The Insiders (11 page)

Mickey spread his arms wide, like he was signaling that he was about to make a fair catch. He wanted that sandwich. The eighth grader tried to pass him on the left, then on the right.

“Mickey Pardo!” the adult male voice yelled. Too late. Mickey had wrapped the kid up in his cast and the sandwich was up in the air.

“Wait,” the kid said, his voice muffled by the fact that his head was jammed into Mickey's chest.

Mickey pushed the sandwich toward his mouth and heard voices all around him. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days. As he closed his jaw, the sandwich shot into the air and Mickey closed his mouth on something soft that was still moving.
Mmm, bacon
, Mickey thought.

“Aaah!” the eighth grader screamed, as Mickey bit into his hand.

And then Mickey was slowly separated from his food. And phone calls were made. And he was being sent home for biting an eighth grader.

“Have you seen Patch?” Jonathan asked. He and David were standing in front of Mickey's parents' building, waiting for somebody to let them in.

“Not since I can remember,” David said. “I keep meaning to call, but I'm too upset to find him.”

“I guess that means you haven't seen Amanda?”

“Not since I broke up with her,” David said slowly. He still couldn't believe he'd done it, and he still had no idea who she'd cheated on him with—but that was okay, he knew he couldn't have dealt with it if he had known.

“Oh, right,” Jonathan said.

“And I started crying again yesterday, during basketball practice. I may have to quit the team out of complete humiliation.”

“Really?”

“It was awful. Now everybody is calling me the Most Sensitive Guy in the World. And if it hadn't been for that Adam kid, I might've taken a swing at my coach.”

“Oh yeah, that kid's lame,” Jonathan said.

“He's okay with me,” David said. “Anyway, I don't know what I'm going to do, because the team is my whole identity besides Amanda. I walk by mirrors now and I can't see my own reflection.”

“You're like a Lifetime movie,” Jonathan said. “You know that?”

“I'm depressed.”

“We'll work on you this weekend. I got some ideas.”

The door opened and they looked at Ricardo Pardo's head assistant, Caselli. He wore a white jumpsuit and had a shaved head. Tattoos were visible on his neck and wrists. David could never figure out why all of Ricardo Pardo's assistants were so tough.

Caselli said, “You guys can't come in. Mickey's in big trouble.”

“What'd he do?” Jonathan asked, and sighed.

“Apparently he tried to eat a kid at school.”

“Did he break the skin?” Jonathan asked. “He's done this before and he won't get expelled if he didn't break the skin.”

“Can we just see him for five minutes?” David asked. “We need to check in with him about homework.”

“Except you don't go to his school,” Caselli said. “But whatever. Don't let his dad see you.”

Jonathan and David crept quietly inside. The house was cavernous, with twenty-foot-high ceilings and enormous doors leading from room to room. Opera,
L'Elisir D'Amore
, blasted through all the speakers on the first floor. As they passed the studio, they could see Ricardo Pardo and about five helpers making huge art out of mangled car parts.

They found Mickey in his room, lying on the cold concrete floor where his bed should have been.

“Where's your bed?” Jonathan asked.

“I don't know,” Mickey said. “What does it matter? Now I'm in trouble and I can't see Philippa again.”

“You should've never gotten off the phone with me.”

“Yeah, Jonathan. That's what it was.” Mickey sat up and looked at his friends. “Jonathan, I didn't know you had to wear a blazer to school.”

“We don't,” Jonathan said. He tugged at the sleeves of his brown tweed blazer.

“Then why are you wearing one now?”

“I felt kind of serious today,” Jonathan said. “Unlike you.”

“You felt serious, so you dressed up like a science teacher,” Mickey said. David and Mickey shook their heads.

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “And you think you're a spaceman, so you always wear a jumpsuit.”

“You tried to eat a kid?” David asked. He sat down in a windowsill, next to a pile of schoolbooks and a Macintosh notebook that was unplugged and covered in dust. The roomed smelled faintly of paint.

“I thought he had a BLT in his hand.”

“Did he?” David asked.

“No, it was a copy of
The Sun Also Rises
. But it looked and smelled like a BLT.”

“If it was the paperback, I can imagine it,” Jonathan said. “So you bit him.”

“Yeah.” Mickey got up off the floor. He went over to his stereo and put on some Slayer. The music was pretty loud and David didn't feel like it was doing much to make any of them feel better.

“Look, has Arno been in touch with you?”

“No,” Mickey said. “But I heard from some kid in school that he took your cousin down to Florida and had an orgy with her. Man, that girl is impressive. I'm just glad I love my girlfriend because otherwise I'd hit on Kelli and that'd be no good.”

“What's so no-good about her?” Jonathan asked.

“I can't believe you're defending her,” David said suddenly. He looked quickly at Mickey and then Jonathan. “You introduce her to us, and next thing I know, Amanda cheats on me and Mickey falls off a building.”

“That happens every weekend,” Jonathan said.

“Not really it doesn't. I wouldn't be surprised if Amanda cheated with Kelli. That girl is bad luck.” David pulled his hood over his head.

“Oh come on, she's my cousin.”

“Liza thinks she's a bitch, too,” David said. “Jane told me.”

“You two are assholes,” Jonathan said. He stood up. So did Mickey. Then Mickey thumped Jonathan once on the chest with his cast and Jonathan fell on the floor with a thud.

“Ow! What the hell'd you do that for?”

“We're trying to talk some sense into you,” Mickey said. “Your cousin is a demon from hell.”

“She's from St. Louis. And she may not be the classiest girl in the world, but she's not a demon.” Jonathan stood up and dusted himself off.

“Although,” Jonathan added, “if she were as bad as everyone says, it'd explain why she's so into Arno.”

“Even Arno is better than she is,” David said. “I mean, I trust him more.”

Jonathan stared at David and said, “I think I'd better go. I've got to go home and read the screenplay of
Donnie Darko
for English.”

“Should I not be trusting Arno?” David asked. He reached behind him, found that he was close enough to
the wall, and leaned against it. A queasy feeling had come over him. “You stay here,” David said. “I'm the one who should go.”

David walked out of Mickey's room and down the long corridor toward the front door. On the way he passed Ricardo Pardo, who was puffing on a cigar the size of a hot dog and singing almost as loudly as the opera was playing.

“Hey!” Ricardo yelled at David. “You're not supposed to be here.”

“That's why I'm leaving!” David yelled back and pulled away from Ricardo. He felt a sudden chill. Ricardo Pardo was tough and he couldn't believe he'd yelled at him.

“
Condena'o
,” Ricardo said,
wiseass
, and puffed out his cheeks so his beard stood on end.

The corridor was awfully cold. Ricardo made David wait a very long and uncomfortable minute for Caselli to come and unbolt the front door, run the security code, and let him out onto West Street.

Flan Flood looked concerned. “I'm getting worried about Patch.”

We were holding hands and walking up Fifth Avenue. She'd said her hands were cold, and when I took one, it was. It was Thursday afternoon and I'd spent one very dull school day text-messaging people and having those messages go unanswered. Arno was back from Florida, I knew, but only because I'd heard from my mom that Kelli had had a really good interview at Sarah Lawrence earlier in the day.

“What?” I asked. I wanted to pay attention to Flan, I really did, but it was hard to do because I was so worried about my friends.

“Patch!” Flan said, and punched me in the shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Right. I haven't had a chance to think about him. Where is he?”

“I don't know and I'm getting sick of covering for him.”

“When was the last time you saw your parents?”

“I don't know that either.”

Flan blubbered a little. She was only about an inch shorter than me, but she seemed very small just then. I looked both ways and put my arm around her. The sun was really bright, but it was a little cold. I had on a new Andre Longacre zipup cashmere sweater and Flan was wearing what was probably her father's button-down and jeans and red Sigerson Morrison high heels and white socks.

“Your sweater feels good,” Flan said. So of course I took it off and gave it to her.

“Who's been taking care of you?”

“February,” she said. She wrapped herself up in my sweater. I only had on a black T-shirt and black jeans, but that was cool.

“Seriously?”

We began to walk in the direction of the Flood house.

“Well, Patch said he'd be around, and it was just supposed to be for a couple of days at the end of last week, but then my mother went down
to St. Lucia and my dad stayed up in Connecticut in that tower of his where nobody is allowed to go, and Patch was gone that whole time, so I guess I've been taking care of myself. I order sushi or Thai food sometimes for me and February, when she remembers she's hungry.”

“Wait … Patch has been gone since last week?”

“Last Wednesday.”

“Wow,” I said. “And meanwhile, everybody else is in trouble, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Arno's chasing after my cousin and making an ass of himself, Mickey got suspended and maybe kicked out of school, and David broke up with his girlfriend and can't stop crying in public.”

“And Patch is gone.”

“Right,” I said. “That, too.”

We walked quietly for a little while, and then we were in front of her house. I took a quick look up and down the street. I still had my arm around her.

“Do you want to come upstairs and watch
School of Rock
on the big TV in my parents' bedroom?”

I took a deep breath. I knew what would happen if I did that and though I'm not a big fan of fighting with my own impulses, I knew I had to this time.

“I always fall asleep during that movie,” I said, and moved away from her. But we were still holding hands.

“Well, we could … nap together.”

“No. I think I shouldn't.”

“Jonathan, I can't wait for you much longer.”

“You shouldn't. What I said the other day—it's true. I just like hanging out with you in a friendly way. That's all.”

“But then that night, you called.”

“Yeah. I know those two things are totally contradictory, but still,” I said. And I knew that sounded pretty lame. I was still holding her hand and I let it go. Because she was totally too young and everybody was laughing at me about hanging out with her, and stupid as it may sound, I knew that just because I was feeling something, it didn't mean it was the right thing to feel.

“Look, I'll call you later and we can figure out what to do about Patch.”

“Whatever,” Flan said. She was all frustrated-looking, suddenly, and she opened the door
and went into her house without saying goodbye to me.

I wandered home. I thought I'd see how my mom was doing. We hadn't talked in a couple of days. But when I got in, she wasn't around. Kelli was in my room, lying on my bed, actually.

“You're still here?” I asked.

“Yeah, we're not going back till Sunday morning. Or I might just take a different plane back than my mom. I haven't figured it out yet. I've got a lot of stuff to take care of here in the city.”

“Um,” I said. I dropped into my desk chair. “Don't you have to go to school?”

“The stuff I'm doing here seems more important.”

“I don't get it. Your interviews are over. What are you still doing here?”

Just then her cell phone rang. She stood up and smiled at me like I was nine years old and it was time for me to go to bed.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm having a really, really good time.” Then she went out of the room and I sat for a moment, spinning the disc on my iPod, and thinking about how I never remembered to use it. That reminded me of the thing I needed to do. Find Patch.

I went ahead and called Flan, and we agreed that my guys and I should meet at the Flood house the next night and find him, if he hadn't come home by then. February Flood might help, too, though Flan hadn't seen her big sister since the day before. Her mom had called from St. Lucia, so she knew her parents would be back by Sunday. Which meant we needed to find Patch before then.

I slipped on my headset, concentrated on Patch for the first time in a while, and started to speed dial the necessary people.

Mickey and Philippa were in her third-floor bedroom after school on Friday, though only Philippa had actually gone to school. They were in the middle of her bed and they were French-kissing so heavily that they kept running out of breath. Philippa had a grandfather clock in one corner that was ticking loudly, and they were listening to pre-fuse 73, because Philippa used to date a deejay and had developed a taste for arcane house music.

“I need to get over to the Floods,” Mickey said as he slowly pulled away from Philippa. “I promised Jonathan.”