Echo Page 4

  “Gimme a break, Justin.”

  “Why should I?” Justin responded. He was trying very hard to pretend—especially to himself—that he didn’t care in the least why Tim had chosen to sit down with him, or what Tim was going to say.

  “Billy wants to meet,” Tim said.

  The pretense of not caring evaporated. Justin looked up anxiously. “Where is he?”

  “No, I didn’t mean now. He wants to meet later. At the back stairwell near the gym. Last period. Three thirty.”

  It sounded like a command. And it was one that Justin very much did not want to obey.

  “You mean with all you guys standing right behind him, waiting to help him mess me up, right?”

  “Yeah, right,” Tim said, his turn to be sarcastic. “As if Billy would do that.”

  At that moment Billy himself walked by the table. He was roughly dragging another boy along by the shirt and didn’t even notice Justin as they passed by just a couple of feet away.

  “Why wait until three thirty?” Justin said impetuously. “We might as well get this over with right now.”

  “Justin, wait—,” Tim started to say, but Justin ignored him. He pushed his chair back and walked toward where Billy had stopped to give the kid he had been dragging a shove in the shoulder. The kid shoved back, and Billy put him in a headlock.

  “Hey,” Justin said.

  Billy looked around and saw Justin standing there. He let go of the kid and straightened.

  “What do you want?” Billy asked.

  “I heard you had something to say to me,” Justin replied.

  “Yeah. But later.”

  Ricky sidled up right behind Billy’s shoulder. Like a shark smelling blood, he seemed to be able to smell a fight. “Yeah, he said later.” But Ricky couldn’t resist adding his own commentary. “Why do you have to be such a psycho?”

  Justin ignored Ricky and spoke instead to Billy. “If you got something to say to me, I think you should say it.” He tried to sound tough, like he wanted to face Billy down now—but this was only to cover the truth, which was that he didn’t want to be alone with him later.

  By this time several more of Billy’s friends had gathered around, and heads had started to turn at nearby tables.

  The kid Billy had been roughing up tried to break in, saying to Justin, “Let it go—”

  But Billy pushed the kid out of the way, saying, “You stay out of it.” Then he turned back to Justin, but before Billy could say anything, Ricky darted forward. He was holding a ketchup bottle in both hands, and, laughing, he squirted a stream of ketchup onto the front of Justin’s shirt.

  “Look at him,” Ricky squealed. “Murderer. Psycho murderer. Look, he’s got blood all over him.”

  Justin looked. There was ketchup splattered down the front of his shirt. He remembered that with Mark it had been more like a fine mist. But all over—on his face and arms and body. The ketchup was in one big glop. It wasn’t at all the same, he wanted to tell them. But he didn’t get a chance.

  He wasn’t sure what happened next. He didn’t even remember looking up. Suddenly he was on the floor with Billy on top of him.

  Kids flew up from their chairs and circled around. Some of them climbed up on the tables to get a better view. This was a real fight. Both Billy and Justin were pummeling away at each other. Justin was defending himself as much as he could against the rain of punches coming down at him. He hit back with all his strength. The noise of the kids around him seemed almost deafening.

  Justin felt like he was trapped there for an eon, but really it was only a few minutes before one of the male teachers reached the boys and tried prying them apart, but it took two more teachers to finally separate them.

  9

  Justin sat outside the principal’s office, sucking on his bottom lip. One of Billy’s knuckles had connected and split it open. He could taste the blood. There was no other taste like it, sweet but metallic at the same time.

  One wall of the principal’s office was all glass, so Justin could watch the interview that was going on inside. Billy was sitting in the chair opposite the principal’s desk. They had been in there talking for a while, but it looked as if they were finally winding down. As Justin watched, the principal got up, walked around the desk, sat down in the chair next to Billy, and laid a consoling hand on Billy’s shoulder. Billy said something and the principal nodded his head mournfully in agreement.

  “Where are you, Justin?”

  Justin gave a start.

  I’m outside the principal’s office, Justin said. He’s getting away with it again. He couldn’t keep the emotion from his reply. It was the same story. This was what had been happening for a year now. Whenever something happened, he was the one who got blamed.

  Inside the office the principal and Billy both stood up. The principal walked Billy to the door and opened it for him, squeezing his shoulder. Now, suddenly, the pantomime had words.

  “You’re doing just fine,” Justin heard the principal say.

  “Thanks, Mr. Franks.”

  “Okay, you can go back to class now, Billy.”

  Billy shot a triumphant glance at Justin before turning and exiting into the hallway.

  The principal also looked over at Justin, and his expression went from sympathetic to stern.

  “Justin…,” he said, opening the door a little wider.

  Justin got up and went reluctantly through the office door.

  “Take a seat,” Mr. Franks said, shutting the door behind him.

  Justin dropped into the chair where Billy had been sitting moments before. The principal circled around behind his desk and eased himself into his high-backed leather chair.

  There was a long, heavy silence. Justin could feel the principal’s eyes on him, but he refused to look up. He hunched forward and kept his eyes fixed on the laces of his sneakers.

  Justin heard the principal sigh.

  One of his laces, he noticed, was coming untied even though he’d done a double knot.

  “Well, Justin. Here we are again.” Mr. Franks paused, but Justin concentrated even harder on his laces. One of the ends was frayed—the little plastic sleeve that bound it closed on the end had come off.

  “Do you have anything to say?” the principal asked.

  Justin shrugged.

  “We can’t have this kind of thing, you know. I won’t tolerate it. You can’t attack other students. That’s just not acceptable.”

  Justin looked up at that. “But he came after me!”

  The principal shook his head sadly. He didn’t even bother responding to Justin’s objection. He simply said, “I want you to promise me you’re going to leave Billy alone.”

  “I’m supposed to leave him alone?” Justin repeated, incredulous. He still couldn’t quite believe that everything was getting blamed on him again.

  “Yes. Are you going to leave him alone?” the principal asked.

  “I guess he’d better stay out of my way,” Justin said sarcastically. It was so far from the truth—which was that everywhere he went, Billy seemed to be there too. And Billy wasn’t content simply to be there; he always seemed to have to get right up in Justin’s face.

  Justin could see he’d made a mistake in answering the principal like that. Before, Mr. Franks had looked solemn. Now he was scowling. The only thing Justin had succeeded in doing was getting him angry.

  “You have an attitude problem,” Mr. Franks said. “And let me tell you, I’m not going to stand for it. I’ve tried to make allowances for your situation, but there comes a point…” He stopped to take a few deep breaths, as if to calm himself. When he spoke next, he seemed to have regained control. “You know what I don’t get?” he said. “You and Billy used to be friends.”

  Justin shrugged. “Things change.”

  “Things had better change,” Mr. Franks said grimly. “I’ve tried to be patient, but I don’t believe in coddling. It’s time for you to shape up. Or you’re out. Do you understand me?”


  Justin could tell Mr. Franks meant it.

  “I can’t believe this,” Justin said. “This is so unfair.”

  Mr. Franks looked at him for a moment, as if studying him. “You can think so. But, Justin, the fact is, life’s not fair. Your brother and Billy’s brother were the same age, weren’t they?”

  Why was he bringing up Billy’s brother now, Justin wondered. What did he have to do with anything? But Mr. Franks was waiting for a response.

  “They were best friends,” Justin muttered.

  “And now Billy’s brother is alive and yours isn’t. That’s not fair, is it? But that’s not Billy’s fault…”

  The principal went on talking. Justin glanced over toward the window. It looked out onto the fields behind the school. A lot of the kids had gone out there after lunch. It must have warmed up, because some of them weren’t even wearing jackets. Then Justin saw Megan standing in a group of girls. As he watched, her face broke into a smile. She was laughing at something.

  “Justin! Are you even listening to me? Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard,” Justin lied. “Can I go now? I’ve got bio.”

  Mr. Franks looked at him a long moment. Then he said, “Yes. You can go.”

  Justin got up and went to the door.

  “But I don’t want any more trouble today,” the principal called after him. “Stay away from Billy.”

  Justin merely nodded. He didn’t bother trying to tell the principal that it might not be up to him. He was going to do his best to stay away from Billy, but there was that three thirty meeting, and he knew that Billy wouldn’t have forgotten.

  10

  In biology Justin’s teacher had gotten a rolling TV stand from the AV department, and it was positioned at the front of the room. On the screen a rabbit crouched in high grass, sniffing the air. Then it seemed to relax and started nibbling on the grass.

  “A rabbit’s digestive system is different from ours,” the teacher announced to the class. “First of all they’re herbivores. You all know what that means, right? It means they don’t eat meat.”

  No one was really listening. They were gathered in groups around four large tables, and their eyes were fixed on the dead rabbits that were staked out on spongy mats in the center.

  The teacher went on, “That means in the wild they spend a great deal of time eating poor-quality food.”

  One student whispered loudly to his friend, “They eat their own shit, you know.” A few of the other students laughed nervously.

  The teacher overheard the comment and said, “Aaron’s correct. Because they eat mostly large amounts of grass and hay, they need to squeeze as much nutrition out of their food as they can. So they do eat their fecal matter.”

  “Gross,” someone whispered, almost in awe.

  “Okay now, one person from each group needs to make the first incision,” the teacher instructed.

  Everyone in Justin’s group just stared at their rabbit.

  “I’m not doing it,” Aaron said.

  “Me neither,” his friend agreed.

  “Someone had better do it or we’re gonna fail,” Barbara said. But for once, Justin noticed, she wasn’t volunteering.

  “Come on, group three,” the teacher said, noticing their hesitation. “You want to get started over there. The first thing I want you to do, once you’ve made the incisions, is to find the cecum. I’ll even give you a hint. It’s part of the intestines.”

  No one at table three moved.

  “Let’s get going over there,” the teacher said. “Who’s going to do it?”

  No reply.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” Justin said.

  He picked up the scalpel. He hesitated a moment, then pressed the sharp steel into the rabbit’s sternum and traced a line down to the belly. The skin parted as if he were pulling open a zipper.

  “Remember,” the teacher called out. “It’s just like drawing a pair of double doors. Then you fold back the flaps of skin.”

  “I think I’m gonna puke,” Aaron said.

  Twenty minutes later the tone in the room had definitely changed.

  “Now I want you to locate the kidney,” the teacher instructed. “You have to move the intestines out of the way to be able to view it. Or, if you prefer, you may remove that part of the rabbit.”

  “Hey, it’s my turn,” Barbara demanded, holding out her hand for the scalpel. “I’m going to remove the intestines. I think that will be the best.”

  Aaron, by this time, had pulled the pins out and was moving the paws as if the rabbit were a puppet.

  “No,” he said in a high-pitched voice, waving the paws in pretend distress. “Please leave me my cecum.”

  “Sorry, Thumper,” Barbara said. “You’re out of luck. The cecum goes.”

  Justin turned away from his group and walked toward the sink. He figured he wouldn’t have to be doing any more cutting now that everyone else couldn’t wait to get a turn.

  At the sink Justin took off his gloves and ran his hands under hot water. He washed them with soap, and then used a squirt of the Purell disinfectant; there were no paper towels, so he dried his hands on his shirt.

  On his way back to the dissecting table, Justin passed his desk, and he noticed there was a folded piece of paper on top of his notebook. He picked it up and unfolded it.

  Inside, it read, “Meet me in the back of the auditorium.”

  It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t matter. He would have recognized the handwriting anywhere.

  11

  Justin took a quick look around the hallway to make sure there were no teachers around before he pushed open the doors to the auditorium. He was definitely not supposed to be there—he should have been in his biology class, taking organs out of the carcass of a rabbit.

  But instead he slipped into the auditorium and shut the door behind him. It was hushed and dark and a little eerie; the curtains were pulled over the big windows along the sides, and the lights were off. The rows of empty seats made it feel even bigger and emptier.

  Justin made his way down the aisle to the front of the auditorium. Once there, he circled around to the side of the stage and climbed the steps. At the top he stopped for a moment and turned to look out into the cavernous space.

  Standing there, he realized that this was how he felt most of the time: as if he were up on a stage, exposed—for everyone to see. Only, at the moment no one was out there watching. And Justin thought suddenly, maybe this was really what it was like; he might feel like he was up on a stage, but maybe the reality was that no one was watching. Maybe everyone else was up on their own stages, everyone acting for empty seats.

  For some reason the thought didn’t bring the relief he would have imagined. Instead it made him feel sad. And alone.

  “I’m watching,” the voice said to him.

  That’s right, you are, Justin replied, feeling strangely comforted.

  He turned away from the empty seats and pushed his way through the curtains to the backstage. It was even darker there, but after a little stumbling and groping, he managed to find the prop room door.

  The prop room had weak sunshine filtering in from a high window, silhouetting the racks of clothes, random pieces of furniture, a suit of armor, a bin of swords—all the bits and pieces from old productions that had been crammed into this room in case they were needed again for yet another version of HMS Pinafore or The Importance of Being Earnest.

  Cautiously Justin squeezed past a rack of clothes, took four or five steps into the room, then bashed his shin against a steamer trunk with HMS stenciled on the top. He’d hit his shin hard, and he knew it was going to hurt, but the pain took a second to travel from his leg to his brain. The anticipation of pain made the actual pain, when it finally hit, that much worse. Cursing, he bent to rub his leg, then he froze there, listening. He was certain he’d heard something. Or maybe he’d just sensed her. When he swung around, he found himself facing Megan.

  She was standing less t
han a foot away—so close he could have simply reached out his hand and touched her.

  But she was the one who moved. She took a step forward so she was standing right in front of him. Then she kissed him.

  For a startled moment he just stood there, feeling her lips on his, breathing in the old familiar scent. Then he kissed her back. Or he tried. But he felt fumbling, clumsy—as if he’d never kissed a girl before. At one time they’d spent hours in her basement, supposedly watching TV, but really just sitting on the sofa and kissing—they’d gone to her house because she didn’t have a younger brother who thought it was just the funniest thing to barge in on them and then pretend he had no idea that they were there. It was what Mark had done every single time Megan had come over to Justin’s house. It had driven Justin crazy—though Megan had thought it was sweet. She’d said it made her wish she had a younger brother or sister. He remembered laughing at her when she said that, and telling her she didn’t know what she was talking about, and that it was way better to be an only child. Now he knew she had been right, and he was the one who hadn’t known.

  So much was different now, but being there with her in the prop room, he found at the same time that very little had changed. It all seemed so familiar. He’d forgotten how good it felt to circle his arms around her, or how soft her skin was against his cheek. He even discovered he’d missed the smoky taste of her mouth after she’d had a cigarette. When they were dating, he’d always hated that; he usually made her chew a piece of gum, which just made her mouth taste like peppermint and smoke. But now the smokiness tasted right because it tasted like her.

  “Hey,” Megan murmured.

  “Hey,” Justin said back softly.

  “I know I was really awful to you.”

  As she spoke, he kissed her cheek. Her neck.

  “Mmm,” Justin said.

  “And I’m really…”—she kissed him—“…really…”—kissing him again—“…sorry.” She kissed him one more time, then added, “But you deserved it.”