Tremendous Things Page 8

  “No. Why Tyler Kertz?”

  “Oh my. Did somebody see us?”

  I didn’t tell her the somebody was me. “Yes.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Well, he is handsome. He is, how do you say it? A boy toy.”

  The metaphorical knife plunged into my heart. “But his personality…”

  “Is not so good. He is a little bit boring and also very fond of himself. You are so much easier to talk to! But I didn’t go with him to talk.”

  The knife plunged deeper.

  There was silence for a while. I thought she’d gone to sleep. Then she said, “It has been so wonderful getting to know you, Wilbur.”

  For a split second, I felt just a tiny bit better. Then:

  “You are like the younger brother I never had.”

  The knife went right through my heart and out the other side.

  “Now if it is okay with you, your sister must sleep, and you must sleep, too.” She yawned loudly. “Thank you, Wilbur. For everything. It has been a most magical trip.”

  I stared into the darkness. “Good night, Charlotte.”

  “Good night, Wilbur.”

  “Good night, Charlotte.”

  “Good night, Wilbur.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  A few minutes later she started to snore like a trucker.

  I’ve entered a black hole

  And damaged my heart

  Can’t find the light switch

  My world has gone dark

  From “Black Hole” by Wilbur Nuñez-Knopf

  And then she was gone.

  Just four hours later, the Mumps drove Charlie to the school, where she boarded the bus with the other French students to go to the airport.

  I stayed home. I said I was sick. Which wasn’t totally a lie.

  I lay in bed in the alcove all morning with Templeton. Turns out you can hear conversations in the kitchen really well from there.

  “I think our Wil is suffering from a broken heart,” Mum said when they got back from dropping off Charlie.

  Mup: “He did moon over her like a puppy dog, didn’t he?”

  Mum: “Good goddess, yes.”

  Ouch. How dumb could I be, thinking my own mothers hadn’t noticed?

  Mum: “Not that I blame him. She’s an amazing young woman, the type of girl he should be with.”

  Mup: “As opposed to all the other girls he’s been with?”

  Ouch squared.

  Mum: “I just mean that when he does meet someone, I hope she’s a little bit like Charlie.”

  Mup: “Me too. And he will. He’s going to grow into an exceptional person and have great relationships with fabulous women.”

  Better.

  Mup: “It just might take him three to five years longer than most people.”

  Aaaaaaagh!!!

  I suddenly felt furious: with the Mumps, with Tyler, with Charlie, with the world—but mostly with myself.

  So I did what any fourteen-year-old boy would do when he’s full of rage.

  I wrote a poem.

  Black Hole

  I’ve entered a black hole

  And damaged my heart

  Can’t find the light switch

  My world has gone dark

  I fell in love

  With a girl from Paris

  My love was unrequited

  And now I’m embarrassed

  She saw me as a good friend

  A brother, at best

  And not like Cersei and Jaime Lannister

  We’re not talking incest

  Nor like Dany Targaryen and Jon Snow

  Wow. Game of Thrones was

  Incest-heavy

  For one TV show

  I’ve entered a black hole

  And damaged my heart

  Can’t find the light switch

  My world has gone dark

  I stayed home all day. The next morning, Friday, Mup came into my room, dressed in the one-piece coverall she used at the doggie daycare. I’d transferred out of the alcove and back into my own bed. “Wilbur, you need to go to school.”

  “Please. I can’t.”

  “Look at me.” I rolled over to face her. “Darling, you need to get back on the horse—” She stopped. She took in my blotchy face and red eyes. Her tone softened. To my surprise, she said, “Okay. You can miss one more day. But that’s it. You don’t want your grades to suffer.” My grades were mediocre at the best of times. She smoothed my hair and kissed my cheek. “I’ll make you your favorite dish for dinner tonight, okay?”

  “Really? Spaghetti with—”

  “Butter and salt.”

  “Yum.”

  “Love you, my boy.” She got up to leave.

  “Mup?”

  “Yes, my darling?”

  “Have you ever had your heart broken?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes. Many times. It’s horrible. But it does get better. I know it might be hard to believe right now, but it won’t feel like this forever.”

  Then she sat back down and scratched my back like she used to when I was little, and I drifted back to sleep.

  * * *

  —

  By Saturday morning, Mup’s stores of sympathy were used up. At eight thirty she marched into my room in the blue tracksuit that she wore over her bathing suit and yanked off the covers. “I don’t expect you to come to aquacise. But I do expect you to get up and walk your dog, because neither Mum nor I have time to do it, and he’s your responsibility. And lastly, if I’m not mistaken, you have a shift at Foot Long today, and it’s far too late for you to call in sick.”

  She waited for me to crawl out of bed. When I moved past her to go to the washroom, she waved a hand in front of her face. “Whew! You smell like rotten brussels sprouts and foot fungus. Shower!”

  I checked my phone while I pooped. Alex had texted me a bunch of times, wondering where I was. It was nice that he’d noticed, but I hadn’t had the energy to text back.

  Mup had already left when I got downstairs, but Mum was drinking coffee at the kitchen table, still in her floral kimono, reading from a script. The moment I walked in she stood and enveloped me in a hug. “How are you doing, peanut?”

  I shrugged. I could feel the tears coming; she was my Mum, after all.

  “Sweet boy.” She hugged me for a long time. Eventually I broke free and blew my nose on a wadded-up tissue I found in my pocket. I poured kibble into Templeton’s bowl and popped some bread into the toaster. “Do you have an audition?” I asked.

  “Yes. On Monday. Will you run my lines with me?”

  “Of course.”

  She handed me the pages. “You’re the lead. Joseph. The scene takes place in a doctor’s reception area. Joseph is talking to someone on the phone.”

  “ ‘Look, Marianne,’ ” I read, “ ‘we’ve been through this a thousand times, I can’t pick up the kids on Thursdays. I have my AA meeting and you know how important it is that I go—’ ”

  “ ‘Excuse me? The doctor will see you now,’ ” Mum, or “Receptionist,” said.

  I flipped to the next page, but it was a new scene. “That’s it?”

  “Yup. But did you notice, in my delivery I have a hint of disapproval in my voice; like, ‘He’s talking loud on his phone in a quiet waiting room?’ I’m hoping that might give me an edge.”

  “Sounds like an excellent plan.”

  After breakfast I took Templeton for a walk. He was in a sassy mood and barked at the bigger dogs, including a huge Bernese mountain dog, who cowered behind his owner. We stopped at Stoner Park, and I threw a ball for him. He ran back and forth in front of Lloyd and Viktor, who sat on their usual bench. At one poin
t Templeton didn’t come back with the ball; he rooted around in a corner of the park instead. “Wilbur,” said Lloyd. “Your dog is eating another dog’s poo.”

  Templeton ignored my whistles, and I finally had to march over and pick him up. He immediately started licking my cheek. Lloyd and Viktor gagged in horror. “Dude!” shouted Viktor.

  I gave my face another good scrub when I got home.

  * * *

  —

  I was scheduled to open today, so shortly before eleven I forced myself to walk down to Foot Long. I pride myself on being a reliable person, and also now that I was a Submarine Sandwich Creation Expert, I felt a certain weight of responsibility. I repeated one of Mup’s sayings in my head: The show must go on.

  Mitzi was at the door, shivering in her peacoat, when I arrived. I let us both in with my key. “Wow am I happy you’re back,” she said. “Dmitry is such a dick.”

  “He’s still a dick when I’m here.”

  “Yeah, but your presence dilutes the overall dick vibe.” We both disappeared into the back and reemerged in our yellow polyester pit-stop outfits. Like superheroes. Only not. So not. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed unpleasantly, so I put on the store Muzak.

  “Speaking of Dmitry,” I said, “wasn’t he supposed to be here by now?”

  “Yep.”

  The two of us prepped, enjoying the lull before the lunch rush. “Wow, a Muzak version of ‘Good as Hell,’ ” she said. “It’s oddly catchy.”

  “I would have to agree.”

  “How was your week with the French students?” she asked as she refilled the jalapeño bin.

  I laid out cheese slices, thinking about how to respond. “Mostly fun.” It had been like a Dickens novel: the best of times; the worst of times.

  “You get to go visit them too, right? In Paris?”

  “Yeah. Except I don’t think I’m going to go.”

  “Why not?”

  I told her half of the truth. “It’s a lot of money. I don’t think I can get it together in time.”

  “I hear you. I’m trying to save money for a trip this summer.”

  “Where to?”

  “Missouri. This year’s setting for the Pennsic Wars.”

  “The what?”

  “Have you heard of the Society for Creative Anachronism?”

  “I have not.”

  “We’re a living history group. We dress up in costumes and re-create medieval history. Mostly battles. The Pennsic War is a made-up battle between different groups of anachronists.”

  I looked at her more closely. “Wow. That…is…”

  “Weird, I know. But it’s a ton of fun.” She lifted her armpit and inhaled her own scent. “Ugh, this jumpsuit stinks like boiled cabbage no matter how often I wash it.”

  Dmitry finally strolled in, a full half hour late. He was wearing baggy jeans that rode way down his butt and a puffy jacket. His headphones leaked loud music. “You’re late,” I said, stating the obvious.

  He just kept moving to the beat, his jeans dropping even lower.

  “YOU’RE LATE.”

  Nothing.

  I grabbed his headphones. “YOU’RE LATE!”

  He swatted my hand away. “No need to shout, Winston.” He slipped them around his neck.

  “Wilbur. Get into your uniform. And do the bathroom check while you’re back there.”

  “Look, Wellington—”

  “Wilbur. You know my name is Wilbur—”

  “You’ve forgotten about my condition. My psoriafungalitis.”

  “I know that’s a crock.”

  “It is not,” he said, looking wounded.

  “It so is,” said Mitzi.

  “You don’t believe me, I’ll get a note from my doctor. Maybe I’m mispronouncing it or something.”

  The door opened and a large group came in, ready to order. I didn’t want them to see me argue with an employee, so I caved. “Fine. Bring a note from your doctor next time. Just—hurry and get changed, we’re about to get busy.”

  He did not hurry.

  He sauntered.

  I glanced at Mitzi and caught her disappointed look.

  All my bad feelings came flooding back. Tyler’s words echoed in my head. You’re nothing. You’re a zero.

  How could I have thought for one nanosecond that a girl like Charlie would ever be interested in a guy like me?

  I wasn’t interested in a guy like me.

  * * *

  —

  I’d forgotten my phone at home, and when I got back, I had a few more text messages from Alex and a handful from Sal. His texts were full of bizarre autocorrects.

  I missed you at acquaintance.

  Why weren’t you at the poop?

  Come for lunch? I’ll make grilled Jesus.

  Sorry your fart is broken.

  You will still have fur in parasites.

  I’m ashamed to admit that I still didn’t respond, to either of them.

  On Sunday night, Sal didn’t come for dinner because he had some big pinochle tournament in London, Ontario. After I’d crawled into bed with Templeton, I finally sent Sal and Alex a joint response to their texts.

  Thx for your messages. I’m OK. I am not going to Paris. Pls don’t try to change my mind.

  Then I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and fell into a fitful sleep.

  My heart, it is wounded

  My heart, it hurts

  I want to punch my nemesis

  Tyler Kertz

  From “Aches & Pains” by Wilbur Nuñez-Knopf

  By Monday morning, the Mumps had driven straight past Sympathy and right into Tough Love. “You are not staying home again,” Mup said over breakfast. “You know what they say. You’ve got to get back on the horse that bucked you.”

  “Your horse analogies are lost on me,” I replied. “For one thing, I’ve never been on a horse. They’re huge. They’re terrifying—”

  Mup slammed her fist on the table. Our bowls of porridge jumped. “If I have to drive stressed-out people in gridlocked downtown traffic all day and your mum has to be a background actor in an adult-diaper ad, you can bloody well pull yourself together and get your butt to school!”

  Unlike the horse analogy, I had to concede that this made some sense.

  * * *

  —

  So I went to school. I got through the day. Tyler wasn’t in any of my Monday classes, which was a small mercy. Whenever I spotted him in the halls with his basketball friends, I turned and walked the other way.

  But there was no avoiding him at band practice after school. Every time he caught my eye, he made rude gestures, most of which involved thrusting his pelvis, honking imaginary breasts, and waggling his tongue. I dreaded the end of practice. But fifteen minutes before we finished, Tyler left for a swim meet.

  “Thank you all for being such good hosts to our French counterparts,” Mr. P said when practice was officially over. “If you’re like me, you must be missing them terribly.” His voice actually trembled; then he pasted on a brave smile. “But fear not—we will see them in two short months! And remember to bring in your checks for the remainder as soon as you can.”

  I would not be bringing in a check. But I didn’t need to tell Mr. P that yet.

  I was still packing up my instruments when I saw Alex and Fabrizio leave the band room together without a backward glance.

  Even though they were joined at the hip, they usually waited for me. Given everything else that had happened—and given that Alex and Fab both knew what had happened—it felt like a whole lot of salt poured into an already gaping wound.

  * * *

  —

  The Mumps were still at work when I got home. Templeton, however, was very much there, and he went wild with happiness when he saw me.
His long body wound its way through my legs in little figure eights. He was a ray of sunshine on a crap day. I picked him up and his little tail went thwap thwap thwap against my arm. “At least you love me, Templeton.” He gave me a snaggletoothed grin.

  I knocked three times on Sal’s wall and waited.

  And waited.

  I knocked again, three times. Still no answer.

  He’s probably angry with me, too, I thought. But at the same time, I felt a worm of fear.

  I pulled out my phone and called his number. It rang and rang.

  It’s nothing. He just doesn’t want to talk to me.

  But how could I know for sure?

  I grabbed Sal’s spare key from a hook in the hallway. With Templeton tucked under my arm like a football, I headed next door.

  I rang the bell. No answer. “Sal?” Nothing. I let myself in. I could hear a low hum. “Sal?”

  I hurried to his kitchen. It was empty. I was about to run upstairs when I saw him, sitting in the living room.

  He was in his favorite wingback chair, in his plaid sweater and black pants, his favorite fuzzy pink slippers on his feet. The humming grew louder.

  “Sal!” I put Templeton down and hurried over to him. His eyes were open. I put my hand on his neck to check his pulse.

  He swatted my hand away. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I thought you were—”

  “I’m not dead. I’m fed up.”

  “With what?”

  “With you. And I’m not the only one.”

  “Hello, Wilbur,” said a familiar voice behind me.

  I turned. Alex sat on the couch. The humming was coming from him. Fabrizio sat next to him.

  I was utterly confused. “What’s going on?”

  “You texted us both on the weekend,” Alex said. “So Sal had my contact info. He called me this morning to talk about you.”

  “But—why?”

  “Because enough is enough,” Sal replied. “Wilbur Nuñez-Knopf: welcome to your intervention.”