Previous Chapter - The Last 3 Days (06): The Value of Paperclips
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59:48:37
Nick examined the vodka level in the pop bottle as Becky returned with punch refills.
Smiling, she presented the cups to him, and he tilted the pop bottle to pour — instead, the bottle was knocked from his hand. Alcohol sprayed in a spreading arc, drenching Nick’s waist as it dropped. He had no time to process this before a series of punches landed on his face and shoulder. And then just as quickly, ended.
Becky’s smile of moments before had been replaced with a look of sheer terror as Ryan stepped between them and grabbed her arm.
“Didn’t I tell you not to talk to him?”
Becky struggled to free herself from Ryan’s grip as he pulled her away.
Nick couldn’t help himself.
“Hey! Leave her be!” He took hold of Becky’s other arm, resisting Ryan’s efforts.
Abruptly pivoting, Ryan faced Nick. Protective rage amplified by alcohol powered Nick’s swing.
His fist connected with Ryan’s face and sent him careening into the gathering crowd.
Becky stood motionless, unable to choose between fight and flight.
Nick stepped forward to put Becky behind him, his attention focussed on the spot where Ryan had stumbled through the onlookers. But Ryan didn’t reappear, and after a few moments, Nick relaxed and turned to Becky. Ryan crashed into him in a football tackle that sent both of them sliding over the waxed wood floor and into the bleachers.
“Bastard!” Ryan screamed. Before Nick could stand, Ryan straddled him and raised his fist. Nick blunted the blow with his arm, but he lost all feeling in it. Ryan trapped it anyway and coiled his arm for a second punch.
Nick tensed for it, but instead felt Ryan’s weight evaporate.
The teacher had Ryan’s arm twisted behind his back.
“That’s enough,” the teacher growled. “You, get up.”
As Nick found his feet, the teacher faced Ryan. “You. I thought we were done with your crap when you graduated.”
“He assaulted Becky,” Nick said. “Coward.”
Ryan stepped towards Nick, but the teacher’s arm blocked him.
“One more step and I call the police. Get out before I change my mind.”
Ryan looked at Becky. “Come on.”
Raising his arm between them, the teacher growled, “You’re kidding, right? Go. Now.”
For a moment, Ryan hesitated, scowling, but then walked away.
Turning to Nick, the teacher suddenly leaned in, sniffing. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the floor. After a moment, he picked up the pop bottle and sniffed it. Then he jabbed his finger at Nick, and then Becky. “You and you. Come with me.”
59:36:22
A high wooden counter split the General Office of Richmond Park High into two uneven sections. Nick slumped on a bench by the door in the public area while Becky stood at a desk in the larger, office side quietly speaking Russian into a phone.
All but one of the six pop bottles sat on the counter. Don sniffed the last one and placed it with the others.
“As I understand it,” the teacher said, “the others contributed money and Nick sourced it. Brought it in right under my nose. If it hadn’t been for the fight — “
Becky lowered the phone. “My mother will pay for a taxi.”
Don shifted his attention to the girl. “No need. We’ll take you.” He held his hand out to the teacher, who shook it. “I apologize for my son’s juvenile behaviour. And thanks for calling me.”
“Actually, I called for you at the station first, but no one picked up.”
59:07:54
Nick silently followed Don into the house. Anne stood in the living room, watching television.
The guests had left, but the table had not been cleared. Dessert sat on the sideboard, untouched.
The same news anchor was delivering the latest updates on the asteroid when Nick and Don entered. ” — Mislabeled, but the Divinity student who discovered it in an astronomy class dropped out of school and then out of sight afterwards — “
Anne muted the screen just as a grainy black and white yearbook photo of a stern young man replaced the anchor. Below, in capital letters, was the name ‘NOAH HOAG.’
Don didn’t look at his son, merely pointed at the sofa. “Sit.”
Nick dropped into the deep cushions, and briefly sat upright, but the late hour and the sofa’s seductive luxury were too much and he surrendered, leaning back. He reached for a loose cushion and settled it in his lap like a shield.
Don paced the carpet in slow, deliberate steps, the very image of an attorney composing an argument for a jury. He looked down at his son and spoke with measured clarity. “Where should we start? With your sneaking out of the house? With smuggling vodka into the dance? No.”
He paused, as if to select exactly the right words — or to emphasize them. “No. It’s not even the lie to cover it up — talking to a girl. As if. Bad as these are, they pale next to — “
His voice rose as he released his anger. “You put a liquor run ahead of your brother’s welfare!”
Nick met his father’s gaze. “That wasn’t the plan.”
Don glanced at Anne, and shrugged. “That wasn’t the plan. See? He just doesn’t get it.”
Nick sat forward. ”No. I was going to bring Jack home first, but — “
Don’s arm waved, presenting his evidence. “There it is. The ‘but’. You think responsibility can be ignored or avoided as long as you can justify it. It’s all about you. You’re nowhere near ready to be a man.”
Tossing the cushion aside, Nick slid forward to the edge of the sofa. “I gambled that I could do what I needed to do, and get Jack before either of you were home. It didn’t work out. It’s not the end of the world.”
Anne stiffened and looked over at the TV, where the news anchor shared the screen with an inset video of a missile launch. “At least we’re all here, safe.”
“This time,” her husband said. ”We were lucky. I’m a cop. I know what can happen. Why do you think I made the rule in the first place?”
Nick wasn’t ready to accept his mistake, and stood up to better make his point. “So Jack had to wait a little longer than usual. Was he freaked out? No. Embarrassed that he still has to wait to be walked home, sure, but that’s it. The only one who’s losing it is you.”
Don closed the distance to his son. “Losing it?” His voice rose. “I haven’t begun to ‘lose’ it. But keep pushing — “
Anne fell into her familiar role of referee. “Don — “
Maintaining eye contact with Nick, Don held an arm up at Anne to quieten her.
“Where did you get the alcohol? You’re underage. Who bought it for you? Jay? Tell me.”
“No way,” his son answered. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not telling you. For your information, I’m as good as eighteen, and tired of being treated like an indentured servant.”
“Indentured servant? How dare you. You have a roof over your head, food to eat — who pays your phone bill?”
Nick stood up, nearly half a head taller than Don. “You do, because I don’t have time to get a job. I’d love to be able to pay for my phone.”
“You get paid to look after your brother.”
“Paid?” Nick knew he had the upper hand. “You pay less than minimum wage and then keep half of it for my university fund. I don’t even want to go to university; I want to be a mechanic.”
Don turned to Anne for support, but she remained silent.
“I’m done here,” Nick said. “Ground me if you want, but come Monday — you walk Jack home.” He tried to move around his father, but Don held his elbow.
“This may be your home, but it is my house — my rules.”
“Let go.”
Anne saw Nick’s clenched fist. Don did not. She jumped up and pushed between them.
“Enough.” She separated them and led Nick away.
Over his shoulder, Nick announced, “I’m leaving.”
Don laughed. “And go where? Tell me. Where will you go? Fool boy.”
Anne guided Nick to the stairs. “Go to bed, Nick. We’ll sort this out tomorrow.”
Also published here.