holiday Inn. The first day of their visit, they took me on a special “grandparents-only” visit to a kiddie park.

Most of the day was okay. I had my first cotton candy, and my grandfather even let me get a Coke because he said it was a special day.

It all fell apart when my grandfather decided I should go on a pony ride. Like, ten seconds after the ride started, I freaked out because my pony kept trotting and it felt like the earth was shaking. And I started to cry, and they had to stop and pull me off.

“I want BOBO!” I screamed. “I want Bobo NOW!”

“Stop screaming!” My grandfather took my arms and tried to force them to my sides. His hands were hard and scratchy like a rug. His face went from soft and pink to red. Up close I noticed his nose had a weird freckle on it that was raised. He had eyebrows with long, curly white hairs that seemed to reach toward me when his face got close to mine.

I'd never had a man grab me like that. Or yell. I started to scream and twist, and everyone turned and looked at us. I tried to kick him so I could get free, and he closed his grip tighter.

“BOBO!” I wailed.

“She means Jo,” my grandmother whispered, clutching her purse to her chest.

“That woman,” my grandfather said, his voice low like some sort of engine, “is not your mother.”

“It's okay,” my grandmother whispered. “Don't cry. Please don't cry.”

I remember dust on the toes of my new red shoes as we walked to the parking lot, my grandfather holding my hand tight.

“Would you want to come live with us someday?” my grandmother asked, handing me a piece of cotton candy that promptly melted against my skin and turned me blue.

I remember they had a big yellow car with windows you had to roll down with a handle. But I wasn't allowed to roll mine down.

“No escaping!” my grandmother sang. And then she gave me a Kleenex because my nose was running all over the place.

“Child has no father,” my grandfather grumbled. I watched his head shake from my view in the backseat. The back of his neck looked like a bunch of skinny plain doughnuts all stacked up on top of each other.

I sniffled.

“A child needs a father.” He shook his head.

When we got to my house, my grandfather wouldn't come inside. He helped me out of the car and kissed my head. Then he stood by the curb as my grandmother walked me to the house. I remember turning back and seeing him squinting at me. Not waving.

Back in the hallway, the Reverend White frowned.

Of course, I always knew the Reverend White was real. But it was different, knowing he was real and seeing his posters everywhere, and having him in my school. At my school. Staring at him squinting at me, I felt like I was losing oxygen, losing ground.

Following Kenneth's finger, he stood straight and started walking toward me.

I turned and ran down the hall, darted into the gym, around the back, through the eighth-grade hallway, and into the back lot. I could feel the stone clanging against my chest.