Joel is more miserable than ever at Melton Conservatory. I was hoping he’d start to settle in a little better, but it just isn’t happening.
He calls home every night and talks to Mom and Dad, and me too, for hours on end. Most of the time he doesn’t even complain. He just grills us about everything that’s going on in Hiawassee without him, and I can tell he’s so homesick it’s tearing him in two.
The other night, he Skyped in just to watch me give Mitzi, our cocker spaniel, a bath. Mitzi had gotten loose that afternoon, and when she came home, she was covered in crushed leaves and some kind of syrup or honey. It took three soapings and half an hour with a comb to get her clean. Joel stayed online for the whole thing and helped me talk her through it. He even refused to go down to the dining hall for dinner. This was the kid who formerly wouldn’t be in the same room with Mitzi because she made him sneeze.
I don’t dare mention my project with Mr. Solway to Joel. What if he asks who I’m working with? I’m not going to lie, but how can I tell him? And he’ll see right through me if I try to fudge my answer, as in, “Oh, just some new kid …” Twins can read each other, even from miles away.
The hard part is, video club is one of the things Joel asks about the most. I give him updates on the progress we’re making with the video yearbook, and provide play-by-play on Brendan’s pathetic attempts to get Kimberly Tooley to notice him. These days, that’s the only thing that gets a laugh out of Joel. I work very hard not to say anything that might lead him to ask a question I can’t give him the answer to.
He comes close a few times:
JWPianoMan: Did u ever look into entering that national video contest?
Shosh466: Tons of homework in 8th grade.
That’s what it’s come down to between us. I don’t lie, but I don’t tell the truth either.
It’s sad, because my project with Mr. Solway has turned into the biggest thing in my life. We should have been done two weeks ago. We already have so much material that we could cut it off anytime and still have more than we could ever use.
But it goes beyond just the great interviews we’re getting. We’ve really made friends with the old guy. Most of the time, we’re barely working anymore. We take him out for walks; he treats us to lunch. We had a picnic once. Chase and I have really bonded with him.
There, I said it. Chase and I.
Just like Mr. Solway has become a part of my life, so has the kid that Joel and I call Alpha Rat. To be honest, I hardly ever think of him by that nickname anymore. I want to. I know it’s an act of Weber family loyalty. And I’m on board with that. I could give a college-level symposium on all the reasons why Chase used to be the rattiest rat ever to drag his rat tail through the primordial ooze.
That’s not the point. There’s no question he was ratty then. The problem is he isn’t very ratty anymore. He’s like a version 2.0 of himself with all the bad stuff written out of the programming.
He isn’t even that bad when he’s with Beta and Gamma Rats. They’re doing community service at Portland Street, so we run into them here and there. The three of them still act like friends, but there’s definitely some kind of tension in the group. I can’t tell if it’s Aaron and Bear who are wary of Chase, or Chase who is wary of those two. Maybe it’s simpler than that: If the biggest jerks form a club, everything starts to fall apart when one of them isn’t quite so jerky anymore.
There’s only one explanation, and it’s about as un-Chase as you can get. He’s nice. I thought he was showing his inner bully when he pulled the football team off Brendan that time, but I was wrong. I sure haven’t seen any other signs of that from him.
The biggest indicator of how much Chase has changed is the way he is with Mr. Solway. The Solways never had kids, so Chase has become almost the grandson the old guy never had. At first, I think Chase was just impressed by the Medal of Honor winner, but it’s gone way beyond that now. As much as Mr. Solway likes me too, the real bond is between him and Chase. I’ll always be “your friend,” and, occasionally, when Mr. Solway forgets, “your girlfriend.”
The first time he called me that, Chase turned the color of a mature eggplant. I’ll bet I was even darker purple than that.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Mr. Solway,” Chase mumbled in embarrassment. “She’s just—” And he clammed up again, because he was about to say a friend, but he was afraid I’d get mad at him for that. Back then, I probably would have. I’m not so sure about today.
“We’re in video club together,” I supplied.
The old guy rolled his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Just because Mr. Solway is no longer the hermit of Portland Street doesn’t mean he’s all sweetness and light. He’s still a pretty crusty guy who speaks his mind and doesn’t worry about who might disagree with him. He barks arguments at TV news commentators he believes are “idiots,” and watches sitcoms with a straight face to prove that they’re not funny. He’s convinced that the Hubble Space Telescope is fake, and the pictures it sends back are created in a Hollywood film studio. He’s stringing a necklace out of all the gout pills he refuses to take. It’s his plan to present it as a going-away present to Nurse Duncan when he drives her so crazy that she quits.
“Come on, Mr. Solway,” Chase chides. “You like Nurse Duncan. She’s good to you.”
“She’s incompetent,” is the growled reply. “I don’t have gout. I just have a sore foot every once in a while. Let’s see how much tap dancing she’s doing when she’s my age.”
He’s entertaining but he can be exhausting too. Sometimes Mr. Solway even exhausts himself and falls asleep in our faces. When that happens, Chase puts a blanket over him and we tiptoe out.
On this particular day, we decide to grab a snack and screen our video footage. I suggest frozen yogurt at Heaven on Ice—the words are out of my mouth before I remember what happened the last time we were in that place together.
He looks worried, so I add, “I promise not to dump anything over your head.”
Heaven on Ice is just a few blocks away. We load up sundaes, pick a corner booth, and start to preview the day’s efforts on the flip-cam.
It’s good stuff. Mr. Solway is ranting about how the designated hitter has ruined baseball, so we’re both holding back laughter as we watch. We already have enough footage for five videos. I can’t shake the feeling that we keep going back for more just because we don’t want it to end.
Chase is having the same thoughts. “I’m going to keep visiting Mr. Solway even after we finish.”
“I’ll come with you.” My response is instant, even though I had no idea I was going to say that.
“Shosh?”
I look up and there’s my mother in line at the register, carrying a small frozen yogurt cake.
Suddenly, an expression of utter horror spreads across her face.
“Mom? What’s wrong—?”
Then I realize that she’s just recognized the person that I’m with, our heads together as we watch the tiny flip-cam screen. I never told anybody in my family who my partner is for the video contest, so I know how this must seem to Mom: that I’m cozied up, practically cheek to cheek, with the horrible bully who made Joel’s life unbearable and forced him out of town.
“It’s not what it looks like!” I blurt.
Her expression is carved from stone. “The car’s outside. I’ll drive you home.”
“But, Mom—”
“I said get in the car.”
Chase stands up. “Mrs. Weber—”
She’s been quiet up to now. But being addressed directly by Chase is too much for her. “How dare you speak to me?” she seethes, her entire body shaking. “Everyone in my family is off-limits to you! If I had my way, you and your filthy friends would be in juvenile hall!”
I speak up again. “This is my fault, not his! If you have to blame someone, blame me!”
“I am blaming you!” She hustles me out the door, tossing over her shoulder at Chase, “Stay away from my daughter!”
“Can’t we talk about this?” I plead.
“Oh, we’ll talk about this,” she agrees. “Trust me, by the time we’re through, your ears will be blistered.”
We’re halfway home before either of us realizes that she never paid for the frozen yogurt cake.
Mom calls Dad, who actually leaves work early to come home and talk to me. It’s as if they’ve discovered I have a secret criminal life—like I’m counterfeiting hundred-dollar bills on a printing press behind the old ski suits in the basement.
He tries to sound reasonable. “We want you to be free to discover who you are. We’ve never put limits on that—”
“Until now,” I finish sarcastically.
“We never thought we had to!” my mother explodes. “Look, Shosh, you know us. We don’t tell you who to be friends with! But him? He’s the worst kind of bully—the kind who ruins lives! Your brother’s, for one!”
“We’re not friends,” I defend myself. “At least, we didn’t start out that way. Chase is in video club now. Doing my contest entry on Mr. Solway was his idea. I didn’t want to say yes, but the old guy is so perfect!”
“And it never struck you as suspicious that this boy who made a career of tormenting Joel should suddenly turn his attention to you?” Dad challenges.
“Of course it did! I hate Chase Ambrose! I mean, I hate that Chase Ambrose. But he’s so different now! He’s not a bully anymore. He doesn’t remember anything that happened before his accident.”
“That’s convenient,” my father says bitterly.
“I thought so too,” I admit. “I was positive he was faking that amnesia stuff. But there’s just no way. Nobody’s that good an actor. And you know what?” They aren’t going to want to hear it, but it needs to be said. “We weren’t friends at the beginning, but I think we’re kind of turning into friends now. I like the new Chase.”
My mom recoils—honestly. Like I just slapped her.
“Your brother,” she begins, her voice shaking, “is completely unhappy, attending a school he hates, instead of at home, living the life he’s entitled to, and the reason is that boy you’re so quick to defend. I don’t know if he’s changed and I don’t care. The person he was broke up this family. What he did to Joel is unforgivable. That means he can never be forgiven.”
Dad glares at me. “I’ll bet you haven’t told Joel who you’re buddy-buddy with these days. How would you ever explain that to him?”
That hurts, because he’s exactly right.
“Fine,” I confess. “I never said anything to Joel. Well, maybe I should have.”
“You can’t be serious!” my mother exclaims. “What possible good could come of that?”
An idea is forming in my head. Kind of a wild idea, but it’s making more and more sense the longer it sits there. “You said it yourself—Joel’s lost at boarding school. I think he’s more unhappy than he ever was when he was here being bullied.”
“And whose fault is that?” Mom demands. “Your new ‘friend,’ that’s who!”
“Can we just talk about Joel for one second, and leave everybody else out of it? He’s so depressed at Melton—and maybe he doesn’t have to be.”
“What are you saying?” my father asks.
“Chase bullied Joel to the point where he had to get out of town,” I explain. “But that Chase doesn’t exist anymore. What if we’re keeping Joel at boarding school for nothing?”
They stare at me.
“You mean bring him home?” Mom breathes.
“The reason for him to be somewhere else doesn’t exist anymore,” I insist. “Chase has changed. Aaron and Bear are still jerks, but Chase was always the ringleader. I’m not saying it’ll be perfect, but Joel should be here. Joel wants to be here! And I’m pretty sure he can be here.”
I brace myself, expecting them to go off on me: I’m crazy; I’m dreaming; I’m gambling with my brother’s life.
Instead—dead silence.
At last, my father finds his voice. “What if you’re wrong?”
I have no answer. I only know that I want my brother back. I’ve wanted it since the day he left for Melton.
Shosh466: Joel—we’ve got to talk.