Part 9 (1/2)

Brandon shrugged. ”He was alright. I didn't have nothing against him.”

”Anything against him,” she corrects. I don't think counselors are supposed to do that. Her dislike of Brandon is leaking out. Happens to all of us.

”Not that neither,” he says, grinning at his own wit.

”Do we have to say different things?” Lucy asks. ”Because I was going to say he was kind but Sarah already said that.”

”You can say whatever you want.”

I want to say that this is bulls.h.i.+t and everyone should shut the f.u.c.k up, but I suspect that's not what the counselor had in mind.

”He was kind, then,” Lucy says. ”And funny. He made me laugh. I liked him.”

He wasn't kind. Gentle, but not kind. They are confusing his easiness with kindness. A kind person goes out of their way to do right by people. Zach wasn't like that. He wanted smoothness. A life without agitation.

”All the girls liked him,” Brandon says, then he lowers his voice to a whisper. ”But you were no chance, Luce. He liked dark girls. Really dark girls.” He smirks at Sarah. ”Micah was barely dark enough.”

”It's no longer your turn, Brandon,” Jill w.a.n.g says.

I wonder if she heard all that he said. Sarah did. She's glaring at Brandon like she wants to smack him. I'd like to kill him.

I'm next. The counselor looks at me and nods.

”I don't know,” I say. ”I pa.s.s.”

”You can't think of anything you'd like to say?” Jill asks. ”Even something small? The exercise works much better if we all contribute.”

I can think of many things I want to say: the taste of his mouth. The smell of him after he ran. How it felt to run my fingers along his flank. Sarah is staring at me.

”Micah?” Jill w.a.n.g prompts.

”Like Lucy said. He was funny.”

”Andrew?”

He shrugs. ”I didn't know the guy. I don't even know why I have to come here.”

”You were all in the same year as Zachary. Such a violent, unexpected death is shocking whether you knew him well or not.”

”I guess,” Andrew says, sounding bored, not shocked. ”I try not to think about it, you know? Zach was okay, I guess.”

”I can tell you one thing,” Alejandro says. ”No one but teachers called him Zachary. To everyone else he was Zach or the Z-Man.”

”Z-Man?” Brandon laughs. ”How lame is that? Who called him that?”

”Me,” Tayshawn says. ”The other guys on the team. It was respect. You wouldn't understand.”

”I thought he was cute,” Chantal says, smiling at Sarah. ”I was kind of jealous of Sarah. You know, 'cause she was dating the cutest guy in school. Sorry, Sarah.”

Sarah gives a tight smile in return. Everyone else is looking at me.

Lucy nods. ”Lots of us thought he was cute. We're all sorry.”

Sorry about what? That Zach's dead or that they didn't get to date him before he died? I never heard Lucy say anything about Zach before he died. She'd always been pining after Tayshawn. Did being dead make Zach cuter?

They continue to go around the circle. Each person says something meaningless. By the end of the session none of us knows a single thing about Zach that we didn't already know.

He's still dead, and we don't know how, or who made him that way.

FAMILY HISTORY.

One time, I almost killed Jordan. I can't remember what he'd done. It could have been the time he told about my sneaking out at night down the fire escape. Or the time he drew all over my favorite running shoes. Telling, stealing, destroying-that's Jordan's standard m.o.

But one day the heinous thing he'd done pushed me over the edge. I stood looking at the broken fragments, or the ashes, or whatever it was, and glowered over him, clenching my fists, ready to throw him against the wall, smash his skull in. Have the shards of it pierce his brain. Watch the blood sprout from his nose. His eyes flutter, all whites, jaw loose, tongue lolls. Him falling, shuddering, stilling.

I could see from his eyes that he knew I was ready to do it. He was frozen and trembling. He didn't scream or cry. Or he knew it wouldn't make any difference. Even if Mom and Dad were home, which they weren't, they wouldn't get to us in time. They wouldn't stop it. Who knew if they could? I'd been stronger than them for years.

I drew back my right arm, ready to smash his nose across his face, drive him into the brick wall.

But I didn't.

I drew back from my rage. I didn't tear him apart limb from limb.

I wouldn't get away with it. Even with Mom and Dad away-the walls between apartments are not thick: if he'd screamed someone would have heard him.

I went into my room, shut the door, sat on the floor with my back against my metal desk, and decided to poison him instead.

I didn't want Mom or Dad to suspect.

He was still little back then. Four or five. Stupid enough to drink Drno. I decided to put it in his path. Tell him not to drink it. Then walk away.

I didn't do that either.

Not for Jordan's sake, but for my mom's. Killing him would hurt her.

And me, too. If I was busted. Sitting down, thinking it through meant that I would never do it.

I had to hope for an accident.

BEFORE.

Me and Zach, we were put on library duty together.

That's another thing about our school: you have to contribute, give back to your community. Community starts with the school, which is very clever 'cause that means we students save the school money by doing their work for them. Mostly you volunteer for tasks. I always volunteer to pick up the trash in the park and on the sidewalk outside the school. Anything that gets me outdoors.

But they also like to stretch you. Get you to do stuff you would never do otherwise. Like for me and Zach-neither of us readers-they make us work in the library. Shelving and all that.

That first time it was me, Zach, Chantal, and Brandon. A quartet of nonreaders stuck together. At any other school that would be no big deal, but our school is full of readers. Didn't surprise me that Brandon doesn't read, he can barely talk-but Chantal wanted to be an actor. I always thought actors read a lot. It's their job, isn't it? Reading words, memorizing them, saying them out loud.

Not Chantal.