Chapter 58 #2
“I don't know what's going to happen with me and Roland now. I do know that I never want to see you again. Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. Don't even look at me.”
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Even if something did, what would be the use anymore?
Felix still stares at me with hatred before getting into his car, like he's giving me one last look, and then he speeds out of the parking lot.
My whole body is trembling as I head back toward the school. People laugh and chant “Spider-Dick” at me as I pass them. As I approach the back entrance, somebody taps me on the shoulder.
I hope, I pray, that it's Felix. When I turn around, the furious eyes of Sutter Breedlove stare right into mine, and his knuckle goes straight into my face.
When the stars finish spinning around my head, I press my hand against my sore eye. Sweet Mike stands above me, his girlfriend Stacey and Meg behind him.
“That's a state-of-the-art shiner you got there,” Sweet Mike says, helping me up.
“Please don't lecture me,” I say. “I know. I'm a bad person and I ruin everything.”
“Cheer up. You're not as bad as Sutter Breedlove. I feel bad, though, because we thought you really did try to ruin the play. Felix told us about the spider after. I still don't believe that's a real spider, but stranger things have happened, I guess.”
“I shouldn't have performed. I thought I could manage through the two hours.”
“You've given me the best party story to tell when I'm in college, so maybe thank you?” Meg says. “Byron's a different story. He's been the one telling everybody it was you who catfished Roland. I thought he was speculating.”
“No. I did it,” I say.
She nods quietly.
“Carsten dumped Darren because he said he can't un-smell the vomit on him,” Meg says.
“Let me take you home. I gotta drop off Meg first,” Sweet Mike says.
I'm grateful they're being this kind to me after everything that's happened. I spent the whole year trying to help people, but I only made things worse. And I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that the person I was trying to help the most was myself.
___________
After school I hurry over to Roland's house and knock on the door. His mom peeks out from the side window with a glare, like she's been waiting for me. When she opens it, I can't even get a word in. Her finger is pointed right at my face. Mr. Greenway stands behind her.
“My firstborn. My oldest son,” she says.
“I have to live with him gone every second of my life.
I didn't think things could get any worse. Now my only other child is in a wheelchair forever. He will never have a normal life. And you walked into this house, and I trusted you and welcomed you in. All this time you were playing us like a bunch of fools.”
“I promise you I only wanted to help him,” I say. “Can I please see him? I want to tell him myself how sorry I am.”
“You need to go, Wade,” Mr. Greenway says. “I'm not in the mood to get the cops over here right now, but I might change my mind.” He groans when his phone rings. “Yes! Sorry, I'm in another meeting right now,” he says on the phone as he walks back into the house.
“Don't ever let me see you here again,” Mrs. Park says before slamming the door in my face.
I run to the side of the house to the open window of Roland's bedroom.
I can see him inside, listening by the door. I knock on his window frame, and he rolls up to me with a blank expression on his face.
“Listen, I need to talk to you about everything. I know you probably hate me,” I say.
His chest heaves with rage, and he picks up one of his golf trophies and starts to throw it at me through the window.
The jagged angle of the gilded golfer's arms gets caught in his sleeve and swings back underneath his arm, hitting him in his face.
He falls out of his wheelchair with an “ow!” and writhes on the floor.
“Oh, Jesus. Oh no. Roland, are you okay?” I tap my knuckle on the window frame.
His parents enter the room and his mom rushes to his side. Mr. Greenway sees me and his eyes flare even more angrily than before.
“GET OUT OF HERE!”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, backing away and scurrying off their lawn.
It's official: Everyone on earth hates my guts. I am a curse not only to myself but to everybody around me. Thunder crackles. Up in the sky, the clouds are dark. My hands shake. I can't think anymore.
One the sidewalk, a group of boys and girls on their way home from the middle school carnival race past me on their scooters. One of the girls holds the string of a white balloon that reads I Love Oyster Pit in red cursive font.
“Spider-Dick!” the girl with the balloon taunts me in a singing voice, circling back around me, while the rest of them snort and giggle.
I yank the string out of her hands and lay into the balloon, punching the stupid cursive font fiercely.
It's made of thick rubber and no matter how hard I hit it, the material doesn't break.
Every bit of rage I'm feeling, every rejection, every loss of friendship and future is being channeled into destroying this stupid balloon.
I start squeezing the balloon with my fingers as if it's a neck I'm strangling.
It slips through my hands and starts to fly away.
I try to grab the string one last time but miss, and I end up falling into the grass.
The kids, who are watching from a distance, erupt in laughter while the balloon floats far into the sky.
Behold my fate. I'm stuck here for life.
Like Clint. Like the Phantom of the Opera, with his hideous face, doomed to live out his days below the Paris opera house.
As I lay sprawled out in the grass and watch the white oval disappear into the blue sky, all I can think is even an “I love Oyster Pit” balloon got out of this town instead of me.