Lull-Life Again

It turns out plagiarism is a crime. How did I learn this invaluable lesson? After another passive-aggressive email from Mr. Randell, I googled "Delcoph cartel" and did the good old copy and paste. When my teacher didn't like that, I found the loophole: use original content.

Science is boring. Daydreaming is much better. What if it wasn't the cops who busted the cartel? What if Peterson had nothing to do with it? I closed the Encyclopedia. Mr. Randell wanted original content?

I'd give him original content.

The drug cartel never existed. There was some kid selling pot. Upon discovering this, the cops spread stories to news people about a cartel for media hype. In fact, the "dealers" weren't selling drugs at all, but superpower pills. It is still believed they exist at the place of their original sellers.

The fountain.

I submitted the third draft of my paper. Two minutes later, my computer dinged, and a little number plopped in front of my inbox.

Ben,

I'm not sure where you are getting your facts about drug cartels and pills, but I can tell you that current day science presents no artificial superpowers in its contents. Why don't you look past science and more at the effects of its trade on youth? Are the dealings still an issue?

Time to procrastinate.

✎✎✎

"Look at the board. What do you see?"

We stared at Doctor White. Everyone scratched the wood of their desks, focusing their eyes on the plate of chocolate cookies towering beside Dr. White's computer. Julia's obsession with these things made the whole room smell like a bakery.

Feeling brave, I raised my hand. "That's a door."

"Yes, Ben." Dr. White's eyes lit up. "It's a closed door. Do you know what's inside?"

I shook my head.

"Does anyone?"

We all shook our heads.

Dr. White dropped the chalk. "And how do you expect to get the door open to see what's inside? Assuming you want to know."

"Draw an opening." I was on a roll.

"Exactly!" But he didn't pick up the chalk. "You all see a two-dimensional world. It's you and yourselves. But there's a whole world out there. It's going to take more than what you know here to survive. You need new angles."

I didn't get the door analogy. Apparently, Dr. White didn't either. He grabbed his eraser and swiped across the chalk. Still, I appreciated the Disney-Channel-esque effort.

Kim shoved Willie off and muttered, "I'm confused."

"Yeah…" Austin bit his lip. He didn't look at me. He looked at Julia. When she scowled, they both turned to Stuart.

Dr. White wrote more words on the board. You. Me. World. "World" was huge, "you" and "me" were small. Then he drew it again, with a tiny "world" circling a gigantic "you" and "me."

"I challenged you all to discuss personal beliefs. There's one thing in common with all of you. You see the world this way." He pointed at the tiny "world" picture. When silence ensued, he looked at the big "world" version. "We have three seniors this year. You three need to understand, and the rest of you for that matter, that the world is bigger than you and me. You won't be able to control your environment like we do in here."

Seniors? I followed Doctor White's eyes. Stuart. Austin. Julia. I'm friends with three seniors?

"Um, no offense, Dr. White." Austin scratched his forehead. "But so much goes wrong in here it's not even funny."

"Exactly. If you can't handle it in here, then I've failed you, and you will fail the world around you. We all need to step it up."

"What are you talking about?" Kim asked. She and Willie were no longer sitting together.

Dr. White pressed his lips together. "Fix your conflicts. Until you do that, we can't accomplish anything."

✎✎✎

Everyone was dead quiet at Stacks that day. I think the air pollution was finally getting to them. Julia sat by me with her jumbo coffee. Kim and Willie separated themselves with Austin. Stuart sat on the edge.

I wish I understood. I wish I knew how to combine these events into something logical. The past month had been me rewriting my paper. Julia would pick me up and drive me to therapy, and I'd feel like I was walking into the middle of a season finale of a telenovela.

"Can I take your order?"

The whole booth shook as I jammed my knee on the table. Silence. I let my eyes climb to the waiter.

"Me?" Stuart demanded.

"Well, no. You. Black hair."

I hardened my eyes onto the table. It couldn't possibly be me who this waiter was trying to do customer service with. Willie has black hair. My hair is not black—it's dark brown just like Kyle's. And I was going to tell him that.

"His hair isn't black. It's really dark brown."

Wait a second. That wasn't my voice.

Julia flicked my forehead with the face of a kid at a carnival. "And yes, we were going to order pizza. Peppers."

"I hate peppers," Austin said.

He sounded like a lawnmower. Again.

Julia scrunched her nose. "I'm sorry, Austin. Obviously, you're the only opinion that matters. What kind of pizza did you want me to order for all of us? That Ben pays for every time by the way. Because you are an insensitive little-"

"I don't care. I just don't want peppers."

"Fine. Pepperoni."

"Eh."

"What's wrong with pepperoni?"

I had become a member of the audience. Kim, Willie, and Stuart followed suit. Pizza toppings? They've never cared about pizza toppings before. As their voices transformed into mice, I drew my attention to the waiter. His shirt. There was a drawing: grey base, dirty water, alley walls.

No. That's not possible.

It was a drawing of my fountain.

"Holy…"

Austin and Julia took no notice, but the waiter looked at me. I think he asked me a question. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear anything. Austin and Julia got louder. I opened my mouth and felt the words before I heard them.

"SHUT UP ALREADY!"

Julia flinched. Austin looked like a shamed puppy. The rest acted as if they'd witnessed a crime scene.

The waiter turned to me. "Your order, Sir?"

"Your shirt. Where did you get that shirt?"

He glanced down. "This one? Just a fundraiser."

"For what?"

"That rehabilitation center. They do one every year."

"What center? Why that fountain?"

He chuckled. "Well, everyone knows that's where they made all the deals. Haven't caught any lately, but that's because they're all locked up."

"But the fountain-"

"Look, these shirts are ancient. The kids at the rehabilitation center make them and sell them to any sucker with a wallet. No doubt they're using it for crack, but I'd rather have them locked up high than out in the streets getting their diseases everywhere."

I scratched my forehead. There was some sort of cartel related to a Peterson scandal, poor people dealing drugs…rich people dealing drugs… My fountain… The waiter walked off. He moved smoothly, his hands lax. He was telling the truth.

But who would paint a picture of my fountain?

✎✎✎

"Look, I'm sorry about Austin and me," Julia said. We sat in her car, in front of my house. "I know this must all seem really stupid to you."

Yup.

I shook my head. "It's Kyle's fault."

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks all women are out to get him. So, he talks about them like they're the problem."

Her emerald eyes spread with her lips, her cheeks flushed out like frostbite, and her breaths released in a loose rhythm. She was laughing. I was apologizing and she was laughing.

Julia wiped her eyes. "Oh, gosh. That's hilarious."

"What is?"

"I'd be lying if your brother wasn't wrong about most women."

I choked. "But…I thought…that he, with Austin—and you—"

"Ben, it takes a whole lot more than one rude guy to get me riled up. If I freaked out every time someone said something I didn't like…I'm pretty sure I would've been arrested by now."

"Then why are you and Austin always fighting?"

She stared at the windshield and flicked her keys out of the ignition. Twirling them around her finger, she picked at the beads of her bracelet. The random blue beads matched the sky. The numerous black ones matched my nonexistent soul.

"Austin and I have known each other since I moved here. He was my only friend for a long time. And I was his. I made more friends, and he didn't. Guess he didn't like that so much."

Weren't they both a part of the biggest group of losers in history?

All these social cues were making me dizzy. I grabbed for the door handle, but the sight of the empty driveway felt like someone had dropped lead in my chest. I needed to find out about my fountain. But I wasn't ready yet, and I didn't want to listen to ringing in my ears as my tiny person played little jingle bells.

"Ben? You okay?"

I stared at the brown grass. "Yeah."

Something snapped in her voice. "It's just you tonight. Isn't it?"

I nodded.

"That. Just. Ticks me off. They go on about you screwing everything up, but they ditch you every other night."

The lead in my chest drew a sentence. My Tiny Person read it. I realized why everything stung so much. More than it should've. You miss Kyle. I freaking missed my brother again. Silence was scarier than social interaction right now.

"Did you…" I gulped. "Want to stay for dinner?"

"Tonight?"

I stared at the blank radio. It's Julia. Of course, she had plans. Why wouldn't she? Julia White had a life.

How could I forget my goal of a nonlife?

"You know what?" she smiled. "Sure. We have off therapy this Friday anyway. Valerie and Brooke can do without me for one night."

✎✎✎

We ordered pizza and went through my Adam Sandler movie collection, without a tour of the house because I couldn't navigate it. Julia told me about her school friends, recounted how she and her dad moved here her sophomore year, and filled me in on group drama. Apparently, Kim and Willie had broken up twice since they'd gotten back together. Once because he'd incoherently said something offensive about Jews. No one knows about the second. I'm not sure how the math added up.

Julia asked questions too. I told her about Kyle. I told her about my other brothers, Micah and Nick. I told her about my school project. Julia had no idea what the deal was with the fountain, but she told me to keep her updated. Before she left, she also promised to be nicer to Austin.

Staring at the ceiling that night, the silence was thinner than it used to be. I managed to crash by two AM. Only five minutes before my parents got home.

If only the nonstory could end here. I had my one group of friends who tolerated me. I had my busy parents who kept a roof over my head. Kyle stayed far away, and I knew I'd get over this pencil-lead feeling.

Unfortunately, a nonlife is never that simple.