Chapter 23
Ican barely eat thinking about the fact that I'm going to see Roland again.
I'm under such a spell today that I don't even realize my English teacher is missing.
Turns out they got fired for making us read Jane Eyre.
Why? Because there's a scene where Rochester dresses in drag to deceive Jane, which is kind of creepy and stalker-y, but not a reason to ban the book.
Still, that technically broke the rule about strict gender rules in classroom content while being incompatible with the sacred IntegriTruth values of Virtue and Tradition.
Aubrey Lam was in the AP class and told Mrs. Wetherly, and that's all it took.
The rumor is Aubrey really just got a lower grade on her report card than expected, and she's got to get into Cornell, so she found a way to get rid of the teacher.
To commemorate this character assassination, I did another portrait of Mrs. Wetherly, who walks into class this morning and goes full Rosferatu on us.
“I suppose whoever keeps doing these drawings thinks they're clever.” She holds up my newest creation: a pencil sketch of the spider I'm taking care of, except it's got her face and glasses. Above her, I drew the words “Brazilian Wetherly Spider” in bubble font.
Everybody's silent because the first person who laughs is the one who did it. I'm stabbing myself in the thigh with my pencil to hold back my laughter. She pulls out my drawing of her as Count Orlok, which I'm flattered she saved.
“Not funny in the slightest,” she says. “In fact, extremely offensive. And believe me, you'll be stupid enough to get caught eventually. But,” she adds, pointing up to the sky, “somebody does already know who you are.”
“It's so immature, Mrs. Wetherly,” Sutter says. He's been gunning for teacher's pet ever since he and Aubrey officially started dating. I wonder if Roland knows. If not, I hope he never finds out.
Felix asks me about the spider drawing at lunch, and I spill the beans about my spidersitting gig even though Kidtal told me to keep it real.
When I mention the concept of priapism, Felix does a quick web search himself and his face drops.
“I want to go back to five minutes ago, when I didn't know any of this.”
“Reality is like a spider-fueled erection: painful and long-lasting,” I say.
Felix asks to hang out and play video games tonight. I regretfully decline due to work obligations.
“Going to see the spider? Can you show me?” he asks.
“No. I have a much more nauseating task ahead of me,” I respond. Maybe it's best not to tell him about the Roland situation right now.
___________
Driving in Houston is like the scariest game of Mario Kart ever.
I'm dodging mattresses, tire debris, and spilled rebar every half mile on the freeway.
One car rides my ass and honks at me even though I'm already going twenty over the speed limit; they speed past me and flick me off.
I'm almost run off the road by countless impatient giant trucks with Built Here, Lives Here stickers on the back of their windows.
Another shiny purple car with metal rods sticking out of its wheels rolls up to my side, and I swerve to avoid getting hit.
Once I get off the freeway and into the Medical Center, my adrenaline gets a break.
It's a long stretch of road flanked by rows of hospitals and research buildings.
This must be what New York City looks like.
“Hey, Roland, great to see you!” I practice variations of a greeting with a wide grin while I navigate the front entrance to the hospital. “Roland Greenway, how the hell are you?” Oof, maybe not that one. “What's up, Roland! It's me, your new butler!” No. What if I don't say anything?
I stop the van in the pickup lane. A nurse is standing beside Roland at the entrance. I look at his pajama-dressed legs lying against the wheelchair, and a shiver goes down my spine. You did this, I tell myself.
I park the van and pull the ramp down from the back door. I'm hit with images of my grandpa in his wheelchair being rolled down the ramp when my grandma brought him over on their visits. They were such nice people. How did they produce someone like Dinah?
Well, maybe that's a dumb question. My parents were good people, and here I am, a true fuckup if there ever was one.
I walk up to Roland, expecting him to recoil at my appearance. He stares straight ahead into nothing. There's a tiredness in his eyes that reeks of a stint in a torture chamber.
“Roland, your ride is here,” the nurse says.
He doesn't look.
“Hey, Roland. Your mom hired me to drive you,” I say with a wave.
He still looks straight ahead.
“It's me, Wade, from school.”
He must be completely out of his mind. “Is he drugged up?” I ask the nurse, and she shakes her head. She helps me roll him up the ramp and close the door once we've secured him in the back.
“Bye, Roland. Smile sometime,” the nurse says as she walks away.
On the drive back, silence. Complete, utter silence, except for the trucks honking at me and almost running me off the road.
When we get to his house, I help him out of the van and take him into the house. His mom is having one conversation on her Bluetooth and another on his phone. She looks straight at us and doesn't even acknowledge us.
Is she ignoring him on purpose, or is she having the busiest day of her working life? Whatever it is, this is royally screwed up.
I follow Roland to his room and carry his suitcase. The room is like a museum, except with nothing on the walls except countless golf trophies. I place his suitcase on his bed.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask him.
He doesn't respond, but I should expect that by now.
“Okay. I'm going now. I'll see you in a few days.”
I step out of the room. I didn't think it was possible to feel even worse about the Roland situation.
When I start the van, I get a text from Kidtal telling me to go feed his pets.
Perfect. I get to end this glorious day with a visit to the dick-smasher and his creepy crawly siblings.
I'll never get over the priapism thing. It's like if those gas station aphrodisiacs, or whatever they're called that Clint buys, gave you a painful boner.
Arachnodesiac. Ha! I'm going to call the spider that.
“Hi, Arachnodesiac.” I wave to the spider while pulling out the cricket feed.
He's still as a rock, watching me with murderous intrigue like Hannibal Lecter locked up in his prison cell.
As I approach his terrarium, his legs tense up.
When I stretch my arm over the top, he throws his legs up and does the dance of death.
I'm being weird, but it's kind of cute when he throws his front legs up. Like he wants to party.
I throw my arms up in the air and sway them as I sing, “Hands up, hoes down! Whose house? H-Town!” The spider mimics my swaying.
Yeah, he probably wants to kill me, but I prefer to think he's dancing with me.
When I dump the crickets down the feeding tube, he resumes his neutral position and stalks his dinner.
Win his trust.
Maybe that's what I need to do with Roland. If I can get him to trust me, maybe he'll speak to me or even open up to me. The question is, how?