The Second Trial (23 page)

Danny's eyes narrowed. “Family! Family! What kind of family are we?! Families have a past – and a future – what do we have? We've got
nothing. Nothing but lies!
We're all just frauds, right,
Susan
?”

“David! I am your
mother.
You have a
sister
,” she said, pointing at Julia. “It doesn't matter what the rest of the world calls us. We're not frauds. We're your
family
!”

He glared. “Yeah, and so is my dad!” He whirled away and took the stairs two at a time.

He shut himself in the bathroom. His bedroom door wouldn't lock, and he needed privacy. He needed to know the world would stay out and leave him alone. He looked in the mirror. Over the past couple of months his shoulders had widened. There was more hair growing on his body and shadowing his upper lip. He examined his reflection. He had his mother's hair color – but that was it. The shape of his face, his jaw line, the slant of his eyebrows – those were all his dad's.

He was his father's son.

He'd
be
his father's son.

Chapter 14

The spider was back. Grandma stood beside Danny, calmly explaining that spiders were fascinating, no need to be afraid, almost all of them were harmless, in fact they were good to have around the house because they trapped flies. The spider swelled step by step, but Grandma didn't seem to notice. She was chatting on about the uses for spider silk. As she talked, it advanced. He tried to yell but his mouth was spun shut with spider silk. He watched, wide-eyed and paralyzed, as the spider crept up behind her, lifted two of its legs, and started drawing silk threads out of its spinets. The spider began spinning the silk around and around her, starting at her feet, circling her legs, and pinning her arms at her sides. Grandma was still talking. “Spiders just have to do what nature programs them to do, no point in getting upset about it.” The spider lifted its spinets higher and higher, now encasing her shoulders, her neck, crushing her voice box. Danny shot up in the bed, clawing at his mouth, tearing his lips apart, trying to rip out the spider silk so he could warn her – “Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!”

The door flew open and his mom dashed into the room. She grabbed Danny and hugged him fiercely, cradling his sweaty head against her shoulder, absorbing his sobs, stroking his matted hair, rocking him back and forth, back and forth. And he squeezed her back as if holding on for his life.

Now that his mother was working, more of the household chores fell to Danny. He resented each bag of groceries he carried home. Every trudge through the wind and pelting snow made him angry. He refused to use the laundry basket to carry clothes to the laundry room, and stray socks stayed where they dropped in the common area.

He didn't notice when the worry stone slipped out of his pocket and rolled under the washing machine.

Mr. Ishii tilted his head and gave Danny a courteous smile. “How are things today?” he asked, as he motioned Danny to sit.

“Fine.”

Mr. Ishii opened a file folder and placed a pad of paper and a pen in front of him.

“You still don't seem very happy. Perhaps it would help if I asked you some questions.”

“So ask.”

“You did quite well at your old school, at least until Christmas, but your marks went down after that. You also stopped participating in sports. Did something happen at Christmas that you'd like to tell me about?”

Danny looked the counselor in the eye. “I can't.”

Mr. Ishii met his gaze. “Is it the reason you've moved here?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“All right then. I'll assume something disrupted your life and it wasn't pleasant. Let's move forward. What about this school? Do you like it?”

“It sucks.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Everything's too small,” he said, waving his arm. “The gym is a joke, the classrooms are crowded, there's no equipment in the science rooms, the portables stink with the doors closed and freeze with the doors open – what kind of school is this, anyway?” he finished petulantly.

“It's a converted elementary school,” Mr. Ishii answered matter-of-factly.

“So why are we here?”

“Well, it's mainly financial issues that put us here. Demographics – you know what those are – how many children of what age are in the neighborhood, predicted future trends, money available to build new schools. Things out of your control.”

“So you mean, now that we're poor, I get a second-rate education?”

Mr. Ishii steepled his fingers. “Do you think the teachers here are less competent or less dedicated than at your old school?”

Danny paused. He hadn't really thought about his teachers. Were they that different? But even his mom had said this wasn't as good a school.

“So,” said Mr. Ishii. “Everything here is an obstacle to your success?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah,” replied the counselor. Again he paused. “But in your old school your marks were already going down after Christmas.”

Danny pursed his lips.

“Perhaps then,” Mr. Ishii continued, “you'll agree the way you feel now has more to do with what happened at Christmas, than the situation here at the school?”

No reply.

“Moving on, then. Have you made any friends?”

“No.”

Mr. Ishii slowly flexed his fingers. “I assume you had friends in your old school?”

“Yeah.”

“Are the students different here?”

Danny snorted. “Yeah.”

“Can you tell me how?”

“They don't do the things I used to do with my friends.”

“Such as?”

“They don't go bike riding. We never go to each other's houses. There's no money to go to movies. It's a pain to go anywhere on the bus.”

“Oh. So, it's actually because they're poor?”

Danny rubbed his thumbnail along the seam of his jeans.

“Also something that's not in your control, David.”

Danny squirmed.

“So,” said the counselor, “if I can summarize. Something last Christmas changed your circumstances, and you're resentful and angry about it. Would you agree?”

“You don't know
the half
of it.”

“Well, I can see that's true. But, we're here now, and where do we go from here?”

“I dunno.”

A long pause. “Would you like to meet again?”

Danny didn't say yes, but he didn't say no.

“I'll book another appointment.”

Danny left without saying good-bye. Mr. Ishii bent over his desk to make some notes.

The next day in art class, Danny asked to be moved closer to the window. “The light over here isn't very good,” he told Mr. Thompson. “I think I'd do better over there.”

“Certainly, if you think it would help,” the teacher replied.

The move put him beside Nixxie.

He caught her looking at him, and she noticed him looking at her. A dropped pastel was an excuse to move closer.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey. You really do have talent,” he said, looking at her paper.

“Thanks,” she replied with a smile.

“What're you doing after school?”

“Nuthin' much.”

“Wanna go over to the mall for ice cream?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay,” he said, and they passed the rest of the class in nervous silence.

The day dragged, but when the bell rang, he hustled to Nixxie's home room, where he tried to look relaxed and casual as he leaned against the wall and waited.

“What would you like?” he asked as they entered the store.

“An ice-cream sandwich.”

“Wanna stay inside or go outside?” he asked.

“Let's go out.”

Even though it was cold, they sat on the concrete wall around the raised flower bed. The flowers were long gone, replaced by windblown garbage and lipstick-smudged cigarette butts.

Nixxie peeled back the paper wrapper. “Live around here?”

“Over in the condos,” he replied, pointing vaguely in the direction of New Haven. “You?”

“Down the other side of the school, a couple of blocks.”

They each took a few bites, using their ice cream to avoid looking at each other.

“Did you say you were from Saskatoon?” she asked.

“Uh…yeah,” he replied, quickly recalling Phil's advice. “Where're you from?”

“I was born here in Winnipeg,” she replied. She licked her sticky finger tips. “Hey, do you know Frank?” she asked. “He's having a Hallowe'en party at his place on Saturday night. Wanna go? Some people dress up, some don't. He won't mind if you show up. Just bring your own drinks.”

“Okay,” he said uncertainly, not at all sure Frank wouldn't mind.

She slid off the wall. “Thank you for the ice cream.” She smiled. “See you at school tomorrow.”

“See ya,” he said. Then he added, “Nixxie.”

Chapter 15

Danny had always loved Hallowe'en. Over the years, his mom's needle and thread had transformed him into a cave man, a vampire, a robot, a ghost, and a head-hunting cannibal. When his sister was little, his mom would have Hallowe'en parties for them at home, but once Jennifer started school, they concentrated on going out door to door.

He poked around his room, wondering what he should do this year. He had no idea what to expect, really. How many would be dressed up? Fancy costumes or simple ones? How many kids were going to be there? Nixxie said he didn't have to dress up at all, and maybe that was the safest route.

On Saturday morning Julia was awash in a sea of construction paper, scissors, tape, and felt markers. She'd already cut out wavy-bottomed ghosts, full moons, and gap-toothed jack-o-lanterns and pasted them to the front window. She looked up from tracing the outline of a hissing cat on black paper.

“What'll you be for Hallowe'en?” she asked.

“Nuthin',” he replied.

“Then it's your own fault,” she said. “
I'm
going to be a pirate.”

He shrugged and moved toward the kitchen. His mom was washing up breakfast dishes. He leaned against the door jamb and mentioned he was invited out to a party that night.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“One of the kids from school – Frank.”

“Far from here?”

“Close enough to walk.”

“It sounds good. Are you dressing up?”

“Nah, they said we'd mainly sit around and listen to music and stuff.”

“Any girls going?”

“Nah,” he said. He looked down. The lie came easily, and he wasn't sure why he had said it at all.

“Just some boys from the school?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Okay. What time?”

“Seven thirty.”

“And you'll be home by…?”

“I dunno.”

She pursed her lips and thought a moment. “Ten thirty?” she suggested.

“Sure. Whatever.”

That afternoon, he went to the mall. Hallowe'en merchandise spilled from shelves. Impulsively, he decided to look for something for himself. He settled on a tube of white face paint and a six-pack of Coke. Then he went down to the hardware section of the dollar store and stole a lock for his bedroom door.

He thought face paint was the safest. He didn't want to go without anything, and if he felt like an idiot he could just wash it off – say it itched, or something.

He went to the bathroom mirror.

His father's features stared back.

He started smearing on the face paint.

Even though the sun had been down for over an hour, Danny glanced about to see if anyone was looking at him. He turned up his collar, but there wasn't any way to hide his skull bones outlined in white. He'd memorized Nixxie's address, but just to be sure, he'd written it in pen on his wrist where his watch would hide it from view. He carried the Coke cans in a plastic bag, which he switched from hand to hand as he made his way toward Nixxie's house. He was careful not to smudge the paint outlining the bones on the back of his hands.

The front curtains of Nixxie's boxy house were drawn but the outside light was on. He hesitated before striding up the sidewalk at a pace he hoped looked confident.

He tried to hide his surprise when the doorbell was answered by a white woman, who looked a bit like an older version of his own mother.

He swallowed and asked, “Is Nixxie home?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course,” she said. “You must be David.”

He stepped into the narrow entranceway.

“Nixxie! There's a skeleton here to see you!”

“Okay, Mom,” came Nixxie's voice.

Mom?
Danny looked around the modest living room. A thick quilt hung diagonally across the couch. He could see half of the hand-stitched eight-point star. It was indigo at its center, then radiated into royal purple followed by a ring of white. Its points were tipped in blue. A woven basket stored newspapers and magazines. A framed mosaic of drawings – feathers, buffalos, tipis, a drum, a rattle – hung over the loveseat. He looked at it curiously.

Nixxie swept into the room. An ebony leather strap cinched a calf-length black dress. Blood-red nail polish matched her lipstick. She reached up to finger a black studded dog collar buckled at her throat. She'd smudged what looked like soot under her eyes. A streak ran down each cheek. She'd used mascara to blacken her eyebrows into thick mats and angle them down toward her nose.

Her eyes twinkled. “See, I told you I love shopping at Value Mart!”

“Great costume,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. He pulled them out quickly when he remembered the paint. “I didn't know you liked Goth.”

“Actually I don't, but it's cheap and easy. So – you're a skeleton?”

“Yeah,” Danny mumbled, now feeling underdressed.

“And you'll be at Frank's?” Nixxie's mom interrupted.