Black Chuck Page 8

  Psycho. Sick. Dangerous.

  Beni would have to take over being big brother, feeding the kids, making sure they didn’t turn out like him. Would he disappear? Would his parents even acknowledge that he’d once existed? Would Sunny, or Alex, or Evie, once they knew? Fuck.

  The receptionist cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, swiveling in her chair to reach for something on the floor beside her. When she sat back up again, she had a stack of books in her hands. She held the bundle out to him across her desk, nodding for him to take them. He blinked. His hands reached of their own accord, taking them but not understanding. They were his own.

  The receptionist put her hand over the receiver. “You left these in Ms. Markell’s class on Friday.”

  He looked at her, then back down at the books. Was this a joke? What good were these now? He didn’t thank her, just tucked them under his arm and kept on standing in front of her desk, waiting.

  A second later the principal’s door creaked open, and Ré’s heart skittered off at a gallop. One blue uniform hovered in the doorway, still in conversation with the others in the room. Réal raised his chin, squared his shoulders, ready for it.

  “Réal!” the receptionist snapped, putting the phone back in its cradle. “What are you doing? Get back to class.”

  Startled, he looked at her again.

  “Go,” she said, waving him away. “I’ve got enough to do today without you hanging around.”

  She took a plastic folder from her desk and went to the high counter. He looked from her to the blue uniform and stepped backward, squeezing the books to his side.

  The door behind him opened, bumping him, and someone scuttled out of his way. “Oh, sorry, Ré!” said another round-eyed puppy. Réal barely heard him. He stumbled backward out the open door, into the hallway, breathing hard.

  What the hell just happened? Why hadn’t they seen him? He looked down at his hands, his books, to be sure this wasn’t just another strange dream.

  He could hear voices through the office door, and as it opened, he bolted, squeaking around a corner into the closest stairwell and up to the next landing two steps at a time. The officers walked past the foot of the stairs, turning left and away, clicks of their boots getting smaller as they headed for the exit.

  Ré crouched against the wall on the landing, heart racing, watching them go.

  E

  “You seen Sunny today?” Alex sat down across from Evie in the cafeteria. He’d turned the chair backward and was leaning over the backrest, stuffing potato chips into his mouth.

  “No,” said Evie. “You seen Réal?”

  “Nah,” he said past a mouthful. They both looked down at the open textbook in front of her. “Studying?”

  “Exams,” she said, shrugging. He nodded, but she could tell he wasn’t the slightest bit interested.

  He tossed the empty chip bag down on the table, licking his fingers and wiping them on his filthy, sleeveless jean jacket. “Where the hell is everyone?” he asked.

  Evie looked up at him again, then around at the lunch crowd. “I don’t know,” she said. “Last I saw anyone was Saturday. Everyone is being strange.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” he said quietly.

  He was pensive for a moment, like he didn’t want to say what he was about to say. Then he muttered, “I miss Shaun.”

  Evie swallowed and put down her pen. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Things are so messed around here without him,” Alex said, grasping the chairback and leaning his elbows on the table, arms crossed in an X. “Everyone’s acting like such a freak since he died.”

  “I know,” Evie agreed, thinking only of herself.

  “I can’t talk to Sunny anymore without her yelling at me,” he said. “I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong. She’s just pissed all the time. But what the fuck did I do? I didn’t kill the guy. I didn’t want him dead.”

  Evie cocked her head a little as she looked at him. He was talking down into his arms, long hair falling forward. He had a fine dusting of orange cheese powder at the edge of his lips. She said, “Nobody wanted him to be dead, Alex.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But Sunny’s acting like I did it myself or something. Like I had anything to do with it. That guy was my bro, y’know? He was…” His voice trailed off, choked.

  “Maybe Sunny’s just mad generally? Not at you, but, like, at everything?”

  “I don’t see her yelling at anybody else.”

  Evie almost laughed. “Really? She seemed pretty pissed at Ré the other day.”

  He screwed up his lips but said nothing. She could see by his eyes that he was thinking about that, but he didn’t look up. Instead he said, “So many other people deserve to die way more than Shaun did.” His voice was small and hard.

  Then he said, “He was only eighteen. That’s way too young.” He took a deep breath. When he blew it out, Evie could smell his chip breath. Then he laughed, a short, hard laugh, and shook his head. “Know what I’m getting for my eighteenth birthday?”

  She didn’t know. She didn’t say anything.

  He looked up at her then, hair falling back from his angular bones, thin smile looking darkly amused. “The family business,” he said. Then he laughed like that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

  Evie stared at him. Could that be true? Did he mean biker business? And what even was that besides riding around on motorcycles looking cool, like Charlie Hunnam?

  Then Alex leaned forward, patting his chest pocket. “I got some shit that’ll bomb you till Tuesday, if you’re interested.”

  Evie coughed and glanced around. “At school?” she hissed.

  He just laughed again. Then he shrugged and shoved back, off his chair. “I’m going to the hill. Come if you want,” he said.

  She stared after him for a second, then stood and gathered up her books, following his bony legs out of the room.

  Outside, she blinked in the bright sun, feeling like a total poser. It was not her following Alex Janes out to the hill. This was some other Evie. That wild one. Floating in the lake, staring at the stars, waiting for something, anything, to come pull her out from the mess of her life.

  Alex threw himself down in the grass, shoulders propped against his backpack, and started rolling a joint between nimble fingers, using his T-shirt as a table.

  Evie sat next to him, cross-legged, looking down the grassy hill. It was a beautiful day. Summer, officially. She leaned back with butterflies in her belly—what were they doing, getting high on school property in the middle of the day? It was nothing new for him, she was sure. She tried to feel as relaxed about it as he looked.

  Alex flicked open a silver Zippo and lit up. Around a mouthful of blue smoke, he said, “D’you know what he was like?”

  He licked his finger and spread orange chip-spit along an edge that burned too fast, then handed the joint to her.

  “Who?” she asked. She put the thing to her lips and inhaled, choking on the awful taste. She coughed, waving a hand in front of her face like it would help, her eyes instantly full of water. She handed the joint back to Alex, feeling like a complete amateur.

  “Shaun,” he said, sucking hard and holding his breath for an impossibly long time. Finally, a massive cloud unfurled into the breeze. “Shaun was like Chuck frickin’ Yeager, man.”

  “Who?” She coughed again.

  “Some guy in a movie about astronauts,” he said. He took another haul and passed it back to her.

  “Everyone else in that movie got dealt a better hand,” Alex explained, lying back and looking at the sky. “But Chuck was the damn best. He shoulda gone to the moon.”

  Evie just stared, no idea what he was talking about. She passed the joint back.

  Alex took it and raised it into the air, making rocket noises, ferrying the burning end across blue sky. Then losing altitude, plummeting to earth as Alex whistled through his teeth. His other hand burst open in an explosion, then fell back to his chest.<
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  He sucked the joint again and passed it back to her. She shook her head no.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, stubbing it out.

  Evie lay back, stretching her legs out in the prickly grass, thinking about Chuck Yeager. She pictured a blond-haired guy doing skate tricks in the sky, laughing down at all of them. Going to the moon, stardust and strands of gold all trailing behind. She closed her eyes, lulled by the sun and the sound of Alex breathing steadily beside her, and she slipped away.

  “Dude, wake up.”

  Somebody shook her, pulling her back through the clouds. She groaned, fighting it. When she opened her eyes, she saw Alex leaning over her with a huge grin.

  “We slept right through third period!” He laughed.

  She sat up slowly, swallowing at the wreck of her mouth. Her whole body felt overcooked. She blinked and squinted in the sunlight. “What time is it?” she croaked. Her throat had never been so dry.

  “After two,” he said thoughtfully, clasping his hands together around his bent knees. “No point in going to class now.”

  “I guess not,” she agreed.

  She couldn’t tell if she was still high or just sunbaked. Heat seemed to buzz under the surface of her skin, inside the shell of her ears. Then a bright, sharp pain slid through her skull, and suddenly she was afraid she might vomit.

  “Hey, you okay?” Alex asked, peering at her closely.

  Evie held her breath, unable to answer.

  She stood, wobbling a little, and walked down the uneven hill, blades of grass stuck to the backs of her bare legs, her dress damp and sweaty and clinging to her skin. She stumbled over her boots back down the hill to the parking lot, praying, Don’t puke, don’t puke…

  Sleep trailed after her, teasing, wanting her back. She fought to keep her eyes open.

  In the parking lot, she found the rusty blue Buick, its chrome shining in the bright afternoon sun. She yanked the door handles, but they were all locked.

  “Hey, Ev…” Alex appeared behind her, holding her backpack. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She crumpled against the passenger side of Ré’s car, knees folding, butt hitting the pavement.

  “Oh shit,” Alex said, wide-eyed. “Okay. Stay here. I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

  He dropped her backpack at her feet and bolted, leaving her alone on the ground beside the car. She gathered up the bag, hugging it close and resting her head on the bundle. Sleep won the battle swiftly, dragging her back the second her eyes were closed.

  11

  E

  “Ostie d’crisse!” It was Ré’s voice, low and gruff. Evie’s brain swam around the words, trying to make sense of them in her sleep. She felt a gentle hand on her cheek, turning her flushed face up, and another pushing back her damp hair.

  “Evelyn,” Ré said. “Wake up.”

  She lifted her hand to cover his and pressed it to her cheek as she leaned into his touch, still dreaming.

  “Ev,” he said again, pulling his hand away. “You gotta get up, girl.”

  As he tugged her to her feet, her backpack tumbled from her lap, and they danced over it, her weight falling into him. He propped her up as he opened the passenger door and maneuvered her into the seat.

  “Jesus, Alex,” he muttered over his shoulder. “The hell did you give her?”

  “I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Alex chirped, hands up. “She must be sick or something.”

  Réal hissed through his teeth. He closed the passenger door and turned to Alex, raising a finger to his chest. Evie could hear the muffled shape of his voice through the glass, sharp, threatening, but he spoke too low for her to make out the words.

  She had never felt so tired in her life. But it wasn’t Alex’s fault. She wanted to say that, to speak through the glass. She reached for the window button, but the car wasn’t running, and the button was dead.

  It was even hotter inside the Buick, baking in the sun all afternoon like a kiln. Its sour-milk-and-oil smell knitted itself into her eye sockets. Sweat ran down her ribs, her scalp. Her bare legs burned on the hot seats.

  She scratched at the door handle, shoving it open and hitting Ré in the butt. He stepped away, surprised, and both boys turned to look at her.

  “I have heat stroke,” she said, guessing. “It’s not his fault.”

  She struggled to get out of the car, but Ré was on her in an instant, grabbing her arms again. “Stay where you are, Evie,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

  “Ré, it’s a million degrees in here. And it stinks.”

  Alex snickered, and Ré threw him a look of pure death.

  “Fine,” Ré said, jaw clenched. “Let’s go.” He pointed for Alex to get in the back.

  “What about Sunny?” Alex asked. “Should we wait for her?”

  “I’m not a fucking limo service, Janes,” Ré snapped over his shoulder, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He started the car and blasted the AC, but all it did was blow stale, warm air in her face. Evie pressed the window button down and fell back against the hot seat. Glancing at her, Ré snapped the AC off again with a flick of his wrist.

  Twenty minutes later they pulled into Evie’s drive. No one had said a word the whole way. She felt better after the cool wind had blasted through the car, and she was especially glad it had made it too loud to talk. She didn’t want the lecture she felt Ré had in him right now. His hands on the steering wheel were tense and white, his glances brimming with irritation.

  She shot out of the car without a word, and Ré followed after her, leaving Alex in the back seat. She didn’t look at either of them, just went up the steps and keyed open the front door. Ré invited himself in right behind her, and she turned, surprised. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He didn’t speak, just stepped past her into the living room and looked around. He seemed to appraise the old rug, the pictures on the wall, the red fuzzy couch, stepping out of himself, out of his anger, just for an instant.

  Then he swung it all back on her again.

  “What are you doing?” he said. “Seriously, Evie. Getting high? With Alex? In the middle of the day?”

  “You’re not my dad,” she scoffed, chucking her backpack at the foot of the stairs. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He shook his head, sliding his hands into his back pockets. “I’m not trying to be your dad, Ev, I’m trying to be your friend. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing about the—”

  “Stop asking me!” she shouted over him, not wanting to hear the word. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I don’t need your pity party.”

  His mouth closed and his eyes rounded.

  “I mean it, Ré,” she continued, though she knew she shouldn’t. “You barely even looked at me before. And now all of a sudden you’re in my life, in my head. Making me feel crazy.” She choked on the words, throat closing. “I should be thinking about Shaun, because he’s dead and he loved me, but instead I can’t stop thinking about you. So just stop, okay?” She shook her head, tears spilling down her face. “Please.”

  And there was a moment, a breathless one—just after the words had left her lungs, just before she breathed again. They both felt it, she knew, like a surge of lava welling up around them, squeezing them together, crushing. Réal stood there staring at her, but she could see it burning in his eyes too. Their dark brown glimmered and twitched all over her, filled with the words he wasn’t saying.

  He pressed his lips closed, his jaw tight.

  Her heart punched against her ribs. She wanted to take the words back, but instead she just stared at him, swallowing hard.

  Then he breathed, finally, and his shoulders dropped. His eyes fell away to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

  Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted. “I’m so confused.”

  He laughed, low and gruff, like he knew exactly what she meant.

  She watched
him run his bottom lip between his teeth. He shook his head, and she followed his gaze out the front window. Alex had moved from the back seat. He was leaning against the Buick, waiting, hands stuffed in his pockets.

  “I’m sorry,” Ré said again.

  He stepped toward her, and her breath caught. He pushed past her in the narrow doorway; she could smell the soap of him, the skin, the salt, his jean jacket sliding across her bare arm, his body heat. All her senses pulled in his direction, a tide to the moon. He threw open the screen door and took the steps two at a time.

  Alex jumped to attention when he saw Ré coming. The boys said nothing to each other as they moved to get in the car, but Alex glanced back at Evie once, his face a question mark.

  She watched them pull out of the driveway too fast and disappear in a blink at the end of the road. The sun was still high, but the afternoon had cooled a little, and shadows stretched across the empty field. She felt like she could smell the dirt hiding under its yellow grass, but it was probably just her imagination, senses already running too high.

  She walked out onto the porch, locking the door behind her, and went down the steps. She turned in the direction the boys had gone, but at the end of the road she went north, toward the cemetery’s scalloped white gates.

  As she walked past all the old gray headstones, a breeze followed, high up in the trees, making yellow sunlight dance in the grass under her feet. At the end of a row of flat plaques set in the ground, she found his, fresh and tidy, a wreath of plastic flowers standing sentinel on wire legs.

  The police had scraped Shaun’s body from that field, even though, according to the boys, there was hardly anything left to call a corpse. Evie didn’t even know if he’d had a funeral. None of them had had the courage to go back to Nan’s house yet, and so no one had asked when—or if—one might even happen.

  And if there had been a funeral, Evie wondered, had his mother come? Had she been sober enough to know, or selfless enough to care, that her own and only son was dead?

  She ran her fingers over the stone. Shaun Phillip Henry-Deacon, Beloved Grandson. Just shy of nineteen. Evie couldn’t imagine that he was just dirt now. All that light, all that spark and shine. It seemed impossible.