The F- It List Part 27

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juxtaposition of a prune of a woman and the shiny new technological equipment was always funny to watch. She mastered it a lot better than my parents could. Mom was always afraid that she was going to click some b.u.t.ton that would make the computer implode. As if they actually built computers with a panic b.u.t.ton.

Mrs. Novak's expression read that she found what she was look- ing for, and she looked up at me with sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry, dear, but it looks like there's been a death in the family."

Those words caused a physical reaction so quickly in my gut that I had to hold on to the counter and rest my head. I fl ashed back to when our princ.i.p.al came to my En glish fi nal to pull me out with the news that there had been a death in my family. I relived that moment all summer and every time I saw him in the halls wearing one of his tweed suits and Bears ties.

"Do you know who?" Becca came to my rescue, asking the question I couldn't.

"Sorry, dearie, it doesn't say in the computer. You can ask Prin- c.i.p.al Donovan-"

"No thank you," I interrupted her, and fl ed the offi ce.

I found the nearest bench in the foyer, a modern, rectangular slab with no back, ensuring the least amount of comfort to discour- age lollygagging and dillydallying. I sat down and cupped my head in my hands. Becca sat next to me and rubbed my back.

"See? This is what I'm talking about. If I hadn't gotten involved with Leo, then I wouldn't even have known about this and had to deal with it. You should not be rubbing my back." I ripped her hand off me.

"Alex, you can't seriously be mad that someone in Leo's family --1 died."

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"Why not? It's just another thing, Becca. Another layer of s.h.i.t on the ma.s.sive s.h.i.t parfait that is life."

Becca snickered, and I shot her my death- ray look. "How am I not supposed to laugh when you're talking about a s.h.i.t parfait?"

"How can you laugh right now? You have cancer! My dad is dead! Now Leo's dad could be dead. Or his mom. Or his brother."

"Alex, what am I supposed to do? Sit around crying all day?

That's not how you deal with s.h.i.t. You get to be all broody and mad and dark. Let me try to look on the bright side and laugh at parfaits."

She snickered again, and I remembered the homeschool joint she lit up just ten minutes prior.

That got a smile out of me, but only a tiny one. "I have to call him."

"You don't have to. But unless your heart really is a lump of coal, you should."

"How about a text to start with?" I bargained.

"Sure," she mused. "I really want a granola bar."

I pulled out my phone and tried typing. All that came out were idiotic things like, "Who died?" and "I heard there was a death in your family. Sucks."

"Help me!" I pleaded to Becca. She grabbed my phone.

"How about, 'You haven't been in school. Hope everything is ok.' "

"But I know it's not okay."

"He doesn't know you know, and maybe he wants to be the one to tell you."

"Hit send before I chicken out."

-1- "Done."

0- I waited until the last possible second to walk into fi rst period.

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No reply texts from Leo, but I couldn't bring my phone to cla.s.s to keep checking. If a teacher heard the buzz of a text, that would be an instant confi scation until the end of the day. I placed my phone in my locker on top of the bag of cookies that was becoming less edible as the week wore on. Throughout the morning, I checked my phone in my locker every chance I got. Nothing. When lunch came around, I decided the wait was too much for me. But I wasn't ready to call Leo and sound like an a.s.shole. Instead, I visited Mr. Esrum, Leo's creative writing sponsor. I looked through the gla.s.s window of his offi ce door.

Head down, he graded a stack of papers on his overfl owing desk. I knocked on the door. He looked up over the top of his gla.s.ses and waved me in.

"May I help you?" he asked. He wasn't overly friendly, but I appreciated that in a person. Leo liked him, so I guess I did, too.

"Hi. I'm a friend of Leo Dietz ..." I started.

"You must be Alex! He writes about you. I probably shouldn't have told you that, though." His sly smile indicated he was trying to make me feel good with this comment, but it had the opposite eff ect.

I didn't respond to it.

"Do you know if Leo's okay? They told me in the offi ce that one of his relatives died, but they couldn't say who. I thought you might know."

"Sweet of you to be so concerned." If he only knew how sweet I really was. "I'm afraid it was his brother, Jason. He was killed trying to dismantle a roadside bomb. Horrible." It was horrible. I wondered if Leo tried to picture the death, the explosion ripping his brother's body apart. I knew from experience that it didn't look anything like in our movies. "The funeral is next Wednesday. They have to wait --1 until the body is shipped back." Mr. Esrum cringed, as though he -0 -+1 15 7.

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knew he said too much. "I'm sure you could be excused if you wanted to go."

I hadn't thought that far ahead that there would be a funeral.

That after I talked to Leo, there would be more.

"I'll think about it," I said somberly, and began backing out of the offi ce. "Thank you," I mumbled.

"Alex?" He stopped me. "I'm sorry."

I closed his offi ce door.

Inside I was seething. What was he sorry about? To me? I didn't know Leo's brother. I didn't know what to do at all, and he was sorry?

I ran down the hall to the only place I could think of and fum- bled for my key ring to let me into the book closet. Once inside, I sat down at a desk and rested my head. The book closet felt so sad and empty without Leo. Old books that no one wanted to read, clocks telling time for no one but us, and there wouldn't even be an us again if I went through with it. My body wanted to cry, to release the pain and sadness that consumed it, but it wasn't my sadness so I wouldn't allow it.

I fl ipped through pages of Bradbury until I felt calmer, more focused. What would I have wanted from Leo if my brother died?

I knew my answer was selfi sh. It was the same thing I had always wanted from Leo: to make me feel so good that I couldn't remember why I felt bad. But Leo was better than I was, and I knew it. I could tell by the way I caught him looking at me during movies. The way he laughed at things I said. I had used him because I needed him.

Now he probably needed me. I didn't think I could be there for him, -1- for what he needed from me. But I couldn't not talk to him. I 0-

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remembered how horrible it felt when Davis, a guy I didn't even like that much, didn't call me. Just to say something. To acknowledge my pain. The guilt had overfl owed.

I left the book room, the hallways empty, and returned to my locker. Leo still hadn't texted me, but I couldn't use that as an excuse.

The guilt punched me in my stomach until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to say something to him, lest be devoured by my guilt.

I found Leo's name in my phone and called. Every ring brought me further into panic mode. What would I say? Could I really help?

Leo's voice mail picked up. I nearly hung up, the dread of leaving a message overwhelming. But it was that or call again, and the weight of my conscience would have crushed me by then.

Beep.

"Hey, Leo, it's Alex. I heard what happened. To your brother.

And I'm, um, really sorry. s.h.i.t. That was stupid. Never mind. I mean, let me know if you need anything. Bye." I hung up and threw my phone into my locker with a bang. The battery exploded out of its compartment. Instead of helping, I said the least helpful thing anyone could ever say to a person whose loved one died. I wished I could erase the message, suck the word "sorry" from the En glish language, and hack it to pieces with a rusty ax.

I ripped a cookie out of my locker and chomped on it, then spit it on the fl oor. It still tasted good. It should have tasted horrible, been fi lled with tiny, writhing maggots, contained high levels of toxic sludge.

My guilty brain couldn't handle the rest of the school day, so I skipped out. Since the one thing that really made me forget everything- Leo-was also the reason for my pain, I opted for a gory --1 -0 -+1 15 9.

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movie brain fry. In bed with my laptop, I watched as topless girls received blades in their chests, as doppelgangers killed their good selves, as old ladies ate their grandchildren. It was sick and wrong, but it was all I could do. Once again, life had become too much to handle. The pile was too great. I pulled the covers over my head and listened to the screams.

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CHAPTER.

25.