We Are the Ants(24)

“What the hell, Marcus?” He’d nearly yanked my arm out of the socket, and I’d already been abused enough for one day.

Marcus was fidgety. His eyes were wide and manic, his shirt was untucked, and a cluster of pimples that reminded me of the constellation Andromeda dotted his forehead, but he still smelled like summer. “How’s it going, Space Boy?”

“Don’t call me Space Boy.” A growl crouched in my throat.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The classroom was empty, but Mr. Creedy often let students work on projects during lunch, so I expected we wouldn’t be alone for long. “Aren’t you afraid of being seen talking to Space Boy, or are you going to throw more nickels at me?”

Marcus shook his head. His bangs fell over his forehead, and he flicked them back. “No . . . I missed you, Henry.”

I tapped my lips with the tip of my finger. “Wouldn’t it be great if we had a magical device that allowed two people to talk over long distances any time they wanted? They could call it a talky-box.”

Marcus closed the gap between us and placed his hand flat against my chest. I felt the familiar tingle, and I hated that I missed it. “I know you don’t believe me, but I like you. I don’t want us to be over.”

We were so close, I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. I wanted to tell him that I missed him too. It would have been easy to give in and go to some storage closet, to kiss him and forget about all the yesterdays and tomorrows. But I couldn’t forget wanting to die by his pool the night of the party, or walking home because he thought I was a joke. “I can’t be one thing to you behind the bleachers and another in front of your friends.”

Marcus sneered. “I get it. You’ve got a new boyfriend, and you don’t need me anymore.”

“Boyfriend? What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen you together at lunch.”

“Diego?” Marcus flinched when I said the name. “He’s a friend, nothing more.”

“Was I just someone you banged to get over your dead boyfriend?”

Marcus had never spoken to me like that before. I honestly didn’t think he cared enough about me to be jealous. “No! Jesus, Marcus.”

“Then come to my house tonight. My parents are attending a fund raiser and won’t be home until late.” Gone was the swagger he used like a glamour to hide this needy boy who was begging me to come home with him.

“If I say yes, how long before the next time you humiliate me to amuse your friends?”

“It won’t be like that.”

“I want to believe you. . . .”

“Space Boy, you were my first.” His voice trembled. I hadn’t known, which made it worse.

I wanted to stay angry, but this Marcus would have invited me to his party. He would have introduced me to his friends. This was the most real he’d ever been, but it wouldn’t last. The moment we walked out of the classroom, his cocksure veneer, the spit and polish, would return. I wasn’t going to spend my last days on Earth as the butt of his jokes. I may not be sure I want to live, but I’m sure I don’t want to live like that.

“Marcus, I can’t.”

His armor snapped into place. The vulnerable boy I might have said yes to disappeared, and I’m not sure I’ll ever see him again. “I’m not surprised Jesse hanged himself. I’m just surprised he didn’t do it sooner.” Marcus shoved me against the wall as he stormed out.

? ? ?

I spent my lunch sitting outside the library, trying to comprehend how my life had gotten so f*cked up. First my father left, then Jesse. Neither Charlie nor Marcus told me anything I hadn’t already considered.

It has been 268 days since I got the phone call from Mrs. Franklin telling me Jesse committed suicide. He left no note, gave no explanation, but I still know it was my fault. He killed himself because of me. Because I loved him too much or not enough. I don’t know why; all I know is that it was my fault.

Charlie’s and Marcus’s words festered in me, and by the time I got to PE, I wanted to hurt someone, anyone. To make them feel how I felt. Narrow rows of lockers separated by benches, fellow students changing into their gym clothes, and the pungent odor of sweat and body spray made my skin itch. I wanted to get dressed for class and get out as quickly as possible.

I shouldered past a couple of kids, and opened my gym locker. Nickels poured out. There had to be hundreds of dollars worth of them spilling to the floor, and I just stared as they fell.

Adrian Morse stood a few feet away by the water fountain with Gary Neuman, Chris Weller, and Dean Gold, laughing his ass off. It must have taken them at least an hour to get all those nickels into my locker, all for a moment’s cheap laugh.

The sound in my ears narrowed until all I could hear was that psychotic cackle. I felt something inside me break in that moment. It wasn’t just what had happened that day; it was as if all the preceding days, all the hate I’d been hoarding and the guilt I’d buried, erupted, breaking my ability to contain them any longer. I ran toward Adrian and launched myself at him, not caring if he beat the crap out of me. I swung wildly, a berserker bloodlust overriding my rational mind. I screamed at him, but can’t remember what I said.

Adrian tried to protect his face, but my fist connected with something solid, and that only made me fight harder. It seemed like hours but was probably only seconds before he kneed me in the crotch, knocking the breath out of me. I fell to the ground, and he kicked me, but I roared back and tackled him, slamming his back against the lockers, pounding him with my fists. I was beyond pain, beyond all reason. I didn’t care about anything. Not me, not Jesse, not Marcus. The world was ending, and there were no more consequences. I think I was going to kill him.