Nothing Special Read online

  “Yeah. I know,” I said. “You ever look in a mirror?” I asked.

  “Do I look like a boy?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t know you existed.”

  “Felton,” she said, shaking her head and talking really quiet. “I almost don’t believe it. You’re real, man.”

  We stood there facing each other, and I guess we were both sort of crying, which was weird, and then she came up to me and hugged me and then she whispered, “But seriously. Why are you here?”

  I felt heat rise in my face. “Because…I don’t know.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m worried about Andrew.”

  “This sort of sucks. I mean, don’t get me wrong…I’m glad to see you. Totally. We’re like a…a…”

  “Freak show.”

  “Right, because we look so much alike, but why you’re here…”

  “Andrew didn’t tell me not to come.”

  “It never occurred to him you would, dude. He freaked when you called. Threw a fat fit. Then he fell on the bed. When I left he was in a state of shock. Like, comatose staring up at the ceiling.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s go in.”

  “Okay.”

  “Papa’s going to know who you are, man.”

  “Is he in there?” I said, nodding at the White Shells.

  “No. You’re safe for now.”

  “Safe. Shit.”

  “It’s gonna be okay. I made a promise to my grandma to take care of this. I’m gonna take care of…”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Tovi exhaled and nodded at me.

  • • •

  Ow. My head, Aleah.

  I must be getting to the end of my rope. What am I even writing? I am so sick to my stomach. Why did I eat all that Hickory Farms sausage? So freaking salty. The drinking fountain is filled with mushy Kleenex. I’m totally dizzy. But there’s no way I’m going to fall asleep in this bus station. Renee’s asleep. I don’t want to go to sleep.

  August 17th, 7:18 a.m.

  Orlando, Florida

  I’m in Orlando. Not at Disney World, though. At another ugly bus station.

  I might sleep here. I did it before; I can do it again.

  I slept in the Jacksonville bus station for like an hour. No one murdered me! I did not die of summer sausage intake! There is still half the sausage left too. That’s good. I think. Or is it rude to give somebody a gift of half-eaten cheese and sausage?

  We’ll find out.

  I am alone now, but the sun’s up.

  Renee woke me up when it was time to get on the Tampa bus, thank God, or I might still be sleeping on that bench (totally stretched out with my head on my backpack and my Stan Smith tennis shoes dangling out into the aisle).

  Renee and I boarded the bus and sat down together toward the back. She said, “You’re really, really young, do you know that?”

  I said, “No.”

  She said, “I could tell when you were sleeping. You really look like a little kid.”

  I said, “Oh.”

  She said, “Tell me exactly what you’re writing.”

  I said, “I don’t know.”

  She said, “Use your words.”

  I said, “I guess it started out to be an apology to my girlfriend, but now I’m trying to explain to her how I don’t know anything but am really trying to be a better person.”

  She said, “Have you been a bad person?”

  “Not intentionally. But I might be bad genetically.”

  She said, “No. No.” She shook her head. She whispered, “No.” She pulled my head onto her shoulder.

  Then we fell asleep. When I woke up, Renee was on the phone to her sister. Instead of riding all the way to Tampa, she got picked up a few minutes ago here in Orlando. (There’s like a forty-minute layover here—this is sort of the nicest, cleanest station I’ve been in so far—will use bathroom several times.)

  So, Renee’s gone. I miss her. She was my partner, I guess. She didn’t leave me without telling me something.

  “I broke up with my boyfriend in Chicago.”

  Me: “Oh. Sorry.”

  Her: “I’m not pregnant.”

  Me: “Uh…That’s good?”

  Her: “I had a miscarriage.”

  Me: “What do you mean?”

  Her: “I lost my baby because it died inside of me.”

  Me: “Oh shit.”

  Her: “I don’t want to be with my boyfriend if he’s not the father. I don’t want to be with my boyfriend at all. I took the bus the whole way with you because I told my parents I was pregnant two weeks ago. My mom’s been reading wedding magazines and calling me every night. Now I have to tell them…her. I just wanted to delay getting home…”

  Me: “Oh crap.”

  Her: “I’m going to graduate from college this year. My mom thinks I’m bad, though. She thinks I’m…I’m just wrong. I don’t know why, really. Me telling her I’m pregnant and telling her I was getting married…that made her happy. And now this…my sister, Janey, is coming to get me. I told her about the miscarriage on the phone.”

  “Oh shit,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

  “I was right about you. You’re a sweet kid, Felton. You’re not a jerk, okay? I think it’s really cool you’re writing an epic letter to your girlfriend.”

  “She might not be my girlfriend,” I said.

  “Sucks,” she said. Then she reached up and touched my cheek, which was weird, because it’s something Jerri would do.

  A few minutes later, Renee was gone. I think her sister, Janey, weighed over four hundred pounds. She is really big.

  I do know something, Aleah: most people are in a horror movie, at least sometimes.

  It doesn’t matter that Renee’s sister is big. (Why would it matter?) It was nice of her to drive over to get Renee.

  (I thought Renee wanted to have sex with me, Aleah.)

  (I guess I think about sex a lot.)

  (Not as much as Gus.)

  August 17th, 7:39 a.m.

  Orlando, Florida, Part II

  You probably want to know about Andrew—how he greeted me and crap, huh? Here it is in sum: Andrew was pissed.

  On the way into the White Shells, Tovi again tried to warn me, but I couldn’t really get my head around how bad it was that I’d shown up.

  As she opened the door for me, she said, “Remember. Be ready. Your little brother threw a hissy when you called.”

  “I don’t get it. I’m here to look after him.”

  “No you’re not,” Tovi said.

  “Uh,” I paused. “Why would you say that?” I thought maybe she knew that I’d used his disappearance as a convenient excuse to skip Michigan. Freaked me out.

  “You didn’t ask him if you could come. You didn’t leave a message saying you were thinking about it. I don’t see the big deal…or didn’t until I saw you in person and realized you totally, one-hundred percent, look just like your dad. Plus, Andrew…Andrew’s trying to escape you, you know?”

  “Me? Why escape me?”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” she said.

  I walked in. Tovi followed.

  The White Shells does not have what I would call the nicest lobby in the world. Sort of looks like it was built in the ’80s for, like, gold-chain-in-their-chest-hair, cocaine-smuggling dudes. It’s white and faded light green and pink and a little stinky, at least in the morning. It smells like moist, mushy dog carpet, probably because there is mushy green carpet.

  And this was weird: even though it was pretty early, four dudes wearing Hawaiian shirts (like Andrew does constantly, now—I have pictures to prove it) sang around a pi
ano in the corner of the restaurant. (This was the first time I saw the Golden Rods in action—more about them in a moment.) They sang a Beach Boys song, which is pretty much all they sing, except for other beach music, like from that guy who sings about margaritas and cheeseburgers. I can’t remember his name.

  “Those guys saw Andrew playing the piano last week and asked him to help them out,” Tovi said, pointing at the old farts.

  “Andrew plays with them?”

  Then she said, “Yeah.” Then she stopped. She said, “Do you have any idea what’s going on, what we’re doing?”

  I shrugged at her. “Maybe.”

  “You’ve been left out of a lot.”

  “I have?”

  “Duh.”

  “About, like, Randy Stone?” I asked.

  “No. That’s done. That stupid Randy Stone crap. Andrew threw his cigarettes in the ocean.”

  “Andrew really smoked? Are you kidding?”

  “He couldn’t smoke. He looked ridiculous and coughed, and I yelled at him for being an idiot. Plus, his cigarettes were Steve’s…you know, your dad’s? I guess Andrew found them in a crawl space in your house last summer.”

  “My dad smoked?” I said. What? “He was an athlete.”

  “Right. I don’t know, man. That’s what Andrew says. Anyway, the cigarettes were like twelve years old or something, really dry. When he’d light one, it would catch fire instead of smoke, and he’d have to throw it on the sand so it wouldn’t burn him. He and Big Rod—the lead singer of his band—threw the rest of the pack in the gulf yesterday.”

  “Littering.”

  “I know, but it’s good, you know? He says Rod taught him he doesn’t need to hide behind a fake detective. He has to take responsibility for his emotions.”

  I paused and stared at Tovi. She sort of mock-stared back at me (bulged out her eyes and opened her mouth). “Okay,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I guess I don’t really know Andrew.”

  “Me either. But whatever.”

  Then I started nodding really fast, because Andrew’s a nut. “It’s possible he’ll drive us totally crazy. Do you understand?” All the crap he’d pulled last summer flew through my brain, Aleah. The fire where he burned his clothes? The pirate shirt? The shaved head? The constant digging through boxes in the attic and garage? The screaming matches with Jerri? The vegetables? The shoving? The locked bathrooms? Holy cats, you know? Remembering this, I wonder why I think of Andrew as the sane one in our family.

  “If this was going to be easy, it wouldn’t be worth doing,” Tovi said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, Felton. Ask Andrew. That’s the kind of crap he says. At least before you called saying you were here. Now, maybe he’s come to the end of his ability to deal with hard stuff.”

  “Why should me being here be hard?” I said.

  “Because everything’s so easy for you.”

  “It is not.”

  “Andrew thinks so.”

  “He doesn’t know crap then,” I said.

  “I don’t know crap, man. Other than we look like twins.”

  I nodded at her.

  Tovi guided me over to a big, cracked, white leathery padded bench across from the bathrooms. She told me to sit and wait. I sat. Then she walked a couple of steps to this counter, pressed some coffee from this urn thing into a Styrofoam cup, and handed it to me.

  “You want me to drink this brown stuff?” I asked.

  “Trying to be a good host,” she said. Then she smiled really big. “Enjoy your coffee, Felton. I’m going to go get your little brother.”

  I nodded. I sipped bitter freaking coffee. I waited. Andrew? Crazy Andrew?

  You know what tastes bad, Aleah? Coffee. It made me gag. But nerves made me keep sipping. Then my legs started twitching.

  I thought: How the hell did Andrew find this girl? Our cousin? This girl has a whole life in our family that isn’t our family but is our family? What am I doing here? What is Andrew doing? How am I such a big problem? I have it easy? Ha! What if this girl is my twin and there are more terrible lies? What if she and Andrew were switched at birth? Wait, that would make her his twin…

  These crazy thoughts kept flying.

  Freaking out, Aleah.

  Wait. Where the hell’s Gus?

  While I sat there accidentally drinking terrible coffee, I looked around for Gus. He hadn’t left while Tovi and I were in the parking lot. He wasn’t in the lobby. Did he leave? Why is he here in the first place? What the hell?

  Fifteen, twenty minutes had passed and he hadn’t returned from the bathroom.

  Did he just say, Done? Did he leave me behind? Jesus!

  Then I wondered why the hell those dudes were singing at like seven in the damn morning. Then I wondered if Tovi would even come back. I could feel the big bruise on the side of my face throbbing. Then I got a little dizzy and wondered if any of this was really happening.

  Have you ever actually paused and thought, while your eyes are wide open, “Is this now? Am I here right now? Is this a dream?”

  • • •

  I’m sort of doing that at this moment, here in the bus station, Aleah.

  • • •

  About twenty minutes later, I suppose, although it felt more like several days (me bouncing up and down on my ass cheeks), the elevator doors opened, and Andrew and Tovi stepped out.

  I stood up fast.

  Andrew wore a Hawaiian shirt like the singing dudes, which might have made me laugh if I weren’t going crazy with coffee, etc.

  He stopped and stared, his glasses slid down his nose so he looked like an owl.

  My heart pumped harder.

  Heat rose on my neck.

  Without smiling he said, “Good morning, Felton. What’s wrong with your face?”

  “Gus punched me.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said.

  Then I became a rambling man. “Andrew, you’re totally crazy…you’re in Florida…what the hell are you doing…this could be dangerous and I’m not a fan of flying off the handle on some kind of wild adventure without even notifying the authorities, i.e., Jerri about the fact that you’ve made contact with our family that always hated us…and now what? Are you trying to kill our grandfather or something, or are you trying to rob…”

  Tovi shouted, “Stop, man!”

  I did.

  Andrew stared for a second, then said, “Why are you here?”

  “Why are you here?” I shouted.

  “Because I ran away,” he said. “I took Greyhound buses here, all the way from Green Bay. It was disgusting,” he said. “An old man put his feet on the window next to my face,” Andrew said. “I earned being here. I earned being away from you.”

  “Why don’t you dudes go to the beach and hash this out,” Tovi said.

  “There’s nothing to hash out,” Andrew said. “Go home, Felton. I’ll talk to Jerri about this when I’m ready, so leave her out of it.”

  “I wasn’t going to tell…”

  “I’m going to practice my crappy music now,” Andrew said.

  “What?”

  “Stick it in your butt,” Andrew said. “You’re a giant pecker.” Then he turned and walked to the dudes in Hawaiian shirts who were not singing but staring at us.

  “Jesus Christ, Andrew. Come on,” I called after him.

  He flipped me the bird, Aleah. It felt like a kick in the nuts. Not Andrew-like.

  The big singer (the one I found out is named Big Rod and is Andrew’s new best friend), gave me a weak wave.

  I sort of waved back. The room spun.

  “Come on,” Tovi told me. “We should hit the beach or something.”

 
; I followed her. None of this felt real.

  • • •

  Nothing feels real right now. I’m going to grab some water.

  August 17th, 8:11 a.m.

  Orlando, Florida, Part III

  Whoa. The bus leaves again in a few minutes. I’m very, very sick to my stomach. It’s totally rumbling from downing the gift platter (and probably from not sleeping very much forever, you know?). My calf muscles are bubbly. It’s like there are little mice underneath my skin running up and down from my knees to my ankles. Trembly.

  The last bus I was on had rainbow stripes running down the center of the seats and it smelled like somebody had been cooking bacon. So, so sick.

  This is the second to last bus, though. This should just about do it. I just texted Tovi and told her I’d be in Fort Myers in a short six hours.

  Man, I think I could fly from Madison to Fort Myers twice in that time. How did this happen?

  Karpinski, Cody, and Reese keep texting me too. Kirk Johnson couldn’t stay behind his blockers in practice yesterday. The offense is all off. What if I can’t get back in time for the game Friday? What if there are more power outages and crap? Roy Ngelale will beat us for sure.

  I hate this.

  There are about twenty people going on this bus. I hope I can get a seat by myself.

  Oh, Renee. You are gone.

  I really miss her. I hope she’s okay.

  Oh, look: Disney posters.

  Normal kids go to Disney World.

  Andrew and I take days-long Greyhound bus rides.

  August 17th, 10:04 a.m.

  Tampa Bus Station

  Holy crap, Aleah. I can’t believe what just happened!

  On the trip just now between Orlando and Tampa, I was a few rows behind this guy with a mullet. I noticed his shirt when he got on. It was a tank top with a Budweiser can emblem, except instead of Budweiser, the can had “Go Gators” written on it. And I could smell him from my seat. Cigarettes and armpits and dirty shorts, and he was all jumpy, so I couldn’t stop staring at him.

  He kept asking people around him their names. “What’s yer name?” and they’d all have to answer, because if they didn’t, he’d keep asking them (in a meaner and meaner voice) until they did. “What’s yer name, I said.” (Scary.)