Part 6 (1/2)
And then suddenly Dad's yelling, ”Kevin! Kevin!”
It takes me a second to realize that he's walked over to the apartment's only window, looking right out into the driveway.
”What's that?” His voice has gone sharp, like that time I tried to set a frog on fire back in sixth grade. (Long story.) ”That's my car, Dad.” I've got a can of ravioli half opened and I almost cut my thumb off when he yelled.
”Don't be smart. That ribbon.”
”Oh. The ribbons.”
”Plural?” he says, as if someone just dipped his big toe in battery acid. ”There's more than one?” He cranes his neck, looking for the other one.
”Yeah. The mayor put 'em there before I-”
”Get rid of them.”
”Why?”
And he starts to do that whole brain-moving-too-fast, fl.u.s.tered thing: ”Because ... Because ... Don't you get it? It's just a-”
”OK, OK.” I cut him off before he can go into total spaz mode. ”I'll get 'em after I eat.”
”Do it now.” He says it with such venom that it takes me a second to figure out that he's still just talking about the freaking ribbons.
”OK,” I tell him, and go back to opening the can.
”I'm serious!”
You've got to be kidding me. But he's not. So I slam down the can, go peel off the magnets, and toss them in the trash can.
”Happy now?” I say once I'm back inside.
But Dad's nowhere near happy. If happy was the earth, Dad would be out there orbiting Pluto.
”How could you drive around with those things on?”
”Chill out, Dad. Everyone has them.”
”That's exactly my point,” he says. ”People think ... Do you know what people think?” And here he goes again: ”People, they, you know...”
”Yeah, Dad.”
”Let me tell you something: When I was in the army, those things didn't mean anything at all. You think they helped me over there? You think they helped any of us?”
It's the most he's talked about the army in, like, forever. I just stand there, stunned. He glares at me and then he shakes his head. He looks like he's about to say something else, but he just goes off to his bedroom and closes the door and I'm able to eat my dinner in peace.
In the morning, I drive to school for the first time, which is great. Tell the truth, I'm starting to get used to this ”hero” thing. People treating me well in school, Leah inviting me to parties, the mayor bending over backwards to get me some wheels ... There are worse ways to live a life.
And at school, I experience one of them.
I don't get it. All of a sudden, no one's talking to me. or high-fiving me. As I walk through the halls to my locker, I just get stares and glares. What the h.e.l.l?
Oh, G.o.d, wait. Did someone find out? Did someone find out the truth, about what really happened at the library that day?
No. No, that's impossible...
And then I get to my locker.
Someone has taped a sheet of paper to the front of it. It's a printout from the school newspaper's Web page. There's a picture of me taking one of the ribbons off the car and then another picture right next to it of me tossing both ribbons in the trash can.
And a headline: LOCAL ”HERO” TO TROOPS: DROP DEAD!.
Oh, boy.
Zero
Chapter 13.
Unintended Consequences
The reporter. That pain-in-the-b.u.t.t school reporter. He hadn't left yet. From the angle and the size of the shots, he must have been just across the street, getting back into his car when he saw me and ...
c.r.a.p.
I keep my head down in homeroom, moving only to rise and then sit for the Pledge of Allegience. I try to imagine there's a bubble around me and no one can see through it, but I don't have that great an imagination.
Like a junkie looking for a needle, I look for Leah in the halls between homeroom and first period. Which is stupid because I know her schedule by heart and she's never in my path this time of day.
I do catch Fam, though. Actually, she catches me, grabbing my backpack and pulling me off against the wall before I even realize it's her.
”Hail, Fool,” I tell her.
”Kross, please be careful,” she says, skipping the ”Hail, Fool” nonsense. ”People are p.i.s.sed.”
”Yeah, I know.”
She pats my hand sympathetically and gives me a look like I'm a dog going to the vet for the last time. I get this weird vibe that, if we weren't both carrying armloads of books, she would give me a hug. Which, like, I totally don't want.
All day, I get the stink-eye from everyone around me. It's like I chopped up a baby and deep-fried it for lunch.
That whole hero thing was annoying, but it was better than the villain thing, let me tell you.
I finally spot Leah in the hall between cla.s.ses-she's on her way to trig and I'm headed to bio, just like every Wednesday. She's not giving me the Death Glare for unpatriots like everyone else, but she's not giving me the hero-wors.h.i.+p look, either.