Echo Page 5

  Suddenly Justin pulled away. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

  “Hey, come back here,” she said softly. She pulled his head back down to kiss him once more. Then she said, “You really are an asshole, you know.”

  This time Justin actually took a step back, so she had to let go. She stumbled back a bit, off balance from his abrupt movement.

  “What is your problem?” she demanded.

  “My problem?” he repeated.

  “Yeah. You’re so weird. Why can’t you just be normal?”

  “All right, Megan. I’ll try,” he said. He suddenly felt incredibly awkward. He tried to put his arms around her again, but she shoved him away, saying, “Just get off of me, okay?”

  He didn’t know what to do. He just stood there, staring at her.

  “What are you looking at?” she said, her voice rising.

  Justin backed up a step. His foot caught on the leg of a chair and he almost fell.

  “You’re such a jerk.”

  He turned to flee. Suddenly all he could think about was getting out of there.

  “Asshole,” she yelled.

  He reached the prop room door.

  “Loser.”

  When the door shut behind him, he couldn’t hear her insults anymore. But somehow they still echoed in his head.

  12

  Justin bolted out of the prop room, through the auditorium, and back into the hallway. Once he was in the hallway, he finally slowed his pace, but only because he had no clear idea where he was headed. He just wanted to find someplace quiet. Someplace he could sit for a while. Someplace no one else would be.

  He decided to head for the library. There were some study carrels way at the back, where almost no one ever went. He would be safe there. That’s the word he thought of: safe. It was the most accurate description. He felt like he’d been under attack all day.

  But before he could reach the library, he spotted the principal emerging from the staff room down the hall. He certainly didn’t want to run into Mr. Franks in the hallway in the middle of a class. He looked around quickly. There was a boys’ bathroom just on his right, and he ducked inside.

  Thankfully the bathroom was empty. Justin crossed to the sink and turned on the tap, running his hands under the cold water. Then he pressed his hands up against his face.

  “Hey,” a voice said behind him.

  Justin whipped around, but it was only Daniel, the undersized kid that Billy and his gang had been picking on that morning.

  “You okay?” Daniel asked.

  “What’s it to you?” Justin asked wearily. He just wanted to be left alone. He felt like he couldn’t bear a single other person speaking to him—even if it was only Daniel.

  After Justin spoke, he turned away, expecting Daniel to get the message and leave.

  But Daniel didn’t move.

  “Do you—do you have history with Ms. Hines?” Daniel asked, half-stuttering.

  Justin turned back, looking at him quizzically. “Yeah.”

  “Did you do the paper?”

  “What paper?” Justin asked.

  “Oh. Guess the answer’s no, then.” Daniel smiled.

  “Do you want something?” Justin finally said.

  “Well…I wanted to say thanks for this morning. How you got those guys to back off. That was really cool.”

  Justin shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, embarrassed by the thanks.

  But Daniel went on. “Billy and those guys are so lame. I mean, I know you used to hang with them, but I don’t believe in holding people responsible for past mistakes.” He smiled again.

  Justin eyed him, not sure how to take the last comment. “Oh yeah?” he said.

  “Yeah. It’s a waste of time. And you never know how much of that you’re going to have—time I mean. It’s like…everyone thinks they’re gonna die in their bed when they’re eighty.” He paused, then plunged on. “But you know different. You know it can happen just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Game over.”

  Justin stared at Daniel for a long moment. Then he said ironically, “That is so deep.”

  But Daniel either didn’t notice or, more likely, chose to ignore Justin’s obvious sarcasm. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through,” he went on. “I tried to think about what it would be like. To see your brother die right in front of you…”

  Justin thought about it all the time—about his brother and what had happened—but no one ever spoke to him about it. Ever. So how could Justin have known that hearing someone say it right out like that would make him feel like his foundation was suddenly crumbling. Like he was falling. Justin stared at Daniel, frozen for what seemed like forever but was probably only a few seconds. Then he spun around and slammed out of the bathroom and into the empty hallway.

  Justin hurried away from the bathroom almost blindly. He passed a clock, but he didn’t look up at it, so he had no idea that the minute hand had just ticked over to three thirty. He had no idea that he was headed toward the back stairwell. He had no idea he was about to show up at the exact time and place that Billy had asked him to meet.

  13

  Justin turned the corner—and a hand reached out to grab his arm, swinging him roughly around.

  It was Billy.

  “What do you want?” Justin asked. He was sure that Billy could hear the fear in his voice.

  “I wanted to ask you—”

  “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to ask you what the hell is wrong with you.”

  Justin jerked his arm free. “Just leave me alone, Billy. Okay?” He started backing away. He didn’t want to turn around and leave himself exposed. But as he backed away, Billy followed.

  “You know what?” Billy asked.

  “What?”

  “I think I know.”

  Justin halted, and Billy did too. “What do you know?”

  “I think I know what’s wrong with you.”

  “Yeah?” Justin said nervously.

  “Yeah.”

  Then, dropping his voice to a whisper, Billy said, “I know it was your fault.”

  Justin felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. He tried to turn and run, but Billy lunged after him and grabbed him again.

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Billy snarled. “I’m talking about your brother.”

  Once more, Justin tried to wrench free, but this time Billy had a better grip. Desperately, Justin shoved him with all his strength. Billy stumbled back.

  Suddenly, Justin realized that the stairs were right behind Billy.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As Justin watched in horror, Billy’s body tipped backward; he made a wild grab for the railing but missed, and he seemed to hover in midair, arched like he was doing a perfect backward dive off a diving board. Then gravity took effect, and he fell. And fell. And fell. It seemed to take forever, but finally he came down, his head striking the edge of the iron railing, and then one of the concrete steps.

  Justin stood frozen at the top of the steps, looking down. Slowly he backed away. Then a sound pierced his ears. It sounded like it was inside his head.

  The sound was the final bell.

  All the doors around him opened, and the students poured out. In moments he was surrounded by other kids.

  Justin turned and walked away from the stairwell quickly. His face was blank as he let himself get carried along down the hall toward the exit and the buses and home. His expression didn’t change when he heard the scream; he knew someone had discovered Billy.

  There was a feeling of escape when he passed through the double doors at the front of the school and went down the steps to the line of waiting buses. He found his bus, climbed the steps, took a seat toward the back, and waited. It wasn’t too long before the driver turned over the engine, closed the doors, and pulled away from the curb. They were just exiting the parking lot when a police car, with lights flashing and sirens wailing, tore by into the parking lot. The b
us had gotten only two blocks away before an ambulance and another police car followed.

  Justin watched them go by, then turned his face away from the window.

  When the bus reached Justin’s stop, he climbed down the steps as if in a trance. He went by the guard in the guard shack, passing the perfect lawns and the perfect houses until he reached his own perfect lawn and perfect house. He walked up the path and used his key to open the door.

  Inside, everything felt very still and quiet. Justin walked down the hallway and climbed the stairs, then paused in front of his parents’ bedroom. He pushed open the door and looked at the place where the huge television used to be. His parents had moved it down into the living room, and now in place of the television was a print of Monet’s water lilies.

  Crossing to his mother’s bureau, he opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a sweatshirt, and felt inside the pocket. He pulled out a bottle of pills. It was a prescription the doctor had given to his mother after Mark died. Justin had discovered the bottle hidden there about six months before, when he had been looking for his favorite video game, which his mother had confiscated as a punishment. It was the one and only time in the past year his mother had tried to discipline him.

  Now that he had gotten what he came for, he left and went down the hall to his room. He went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water, and carried it back out with him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put the glass down on the bedside table. Then he opened the bottle and shook a single pill out into his palm.

  He put the single pill in his mouth, took a sip of water, and swallowed. Then he took another. And another. Finally, working up his courage, he poured out a little handful and swallowed them with a gulp of water. He kept on going until the bottle was empty. Then he drank the water that was left in the glass, placed it carefully back on the bedside table, and lay down. There was something underneath his back, and he reached under and pulled out the remote control to the TV that his parents had given him after Mark died.

  He reached out, flicked it on, and stared at the screen until his eyes slowly closed.

  Then, through the dark, he heard a voice…

  14

  “Come on. Gimme that.”

  It was his brother’s voice.

  “Hey. Hey. Give it to me.”

  It was the same dream every time—or rather, it started out the same. Justin was back in his parents’ room and holding the remote up in the air, keeping it away from his brother. They were past the playful stage. At this point Mark was lunging for the remote.

  “Come on,” Mark said, starting to get frustrated. He tried tackling Justin, but Justin wrestled Mark to the bed, pinning Mark’s arms down under his knees.

  “You give up?” Justin asked triumphantly.

  “Get off me, you fat freak,” Mark said, struggling.

  “You give up?”

  “Get off. I can’t breathe.”

  Justin grudgingly climbed off and flopped back on the bed. He grabbed a handful of potato chips and said, “See, I always win. You should write that down somewhere: Justin always wins.”

  “Not this time.”

  There was something in his brother’s tone that made Justin look up.

  Mark was smiling as he pointed the gun at Justin.

  “You might want to think about changing that channel,” Mark said.

  Justin sat up abruptly. “You shouldn’t be playing with that thing. If you don’t put it down in ten seconds, you’ll be sorry,” Justin threatened.

  Mark ignored him; he was still smiling as he said, “Go ahead. Make my day, punk.” Then he rested the gun on his forearm and closed one eye as if taking aim.

  “I swear to God, you’ll be in serious trouble if you don’t knock it off.”

  But Mark simply changed tactics and pointed the gun at his own head. In a mock-hysterical voice he said, “If you don’t change the channel, I’m going to kill the kid.”

  This was when the dream changed.

  “I warned you,” Justin said.

  He lunged at Mark. He managed to get a hand on the gun…

  But the dream always ended the same.

  It ended with the soul-splintering sound of the shot.

  15

  “Wake up.”

  It was the voice again. It called to Justin from far away, pulling him out of a deep sleep.

  Justin didn’t want to open his eyes. He was afraid of what he would see.

  “Wake up,” the voice commanded.

  Reluctantly he opened his eyes. He was in his own bedroom and everything looked the same. He was even dressed in his pajamas.

  I had a nightmare, he said.

  “I know,” the voice replied. “And then you woke up.”

  At that moment the alarm went off.

  No, Justin said. I can’t do this again.

  “Yes, you can,” the voice said. “And then you got up.”

  No.

  “And then you got up,” the voice repeated.

  I can’t do this again, Justin insisted, but even as he said it, he found himself turning off the alarm and swinging his legs out of bed.

  He sat there, waiting, but the voice was silent.

  What next? he asked.

  “You’re the one who knows what’s next. You tell me,” the voice said.

  So he got up, shucked his pajamas, pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and went into the bathroom. He did all the same things he did every morning: brushed his teeth, washed his face, smoothed down his hair. He was about to leave when the voice said, “Don’t forget the pill trick.”

  Obediently he opened the cabinet and took out the vitamins. He filled a glass of water, then tossed the pill in his mouth and drank the water. Then he opened his mouth and moved around his tongue to make sure that you couldn’t see anything.

  Finally he looked at himself in the mirror. It was the same old stupid face looking back at him, and he felt a wave of disgust. He spit the pill out. He spit as if he were spitting at himself, and he got it dead on. It hit his reflection right between the eyes—but this time it didn’t just bounce off harmlessly. When the pill hit, there was a sharp crack. The mirror shattered as if the pill had been a bullet.

  Justin stood there, staring, his image in the mirror stared back, splintered into a hundred pieces.

  16

  The voice spoke to him as he stood staring at his shattered reflection.

  “Justin,” it said. “Justin. Time for breakfast.”

  But the mirror, Justin said. It just…I don’t understand.

  “It’s all right,” the voice assured him.

  Justin stared a moment longer, then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he left the bathroom—careful to switch off the light—and went down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  When he entered, his mother looked up and attempted a smile. “Good morning,” she said brightly.

  He stopped in surprise. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to ignore him.

  When Justin just stared at his mother and didn’t answer, her smile faded and she turned away, busying herself getting a glass down out of the cabinet. Then he wished he’d said something, but it was too late. He slid into a seat at the kitchen table across from his father, and a moment later his mother brought over a glass of orange juice and then silently held out a pill. Justin took the pill, put it in his mouth, and drank the orange juice while she hovered anxiously over him.

  Only when she was sure he’d taken it did she turn away to get the rest of his breakfast. She returned to the table with a bowl of cereal in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. This time, instead of practically throwing the bowl down, she placed it gently on the table in front of him. As she poured the milk into the bowl, she spoke to Justin’s father.

  “You’ve got that presentation today, don’t you?”

  His father answered from behind the wall of newspaper.

  “Yep. It’s today.”

  “Did you think about asking the
m to reschedule?”

  Justin was thinking about getting rid of the pill that was sitting in the back of his throat. He worked it forward with his tongue, then carefully, so as not to be seen, he spit the pill out into his hand and quickly dropped his hand to his side. He just happened to glance down at the same time, and suddenly Justin was no longer listening to the conversation between his parents—he was staring at the floor next to his chair. There was a little splash of liquid, and as he watched, another drop hit the floor. It wasn’t water. It wasn’t milk. It was dark red in color.

  It looked like blood.

  Justin looked up to the ceiling, but there wasn’t any body hanging there, as would have been the case in a horror movie. He looked down again, and he saw that the blood was turning into a little puddle on the floor. Leaning over, he dipped his finger in and brought it up to look more closely.

  Definitely blood. But where was it coming from?

  He looked up and saw that his mother was looking at him.

  “What are you…?” she started to ask.

  “What am I what?” he snapped, worried that she was going to see the blood as well.

  “Oh…nothing. Never mind,” his mother said. “Well, I’ve got to run.” Then to Justin’s father, “I’ll meet you there this afternoon.” She picked her pocketbook up off the chair and turned to leave, but then swung back around. Digging into her purse, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to Justin. The paper trembled slightly in her hand.

  He knew what it said, even before he took it from her. At the top, in elegant calligraphy, it read, “Mark Thomas Memorial.”

  She said hesitantly, “Just in case you change your mind, the address is on the announcement.”

  Justin put the invitation down, but quickly picked it up again when he noticed that he’d left a bloody fingerprint on it.

  His mother was still waiting for an answer.

  He said awkwardly, “Umm…I don’t think so.”