Beast(54)

Jamie holds on to a display and grips her heart. “I didn’t mean—”

My mom bucks around me and gets too tight with Jamie. “I don’t know what kind of agenda you have for my son, but you will leave him alone from now on,” she says in a low tone. “Understand me?”

“Mom, it was my idea, not Jamie’s. She’s innocent.”

“You.” She switches her sights to me. “We’re leaving. Go.”

I look over my shoulder and see Jamie holding it in. “I’ll call you,” I mouth.

Jamie nods and lays her head against her clinging hands holding on to the shelf, and that’s the last I see of her as Mom drags me by the arm through the mall, like I’m some belligerent five-year-old. I don’t want her to touch me and I yank my arm away.

“Ow!” she cries, and rubs her wrist.

My gut sinks. I’ve done this before, hurt her by accident. I’ll move too fast or turn a corner too sharp and completely take her out. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

She pushes back the sleeve of her coat, and underneath her whole forearm is red from where I wrenched her off me. “You’ve got to be more careful,” she mutters.

We find the car in the garage and get in. Our doors slam shut, and I wait for Mom to start in on me. Start tearing me a new one about ditching school and how bad I’m punished. To go off on Jamie, the whole nine yards. But she doesn’t. It’s as quiet as a coffin. The streets slip away and it starts to rain. Blocks tick by and the car wends its way up to the front entrance of the school. The wipers swish back and forth, and we both sit in the car.

“Just…hop out.” A thin layer of tears sits heavy in her eyes. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Mom.”

“You wrecked the basement, you threw your best friend out of the house, and now you’re skipping school to go to the mall with Jamie, and I’m supposed to sit here and take it? What’s next? Drugs?”

“We’re not on drugs.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Her gaze follows the windshield wipers. “I met with my boss this morning. They want to send me to Pittsburgh for a meeting. I’ve been killing myself to get a promotion and if I do well, this could be it. We need the money. College is coming. This is my moment, but I don’t know if I can leave you for two days.”

“I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Not if that girl’s in the picture.”

“She’s a friend. You said there’s nothing wrong with having friends.”

“I don’t think Jamie is a healthy influence.”

“She is.” I’m doing my best to protect her from JP, and if that means having my mom mad at me forever, so be it. “You just don’t like her because she’s trans, is that it?”

“Don’t start with that. Her being trans has nothing to do with it. I’m lying awake at night because you are going through a really hard time right now, and the last thing you need is some confused individual with a complicated history to throw a wrench in the works.”

“You make it sound like I’m a cotton gin.”

She grits her teeth. “You fell off a roof, Dylan. You said it was all an accident and a misunderstanding and you were fine. I’m starting to doubt myself in letting you tell me what you needed.”

“But that’s got nothing to do with Jamie!”

“I’m not fond of Jamie because you, of all people, are skipping school to see her.”

I can’t tell Mom why. She’ll never believe that her precious JP, who said grace with her at every dinner, has turned into a full-blown *.

“I’m going to tell work I can’t go,” she says.

“Don’t. You work really hard. Get your promotion.”

“A promotion’s not worth it if my kid is falling apart.”

“Look at me,” I say. She does. “Do I look like I’m falling apart?” Strong like bull, sturdy like ox, ain’t nothing bothering me, nope. Everything is HUNKY-DORY. I add a smile because I’m the only one who can sell it.

Mom looks like a gigantic balloon five days after a Thanksgiving Day parade. Everything about her has gone poof.

I already feel like lukewarm crap; it’s best if I leave. I crack open the door and try to get my crutches on the sidewalk without getting my cast wet. I don’t worry about my head or jacket getting soaked. No one uses umbrellas in Portland unless an ark is floating by. “You’ve left me for business trips before,” I say. “It’ll be same as ever. I’ll eat, I’ll do my homework, I’ll wake up, and I’ll go to school. No big deal.”

I’m out of the car and up onto the brick steps leading up to St. Lawrence before my mom can pull out into traffic. My brain is supposed to be gearing up for physics, but it feels more like scrambled eggs. I hang back in the lobby until the bell rings, hoping I can slide into the day like nothing happened. It’s still early. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I had an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon.

Which is almost true. I’m meeting with him next week because I grew another inch, oh my god, someone please rip out my pituitary gland with their teeth, I’m begging you. The blood test can’t come fast enough.

Ten minutes tick by. The bell shrieks and I ease back into the current. There’s three things I want out of this day to make it substantial, decent, and tolerable. No JP, no JP, and no JP. That’s it. I head toward my locker and something is off. No, it’s worse than before. Everyone is staring at me. I can feel all their eyes burrowing into me like festering ticks.