Why don’t you just sit in a high chair?
Dad: “In case you’re wondering, I’m still seeing Terry.”
Mike: [nothing]
Dad: “You want to know how we met? At that old movie place—You Must Remember This. We’d just seen The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
Mike: “I saw that movie too. At the hospital.”
Mike’s dad looks stricken. What, is Mike supposed to feel sorry for him now?
Mike: “Look, Dad, you don’t have to say anything.”
Dad: “No, I want to.” Pause. “You always seemed fine, Mike. I mean, from the beginning. When you were born, I thought, Here’s a fine, healthy kid. Even when you had problems with your speech, I never thought it was that big a deal. But I’m on board for you now, Mike. I hope you know that.”
He’s full of it. He’s not on your side. He never was. He just said so himself.
Dad: “Anyway, after the movie Terry and I sort of walked out together and we started talking. We stopped in a coffee shop and split a spinach knish.”
How romantic. Were there green bits in her teeth?
Mike smiles at that.
Dad: “Is something funny?”
Mike: “Private joke. Hey, you miss that girl you met at the gym?”
His dad hesitates.
Dad: “Honestly? When Laura walked into the gym, the whole place stopped. I miss how other guys looked at her and then over at me, enviously. That’s the truth. I’m not proud of it.”
Mike notices that his dad looks older, his eyes sadder and more deep-set. Mike can’t help wondering if his dad used to think he knew himself, and now he’s realizing how little he knew—
He’s not worth thinking about. You have no use for him.
Dad: “Are you mad at me? I don’t mean right this minute. I mean, deep down. I wouldn’t blame you if you were. Is that why you got sick, because I left?”
He’s just like Amber’s mom. It’s all about him.
Mike: “That’s not how it works.”
Mike thinks his dad doesn’t look reassured.
You’re eating like a pig. Stop it.
Dad (pointing to the quarter sandwich Mike hasn’t eaten): “You’ve got to finish that.”
You should’ve put pieces of it in your lap. Well, just tell him you’re full.
Mike: “I’m full.”
Dad: “You have to eat it. I have to watch you eat every bite. I’m getting us a rice pudding, too.”
Mike can’t stand it—eating so much, not working out. He misses how good he used to feel, strong and getting stronger, infinitely strong.
This won’t last. Your dad’s not exactly the world’s best parent, by his own admission.
CHAPTER 30
MIKE GOES BACK TO SCHOOL. HE’S NERVOUS, BUT I assure him that although he may be a novelty for a day or two, the effect will soon fade.
Ruby L: “Were you in the same place as Amber?”
Ruby C: “I heard she’s not getting out until next year at the earliest.”
Melissa Sacks: “I read about you in Teen Vogue. Well, not you specifically, but boys like you. You had manorexia, Mike.”
Ralph: “I’ll tell you what Mike had. He had it made! One guy and all those skinny chicks.”
Mike: “Well, they’re not all skinny.”
Ralph: “You had it made. Damn!”
Mike notices that Ralph’s newest T-shirt says TAKE ME DRUNK I’M HOME. He wonders why Melissa isn’t on her cell phone reporting this to her PTA-president mom, but then Ralph puts his arm around Melissa and she snuggles into him. Mike can’t believe it—they’re going out.
Then he remembers that he doesn’t care. They have nothing to do with him.
The coach catches up to Mike before homeroom.
Coach Jim: “Good to see you back. Too bad I can’t use you this year, not if you can’t make the winter workouts.”
The coach is making it sound like a scheduling conflict, not like something Mike is absolutely forbidden to do. Anyway, Mike doesn’t want to be on the team.
Coach Jim: “But I hope you’ll come watch a few games. And I’ve got a senior playing center now, so I’ll have a big hole there next year.”
Didn’t I always want to play center field? Mike thinks.
That was a long time ago, before you got your priorities straight.
Oh, no—Valerie.
She stands close to Mike. He inhales her flowery scent. He sees that tiny scar below her left cheek. His heart pounds in his chest.
Don’t forget the kind of person she is.
She can turn on me, Mike thinks, at any moment.
Valerie: “Wow, your hair got long.”
It’s not so long; it brushes the back of his neck. He wasn’t away for months on end, for heaven’s sake.
Mike: “I guess I need a haircut.”
Valerie: “No, it looks good.”
First she compliments you, then she will turn on you. Just wait.
Valerie: “I’m really busy. I’m in a show in January—Sleeping Beauty. I’m not the lead or anything, but I’ve got rehearsals all the time. I love it, though. Someday I hope to choreograph—if not ballet then modern.” She clears her throat. “Okay, that’s not really what I wanted to say. I just—Mike, I see it a lot, at dance. Kids who get so thin, they’re not strong enough to dance. But I never thought of it with you.” She looks at him, hesitates, and squeezes his arm. It’s a rather strange gesture. She holds on. It reminds Mike of that time she took his arm. It’s like she never let go, he thinks.
This girl is so utterly not on your side.
The bell rings. She dashes off.
Mike sees Tamio. Tamio betrayed me, Mike thinks.
Move on.
Mike starts walking, but Tamio follows him.
Tamio: “Wait. Want to get lunch later?”
Mike: “I have to eat in the lab with Mr. Clayton.”
Tamio (walking beside him): “I know, your mom told me. I hope it’s okay I’ve been talking to her. You know, over the past month. To see how you were doing.”
It’s not okay. He has no right to spy on you like that.
Tamio: “I got my lunch period changed. It’s all right with Mr. Clayton if it’s all right with you.”
Mike: [nothing]
Tamio takes off in the other direction. Of course he’s interpreting Mike’s silence as a yes. Because that’s what Tamio wanted to hear. They’re all alike—they only hear what they want to hear.
Lunch is weird, as I knew it would be.
Mr. Clayton is on his computer and Tamio and Mike sit there in silence. Mike eats a grilled-cheese sandwich and drinks a bottle of Ensure. He still has to drink three of those a day, plus three meals and two snacks. It’s enough food for an army.
Tamio: “I saw something on YouTube you’d like.”
Mike: “Yeah?”
Tamio: “These two guys made a stop-motion movie of how they built a Millennium Falcon out of Legos. The animation is seamless.”
Something sparks inside Mike. I love this stuff, he thinks, don’t I?
No, you used to love it. Things change.
Mike: “How long is the video?”
Tamio: “Just under three minutes.”
Mike: “How long did it take them?”
Tamio: “Thirty-eight hours.”
Mike: “That’s not bad.”
Tamio: “It got me thinking. We could make a stop-motion movie. My dad just got a special camera that can shoot single frames. I got some special software, too, that helps you line up the camera and go back and forth between images so you can make sure it all looks good.”