Caterpillars Can't Swim Page 4

When I was a little boy, my mother used to read me Winnie the Pooh books. My favorite character was Tigger, and I loved it when my mother sang the bouncy song to me. Cody is a complete Tigger doppelgänger. Maybe that’s why I liked him in the first place.

  “I think you’re exaggerating, Ryan,” Mom says, shaking her head.

  “You can think whatever you want. Last week, he slid down the railing on the main staircase and almost landed on Mr. St. Clair.” Mr. St. Clair is our VP. He’s a real tough guy and doesn’t take crap from anyone. He wasn’t too impressed when Cody came flying at him feet first. Cody is still in detention every day. He might be in detention until we graduate.

  “Ouch!” Mom scrunches up her face and starts to laugh. “I don’t imagine Philippe was too happy with that. I used to teach with him about a hundred years ago. He’s never had much of a sense of humor.” She wipes her eyes a little and shakes her head.

  “Sense of humor? No. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him smile. Anyway, Cody is not an option. Maybe I’ll just stay home for a few more days.” I try a sweet smile and puppy dog eyes.

  “You look like you’re going to throw up or something equally gross.” Ricky walks into the room and throws himself down on my bed.

  “I think he was trying to look persuasive,” Mom tells him, ruffling his hair and grinning at us both. “It didn’t work. Ryan, you need to go to school. We’ll figure something out. Maybe Ricky…”

  “No!” We both shout it at the same time. Ricky is two grades behind me, and we do our best to ignore each other at school. Having him push me around would be almost worse than Cody. My mother holds both hands up, pushing the word back at us.

  “Okay, okay. I get the point! I’ll talk to Dad and see if he can put some pressure on the rental place for the other chair.” Mom leaves the room. Ricky looks at me for a second.

  “You want something?” I ask.

  “No, not really. Everyone’s talking about you at school.”

  “I know. All the hero crap. Cody’s been keeping me posted.”

  “Yeah. Everyone thinks it’s so amazing that a guy in a wheelchair could save someone. Kind of stupid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s stupid to be so amazed that someone on the swim team could save someone by swimming.” He rolls off the bed and stands over me. “I don’t think you’re all that amazing.”

  “Good to know, you little shit.” I smile pleasantly. He grins.

  “Anyway, now that you’re a hero, maybe you can get a girl to like you.”

  I grab the closest thing I can find and throw it at his head. Unfortunately, the closest thing I find is a paperback novel, so it doesn’t really make much of an impact. Ricky laughs at me as he ducks.

  “Good thing you didn’t try out for baseball. You seriously suck!” He runs out of my room, ducking again as I try to up the ante with my math textbook. I miss him again. He’s right. I do seriously suck at pretty much every sport but swimming.

  And now I can’t swim until this stupid shoulder heals. If it doesn’t do it fast enough, I’ll be out for the whole term.

  This situation sucks on every possible level.

  Except the level where Jack didn’t drown.

  Ryan the hero.

  I don’t even know for sure that I saved him. I don’t know that he wouldn’t have figured out a way to swim if I’d just left him. Maybe jumping in there like some X-Man wannabe actually made things worse and I almost drowned him before I had to save him.

  I haven’t talked to him since that first day in the hospital. There are all kinds of rumors floating around about him, which is one of the reasons I’m not really excited about going back to school right away. I don’t want to answer any questions. I figure if I wait a while to go back, the wondering might die down a bit and I won’t have to talk about Jack.

  I’m also hoping that the cops will lose interest or forget about talking to me so I don’t have to talk about Jack to them either.

  I wonder how much they suspect. I don’t think anyone really believes that he just randomly fell off the bridge into the water. It would be pretty hard to do by accident unless you were standing on the other side of the railing, on the very edge, and leaning forward without holding on.

  Pretty much you’d have to jump on purpose to get from the bridge into the water.

  So even if I say what Jack asked me to, I doubt anyone is really going to believe me.

  Cody told me that everyone at school thinks Jack tried to off himself. Cody’s words, not mine. He said that people think Jack was depressed or in trouble or on drugs or abused or whatever other possibilities they figured out from watching too many cop shows on TV.

  My guess is that no one has the slightest idea what happened or why.

  Except Jack.

  I have the slightest idea but I’m not telling anyone. It’s none of my business. It’s Jack’s business.

  That’s what I keep telling myself. But it feels like it’s a little bit of my business too. I’m the one who pulled him out. I’m the one who hid his stuff.

  His secret.

  How he is going to go back to school? His life is obviously already a screwed up mess. How the hell is he going to walk into the rumor festival and keep his shit together?

  Jack Pedersen. I keep trying to pull some thoughts about him out of my brain but I don’t know who his friends are or if he does any sports at school. I can sort of see him sitting in math class, a couple of rows over from where my chair and I park at the side of the classroom. I’m trying to remember if I ever saw him talking to anyone or laughing or anything that would make him into a real person inside my head.

  Mostly all I see is his black eyes trying to pull me into some kind of endless pit of nothingness.

  That’s a good line. I’m going to use that one when I start writing my novel. Maybe that’s what I should do instead of going back to school. I’ll write a famous novel that will make me so much money that I can quit school and just write and swim for the rest of my life.

  Once my shoulder gets better. Can’t type much any more than I can swim with only one arm. My whole life feels like it’s immobilized by this stupid sling, plastering my arm to my chest.

  I wonder if that’s what Jack feels like. Immobilized. Stuck at home trying to persuade everyone that he didn’t try to do what everyone thinks he did.

  Hiding under the bushes along with his skirt.

  Shit.

  “Mom!” I yell. I hear footsteps move quickly down the hall.

  “Are you all right?” She runs back into the room, looking worried.

  “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to yell so loud. I just wanted to get your attention and…” I stop talking at the sound of the bell ringing in my face. My mother has this antique school bell that she keeps on her desk. She brought it home so that I could call her without shouting while I’m waiting to get mobile again. I keep forgetting about it. Mostly because I think it’s stupid.

  “Right. The bell. I’ll try to remember. Anyway, I was wondering about something.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “I was thinking that maybe I should go and see Jack. He doesn’t live far from here. I just thought I could…check on him, I guess.”

  “I think that’s a terrific idea,” she says enthusiastically. I can’t tell if she’s faking it or is actually as excited as she sounds. I think she has some weird idea that Jack and I are friends.

  “Okay. Good.” Or not.

  “I’ll just give Mrs. Pedersen a call and make sure she’s all right with us coming over. I wrote her number down somewhere. I think it’s in my purse.”

  Us. Of course. My mommy has to take me over to Jack’s because I can’t get there myself. Like some baby being pushed in his stroller.

  Shit. I hate this. I’m starting to like the whole electric cha
ir idea more and more. Hope it gets here soon even if it means I have to go back to school.

  Mom calls Jack’s place and reports back that “they” are thrilled with the idea of my visiting my best friend, Jack.

  Pretty sure that “they” doesn’t include Jack.

  The house is only a ten-minute walk from our place, which is a good thing because my mother seems to feel the need to perform a running monologue about everything she sees along the way. I guess she’s trying to keep me entertained the way she used to when I was a baby and she really was pushing me in a stroller. Fun.

  “Here we are,” Mom says redundantly as we get to Jack’s front door. She rings the bell, and after a few seconds, Jack’s mother answers.

  She looks so tired. Her eyes seem smaller than before, as if they’re disappearing into her face.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Ryan.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Pedersen,” I say quickly when my mom gently pokes me in the back.

  “Hello. I’m Lynne Malloy.” Mom shakes hands with Jack’s mom, pumping her arm up and down so hard that I’m afraid she’s going to break something.

  “It’s Alison. Come in, please.” Jack’s mom steps aside as Mom pulls me backwards into the house, over the small doorstep. She plasters a giant smile on her face, which makes her look a bit like a gargoyle grinning before a feast. Mrs. Pedersen looks at both of us with sad eyes, her mouth moving slightly as if it’s too tired to remember how to smile.

  I try to imagine how my mom would react if I had been the one being rescued instead of doing the rescuing. She’s upset enough that I ended up in the water as it is. I actually can’t imagine how she’d be acting if she thought I’d been trying to do something to hurt myself on purpose. She hasn’t said anything at all about Jack and how he got into the water. She hasn’t asked me one question about it. I don’t know if she’s giving me space or if she doesn’t want to think about the answer.

  “Jack’s room is just down the hall.” Mrs. Pedersen starts walking, and my mother pushes me along behind. We stop at the second door on the left and everyone looks inside the room.

  “Thank you for bringing Ryan. Thank you for having Ryan. He’s our hero, isn’t he, Jack?” Mrs. Pedersen looks over at the bed, where Jack is lying in pretty much the same position as in the hospital, only this time he’s more colorful with blue striped sheets and red pajamas. My mom’s eyes get all soft and sad-looking.

  “Hello, Jack,” she says quietly. He turns his head but doesn’t say hello. He doesn’t call me his hero.

  “Say hello, Jack,” his mom says to him the way you would to a little kid.

  “It’s all right. He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t feel up to it. Mothers can be boring anyway. Why don’t we have some coffee and leave the boys alone for a bit?” Mom puts her arm around Mrs. Pedersen’s shoulder, leading her out of the room before anyone can say anything else.

  I want to call them back so that I don’t have to stay alone here with Jack. I want witnesses in case I get sucked in to the black hole, never to be seen again.

  I want someone to tell me what to say or do to make this all better.

  Eight

  Déjà vu all over again.

  The room is completely silent. I have this crazy urge to scream or sing at the top of my lungs. I don’t think either choice would be too helpful.

  It was my idea to come here. What the hell was I thinking?

  At least Jack isn’t staring at me. He’s looking at the ceiling. I look up too. There’s nothing much up there. White ceiling tiles. I wonder how many there are.

  “So, how many tiles are there?” I ask, because I’m so talented at starting interesting conversations.

  “What?” Jack turns to look at me. His eyes seem confused today instead of like dead pits of darkness. That’s an improvement.

  “I was just wondering if you had counted the tiles.”

  “Oh.”

  The silence comes back, heavy and prickly so that I feel like I can’t breathe properly. I know the feeling is imaginary, but I still have to take a couple of quick, deep breaths to make sure. I slip my phone out of my pocket and take a quick peek at the time.

  “One hundred and eighteen and a half.” His voice floats out into the room, surprising me. My phone drops to the floor with a loud smashing noise. Great.

  “What?” I ask, looking over the side of my chair to see if I can figure out how many pieces of phone are lying down there.

  “Tiles. One hundred and eighteen and a half crappy cardboard tiles.”

  I stop searching for my phone and look over at him. It almost seems like he might smile.

  “That’s good information…I guess.”

  “You asked,” he points out.

  “That’s true.” I look up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to count them for myself. “Why did you come back?” he asks, taking a left turn in this pathetic excuse for a conversation.

  “I’m not really sure. I just felt like I should talk to you again before…” My voice disappears into the thought.

  “Before you talk to anyone else? You haven’t yet?” The words come out so fast they almost trip over each other.

  “Not really. The cop who was here last time said she was coming back to speak to me, but she hasn’t yet. Too busy with all the crime in town, I guess. Maybe someone stole a newspaper again or something.” I try a small smile, but Jack doesn’t notice. We had a crime wave in town last spring when someone was stealing newspapers off people’s front porches. Seeing as most people don’t even buy newspapers anymore because they can read about everything on the Internet, I didn’t think it was that big a deal, but it was the most dramatic thing to happen in our town in quite a while. Until last week, that is.

  “Maybe. She had time to talk to me though. Wanted to know how I fell in the water.” His voice cracks a little on the word fell.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said I was sitting on the side of the bridge where it’s broken and I leaned forward to look at a duck on the water and lost my balance. I’m a shitty swimmer so when I hit the water, I panicked.”

  “And that’s where I came in. Literally.” I smile again, trying to lighten the mood. He nods but doesn’t smile back.

  “Yeah. You almost landed on my head.” He definitely doesn’t sound like he thinks I’m a hero.

  “I know! I was terrified that was going to happen. That I’d kill you instead of save you.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to grab them and shove them down my throat. He looks at me and his eyes go dark again. He says nothing.

  “Sorry. I’m just…sorry.” I shake my head.

  “You’re sorry? That you hurt yourself saving my ass? Or that you saw me dancing around in my mother’s skirt? Or that you’re like, the fucking hero of the century? Which one are you sorry for?” His voice is low and angry, his teeth clenched as his lips barely move.

  I close my eyes for a second. I’m screwing this up. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know how to deal with this. Why are the adults leaving me alone with someone who most likely just tried to drown himself in the river? Why isn’t he still in the hospital so someone can fix his brain or something?

  “I guess I’m sorry that any of this happened to you. I’m sorry I saw you dancing when you didn’t want me to. And I don’t want to be a fucking hero, but I’m not sorry I saved you because I think it would suck if you’d really drowned.” I’m probably saying all the wrong shit, but no one is here to tell me different.

  “It sucks more that I didn’t.” His voice is still low but now it sounds sad instead of angry.

  “Why?” The word slips out before I have time to tell it not to. I don’t want to know the answer. Not even a little bit.

  Where the hell is my mother? She would know what to say.

  “I just don’t know how to be he
re anymore. I want to be somewhere else.”

  “Maybe you should just go on a vacation.” Oh my god, I did it again. What is wrong with my mouth?

  Jack looks startled and then he actually laughs for a quick second. At least I think it was a laugh. It sounded more like a bark.

  “Sure. Maybe I’ll go to Disneyland. That should fix everything.”

  “I’m sorry. Again. That was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know how to talk about this. It’s pretty heavy shit.”

  “Yeah. Well, everyone is trying to get me to talk about it, but I just keep saying that I fell in. It’s no one’s business but mine.” He drills into me with his eyes, making sure I get the point.

  “I get that.”

  “Good.” He closes his eyes for a second. I look over at the door, hoping to see my mom coming back. I think I’ve said enough for today.

  “I have to go back to school soon. Where everyone is talking about me, right?” His voice is just above a whisper. He’s staring up at the hundred and eighteen and a half tiles again.

  “Probably. I haven’t been back yet because of my arm. I’m getting a new chair though, so I’ll be back soon.” He looks at my chair as if he’d never noticed it before.

  “Shit.” He whispers it, but I hear him anyway.

  “It’s okay. Just a pulled muscle,” I lie.

  “I forgot you can’t even walk, and you still managed to get into the water to save me. I can’t believe it. I hurt you. Everyone is going to hate me on top of everything else. Shit.” He sits up and draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly like he’s trying to hold himself together.

  “No one is going to hate you. I’m not that popular.” Although Cody is pretty pissed. He can’t believe I’m going to miss the swim season because of someone we barely know.

  “More popular than me. Then again, Mr. St. Clair is more popular than me.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. Mr. St. Clair is pretty universally hated. My friend Cody almost took him out a couple of weeks ago. Did you hear about that?”

  “No, seriously?” Jack looks interested. Anyone at our school would be interested in hearing about anything that involves personal damage to St. Clair, who loves reaming kids out and handing out week-long detentions for any little infraction.