The Serpent King(47)

“Okay, in second place, for his fantastic duck and turkey calls, we have Austin Parham. Austin, you let me know if you’re available come spring turkey season. Austin wins a ten-dollar Applebee’s gift certificate.” Austin, a baseball player, accepted his prize. Again, an enthusiastic response.

It’s going to really suck losing to duck and turkey calls. Let’s just get this over with.

“Now, for the grand prize winner of fifty dollars cash money. I want to remind y’all that our judges considered many factors in their decision, including originality and creativity. I also want to remind y’all to be respectful if the person you thought should win didn’t win. And now, our grand prize winner is…drumroll please…”

Dill stomach flipped. It was then that he stopped being completely aware of what was happening. He knew that he heard his name called. He knew that he sat, paralyzed, while Lydia and Travis stood, whooped, and tugged him out of his chair, pushing him toward the stage. He was vaguely cognizant of the tepid applause and rush of grumbling that met the announcement. He was standing on stage again, accepting the envelope and a handshake from Principal Lawrence. And then he was sitting by Lydia and Travis again, clutching his envelope.

The assembly let out and the students streamed into the hall. Travis still buzzed with excitement. “Dude,” he said, strutting alongside Dill. “I would totally buy all your albums if you made albums!”

Dill grinned. “You don’t even like music.”

“Yours is different.”

“Hey, Dill.” Alexis Robbins approached. She was pretty and popular. She never talked to him or his friends, but was never unkind to them either. They existed in separate worlds.

“Congratulations on winning,” she said. “I didn’t know you did music.”

Dill blushed. “Oh…thanks. Yeah. I do. Thanks.”

“Anyway, good job. Bye.”

Lydia poked Dill in the ribs. “Look at you go. Girls love musicians.” He laughed and squirmed away. “I’m serious, Dill,” she said. “That was hot. Talent is hot. Bravery is hot.”

Dill thought he could not be more filled with triumph. But the moment Lydia said that, he realized that he contained yet undiscovered spaces being flooded with it.

He didn’t get a chance to revel. “Dill!” Hippie Joe walked quickly toward them. Hippie Joe was a guidance counselor in his fifties. His name was Joseph Bryant, but everyone secretly called him Hippie Joe. He had a bushy mustache; shaggy gray hair; and wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. He favored joke ties and Converse with his khakis and button-down shirts. “That was fantastic! I’ve never seen a student perform like that! You had the ghosts of Bob Dylan and Neil Young in you! Well, they’re both still alive, but you know what I mean. Great job! I think you’ve got a future in music!”

“Thank you, Mr. Bryant.”

“Tell me when you have a gig somewhere. I’ll come watch you.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Nobody else said anything. They got outside to the parking lot. “I propose we go get something to eat. Specifically, I propose that I buy Dill some late lunch/early dinner, since he hasn’t eaten a thing today,” Lydia said.

“I’m down,” Travis said. “And I’m helping buy.”

Lydia beamed as they drove, as though she knew some great secret. She appeared as joyous as Dill felt. He couldn’t stop his legs from bouncing up and down. He kept peeking in his envelope, at the crisp fifty-dollar bill inside. He felt carved from something beautiful and indestructible. Light. Air. He wondered how long he could ride the wave of that feeling before it crashed again onshore.




Less than a week, as it turned out.

“I changed my mind,” Dill said. “I’m calling Dr. Blankenship and telling him I’m not going.”

His mother wore her cleaning uniform, ready to leave for work. They stood in their living room. “You will not. You’ll go. It’s almost Christmas and your father is expecting you. You haven’t been to see him since the end of summer.”

“I hate visiting there.”

“He’s your father. You go.”

“Every time I go, he’s weirder and weirder. I hate seeing him that way. I’m not going.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed and she drew near him. “You hate seeing him that way? Maybe you deserve to feel uncomfortable seeing as how you put him there.”

His mother had implied this many times. But she had never outright said it until then.

Dill struggled for words. “What do you mean, I put him there? Huh? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your father’s lawyer gets up and makes every single police officer and TBI agent admit that this porn shows young girls. All of them admit that your father has a teenage son. All of them say that they don’t know if you have access to the computer. All of them admit it’s possible you did it. All of them admit they can’t tell exactly who downloaded it. And you get up and testify against your father.”

Dill paced. His voice rose. “The state called me to testify. What could I do? Refuse? The judge would’ve thrown me in jail.”

His mother pointed in his face. “You could’ve testified it was yours. The DA wasn’t about to prosecute a juvenile. Your father would be a free man right now if you hadn’t done what you did.”