Hero-Type Page 7

  And then one day ... you think about it. And it's like a whole new world.

  As I leave the media center for my next class, Mrs. Grant says, "I hope you found what you were looking for, Kevin."

  And here's the weird thing: I did. I didn't even know what I was looking for, but I found it anyway.

  Someone has clipped today's Loco article and taped it to my locker with the words "LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT" scrawled across it. There's also a sticker of an American flag with the legend "These colors don't run."

  I sit in algebra and I try to pay attention. I really do. But all I can think of is the look of gratitude on Leah's face when we sat together to tape that episode of Justice! God, it wasn't even the gratitude that got to me—it was the recognition. It was that this girl I'd been ... I'd been worshiping from afar finally saw me. Knew me. Acknowledged me.

  And now that's all gone. Given the news of my unpatriotic heresy, I bet I'm uninvited to her party. Great.

  More than two years of yearning for her and I get my chance to be close to her and the next thing you know, I'm a ... I'm a...

  What did Father McKane call them in CCD? The people no one wants to—

  Pariah! That's it. I'm a pariah.

  A pariah and a Fool. Lucky me.

  The bell rings and I slink out of algebra on my way to my next class. I brace myself for what's about to happen. I'll see Leah heading in the opposite direction—English for her on Thursday.

  Sure enough, right on time, she crosses my path—with some Beautiful People in tow—and ducks her head as I pass by. Starting to regret that "Please come," aren't you? I don't know why I get a perverse tickle at the idea of making her uncomfortable. Maybe it's because if I make her uncomfortable, at least she's acknowledging that I'm alive, you know? Tell the truth, I've always been sort of invisible to her, and I guess being noticed—even by the stink of treason—is better than going totally undercover.

  When you, you know, have feelings for someone.

  Ugh. "Feelings"? Could I be any more girly if I tried?

  "Hey, Kevin?"

  Leah has peeled away from her friends, who have clustered at the end of the hall. Wow—here it comes: You're uninvited to my party, you terrorist supporter, you.

  "Look, don't ... Don't tell anyone this," she says, looking over her shoulder quickly. She has a slight overbite; I love it. "Don't tell anyone, but..." Her voice, already low, drops even further—I can barely hear her and I'm right next to her. "I really admire what you're doing."

  You could punch me in the face with brass knuckles and not stun me half as much.

  Then she walks off before I can respond, which is good because my response probably would have been something along the lines of "Abba-dabba-ga-dabba-boo." Only not so articulate.

  Wow. Leah Muldoon hates America, too. Cool.

  Chapter 16

  The Unwelcome Return of Reporter Guy

  I DIDN'T THINK I WAS "DOING" ANYTHING AT ALL, much less anything admirable, but if Leah thinks so, maybe there's something to it. Maybe I should be doing something.

  I start thinking about the stuff I read on the media center computer. I have this really wild idea.

  If Leah was impressed by me throwing away some magnets, I bet I can really get her attention.

  I can't start right away, though, because Flip has called a Council meeting at SAMMPark right after school. I head to the park and get there just as Flip pulls up with Fam and Jedi.

  "Hail, Fool," I say, waving to them.

  They hail me right back, and Jedi goes all vvvvvvvhhhnnn, vvvvvvvhhhnnn as Fam comes up to me. She looks concerned.

  "How are you handling all this, Kross? You doing all right?"

  "I'm—"

  "He's fine!" Flip shouts from the park entrance. "Come on!"

  "I'm OK," I tell her. She puts a hand on my arm and nods this sad little nod, and I suddenly find myself wondering: Is she hitting on me? Flip's girlfriend? God, please, no, let that not be happening. Fam is a buddy, a pal. And she's Flip's girlfriend. I mean, yeah, Flip treats her like crap, but Flip pretty much treats everyone like they're interchangeable parts in some model kit he's putting together. It's nothing personal.

  I shake her hand off and go into the park, just in time to see Flip slapping the statue of Susan Marchetti on the ass.

  "Baby, you are looking fine!" he says. "You are one hard body!"

  I look over at Fam. I can't tell if she's upset or not. She just sort of looks resigned to it, right up to the moment that Flip grabs her by the wrist and pulls her close and kisses her. "And you are soft and squishy, just like I like it."

  OK, whatever.

  A few minutes later, Speedo and Tit arrive. They ride the same school bus, which takes them right past the park.

  Flip leads all of us to a secluded area of the park, where we can talk in private. After a quick round of "Hail, Fool," he gets right down to business.

  "OK, fellow Fools, we have a problem. One of our own has been assaulted."

  Murmurs of agreement. An undercurrent of vvvvvvvh-hhnnn. I wonder what the hell he's talking about until I realize everyone's looking at me. Oh.

  "I have been applying my not inconsiderable brain power to the conundrum and arrived at an inescapable conclusion. We can't let this stand. If the pissy little bitches who run this town want to make Kross's life miserable, they have to deal with us first."

  Applause.

  "Uh, Flip? What are you talking about?"

  He grins at me. "Can't tell you, Kross. But don't worry—I have a plan. We've got your back."

  "I don't want to get into any more trouble."

  "Never fear. We're going to give you the cloak of plausible deniability."

  "Say what?" asks Speedo. Jedi nods, making his light saber noise the whole time.

  "I mean," Flip says, exasperated, "we're gonna do it in a way that no one can tie it back to Kross. Just trust me. It's a kick-ass idea. So sublimely Foolish. It's perfect. Especially in this town."

  "Really?" Tit asks. "What is it?"

  "Did you miss the part about plausible deniability?" Flip asks him.

  "No."

  Flip rolls his eyes. "We already started, doofus."

  "Oh." Tit's expression suddenly opens up. "Oh! You mean when we took the—"

  "Shut up!" Jedi, Flip, and Speedo say it all at the same time, and Tit slaps a hand over his mouth.

  "This is what the Council is all about!" says Flip. His excitement is contagious—I can't help it; I'm a little excited, too. Flip's many things, but he's never boring.

  "Be conspicuous from a safe distance!" he goes on. "Shove people's faces in their own perceptions. Darken the illuminated paths so that people have to feel their way around and learn the path anew. Right?"

  "Oh, yeah!" says Tit. Speedo cries out "Whoo-hoo!" while Fam nods and Jedi does his Jedi thing.

  "So, get out of here, Kross. Make sure you're visible tonight."

  "Visible?"

  "Just make sure everyone knows you're home being a good little boy." Flip grins a wicked grin. "We'll take care of the rest."

  Flip sends the others off—"You have your assignments," he tells them—and then throws an arm over my shoulder and escorts me back to the car.

  "What in the world are you thinkin', man?" He's grinning when he says it, though. "Fame and fortune just not enough for you? What game are you playing?"

  "Nothing, Flip. Honest. It just ... happened."

  "Come on, Kross. It's me." He spins me around so that we're facing each other, his hands on my shoulders. "Tell your Uncle Flipster what kind of con you're running. Why'd you pull those magnets off your car in front of the reporter?"

  "Flip, I swear to God, it's not a plan. It's not a con. My dad told me to take them off—"

  He interrupts me with an eruption of laughter. "Your dad? Your dad?"

  "Not so loud, man!"

  "But your dad made you do this? That's what this is all about?"

  "Well, that's what started it,
yeah. But I'm—" "Your dad. I can't believe it."

  He's starting to get the Flip-gleam in his eye. I have to stop it, fast. "Flip, please don't tell anyone I told you that, OK? This thing has taken on a life of its own and it would totally kill me if people knew. OK?"

  He takes a step back and chews it over for a bit. "Never fear, Fool Kross." He puts a hand over his heart and holds the other one up high. "Fool's Honor."

  For whatever that's worth. But it's the best I'll get.

  He ushers me over to the car. "You need to get going. I have a busy night ahead of me on your behalf."

  And even though I didn't ask him to do anything, I feel bad. "Thanks, Flip."

  He waves it off. Now that he's got his thanks, he doesn't care about it anymore. "Don't worry about it."

  I get in my car and I'm about to drive off when Flip knocks on the window. I roll it down.

  "Hey, I meant to ask you—what are you going to do with the money? I mean, you'll still have some left after buying this heap, right?"

  Only Flip would just come right out with it like that. It's one of the things I like about him.

  "Yeah, I still have most of it. Probably put it away for college."

  "You're still gonna do the college thing?"

  "My dad'll kill me if I don't."

  "Let him kill you." He wags a finger at me. "Better than yoking your mind to the oppressive idiocy of the academic Gestapo."

  Flip's always saying things like that. About half of it is just stuff he says to gauge people's reactions. The trick is figuring out which half. I shrug and he shrugs and he shakes his head, muttering "His dad" as he heads back to the park, the Council, and whatever mischief he's got cooked up.

  ***

  I head home with a whole new plate of anxiety to dump on top of my anxiety buffet. I don't think I've ever not known what Flip was up to, at least not since he kidnapped Officer Sexpot.

  Man, I really don't want to get into trouble. More trouble.

  I rummage around under the sofa bed a little bit. Maybe I should get rid of the tapes. What if Flip does something that gets me arrested and the police search the apartment and find the tapes and...

  No. No. Calm down, Kross. That wouldn't happen. Right?

  I try to put the whole thing out of my mind. I let myself think back to when I was a kid, when Jesse was still around. I could do no wrong back then. No matter what I did, he would look at me with the same shining admiration in his eyes.

  It wasn't just shielding him from Mom and Dad's fallout, either. I mean, we had fun. We had our in-jokes and stuff. All one of us had to say was "Pandazilla and Aquahorse" and we'd both crack up laughing. It didn't matter that we got older and that the whole thing had been stupid to begin with. It was our memory, our secret, and we loved it. I made Jesse take Panda-zilla with him to California—I think it was my toy originally, but I didn't care anymore. I liked the idea of my brother carrying a piece of me—a piece of us«s—with him while he went to the other side of the country.

  Ugh. It's no good. No good to think about that time. Not when I can only do wrong these days. I have my own "mission" tonight. I have a bunch of research from the media center. Now I need to turn it into a speech.

  A speech. Good Lord, have I completely lost my mind?

  Probably.

  I sit outside on the porch. Mrs. Mac lets Dad and me use the porch because she almost never goes outside. I feel wide open and conspicuous here.

  Occasionally Mrs. Mac passes by her living room window, which looks out on the porch. She shakes her head at me like I've done something wrong. I focus on my homework and then my speech.

  The sun goes down and the streetlights come on. I turn on the porch light and keep working.

  "How about that interview now?"

  Yow! I was so focused, I didn't hear anyone walking up to me. I look up and there's Reporter Guy, his hands in his pockets, standing at the foot of the porch steps.

  "Why would I talk to you after what you wrote in the Loco today?"

  He shrugs. "Don't you want your side to get out there?"

  Hell, I don't even know what my side is. "Like I trust you to report it."

  He looks offended. "Come on, Ross. It helps both of us. It's win-win."

  "I'm not helping you do anything."

  "Fine. You want to play hardball? We'll play hardball. How'd you like me to do a story in tomorrow's paper all about your dad and what he did when he was in the army? Hmm? Would you like that?"

  I freeze up. There's no way in the world I'm going to do an interview with this douchebag, but I can't just let him piss all over Dad, either. Can I?

  He grins. "Do you even know what your dad did? Do you?"

  And of course, I don't. Taboo. Forbidden. Proscribed. "Just get out of here," I tell him.

  "You don't, do you?" He laughs, and it's an ugly, ugly sound. "Well, maybe you should read tomorrow's paper."

  My body starts vibrating all on its own. I want to tackle him to the ground, give him a little bit of what the Surgeon got.

  But even I'm not that stupid.

  "Get out of here." My voice shakes with anger. "This is private property." I say it loud enough that Mrs. Mac can hear me through the window.

  Reporter Guy nods and starts to back away. "You had a chance, Ross." He throws me a weak, half-assed salute before disappearing.

  Now I'm rattled. He got to me. With Dad. He hit me where I didn't know it would hurt. But I'm also determined. I have Leah to impress and Reporter Guy to piss off. So I'd better be good.

  Chapter 17

  Support

  I WAKE UP AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL. Today is the big day. Today I'll make my stand. I never cared about ribbons or any of that before, but now it's like the biggest thing in my life. It's like my mission. I'll state my case in a way that people will understand. Once I point things out to them, once I show them how I'm thinking, they'll get it. They'll come around. They'll see what I see. It won't be a big deal anymore that I took those ribbons off my car, because people will understand my point of view.

  Last night, Flip made it sound like I would need an alibi for whatever he and the Council had planned. And now, on the way to school, I see why.

  About a jillion years ago, Brookdale started building a bridge on the outskirts of town. No one can tell me what the bridge was for, but it was never finished. There are still two giant iron supports out in the middle of a field, though, like tombstones for the idea of the bridge. You grow up in Brookdale and you hear "Don't you go playing around the bridge" (even though it's not a bridge) a million times, and then you go and do it anyway.

  Today one of the supports is covered with magnetic ribbons.

  I can see it from Route 54 on the way to school, and I actually have to pull over for a second. I'm not the only one—five or six other cars have pulled over, too.

  The support is almost completely obscured by the ribbons. There must be hundreds of them, thousands maybe. It's become a patchwork thing of red, white, blue, and yellow.

  All I can think is, Where did Flip get all those ribbons? He didn't have time to order them from somewhere, and that would be one hell of an expensive prank anyway...

  And then I see a car stopped ahead of me. The bumper is dusty and dirty ... except for a clean ribbon-shaped space.

  Oh, man!

  I hustle into my car before people realize a) who I am, and b) that their ribbons are missing, leading to c) the lynching of Kevin Ross.

  The prank was too late in the night for it to make the morning newspaper, but apparently it's on TV and radio and all over the Web. Flip should be giddy when I see him at school, but he's depressed. Fam holds his hand and pets it like that'll soothe him.

  "No one gets it," he complains. "They're talking about vandalism and theft, but no one gets it."

  "Sorry. But you know what I noticed?"

  He goes on, ignoring me. "I mean, there's no bridge! Right? A support with nothing on it. Empty, pointless support."

&nbs
p; "No one even noticed that their ribbons were missing until they saw the bridge or heard about it," I tell him. "They don't even see the damn things anymore."

  He's totally oblivious to me. "No one gets it. Not a one! It's a brilliant commentary on—"

  I give up trying to get through to him. "Flip, if you have to explain a joke, it's not funny."

  "No, the audience is just too stupid. Cut it out." He jerks his hand away from Fam. "Subtlety is lost on these morons."

  I get away from him as quickly as I can. I need to be in homeroom.

  In homeroom, I bide my time, waiting until everyone is in the room and just getting settled. I still have a minute or two before the bell and then a minute or two after that before the TV comes on and the announcer of the day leads us in the Pledge.

  I get up and walk to the front of the class and say, "Excuse me! Could I have everyone's attention?"

  Mrs. Sawyer looks like I just kicked her in the gut. Everyone stops what they're doing and gives me the same look you'd give a guy who not only just farted in church but also stood up to announce it loud and clear.

  God, I hope I can pull this off.

  "Before the announcements come on and the Pledge, I wanted to say something." I'm expecting a chorus of boos (or at least for Mrs. Sawyer to tell me to shut up), but I guess I've shocked everyone into paralysis.

  I clear my throat and start to talk and I'm halfway through my speech before I realize I don't even need to look at my notes—I just know this stuff.

  "I know this all started with some ribbons on my car... or, hell, off my car. But yesterday I realized that there's something that came before the ribbons, for all of us. And we don't even think about it. Just like the ribbons.

  "You know, every morning in school, ever since we were all little kids in kindergarten, we come in and we say the Pledge. And I guess that's fine, but you know, I got to thinking: What is the Pledge? What does it mean? Why do we say it? No one has ever told us that. They just tell us to say it and we do. And if we're supposed to be pledging allegiance, shouldn't we think about what that means? For most of us, the Pledge has always just been there. But do we ever really—"