How to Save a Life(15)

Merle snorted a laugh and the two exchanged knowing looks. Shane’s hands twitched even more than usual this morning, and a squealing laugh erupted out of him seemingly from nowhere.

And they call me the freak.

Aside from Shane’s occasional giggle, the clatter of spoons on bowls continued until Garrett woke up enough to jabber nonstop about his science project. Norma nodded and smiled thinly, but no one else listened. Breakfast finished, we set off for school.

Shane and Merle headed toward their shared truck, a shiny black F150. It was used—given by a grateful customer of Dad’s—but a free F150. It had cost them nothing. I drove a truck too: a beat up old Chevy I’d had to buy with my own money. Money I needed for escaping Planerville after graduation. But I needed the truck too, to take me to the Grand Canyon, so I didn’t complain.

I noticed Shane and Merle walking with their heads bent, snickering. Just as we reached the garage driveway, they turned. Shane held a piece of paper in his scrawny claw of a hand.

My heart dropped to my knees and my breath stuck. The paper was old and yellow, frayed at the ends and torn into a triangular shape. Hardly more than a scrap. The handwriting on it—a neat, flowing script—was just visible from where I stood some feet away as a few blue loops. But the words written were emblazoned on my heart forever.

Take care of him, please. Please.

“Give it back, Shane,” I said, my hands balling into fists.

“What for?” Shane dangled it in front of him while Merle stood close, watching me, ready to act. And goddamn, I was ready to charge at him and beat the hell out of him for that paper. Garrett watched the exchange with wide eyes.

“You know what for,” I said, fighting for calm. “Give it back. You have no right to dig in my stuff…”

And that’s when it hit me. The strange feeling from the night before. They’d been in my room. He’d found the little wooden chest that held a few keepsakes—baseball ticket stubs, my favorite marble from when I was a kid.

And that note.

The chest was always locked. I kept it locked. How…?

Shane’s smarmy smile was like a rash across his face as he dangled the note in front of me. At a safe distance. “What’ll you trade me for it?”

I’ll let you keep your nose intact. “Nothing. It’s mine, Shane. Give it back, now.”

“We’ll be late for school,” Garrett said in a small voice.

Shane lifted his other hand to rest under the first, and in it was a small green cigarette lighter. I choked on my breath and felt my muscles tighten.

“Don’t you dare…”

“Oh, do I have your attention now?” Shane sneered, though he was nervous. Both hands trembled and he inched closer to Merle. “I’ll say it one more time: what will you trade me for it? Make it something good or else…” He flicked his thumb along the lighter. It made a small metallic scape and a spark.

My guts recoiled. “What do you want?”

“Make me an offer.”

“Come on, Shane,” Garrett said. “Give it back.”

“Shut up, Garrett.” Shane’s eyes never left mine. “Well?”

“My pay from the shop. Two weeks’ worth,” I said, hating myself but needing that paper more. “Three,” I added when Shane shook his head.

“I changed my mind,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t want anything after all. And Garrett’s right. We’re going to be late for school.”

For half a second, hope flared in my heart…until Shane’s thumb flicked the lighter again and a flame licked up. He touched it to the corner of the paper that blackened and curled immediately.

“No!”

I surged forward, intent on the note, and ran into the brick wall of Merle. His fist buried itself in my gut, and I gasped, bending in half while reaching for Shane. As if in slow motion, I watched the flame eat the paper, consuming its way mercilessly toward the writing.

Take care…

“No! You f*cking *! Stop!” I screamed, struggling in Merle’s grip. I elbowed him in the jaw in my frantic grab for the paper, but it was too late. Shane had to drop what was left before the flame touched his fingers, and the fight went out of me. Merle drove his own elbow into my back. Pain radiated from under my right shoulder blade and I fell to my hands and knees beside the charred remains. Then Merle’s boot came down, squashing and scraping the ashes of the note into oblivion.

I stared at the smudge left behind. “Why?” I managed to rasp.

“You’re too old for that baby shit,” Shane said as he and Merle headed into the garage and climbed into their truck. “Grow up, freak. Your freak parents didn’t want you. Get over it already.”

They backed out of the garage next to where I sat on the driveway, staring at the ashy smear on the cement.

Shane rolled down his window. “You’re welcome!” he called as the truck backed down the drive.

Rage, and a grief that sank deep into my bones, consumed me. My hands made fists again, my left one closing around the crushed limestone that lined the driveway. I got a handful of small rocks, stood up, and hurled them at the retreating truck. The hail of rock against metal sounded like gunfire. Even from where I stood, I could see the nicks they left in the black paint of the truck. It screeched to a halt, and Merle and Shane climbed out, both wearing expressions of shock.