The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen Read online

  That made me wonder if Port Salish Secondary had had a file on Scott all along. Maybe Jesse should have given them more credit.

  “Wait – back up. What happened? The last thing I remember is grabbing his iPod.”

  Here’s what Farley told me:

  Apparently I ran into the boys’ washroom. Troy was so startled, it took him a moment to chase after me. By the time he, Mike, Josh, and Farley had burst into the washroom, I was already standing in one of the stalls.

  And I’d already thrown Troy’s iPod Touch into the toilet. And I’d already started flushing repeatedly.

  Apparently I also started talking Robot. “You. Are a Dick,” I said to Troy. “A Jerk. A Creep. A Waste. Of Space.”

  Farley says Troy screamed a whole pile of words I can’t repeat, then he ordered me to get his iPod out of the toilet.

  So I did. I scooped it out of the toilet bowl, but instead of handing it back to him, I threw it onto the hard tile floor and started stomping on it.

  That’s when Troy began punching me. Farley says I got in a couple of not-bad swings myself. “But the best part was when you tried to do the Bell Clap.” The Bell Clap is one of the Great Dane’s favorite moves, and it involves slapping both ears of your opponent really hard with the palms of your hands to distort their balance.

  I groaned.

  “Yeah, it didn’t do much,” Farley admitted. “It only made him angrier. But it looked cool.”

  Apparently it was after I attempted the Bell Clap that Troy punched me so hard, I fell back and hit my head on the toilet seat and blacked out.

  “That was scary,” Farley said. “You just crumpled. You lay there on the bathroom floor, not moving. Troy freaked. He and Mike and Josh just cleared out. I was shouting at you to wake up, and then Ambrose came into the bathroom, and I told him to go get the principal, and I pulled out my cell phone and called 911.”

  “Thanks, Farley. You pretty much saved my life.”

  “I pretty much did!” he gloated.

  He left his chair and perched on the edge of my bed. “While we were waiting for the ambulance,” he said, “you came to for a while. But you were totally disoriented. You kept talking about someone named Jesse.” Farley looked at me with his magnified eyes. “Who’s Jesse?”

  I took a deep breath. Then I did what was either the bravest thing I’ve ever done or the stupidest.

  “He’s my brother,” I said.

  And then I told Farley the whole horrible truth.

  When I was done, Farley was really quiet. His glasses had fogged up. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “I’ll understand if you don’t want to hang around me anymore,” I said.

  He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his pants. “Why would I not want to hang around you?”

  I shrugged. “It freaks people out. Like they think our whole family has cooties or something.”

  Farley put his glasses back on. “Henry, what you did for me the other day – you were like the Great Dane, taking on Vlad the Impaler. You defended me against the ultimate heel.”

  He took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “You’re my best friend in the whole world.”

  I looked at him, sitting on my bed. I took in his magnified eyes, his pocket protector, his pants that were buckled right under his nipples.

  And I said, “You’re my best friend, too.”

  Then my eyes got a bit moist, and Farley opened his arms, and I realized he was coming in for a hug. It was turning into way too much of a Hallmark Moment. Luckily an aide brought in my supper tray just before he could swoop in, and he got distracted. “Ooh, is that Salisbury steak? Are you going to eat it?” he asked me.

  It looked disgusting – a piece of dry meat with congealed gravy on top. “No,” I said. “Dad’s bringing me an individual pizza from Panago.”

  “May I?”

  I laughed. “Go for it.”

  Farley dug right in. He ate every last bite. I sat propped up in my bed and watched him, amazed that I had ever dreamed of getting an upgrade, when I’d had the best model all along.

  THURSDAY, APRIL 11

  I wish I could say that things went as well with Alberta as they did with Farley, but they didn’t.

  She finally came by this morning, carrying a plastic container full of muffins. “I made them myself,” she said as she sat in the chair beside my bed. “Blueberry.”

  I took one out and ate it. It was quite good, and I only had to pull one unidentifiable crunchy thing out of my mouth.

  “Thanks,” I said when I was done. “Delicious.”

  She just looked down at her purple Doc Martens, and it dawned on me that she was embarrassed to let me see her eyes.

  “I’m really sorry for what I said to you that day, Alberta –”

  “You should be,” she interrupted. “It was cruel.”

  “I know. I guess I was trying to be cruel. I was scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  “That you’d find out the truth.”

  “About what? About that girl?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sort of. About her, and her brother. And my brother.”

  “The one who died of cancer?”

  I sighed. After being silent on the subject for so long, here I was, having to tell the story two days in a row. “About that,” I began.

  When I was done, Alberta was completely silent. Tears were rolling down her face. I didn’t mean to make her cry, but let’s face it: It’s a sad story.

  She stood up and leaned over me. I really thought she was going to kiss me, and I was worried about my breath because I hadn’t brushed my teeth, and I knew I must have horrible morning stinks.

  But she didn’t kiss me.

  She punched me in the stomach.

  “You lied to me,” she said.

  Then she punched me again, one for the road before she stormed out.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 12

  The doctors say I can go home today. I’m not allowed to go back to school yet; they want me to rest at home for at least a week and come back in for a checkup. Then they’ll decide if I’m ready. This is fine by me.

  I told Sandra she could have the balloons. She gave me a hug and told me to stay out of trouble. I said I’d try my best.

  1:00 p.m.

  I’m in my room now, resting.

  I thought it would feel good, coming back to the apartment with both my parents. But to be honest, it’s weird.

  First we had to walk past new handwritten signs in the foyer. The first one read “WE should not have to get rid of your junk mail!! Please deal with it yourself!!” The second note, stuck underneath the first one, read “GET A LIFE!!!!!”

  Then, when we entered the apartment, I saw the photos. Mom had obviously been down in the storage locker, because there were at least ten framed pictures of Jesse, or Jesse and me, or Jesse, me, Mom and Dad, hanging on the living-room walls.

  And Jesse was there, too.

  The shoebox was sitting on the mantelpiece above the gas fireplace. My mom must’ve seen me staring at it because she said, “I can’t believe your father’s had him under his bed all this time.”

  “At least I was with him,” my dad retorted, and my stomach lurched because I knew right then and there that they’d been fighting a lot.

  Then my dad picked up a bubble envelope from the hall table and handed it to me. “This arrived for you when you were gone.”

  I knew the handwriting immediately.

  Jodie. Her name was written in the left-hand corner, with an address I didn’t recognize.

  My knees suddenly didn’t want to support me. I almost fell over right there in the hall.

  “Do you want us to read it first?” my mom asked. They both looked worried.

  I shook my head. But I didn’t open it.

  I still haven’t opened it. It’s sitting on my bedside table.

  After IT happened, a lot of my friends made it clear they were no longer my friends. It
happened to my parents, too. I had to shut down my hotmail account and my Facebook page, thanks to a few death threats.

  Then there was the night someone started a fire in our garage.

  So it’s not surprising that I’m afraid to open a letter from the sister of the boy Jesse killed, even if she was once my best friend in the whole wide world.

  2:30 p.m.

  I can’t stand it anymore. I’m opening it.

  April 4

  Dear Henry,

  I’ve tried e-mailing you a couple of times, but they always bounce back. I was starting to think I would never find you again. So when I saw you at the Provincials, it was so weird. It was like I was seeing a ghost. When you vanished into thin air, I thought maybe I HAD seen a ghost. But then I talked to some of the kids on your team, and I knew you were real.

  You saw me, too, didn’t you? And you didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe you haven’t even told your friends what happened. I wouldn’t blame you. I saw how people treated you and your family afterward. I rode past your house the day after your garage was lit on fire. Not because I was gawking, but because I thought I might see you.

  Everything is so horrible, Henry. It’s like a nightmare, except I never wake up. And nobody gets it; nobody really understands, not even my grief counselor. And my parents are so messed up. My dad has a lot of hate. He doesn’t know I’m writing to you; he’d be furious if he did. My sister, thankfully, is too young to get it. But I know that the one person who will totally GET IT is you. ’Cause you’re living through the same nightmare, am I right? Maybe even worse.

  I have so many questions I would ask you if I could. Do you have more bad days than good? Are your parents as totally messed up as mine? Do you have nightmares? Do you sometimes hate your brother? I sometimes hate Scott, and then I feel so bad, I want to hurt myself.

  I wish you still lived here, Henry. Even though I know you never could.

  Well, anyway … I really don’t know what else to say. Please, please write back, but not to my house, okay? You could write to Carrie’s house – she won’t tell anyone. Her address is on the envelope.

  Bye for now, Henry.

  Jodie

  PS – I really hope you write back.

  PPS – I hope you like the gift.

  I read the letter three times in a row. Then I tipped the envelope and eased out a small, flat object that was carefully wrapped in layers of Bubble Wrap.

  It was our sand dollar. The perfect sand dollar we’d found on the beach a couple of years ago. I am holding it in my left palm right now. It is cool and smooth.

  I’d let her keep it because she’d been having a bad day.

  I guess she’s returning the favor.

  SUNDAY, APRIL 14

  Mr. Atapattu came over yesterday. He was carrying a gift-wrapped box. “Henry, I am so glad to see that you are alright,” he said. He handed me the box. “For your recovery. Straight from the Home Shopping Network.”

  I tore off the wrapping paper. Inside was my very own Slanket, in navy blue. “Thanks,” I said as I slipped it on. It felt like I was wrapped in a cocoon.

  Mr. Atapattu picked up a framed photo from the mantelpiece. It was a picture of me, Jesse, and Mom, standing in front of the Legoland sign.

  “That’s my brother,” I said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Did Dad tell you what happened?”

  “No.”

  “Karen?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve known for a long time. I Googled you shortly after you moved in.”

  I raised my eyebrows, but he just shrugged.

  “After you’ve had a meth lab next door, you tend to do your research.”

  “So you’ve known this whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still wanted to get to know us. You were still nice to us.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  I was. I was also near tears. I blame my head injury.

  “Henry, when tragedy befalls someone, it is when he needs comforting most.”

  “I just thought you were a lonely old man, desperate for company,” I blurted.

  Again, I blame my head injury.

  But he just laughed. “Oh, I’m definitely that, too. It wasn’t entirely unselfish, I assure you.”

  He could see I was starting to get tired, so we turned on the TV. Dad had PVR’ed a bunch of GWF shows while I was in hospital. We started watching “Monday Night Meltdown,” and, at the first commercial break, an ad came on for the GWF Smash-Up Live! in Seattle! “Tickets are going fast! Get yours now to avoid disappointment!”

  “I was this close to going to that show,” I told him.

  “Really?”

  I nodded. And even though I was tired, I wound up telling Mr. Atapattu the whole story about Recycling Managerial Services and Farley getting robbed and my fight with Troy.

  “That’s terrible,” he said. “Did you know I was robbed three times when I drove my cab?”

  “Seriously?”

  “It was very frightening.”

  “I bet.” I was starting to feel dozy in my Slanket.

  “The GWF Smash-Up Live! in Seattle,” I heard him say. “That would have been quite an experience.”

  Then I didn’t hear anything else because I fell asleep.

  This morning Dad asked if it was okay if him and Mom went for a walk. I said sure. Once they were gone, I headed upstairs to Karen’s apartment.

  “Hey,” she said when she opened the door. “You’re back.” Her hair was freshly washed, and she was wearing jeans and a sweater.

  “You look different,” I told her.

  “How so?”

  “Better. Not so tired. Or so slutty.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “I meant it as a compliment.”

  “To be honest, I feel like crap. But I’m almost a month sober.”

  “Congratulations.”

  She let me in and made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We sat together in her living room.

  “Did you hate him?” I asked.

  She knew exactly what I meant. “I did. For years. But now … I just have compassion. Dad would never have intentionally hurt us, you know? His depression must have been crushing him to do what he did.”

  I can hardly believe I’m writing this, but it’s true: Karen is so easy to talk to. She’s been there. And she just tells it like it is.

  “Do you still think about him a lot?”

  “Every day. But they’re almost all nice thoughts now. They’re memories of the good times. Because we had a lot of good times before he took his life. Did you and your brother have a lot of good times?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Then put your energy into remembering that,” she said. “You’re the keeper of your brother’s memory. He did an awful thing, Henry. But he wasn’t an awful person.”

  5:00 p.m.

  I’m in my room now. Mom’s cooking a roast chicken for dinner. The apartment has never smelled so good.

  I’m looking through a photo album. It’s one of a stack Mom brought up from the storage locker. There’s a picture of Jesse and me, when he was nine and I was seven, sitting outside a pup tent in our backyard. We’re wearing our pajamas, and we’re laughing hard.

  I remember that morning so well. It was the first time Mom and Dad let Jesse and me sleep in the backyard in the tent. Jesse had pleaded for most of that summer, and Mom finally said okay. Dad helped us pitch the tent, and we filled it with sleeping bags and pillows and flashlights and a bunch of comic books and snacks.

  We had a ton of fun, until it got dark. Then I got scared. The wind rustled through the trees, and I was sure there were black bears or monsters coming to get us. I started to cry. I wanted to go inside.

  Jesse didn’t call me a sissy or a baby. He talked to me in a calm voice. He’d just finished reading a book called The BFG, and he started to tell me the story. It was about a girl named Sophie, who befriends a Big Friendly Giant.
It was an amazing tale about capturing good dreams to give to children and battling a band of very unfriendly giants. Next thing I knew, it was morning: I’d slept through the night in the tent.

  “You did it,” he said when we both woke up at the crack of dawn, thanks to a woodpecker that was tapping on a nearby tree.

  “I did!” I replied.

  Jesse high-fived me. We unzipped the tent and saw Mom, peering anxiously out of her bedroom window. We waved. She and Dad made us a huge pancake breakfast.

  That’s a good memory.

  It’s a start.

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 1

  1:00 a.m.

  You’ll never guess where I am.

  I am in the backseat of a rented minivan. Mom and Karen are in the middle row, chatting. Dad is sitting beside Mr. Atapattu, who is driving. Farley and Jesse are with me in the backseat. We’re heading home after the most awesome night of my life.

  Here’s how it happened. Farley showed up at our apartment this morning at nine o’clock. Normally I wouldn’t even be out of bed, but Mom and Dad had woken me up at eight, with the excuse that Mom had made a big breakfast, which she didn’t want to go to waste.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  “Your parents invited me to breakfast,” he said, and maybe it’s the lingering effects of the concussion, but I didn’t even stop to think that this was weird.

  Then Mr. Atapattu showed up. He was grinning, showing off his very white teeth. “Henry, will you help me with something downstairs?” he said.

  By then I was starting to get suspicious, especially when everyone else came downstairs, too. The minivan was waiting out front. Karen was standing beside it. “Get in,” Mr. Atapattu said.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Seattle,” said Mr. Atapattu.

  My eyes widened. “No way. No way no way no way!”

  “It’s true, it’s true!” Farley shouted, grabbing my arms and jumping up and down.

  “You told me about the surprise you’d been planning for your parents,” Mr. Atapattu said. “So we decided we’d turn the tables and plan a surprise for you.”