Swing Out of the Blue, page 35
There was some laughter, not a lot, but enough to keep Sophia going. “I tried to ignore it. I said I was fine. My boyfriend broke up with me. I said I was fine. I threw myself into dancing. I pushed, and I pushed, and I told everyone I was fine, and then, all of a sudden, something snapped.
“My ankle.”
Sophia got real laughter there. The audience was with her. “But after talking with some friends and seeing my therapist, something else snapped into place, too. Slowly, in that three steps forward, two steps back kind of way, I started to learn. And the biggest thing I’ve learned is that when you stop pretending—when you let other people in—when you unmask—people respond. You deepen relationships. You build comfort. You start to feel like—like you’re not alone.
“And you know what’s strange? Those positive experiences don’t seem to make it any easier. I’m still really nervous speaking to you tonight. Apparently, when you’ve spent your entire life feeling judged, it takes more than six weeks to get over that!”
Sophia acknowledged the knowing laughter, then grew solemn again. The letdown gathered. Warning bells clanged in her mind. Sophia was dancing, embracing the music and following the cues, and she knew now where she was being led. Where she was leading them.
“But the only way to learn vulnerability,” she said quietly, “is to practice. So, I’m going to be selfish now. I’m going to give myself a vulnerability learning opportunity.” The lights bore into her. She thought of her mother, and Ebele, and Zack and Tima, and Earl and Andy and Cassandra, and Iftin most of all. “I have a story to tell you.”
Pressure built in Sophia’s skull. An old fear gripped her. “I was eighteen years old,” Sophia said. “I’d just graduated high school, and I spent a lot of time thinking about death.” Nausea struck as she grasped the enormity of what she was about to share with them, but she wouldn’t stop. Dancing and making pictures. Sophia Peretz was more than that.
“I was more distant than usual, more withdrawn, but no one seemed to notice. My friends were out of town. The colleagues at my summer job never knew me any other way. My mom could tell something was wrong, but she figured I was nervous about starting university. I felt ... empty. Like there was a veil between me and the world. Like dying would be a formality.
“But I still wasn’t going to do it. It never crossed my mind to take my own life. So, I wasn’t prepared. Even as I stood there with the pill bottle in my hand, I didn’t ... I didn’t believe ...
“Suddenly, I heard a key turning in the lock, and I know it sounds ridiculous now, but the only reason I put the pills away is that I was afraid of being judged when my mother found me.
“I went back to my room, and that’s when it hit me, what I’d almost done. Isn’t that terrifying? The first time I consciously thought about suicide was after my first attempt. I was scared. Part of me already thought I would try again. I needed help. So, I walked to the doorway where my mother was standing, and ... I told her.”
Sophia paused to compose herself. A clock flashed a warning. “You didn’t believe that, did you? Of course I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I hate people taking care of me, and I had this incredible, overpowering shame. I was willing to risk my life because of that shame.
“So, I didn’t tell anyone. I made up my own safety plan. I gave myself reminders to choose life and to block out feelings that would ...”
Sophia trailed off, stunned at what she had just realized. Her password, her reminder, was designed to trigger logic and choice, to suppress the emotional decision she had almost made those years ago, but that was backward. Emptiness should have been the enemy and feelings the saviour. It was a shocking thought: Sophia, in forcing herself to remember, was forgetting what mattered most.
“We shouldn’t suppress emotion. We shouldn’t block the shame. We should tell each other these stories, because—” Her time was almost up, and her original ending was useless now. She had to embrace the pounding in her head and take the lead. “Because our society’s role models are all strong and suave and well put-together, and it’s so tempting to feel inferior, but we’re not. We’re good enough, and you know what? Sharing my story is what made me realize that those role models aren’t my heroes. They never have been.
“My heroes are the woman who saved my life without even knowing it, just by being there at the right time ... and a handful of friends who bring out the best in me. The parts I didn’t know I had.
“Those are the heroes we need.”
*
Zachary
Pain blinded him. Zack staggered to the ground. Blood stained his pant leg near his left thigh where the bullet had struck. A shout escaped him, but Kyle gestured with the gun in his hand and Zack fell silent. “Don’t scream,” Kyle warned. “I won’t miss again.”
Through the dimly lit parking lot, Kyle took one step toward Zack, then another. Zack didn’t understand, not that it mattered now. He couldn’t stand or run. Kyle could finish him off easily. The boy looked menacing and more than a little deranged. Why? Zack tried to ask, but words wouldn’t come. Mouth opens. Closes. Anxiety seized him just before the helplessness. Say something. Anything. Perhaps it had always been Zack’s destiny to die in silence.
Kyle was five feet away and still pointing the gun. The parking lot was isolated, its entrance hidden from view. It might be hours before anybody found them. Zack nearly resigned himself to his fate, but his stupid brain kept grasping for understanding, and suddenly Kyle’s words returned to him: I told you. School dance first. Quest after.
Ice seized Zack’s lungs. He knew where Kyle was going next. Ninety students are there. Andy’s there. Ahmed’s there. Rhea ...
If anyone can get through to Kyle, Rhea had said yesterday, Zack can.
Zack couldn’t die. Not yet.
You’re not as messed up as you think.
Zack looked up at Kyle. “You came from your high school.”
Kyle stopped walking. He didn’t lower the gun. He nodded once.
“Who did you get already?”
Kyle paused. For a terrible moment, Zack thought he would shoot, but the boy answered, “Your buddies.”
The bullet burned like a thousand suns. It was hard to think. “My buddies?” Then Zack realized. If you’re not fighting evil, you’re supporting evil. How many times had Zack failed to fight the bullies? How many times had he held Kyle back? Even yesterday ... Zack swallowed bile. “Polczynski? MacTavish?”
“Don’t mourn them,” Kyle said. “They’re subhuman pieces of shit. They’re not worth it.” His voice shook with emotion, though Zack thought he also detected pride. “Neither are you. Neither is anybody who protected them. Appeal to their humanity, you said, and—”
“I thought—”
“I thought you were on my side.” The barrel of the gun was inches from Zack’s forehead. “But you’re one of them.”
Words wouldn’t come. MacTavish and Polczynski, dead. It was difficult to comprehend. Kyle was headed to KISS next. Who would his targets be? Anybody who protected them. Kyle had heaped scorn on Rhea yesterday for letting the bullies off on promises of good behaviour. Ahmed had held Kyle back from the brawl. Andy was prepared to fight, and he was dating Kyle’s brother, but Kyle hated people who were good-looking and popular. At least Sophia was safe in Toronto, and Tima had already left Quest to get—
“Iftin!”
Even in his current state, Kyle changed at the mention of her name. He didn’t soften, exactly, but he trembled and took a breath.
“Iftin was at that dance,” Zack said. “Is she—”
“Do you care?”
“Of course I care! Kyle, I’m helpless. You can shoot me whenever you want, so please, just tell me that Iftin’s—”
“None of your business,” Kyle said coldly.
“Tima?”
“Shut up.” Kyle sounded like he was enjoying this.
Of course he is. Zack remembered a hot tub steaming in the winter and snowshoe tracks by a stream. There’s an allure in the moment before, when you can play with them. When you string them along because you know what’s going to happen, and it’s too late for them to stop it. Zack understood with the force and pain of another bullet. Caring about Iftin wouldn’t save him. Nothing would. Zack would die in this parking lot, alone ... but that didn’t matter anymore. Andy, Ahmed and Rhea might yet survive, along with dozens of Quest dancers, if Zack could only delay Kyle long enough for help to arrive.
But how? Zack imagined Derek and Liam lying in a school gymnasium, blood puddling around them, and choked back vomit. He didn’t dare try to rise with a bullet in his thigh. Zack had only his words, and he had never been able to persuade Kyle of anything. His anxiety was magnified a hundredfold with a gun levelled on him. It was hopeless ...
... and that, Zack suddenly realized, no longer mattered, either. His anxiety was familiar, but this time, Zack had nothing to lose.
“Remember that afternoon with Marja Bleier?” Zack asked weakly. “You s-said she wasn’t so b-bad. You even danced—”
“You made us.” Something had gotten through. Kyle sounded more confused than before. “Zack Emerson wanted to forgive another bully.”
Don’t contradict him. He’s too unstable. “I wanted to learn,” Zack said honestly. “I don’t know very much ... there’s so much to learn ...” So much I’ll never be able to learn. “Can you at least tell me why?”
Kyle’s laugh was high-pitched and frightening. “Justice,” he said.
Justice. Zack couldn’t respond to that. He couldn’t respond to any of this.
“They attempted murder,” Kyle said. “First by reading her diary. Then by putting a noose in her locker. They wanted her dead. You heard them yourself, but you and Rhea Johnson”—he spat her name venomously—“you let them get away with it. Well, not me. If MacTavish and Polczynski want murder, they’ll get what they deserve.”
He’s crazy enough to kill Rhea. Zack believed it now. When Kyle got angry, he couldn’t tell friend from enemy. He’d nearly attacked Rhea once before, and at the diner, Kyle had shouted the word justice at her like an indictment. They’ll get what they deserve. Not only Mac and Polchy, but also those who aided and abetted. It wasn’t just yesterday. No one at KISS had defended Kyle on Monday when the bullies came to watch him perform. Andy had done nothing. Zack had done less.
Zack grimaced with the pain in his leg. “You wanted to be a cop. You wanted to work in the system.”
“I used to, but I learned.” He smiled again. “I learned from you.”
“Me?”
“The Ballad of Corey Shithead.” Kyle snorted. “The system doesn’t work. The authorities don’t care who’s right and who’s wrong. They only care about their own story. There is no justice. Unless,” he added, grinning disturbingly, “you do it yourself. Like Eric and Dylan did.”
“Who?”
“Eric Harris,” Kyle said. “Dylan Klebold.” Zack stared at him blankly. “Seriously?” Kyle said. “It was your fucking country.”
Zack had forgotten, for a moment, that they were in Canada. This wasn’t supposed to happen in Canada. “Were they—”
“They got justice,” Kyle said, “at Columbine High School. Like Seung-Hui Cho at Virginia Tech. Like Jaylen Fryberg at Marysville Pilchuck.” He knows their names, Zack thought stupidly. Kyle must have researched the attacks. Of course he did. How would a kid from a Canadian college town learn to shoot up his school? From the Internet.
“Where did you get the gun?” Zack asked.
“Come on, Zack. You can figure that out.” When Zack couldn’t answer, Kyle said, “Your friend Mac said it after he broke into Iftin’s locker: It’s not that hard to look over someone’s shoulder and get the combo.”
Zack understood. “Your dad hunts. He took down that moose. I guess he has handguns, too.”
“Took it right from the safe,” Kyle said proudly. He held the gun closer to Zack’s head. Find another question. It was difficult to think through the pain, but Zack needed to buy more time. Kyle saw himself as a hero. He was fighting for justice. Let him boast.
“So, you took the gun. Then what? How did you get it into the school? How did you find Mac and Polchy?”
Kyle laughed again. “Idiots made it easy. I taped open a side door, and I didn’t even have to use it. They were outside passing a flask around with their dumbass friends. I got right up behind them. I only needed one bullet on MacTavish. Polczynski was a stubborn motherfucker, he took three or so. The other guys were so drunk they were tripping over themselves trying to get away. You should have been there.”
You should have been there. Why? Was Zack Kyle’s nemesis, his victim or his buddy? It was too confusing. Zack felt weak, and the pain hadn’t dulled. “That was clever, taping the door open. You still went inside? Looking for Remy?”
“And a few others,” Kyle confirmed.
“Not Iftin,” Zack pleaded. Kyle would never target Iftin, but if he fired into a crowded dance, he might have hit anybody.
Kyle dodged the question. “I wanted the principal. God, I wanted him. That asshole had the power to stop Mac and Polchy, and he refused to lift a finger. I’d finally show him how it feels. Stick this in his face.” Kyle waved the gun menacingly. “Watch him piss himself shouting for help. No,” Kyle shouted, as though to his principal, “you’re not getting help. Just don’t react. Don’t let the bullies—the bullets—get to you. Are you anxious? Here are some fucking pills.”
“But you didn’t get him?” Zack asked.
Kyle shook his head bitterly. “I got ... sidetracked. It doesn’t matter. Mac and Polchy are dead. People will remember that someone was willing to fight for justice.” Kyle paused. His anger began to subside. Hesitantly, he added, “They’ll know my name.”
There it is. The turning point. Terrified for his life, weakened by the gunshot wound, Zack could ask only simple questions, and Kyle filled the silence. Now Zack knew what Kyle wanted. Now his approach had to change.
“No,” Zack said firmly, “They won’t know your name. I didn’t recognize the names of the shooters you mentioned, but I know Columbine. I know Virginia Tech and Marysville. That’s how you’ll be remembered: by the name of the school you hated.”
“What do you know?” Kyle thundered. “What do you know about anything? You’re one of them. Dance teacher, president, surrounded by friends, fucking the hottest girl at KISS—”
Even now, Zack felt his cheeks turning red. “W-we haven’t ... I mean, it’s only been kissing, so far ...”
“Shut up! Sitting there in that ugly purple jacket that means you belong.”
Zack could hear the doubt behind the anger now. He wondered if Kyle could hear it in himself.
“I don’t belong!” Kyle cried. “I never have, and I never will. I have to fight just to—”
“But I’ve changed!” Zack tried to shout, but his voice was weak. The pain in his leg had dulled, and he felt lightheaded. He realized then that he had been losing blood this entire time. Kyle didn’t need to shoot Zack again. He was already finished. He was running out of time.
As if to punctuate that knowledge, a siren sounded. It was distant but growing closer. Kyle must have heard it, too.
“I was bullied for years,” Zack said, “but since then, I’ve learned so much, and ... I’m afraid, Kyle.” Zack’s life was already forfeit. If Kyle hastened his death now, it scarcely mattered. “I’m afraid you won’t have that chance.”
Kyle grew angrier. His shouts echoed above the approaching sirens. “You’re worried about me? You should be grovelling. I can finish you off any time—”
“I know,” Zack said. “I’ve already given up on myself. I’m thinking about other people now.” Another siren, louder. “You won’t make it to Quest. With your high school right on campus, they’ll have Queen’s in lockdown. Wallace Hall is safe, but one of my friends isn’t.” Zack took a trembling breath and fought for consciousness. He needed to do this one last thing. “So, even though I’m scared of you, I’m also scared for you. You’ve studied what happened to the shooters, Kyle. Columbine. Virginia Tech. Marysville. Sandy Hook. We both know how this story ends.”
Zack watched the transformation. Kyle looked like the kid Zack used to be. In over his head. Alone. Scared. “I can’t let them take me,” Kyle whispered.
“Please,” Zack said. “Don’t end it like this.”
“I won’t survive prison,” Kyle said.
Blackness gathered at the edge of Zack’s vision, blurring with the sudden flashing of lights from a police cruiser. “Polczynski was a coward,” Zack declared. “You’re a fighter. You’re stronger than they ever were.”
“I can’t,” Kyle pleaded. The gun was not pointed at Zack anymore.
“You did this for justice, right? Justice against MacTavish and Polczynski. The dirty work no one else was willing to do. You wanted to be a hero. Right?”
Kyle was shaking, no part more than the hand holding the gun. He nodded.
“Then take responsibility,” Zack said. “Justice isn’t easy. It’s messy and dirty and complicated, but if you’re a fighter, you’ll accept the consequences. You’ll face justice, and—and you’re not going to let Mac and Polchy take your life now. Not from beyond the grave.”
There were footsteps on the pavement. The lights seemed brighter and dimmer all at once. “Hands in the air,” Zack whispered. “That’ll be the cops. I don’t know how they knew to come here, but they’re here, and I’m your third victim. They’ll be ready to shoot. Don’t give them a reason ... face justice ... ”
The pain was gone. His leg was numb and his vision blurred. Zack thought he heard the sound of the gun clattering against the broken pavement as the world went black.
