The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen Read online

  I turned around. I saw Jesse, also running toward the playground, and, behind him, four figures giving chase.

  They were getting closer. I was scared. So I ran up the steps that led to the top of the yellow plastic tube slide, and I launched myself into it. I pressed my arms and legs against the sides and slid slowly down to the bottom, where I stayed, hidden.

  But there is a hole in the side of the yellow tube slide. It’s been there forever. I used to toss stones out of it when I was little. I pressed my eye against it.

  They were pulling something over Jesse’s face. I couldn’t tell what it was. I found out later it was a pillowcase.

  Then they knocked him to the ground. They took off his shoes. They took off his jeans.

  I have to stop again.

  11:00 p.m.

  Jesse fought them as hard as he could. But it didn’t matter that he was a huge GWF fan and knew all the Great Dane’s moves; it didn’t matter that he’d been lifting weights in the basement for the past year. He’d been ambushed, and it was four against one.

  I crouched in the yellow tube slide that smelled of plastic and pee, and I watched as they pulled him to his feet and marched him out of my line of vision.

  I inched closer to the bottom of the slide and peered out. They’d pushed my brother against the tetherball pole.

  They never said a word, any of them.

  Then Scott pulled out a roll of duct tape.

  He started tearing long strips off the roll. It made a horrible sound, like nails on a chalkboard. He wrapped the tape around and around Jesse, securing him to the pole.

  And then.

  I need a minute.

  11:45 p.m.

  And then they took turns sack-tapping him. Slapping and flicking his testicles, hard.

  It went on for what felt like an eternity. Jesse was screaming, the pain was that bad.

  I did nothing. I know, I know, what was I supposed to do? I was twelve. I was short. And there was one of me and four of them. But still. Maybe I could have found a stick and snuck up on Scott and his friends and kneecapped them. Or grabbed a big rock and smashed in their skulls.

  This is the part that gets to me most, that makes me want to kill Scott even though I know he is already dead: They were laughing. Scott and his friends were laughing. They were trying not to, trying to stay quiet, but I guess they just couldn’t help themselves.

  After a while, they got bored and walked away, leaving my brother duct-taped to the pole.

  What would have happened if I hadn’t been there? When would he have been found?

  Then again, if I hadn’t been there, he never would have taken the shortcut through the park.

  I jumped out of the slide. I stumbled over to my brother. I pulled the pillowcase off his head. I used my teeth to rip the strips of duct tape open. I found his shoes and pants stuffed into a trash can. For a long time, he couldn’t even move, the pain was so bad. Finally I helped him into his pants, and we walked the rest of the way home together. Jesse was hunched over and hobbling like a little old man. I was blubbering like a baby.

  But Jesse wasn’t. Jesse didn’t show a speck of emotion.

  Mom and Dad were still out when we got back home. I helped Jesse peel off the rest of the duct tape. It left angry red welts on his skin.

  “I should have helped you,” I blubbered. “I should have killed them.”

  “We were outnumbered, Henry. If you’d let them know you were there, they would’ve hurt you, too.”

  “Or they would’ve run away ’cause they didn’t want a witness,” I said.

  “Maybe. I doubt it.”

  “We need to call the cops.”

  “No.”

  “We can take them back and show them where it happened. They can sweep the area for fingerprints.” I’d watched a lot of episodes of “CSI.”

  “No,” he said sharply. “We’re not calling the cops.”

  “Then we’ll tell Mom and Dad –”

  “NO!”

  He must’ve seen the look on my face, because he tried to explain. “If we tell Mom and Dad, they’ll make a huge deal out of it. They’ll call Scott’s parents; they’ll call the principal; they’ll call the police –”

  “Exactly!”

  “And at the end of it all, I’ll still have to face Scott every time I go to school. And he will find a way to make my life even worse.”

  He said all of this calmly, like he was a teacher patiently explaining a math problem.

  “No,” I said. “It doesn’t feel right. I want to tell.”

  “Henry. Don’t.” He looked me in the eye. “Please.”

  So I didn’t.

  Actually, I did tell one person, sort of.

  I told Jodie.

  It was a few days later, and we were hanging out at recess. She showed me a new ring she was wearing. “It’s a mood ring,” she told me. “Scott bought it for me in Gramsimo. He’s so sweet.”

  “He’s an asshole,” I blurted. It just popped right out of my mouth.

  Jodie’s face turned pink. “What did you just say?”

  “He’s a bully, Jodie. He makes my brother’s life hell.”

  “I don’t believe you.” But she hesitated before she said it.

  “Ask him. Ask him about last Saturday night,” I said, and I could feel my furies coming on.

  “What happened?”

  “Ask him!” I shouted.

  Then I walked away. I don’t know why I lashed out at her; I knew none of this was her fault.

  Still, we didn’t speak to each other after that.

  Four weeks later, both of our brothers were dead.

  Here’s the worst part: After that night in the park, Jesse actually seemed better. Calmer. He didn’t hide out in his room every night. He stopped swearing at my parents. He ate dinner with us and smiled sometimes. Even though Mom and Dad never said anything, I could tell they were relieved. And I was, too.

  After IT happened, I felt completely sideswiped. Till I realized Jesse had seemed better because he’d reached a decision. He’d come up with the ultimate solution to all of his problems.

  That’s why he was calm.

  Midnight

  After Jesse and Scott were dead – i.e. far too late – I told my parents about that night. They said all the right things. It wasn’t my fault; I shouldn’t blame myself.

  But you know what? I think my mom blames me the same way she blames my dad. I think she blames us equally. I think she knows she shouldn’t, but I think she can’t help herself.

  I think that is part of the reason why she can’t be with us right now. She loves us, but she hates us, too.

  THURSDAY, APRIL 4

  The principal called last night and told my dad I’d been skipping for days. Dad was furious. He told me he’d give me one more chance to go back to school on my own, and if that didn’t work, he’d come to school with me and sit in on all my classes.

  So I went back to school.

  My first class was Home Ec. Alberta had a new cooking partner. She acted like I didn’t exist. I guess I can’t blame her.

  My next class was Enriched Math. I wanted to tell Farley I’d still go with him to the GWF Smash-Up Live! in Seattle. I’ve decided that if my mom doesn’t come out in time, Mr. Atapattu can take her ticket.

  But Farley wasn’t in Enriched Math.

  He wasn’t at school all day.

  When I got home and called his house, I found out why.

  “Oh, Henry,” Maria said when she heard my voice. “I can’t get Farley to come out of his room.” She started to cry.

  “What happened?”

  “Farley got beat up.”

  “I’ll be right over,” I said.

  I hung up just as Dad got home. I told him what Maria had said. He didn’t even take off his coat. “Let’s go.”

  We were there in five minutes. Maria let us in. Dad stayed downstairs with her. I went straight to Farley’s room and knocked.

  “Farley, it’s
me. Henry.”

  I heard his bed creak. A moment later, he opened the door.

  His glasses were broken. One lens was cracked down the middle, and the right arm was held up by Scotch tape. His bottom lip was swollen and cut, and the palms of his hands were badly scraped up.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Farley sat on his bed. I perched on his window seat. “On Tuesday, I brought in all our money, so I could bring it to my third cousin to buy the tickets. I know you said you didn’t want to go anymore, but I thought I could change your mind if we actually had real tickets, you know? After school, I headed to the bus stop to go to my cousin’s place. I walked through one of the laneways.” He paused here and took a deep breath. “Some guys jumped me from behind. They threw me on the ground, and they went through my jacket pockets. They took all of our money, Henry. All of it.” Fat tears started to roll down his face.

  “How many of them were there?”

  “I’m not sure. It felt like a lot.”

  “Did you see what they looked like?”

  Farley shook his head. “They poked something into my back. They said it was a gun. And they told me not to lift my head for five whole minutes after they left or they’d kill me. Then one of them said, ‘Hasta la vista, sucker,’ and they ran away. And I waited because I was scared they might shoot me if I didn’t.” He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I’m so sorry, Henry. I know you said you didn’t want to go anymore, but half of that money was yours.”

  “Farley, don’t worry about it. Seriously. I’m just glad you’re okay.” And the thing is, I really was.

  After a while, we went downstairs. My dad insisted we call the cops. I’m sure he was thinking about Jesse in the park that night. I know I was.

  A couple of policemen came over, and Farley told them what had happened. The cops were really nice. They wrote out a report, but they said it would be hard to catch the guys responsible after all this time had passed, and that they’d probably already spent the money on drugs.

  Maria insisted we stay for dinner, and she let Farley choose because she said he’d barely eaten in the last two days. Farley chose grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles and ketchup, which was an awesome choice.

  Afterward, Dad and I drove back home.

  I mean it when I say the money doesn’t matter to me. It’s a bummer after all our hard work, but let’s face it: My dream of getting my family back together with a trip to the GWF was doomed to fail anyway.

  What worries me is Farley. I saw this look in his eyes when we were there tonight. It was the look Jesse had when Scott threw the Coke can at him. It was a look I’d see on his face over and over again after that, until it just became a part of who he was.

  It was the look of giving up.

  MONDAY, APRIL 8

  My head is pounding. I just saw twin nurses, but they swear there’s only one of them and that I am seeing double.

  Not seeing double anymore. Just one nurse. Her name is Sandra. She’s kind of cute. It seems I’m in the hospital.

  Found my journal in a drawer beside my bed. So tired. This bed is nice. There is a TV above it. “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” is on. Ellen is my mom’s favorite.

  8:00 p.m.

  Speaking of which. I had a dream that my mom was standing above me, squeezing my hand and telling me she loved me.

  Must sleep.

  TUESDAY, APRIL 9

  Guess what? It wasn’t a dream. Mom just walked in with a coffee.

  10:00 a.m.

  I had to stop writing because when I said hi, she almost dropped her cup. Then she smothered me in a hug. “Henry, my baby,” she said and practically collapsed on top of me.

  When she finally came up for air, I said: “What are you doing here?”

  She just kept crying and said, “Thank God you’re okay. When your dad called and said you had a head injury …”

  That explains why my head feels like a bowling ball. How did I get a head injury? I tried to ask, but my tongue felt thick in my mouth, and she smothered me with another hug.

  Now we’re watching “Jeopardy!” and trying to shout out the answers before the contestants do, just like the old days. Except that my mind is so fuzzy, I’m doing a lousy job, and I can’t shout because, if I do, it feels like a nail gun is shooting into my skull. She tells me Dad’s gone home to catch a few hours of sleep. Apparently I’ve been in here for two days!

  I’m so happy she’s here. Even if I needed to get a head injury to make it happen. Had I known, I would have tried to get seriously hurt months ago.

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10

  Feeling better today. My head still feels like a watermelon, but I can stay awake for longer than a half hour at a time. Mom’s asleep in a chair beside my bed, and Dad has gone to work because, if he doesn’t, his boss will “fire his ass.”

  On the windowsill near my bed is a row of cards. One is from Mr. Atapattu; another is from Karen. There’s even one from Cecil. Mom says he dropped by yesterday, but I was asleep.

  Next to the regular-sized cards sits a huge one. It has a drawing of a teddy bear, with red cheeks and a thermometer in his mouth. On the inside, it reads I can’t bear to hear you’re under the weather. It’s signed Your friend Farley. Floating beside the card is a big bunch of brightly colored helium balloons. Mom showed me the card that went with them: It said Get Well Soon on the front, and, inside, all of my Reach For The Top teammates had signed it, including Farley again and Mr. Jankovich. They all wrote personal messages, too.

  Except for Alberta. She just wrote Alberta.

  Rude.

  2:00 p.m.

  Here’s what I remember:

  The morning after I saw Farley, I went to school early and waited outside for him. When he arrived, he looked even smaller than usual, like he was trying to make himself disappear. He was wearing a pair of glasses that were even uglier than his regular ones. “We dug out my spares,” he said gloomily. “It’s just till my other ones get fixed.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, he wasn’t like a rubber ball.

  We walked into the school and up the stairs to our lockers in silence. I can play what happened next frame by frame in my head.

  Troy was at his locker with his friends Mike and Josh. “Hey, Fartley, love the new glasses.” They all cracked up. Troy pulled earbuds out of his ears and carefully wrapped them around a new iPod Touch.

  A picture flashed through my mind: Troy, standing at his locker, flipping through a textbook, while Farley told me about the money he was going to bring to school the next day.

  “You got an iPod Touch,” I said.

  “Duh.”

  “Where’d you get the money?”

  Troy shared a look with Mike and Josh. “I came into a small inheritance,” he said, smirking. He slid the iPod into his jeans pocket, grabbed a binder from his locker, and closed the door. “Hasta la vista, suckers.”

  Farley’s eyes locked with mine.

  Troy started to walk away.

  I felt the furies bubble up inside me. “Can I see it for a sec?” I heard myself saying. “I’m thinking of getting one myself.”

  Troy considered my request. “You can look,” he said, pulling it out of his back pocket, “but don’t touch. I don’t want your germs on it.” He held it out in the palm of his hand.

  I moved in for a closer look. Then I grabbed it and ran like hell.

  Next thing I remember, I woke up in hospital.

  5:00 p.m.

  Dad filled in a couple of blanks when he came by after work. “I got a call at the construction site just after 9:00 a.m. It was your principal. He said you’d fallen and hit your head, and that you’d been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I didn’t even tell my boss where I was going. I just tore out of there and drove to the hospital.

  “The doctor told me you’d suffered a concussion and they were keeping you under observation because they wanted to make sure there was no bleeding on the brain.”


  My dad had to stop for a moment to compose himself. “Bleeding” and “brain” were two words he’d heard a lot after Jesse did what he did.

  “Then the principal showed up, and all he could tell me was that you’d been in a fight and hit your head. He still didn’t know all the details, but he said a friend of yours got help immediately and the ambulance was there very fast. I called your mom, and she caught the first flight. You had us terrified there for a while, Henry.”

  Now both my mom and my dad are sitting beside my bed. Mom’s sleeping, and her head is resting against Dad’s shoulder. He’s holding her hand.

  And even though I may have a brain injury, I haven’t felt this content in a really long time.

  6:30 p.m.

  Mystery solved.

  Farley came by after school and filled in the rest of the blanks. His lip was almost back to normal. He was wearing his regular glasses again.

  “Greetings, Mrs. Larsen,” he said when he met my mom. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Then he bowed low and kissed her hand. Mom raised an eyebrow at me, but she was smiling. Since I had company, she decided to go home and have a shower, which was probably a good thing because her hair was starting to look greasy.

  Farley was like a hummingbird, darting around the room, checking everything out. He pressed the buttons on my bed to make it move up and down. Then he pressed the button that called the nurses’ station.

  “Oh. Sorry. I was just seeing if it worked,” he said to Sandra when she entered.

  “Henry, keep an eye on your friend,” Sandra said, winking at me.

  She’s my favorite.

  “There’s so much to tell you!” Farley exclaimed as he finally sat down in the chair next to my bed. “Troy’s been expelled!”

  “What??”

  “Well, not expelled, schools can’t really do that anymore, but he was ‘strongly encouraged’ to change schools. It turns out they’ve had a file on him all along. A big file, going all the way back to when he put that peanut in Ambrose’s sandwich.”