We Are the Ants (8 page)

“Do you think this is funny for me? Having to call the guy who humiliates me one second and gives me boners the next to rescue me from the middle of nowhere at three in the morning? Do you think this is my idea of a good fucking time?”

The light turned green, but the car didn't move. Marcus looked at me curiously, but I had no idea what he was thinking. “I'm glad you came to my party.”

“What?”

Marcus shrugged. “I should have invited you, but I didn't figure you'd come. I'm glad you did.”

That wasn't even remotely close to what I'd expected Marcus to say, and I didn't know how to respond. Moments of sincerity from him are rare, but he can be sweet when he thinks no one is watching. That's the only thing that kept me coming back, but it wasn't enough anymore. Marcus finally drove on and, when we'd gone a bit farther, I said, “You called me trash. You made me
feel
like trash.”

“Chill, Henry. You need thicker skin.” Marcus glanced at me, but I refused to look him in the eyes. “Anyway, I tried to find you to apologize, but you'd left.”

“Whatever.”

Marcus cut the wheel and pulled into a Taco Bell. The pink-and-purple lights cast a garish glow on the empty parking lot. He parked the car, unbuckled his seat belt, and turned toward me. His smile was gone, replaced by an earnestness that unnerved me. “It's more than sex to me, you know.”

“What is?”

“Us.”

“Are we an us?” With Jesse I'd never needed to define our relationship. From the beginning, we'd felt like a unit. Jesse was my parallel subject—I always knew he was on the other side of the ampersand—but I didn't know where I stood with Marcus. Was I his object or something more?

Marcus ground his teeth. His jaw muscles twitched. He was looking at me like having to answer a simple question was beneath him. Like I was beneath him. “Henry . . .”

I got out of the car. We were only halfway home, but it was closer than I'd been. “I'll walk from here.”

“Get in the car, Space Boy.”

I slammed the door as hard as I could, relishing the hollow thud, but Marcus ruined it by rolling down the window, so I gave him the finger in case he hadn't understood me the first time.

“Come on, Henry. I got up in the middle of the night for you. Doesn't that prove something?” His voice betrayed no sarcasm, no condescension. It was almost enough to make me believe he cared.

“It proves you thought you could trade a ride home for a hand job.”

Marcus gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He wasn't used to people telling him no. He grew up surrounded by people who convinced him he deserves everything he wants and that no one should refuse him anything.

A red pickup truck barreled into the drive-thru, the modified exhaust announcing to the world that the driver had a micro-penis. I noticed the Calypso High bumper sticker at the same time Marcus did. “Get in the car, and we'll talk about it, Henry.”

“It doesn't matter anymore.”

Once the truck reached the pickup window, the driver would be able to see Marcus. They'd see me standing next to Marcus's car. After a moment's hesitation, he peeled out of the parking lot, leaving me stranded again.

I walked the rest of the way home, sticking to the shadows to avoid catching the attention of cops on patrol. Calypso is a quiet town, and the police often have nothing better to do than pester anyone who looks like they don't belong, and that includes teenage boys walking home in the middle of the night wearing kissing-whale boxers and a running singlet.

This is my life. A parade of humiliation and suffering. Before Jesse, I could deal with being Space Boy. He knew about the abductions but never made me feel like a freak. Before Jesse, I knew that no matter what happened to me, I could soldier on so long as we were together. But I'm living in an After Jesse world where I ache from missing him and nothing makes sense. My boyfriend and best friend both abandoned me. Marcus was using me for sex. I am a punch line at school, a ghost at home.

I hate Jesse for leaving me behind. If he asked, I would have walked into the air with him.

I was wrong to believe that the sluggers had given me freedom. Going to the party changed nothing. If anything, it made my life worse. I no longer cared why they'd chosen me to decide the fate of the earth. It didn't matter.

By the time I reached my house, my feet cut and sore, I decided I would never press the button.

Fuck it. Let the world burn.

After the party, I kept to myself and counted down the days until the end of the world—129 for the math-impaired. Almost two weeks had passed since Marcus ditched me at Taco Bell, and he hadn't tried to apologize. No texts, no notes, no gropes in the restroom during lunch. The only thing that changed is that he calls me Space Boy twice as often, which only toughens my resolve not to press the button.

If the sluggers were looking for someone to save the world, they chose the wrong guy. Marcus would press the button to save his own ass, Audrey would do it because she honestly believes every person on the planet deserves to live, and I'm sure even Charlie would do it, but only because the button is red and he likes bright things.

I'm not sure what Jesse would have done. He had this way of seeing the truth about a person. He understood people in a way I never could. Maybe he would have saved the world because it deserved to be saved, or maybe he wouldn't have pressed it because he figured we'd only wind up finding some other way to annihilate ourselves. Whatever choice he might have made, it would have been the right one. Jesse was the best of us. Definitely the best of me.

Not that it makes a difference. The sluggers chose me and, as far as I'm concerned, life is like a game of
Whose Line Is It Anyway?
Everything's made up, and the points don't matter.

  •  •  •  

I was pretending to pay attention to Ms. Faraci while she taught us about buffers and pH by leaning on my fist and covering one eye, keeping the other open to look like I was awake. Mom and Charlie were still fighting whenever they were in the same room, so I wasn't getting much sleep at home. I must have dozed off because the bell rang, startling me. Marcus slapped the back of my head as he passed, and threw a nickel on my desk. It bounced off my book and rolled on its edge to the floor. “Keep the change, Space Boy.” Adrian dropped a handful of them at my feet, laughing so hard, he looked like he was going to give himself a hernia.

I watched them go and, when I turned around, caught Audrey eyeing me. “What?”

“Someone started a rumor that you trade blow jobs for nickels behind the gym.”

“That's stupid,” I said, looking at the change on the floor.

“They seem to think it's hilarious.”

“If I'm supposedly some kind of nickel whore, and they're giving me spare change, doesn't that mean—”

Audrey flapped her hands in exasperation. “Just ignore them.”

“Whatever.”

She was huffing like she was dying to give me more unsolicited advice, but she said, “Forget it,” instead, gathered her books, and left.

Audrey hadn't tried to talk to me since the party, and I was grateful for the silence. The last thing I want is for Audrey to tell me how sorry she is or make some lame attempt to fix our friendship. I'm content to let the world end with our friendship as dead as Jesse.

“Henry, may I speak to you for a moment?” Ms. Faraci sat behind her desk and caught me as I tried to sneak out.

“I'm kind of on my way to lunch and—”

Ms. Faraci picked up a Scantron sheet and set it on the edge of her desk. Even from a distance, the red lines were visible and plenty. “You failed your exam, Henry. This isn't like you.”

I shuffled forward to look at the grade. I hadn't failed the exam, I'd bombed it hard. We'd taken the test the Monday after Marcus's party, and I knew I'd tanked it when I turned it in. “It's just one test.”

“If someone is giving you a hard time, I can speak to them.”

“Please don't.”

Ms. Faraci bit back whatever she was planning to say. “I know high school can be difficult.”

“Is this the part where you tell me it gets better, and that if I toughen up and make it through the next two years, my life will be awesome?” I hoisted my backpack higher on my shoulder. “Can I go?”

“I'd like to give you the opportunity to do some extra credit.”

“Pass.”

“An essay on a science-related topic of your choosing.”

“I don't have time.”

“Maybe you could ask Audrey Dorn to help you; I've seen you talking, and she's got the highest average in the class.”

“Definitely not, but thanks anyway.”

“You've got a real talent for science, and I don't want to see your grade suffer. Think about it, okay?” Ms. Faraci's voice was sincere, and I didn't want it to be. I wanted her to be like the rest of my teachers: bored, jaded, and counting down the seconds until retirement.

“Sure, whatever.” I took off before she could detain me any longer. Even though I didn't have anywhere to go, I didn't want to spend my lunch period with a teacher.

My locker was in the art building, which was quiet and centrally located. When I reached it, I dialed in the combination and grabbed my lunch. I heard the door open at the end of the hall, and turned to see Diego Vega enter. I hoped he hadn't seen me.

“Henry Denton!”

Damn. He was waving like we were best friends. It was hot as balls outside, but he was wearing a green sweater over an oxford shirt and tie that made him look like he'd gotten lost on his way to a polo match, only his tie was askew and his collar flaps out. It was probably as contrived as everything else about him.

Diego sidled up to me as I slammed my locker door shut, and said, “You've been avoiding me.”

“Guilty.”

“If it's about what I said at the party—”

“Forget it. I'm used to it.” I wanted to leave out the west exit, but the north doors were closer, so I headed for them.

“Cafeteria's the other way.”

I kept walking. “I don't eat in the cafeteria.”

Diego trotted along beside me. This kid wasn't going to give up. “Please tell me you don't eat in the restrooms. That would be too tragic.”

“There are benches near the library.”

Diego crinkled his nose. “Even worse.” He tried to drag me by the arm, but I pulled away. “Come on. I don't have anyone to sit with. You'd be doing me a favor.”

“Trust me, I wouldn't be doing you any favors.” We'd both stopped walking, and for some reason, my feet wouldn't start again. Diego's sincerity, which I'd been fooled by at the party, was back in full effect. The thing was, I wanted to believe him. I considered for a moment that maybe he hadn't known what he was doing when he'd called me Space Boy. Maybe he was exactly what he seemed.

“Just, whatever. My rep's no better.”

“I doubt that.”

“For real. I'm sure they'll come up with a nickname for me any day now.”

I shrugged because it was easier to go with him than to continue arguing. “Fine, but if you call me Space Boy again, I'm gone.”

Diego slung his arm around my shoulders. “Deal.”

  •  •  •  

I hadn't eaten in the cafeteria since the middle of sophomore year. Jesse, Audrey, and I always sat together. We were a unit. After Jesse, I stopped eating inside.

Not much about the cafeteria had changed. It was loud and jagged, and I made myself small. Most people were sitting in the same groups with the same people they'd known all through high school. We aren't just defined by who
we
are, but by who our friends are. It's funny that we put so much importance on something that won't mean shit once we graduate.

“You hungry?” Diego asked. “I'm starving. My sister is hardly home to cook, so I've been living on delivery pizza and microwave popcorn.” He slid into the lunch line, grabbed a tray, and tossed on a bag of chips, mac and cheese, a pudding cup, and something the serving guy claimed was chicken potpie. “Food here is so much better than at my last school. We were happy if all we got was E. coli.”

I cringed looking at Diego's lunch. “I'm not sure that qualifies as food.”

Diego shuffled to the cashier and fished money from his pocket. “Sometimes you have to learn to adjust your expectations to survive.”

“How bad
was
your last school?”

“Pretty much a prison.” Diego grabbed his tray and waded into the sea of tables and chairs. I followed him to a table with a couple of free seats, and watched him tear into his lunch while I dumped mine out of its paper bag.

“Is that meatloaf?” Diego grabbed my sandwich without asking and peeled back the plastic wrap. He sniffed it before I could snatch it back.

“Yeah.” A thick slice of meatloaf rested between the bread, one side slathered with mayo, the other with ketchup. A mixture of sunflower seeds and raisins rolled around freely at the bottom of the bag.

Diego talked with his mouth full of mac and cheese. “My mom made great meatloaf. It was my favorite.”

I tossed the sandwich aside. “We had meatloaf last week, and it was terrible then.” Diego frowned, so I said, “Sometimes my grandma packs my lunch. She's a little senile. I should be grateful we didn't have any gravy left.”

“It could be worse.” Diego tossed me his potato chips; I was too hungry to refuse the gift. “You do anything fun this weekend?”

“Mostly hid in my room to avoid my mother and brother. He knocked up his girlfriend and dropped out of college, and my mom's not taking it so well.” Diego probably didn't want to hear about my fucked-up family, but I couldn't think of anything else to talk about.