TITAN
Eric Steele

Manythousands of years after God granted Adam and Eve life and free will, mandeveloped societies, engineering, weapons, and eventually high schools.Unfortunately, that is where this story really begins. It’s not the beststarting point and it’s certainly cliché. But as with God’s story, this onebegins with a lonely soul. He is driving to school.

The highschool years coincide with the height of adolescence coalescing in theloneliest, most awkward, and isolating point in a young person’s life. Thediscovery of one’s individuality competes with the drive to be accepted by themasses. But the secret is that everyone is going through the same thing andthey just won’t admit it. For sure, though, no one leaves high school as thesame person who entered.

Everyonewears a mask in high school. Few are comfortable enough with themselves toexpose their real selves in public. Some get to choose their identity: athlete,jock, cool, clown, smart, etc. But more often than not, your “identity” isthrust upon you: geek, fag, wimp, ugly, stupid, and so on. Only your friendsand family come close to knowing the real you, but there is always a part theywill never know.

Eric Steelewanted only to be past all of it. Every day at 7 a.m. he was on the roaddriving to school. Every day he packed some books in his locker and some in hisbag. Every day his first period class was World War I and II. And every day hedreamed about driving past the school and continuing up the road to… anywhereelse.

He had nevertold anyone about that dream least of all his parents. Somewhere along theline, adults forget what adolescence was like. Tim and Nancy Steele had. Theyhad already survived the adolescent struggle, found their identity, and forgotthere was ever a time when they didn’t know. They chalked up the uncomfortableexperiences of youth as exactly that—youth. Kids being kids. They didn’tremember the change—the act of becoming something different from whatthey once were. No one who figures it out wants to remember they were everunsure.

Eric would.For the rest of his life, Eric would remember his eighteenth birthday in Marchand everything that followed. He would remember how he changed.

The dreamscame first. For months, Eric had been having the kind of dreams that you wakefrom in a sweat but cannot remember anything about the moment after waking. Hedidn’t attribute the dreams to anything unusual. Strange dreams and restlesssleep came and went. This had lasted longer than any stretch before, though.

Maybe hewasn’t getting enough sleep. That was certainly possible. He stayed up laterand later for no real reason other than to be awake. He watched TV, surfed theweb, and read books. Finally, when his eyelids were too heavy to bear, hecrawled into bed with Calvin, his cat, exhausted but not tired. He didn’t sleepstraight through the night, either. His was a fitful sleep, complete withtossing and turning and long hours spent staring at the ceiling freshly visibleas his eyes adjusted to the dark.

While he didnot remember what the dreams were about or any events that occurred in them, heknew that they didn’t frighten him. They were not nightmares. Even so, theywere not happy dreams. He sensed (not a memory exactly) that he was hurt or inpain in these dreams, but that seemed unlikely. You don’t feel pain in dreams. Ordo you? Eric had a dream when he was younger that The Shape from the Halloweenmovies was after him and when The Shape caught up, he stabbed Eric. Ericclearly remembered the knife going into his arm and being surprised that ithurt. Later, he reflected that it felt kind of like a pin prick—nothing likeactually being stabbed probably felt like, but there was pain. He woke upclutching his arm, but the pain had been lost between the dream andconsciousness.

Well, there was.When he awoke from the dreams, he felt hot and feverish, and his skin pulsedlike it usually did after a fresh burn. But this burn was all over—his skinpulsed with heat from his head to his toes. It always faded quickly enough, butthe fact that it was there at all made him wonder. Of course, he hadn’tmentioned this to his parents or friends. It was just a phase, right?

Maybe he’dmention it to Jim if he called, but that was unlikely. His best friend, JimMcNulty, had been away at military school for all of senior year and Eric hadnot spoken to him in months. Eric felt bad for Jim. He had to spend his lastyear of high school away from his friends and across the country—alone. Hisgrades had sucked, though, and his parents warned him what would happen if theydidn’t improve. They didn’t and Jim was sent to Wyoming. Ah, well. High schoolhad been hell the past couple of years, why not a little bit more?

As Ericpulled into the St. Paul’s Academy parking lot, he felt like he was in one ofthose uncertain adolescent places. In between. He was not where he wanted to beand wherever he wanted to go seemed so far off. It was too much. Everythingfelt heavy and rough. Smiles were hard to come by. An incredible weight sat onhis chest and grabbed a cold beer; it planned on staying awhile.

It wasbeyond uncomfortable. It was agony. His whole world had just been turnedupside down and he couldn’t replace a way to fix it. Mostly because it couldn’t befixed. It was his destiny. It had to be. A thing like this doesn’t just happento everyone. Teenage angst? Yeah, but Eric couldn’t see the forest for thetrees. He was seventeen, almost eighteen, and he couldn’t see much pasthimself.

School beganat 8:10 a.m. and the lot was pretty busy by 7:30. It was probably busier thanusual, too, since the year’s last cold snap just ended. In the nation’scapital, March is an “either…or” month—it can either start to warm up intospring or cling to the last of winter. There hadn’t been a day over forty-fivedegrees in months, but today it was fifty eight with a chance of seventy bydismissal.

By senioryear the cliques were established, unbreakable. Such was high school. Ericrecognized everyone he passed. They were mostly seniors. Since the parking lotwas restricted to juniors and seniors, and mostly seniors had all of the spots,most of these people were Eric’s classmates. Lucky him. A few people waved ornodded and Eric returned the gesture. Acquaintances mostly. He slipped his“mask” on early this morning.

On this day,Eric lucked out because he got to his parking spot before either of the peoplewho parked on either side of him did. He had been getting pretty pissed off toreplace Erin Saxon’s Volkswagen Beetle on the line of his spot everymorning. Her car was a toy and she couldn’t park straight.

Eric’s spacewas in the last row of the lot against the line of trees separating the schoolfrom Duke Street below. He opened his door and looked at the line to see if hewas straight. Of course he was. He had learned to drive in a big, lumberingDodge Durango; if he couldn’t park a little four-door sedan after that, hedidn’t deserve a license.

Eric pressedhis radio off, flipped the air off, readjusted the dials back to default, andturned the ignition off. He clipped his keys to one of his belt loops andclosed the door. Sometimes he thought he had OCD, but it wasn’t like he washedhis hands compulsively.

A coolmorning breeze soothed him. He needed it. The lack of sleep had left himirritable, on edge, and just plain weary. Eric stood a towering five feet four,with brown hair, glasses, and a moderate build. Beneath his well-coiffeduniform of slacks and a golf shirt, Eric was stocky, not a beanpole. He playedhockey, which lent itself to muscled legs, broad shoulders, and thick forearms.Eric had all of them, but proportionally, they just weren’t as impressive asthey were on bigger people.

His heavythoughts and exhaustion flew away with the wind and he felt better. Eric wasnot an outdoorsy kind of guy, but he enjoyed the simplicity of nature all thesame. A cool breeze. A beautiful view. Colorful foliage. All that jazz. Theacademy sat on a hill overlooking Duke Street and nearby businesses, traintracks, and more. His eyes caught the horizon. In the distance, Eric thought hecould make out the peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Beyond them, there wasmore. More than just school day after day. To Eric, whatever was out there wasfreedom. Something bigger. Better.

No one wakesup in the morning and wants to be Average Joe. But Eric felt that somethinginside of him was trying to get out. He was better than this. He was supposedto be more. He needed only to discover it.

As quicklyas his demons were silenced by the wind and his senses grasped at his destiny,they spoke up again as he approached the school. As he observed all of thevarious cliques, Eric missed belonging. For as lonely as high schoolcould be, having good friends made it bearable. But without them, it was likeswimming the ocean without a float. Some days it was like going over NiagaraFalls without a barrel.

Even worse,some of the people that got to belong pissed him off. Antonio Juarez, a tallgangly douche bag with a pedophile’s smirk, happily joked around with hisfriends as Eric passed. When they first got to St. Paul’s, Eric hardly said aword to the kid. But in sophomore year math, Antonio began calling Eric out inthe middle of quizzes and tests. “Eric Steele, be quiet, man!”

The teacher,Mrs. Frank, addressed the situation by glancing up from her papers. Disciplinein the educational system at work. It happened more and more. Antonio starteddoing it during regular class time. Eric would be taking notes and talking withhis buddy, Steve, when Antonio would throw paper at him. Since Antoniofrequently missed, Eric pretended not to notice. Soon enough, he hit Eric inthe head. It was paper, so it didn’t hurt, but he finally snapped, “What the hellis your problem?”

Antoniogrinned at him with a mouth full of braces and slimy spittle. He looked like hewas about to drool. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talkingabout the paper that you threw at me, asshole,” Eric said, holding itup.

“Hey,”Mrs. Frank finally stepped in. “Let’s watch the language.”

Eric didn’tcare. He laughed. “Language? This kid’s a complete asshole,” hesaid dragging out asssshoollle, “and you’re worried about me? Canyou deal with the real problem, please?”

Mrs. Frank’sjaw locked with embarrassment. The class was stunned into silence, watching atthe exchange. Antonio still wore his stupid grin. The same one he’ll probablywear when he molests little girls, though that one will have more drool.

“Eric, thatwas incredibly disrespectful,” Mrs. Frank said. Eric knew where it washeading. He wasdisrespectful, but the teachers generally construed anything they didn’t likeas disrespectful. It was a little bit like how courts used “reasonable”to justify rulings on anything under the sun.

“Sign thisdetention. Now.”

Eric crossedhis arms and leaned back. He never flouted authority, but this had gone on longenough. His parents taught him to respect his elders, the police, and otherauthority figures. Eric always followed the rules. His uniform was alwaysclean, his shirt always tucked in, his hair always brushed, and his shoesalways complied with the “white tennis shoes” rule. He always turned in hishomework on time, he studied for exams (mostly), and he followed each and everyother goddamn rule set out for him. And this bitch was going to ignoreAntonio, who (coincidentally, had a fairly wealthy father) yelled out Eric’sname during exams, threw paper at him, and was just an all-around asshole,because Eric called her out.

“No.” Theword hung there for a while as Eric looked Mrs. Frank right in the eye. “No. Iwon’t sign it. You want me to sign it? Then send me down to Mr. Gibson where Ican explain to him how this asshole… because that’s what he is… disruptsclass every day, annoys everyone, throws paper at me, and you lethim get away with it.” Eric grabbed his bag and stood up. “Let’s do that.”

Mrs. Frankwas a young teacher in her mid to late twenties. She had poofy blonde hair andvery sensitive skin that turned a bright shade of magenta when she wasflustered—it was neon red right then. She was still young enough to have half amemory of what high school was like. She still cared if her students liked her.As her green eyes welled with tears, Eric wished he had said something a littlemore apologetic than, “Oh, C’mon… I’m the one getting screwed here.”

“GET OUT!”Mrs. Frank screeched hysterically. “OUT OF MY CLASS!”

Eric sighedand walked to the door. He glanced back at Steve who was hiding a big-ass grinthat seemed to say Oh, shit. Everyone else was doing much the same.

But notAntonio.

No, hisdisturbing grin was as big as ever. At that moment, Eric really wantedto break his face. Anything to get that smarmy smirk off his ass-ugly,bug face. He thought, with biting reproach from his conscience, that this crapis what set off the Columbine kids. The difference being, when they finallystood up they did so with guns and bombs. Eric clapped himself on the back fortaking the teacher to task instead.

Antoniowaved. Eric tossed him the ball of paper that he’d thrown. “That’s yours.” Ericthrew a glance at Mrs. Frank, who lost the war on tears when a bubbly tearrolled to the edge of her mouth. Eric left.

Mr. Gibsonhad a son on the hockey team, so he knew Eric. That was partly why Eric wasn’tafraid to go see him. The other part was that he knew he didn’t do anythingwrong. Losing his temper with the teacher, maybe, but Antonio didn’t justterrorize him; he had a lot of other targets. And since other teachersweren’t as oblivious as Mrs. Frank, Mr. Gibson knew Antonio Juarez well.Additionally, Eric had never been to Mr. Gibson for anything before, except foran unshaven complaint by another teacher. So when Eric told him what happened,Mr. Gibson shook his head with a slight smile.

“Yeah, I getAntonio in here a few times a week… once a day if he’s in a fresh mood,” Gibsonsaid as he sat back, “but you can’t talk to Mrs. Frank that way, Hoss.”

Eric didn’tcare, but he nodded anyway. “I know. I’m sorry. I just got so fed up Iexploded.”

“Which weall do,” Gibson said. “So, if you apologize to Mrs. Frank, I think I can smooththat detention over, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”Eric knew that Mr. Gibson was former Army and he was big on respect. He threw“sirs” at him all the time to feed his ego.

Ericapologized at the end of that day. He told Mrs. Frank basically what he toldMr. Gibson about the “exploding” and she actually understood. She apologizedtoo.

As forAntonio, Eric and Steve dealt with him. They didn’t hurt him, although Ericwanted to. Instead they devised tiny tortures. Steve used to be a boy scout andcould tie all kinds of knots. Whenever they sat close enough to Antonio, Stevewould apply that skill to Antonio’s backpack and desk. Once the knot was sotough, at the end of class when Antonio tugged on his bag to leave, he pulledhis desk out from under himself and tripped over it into a heap. So, maybe theyhurt him a little.

Eric’sfavorite revenge involved Antonio’s blazer and jelly donuts. Every Friday inhomeroom, someone was assigned to bring donuts. Eric grabbed an extra jellydonut, wrapped it in a napkin, and placed it in his backpack. In math, Ericslipped the donut, sans napkin, into one of Antonio’s pockets while his blazerhung on the back of his chair. Two weeks later, and two donuts later, Antoniohad a total of three donuts in his blazer: one in each outer pocket and one inthe inner lining pocket. For the one in the inner pocket, Eric made sure tosqueeze a little of the jelly out. Somehow, Antonio didn’t notice them for atleast a month. When he did, it was miraculously in math class. By then thefried batter had molded green and the jelly congealed. Antonio dunked his handinto one of the pockets and pulled it right back out again when it touched thesoupy goo inside. He yelped. Eric and the rest of the class laughed and thenlaughed even harder as he discovered the other two, now pools of goop, in hisblazer pockets.

“Aw, shit,man… I keep this thing in my car…” Antonio groaned. The laughter intensified.

When Antoniospun to look at Eric, he found him wearing a big grin and looking him in theeye. Eric calmed down long enough to say, “Sucks to be you, huh, Fuckface?”

Ericremembered Antonio’s defeated look well. He always would. The thrill of seeingthat the son of a bitch finally had nothing to say and could do nothing wasintoxicating. Fuck you. I win. In real life, there are no definite victories.Antonio still messed with him on occasion but not as frequently. And when hedid, Eric gave as good as he got.

Of course,in the end, seeing Antonio laughing and screwing around with his friends madeEric feel like Antonio really won. He still had his friends, as vain and fakeas they all were. In the morning when Antonio got to school, he had a place andpeople to go to. Antonio could still smile that toothy, braces-filled grin. Ittook Eric every ounce of strength just to maintain a neutral expression. Eric’splace was gone. He was in limbo and his friends totaled two, with one goneaway.

Fortunately,his only remaining friend, Drew Goodson, pulled into the parking lot as Ericpassed. Drew saw Eric and honked the horn of his creaky ten-year-old Volvo athim. He turned into his good spot against the concrete median with only one carbeside his. Eric wished he had Drew’s spot instead of the one next to ditzyErin.

Drew climbedout of his car and flashed a goofy smile as he gathered his keys, some pens,and his wallet out of the cup holders. Eric crossed the main path that bisectedthe parking lot to come alongside Drew’s car. He noticed that the interior wasmessy, as usual, and he quietly sighed at the sight of a rumpled can of babywipes behind the passenger seat. They were for, as Drew put it, “When I get a‘handy’ or BJ from some chick.”

If any worddescribed Drew, it was “awkward.” He walked deliberately, like a duck, and hisarms dangled like he had scoliosis. His mannerisms were like “C-3PO: theHuman.” But damn if he wasn’t funny.

“Didja see MagnumP.I. last night on ‘TV Land’?” Drew asked as he closed his door and camearound to the trunk.

“No, I watchgood things,” Eric said.

“Ha. Right.Didja know that Higgins is Robin Masters? Total shock to me.”

Ericsmirked. He and Drew obsessed over the minutiae of TV and film. “I think my dadtold me that once. Did you know that the final season of Magnum, P.I.wasn’t actually supposed to happen? Magnum was supposed to die in the lastepisode of the previous season, but the fans were pissed off so they broughthim back and made it all out to be like a coma or something like that.”

This wasgood. As long as they were shooting the shit about BS like this, Eric wouldn’tthink about…

There shewas.

Eric triedto avoid looking at her. It hurt too much. But every now and again he’d lookthis way or that way and there she’d be. So. Fucking.Gorgeous!

Her long,shiny, black hair glided down her back like an obsidian waterfall. Her lipswere pouty and pink. Her cheeks were naturally rosy and round like achipmunk’s. Her body was tight but proportionally curved. Even in theunflattering girls’ uniform—a feminine version of the guy’s golf shirt and aburgundy-pleated skirt (supposed to be worn no higher than an inch abovethe knee but rarely practiced)—her breasts pressed against the shirt in exactlythe right way and sometimes when she leaned over, the bottom edge of her asscheeks dared to poke out. They never did, but somehow that made it hotter.

MelaniePicolo…

Eric triednot to let her into his mind—she never left—because when he did, everymemory, every kiss, every touch, every hug, every whisper, every caress, everygrope, and every first experience they shared together invaded. So did the hate.He imagined someone putting a charge of C4 on the wall of his mind and blowingit in, letting all of her back in when he was still trying to scrape her out.Every kiss they had shared was gouged into his mind like a jagged, rustedcorkscrew and trying to pull them free was agony. Now he simply tried to lockthat door of his mind. The memories weren’t gone, but he tried to hide them.

It neverworked.

Times likethis—seeing her, hearing her, hearing about her—tossed a matchunder the door and ignited a spark of torment that immolated him. And it wasworse when he became conscious of the memories, stabbing him like broken glass.He felt disgusted with himself. You shouldn’t feel this way! You’re a stalker! You’re Markie Mark from “Fear”!!!

The pain,the guilt, and the rage only became worse when he realized that shewould always be there. Always whispering in his ear, I Love You. Alwayskissing him. Always moaning as he touched her in ways she liked. Alwaysclutching him tight as he found that one little spot… She was his firstdate... kiss (French, too)... grope… Love… You never forget that personand Eric would never forget Melanie. Not ever. No matter how hard hetried.

He wouldnever forget the end.

And thereshe was. Maybe fifty yards away, probably less. Sweet… tight… Melanie.Clutching her books tight to her chest.She laughed as someone made a joke. Great. Eric hoped it was funny.Fuckin’ hi-larious. Who was it anyway? Oh, right. That douchebag KyleChester. He wasn’t funny. He was just gay but didn’t know it yet. And dammit,he’s got her laughing again. They were all laughing now. Melanie, Kyle,Sophia, Kathryn, Blake, and Trey. They laughed at Eric’s jokes once. Notanymore.

Drew glancedover his shoulder and found where Eric was looking. When Drew looked, Erictried to stare at something—anything—else. He’d gawk at pigs humping ifit extinguish those awful memories.

“How’s thatgoing?” Drew normally avoided the subject, but something on Eric’s face musthave inspired breaking taboo.

Eric pickedat loose skin on his lip. “Fine.” There was an unspoken it’s actually not,but let’s move on.

Drew movedon. He closed his trunk and adjusted his backpack as he walked up alongsideEric. There was a fleeting moment of silence just barely noticed by either ofthem. Drew filled it by saying, “Sam was over yesterday. She and Cynthia werealready looking at prom dresses. Two months in advance if you’re keeping scoreat home.”

Eric smiledand didn’t mean it when he replied, “I bet Sam would fill out a prom dressfine.” The smile grew wider and this time he did mean it when he said,“So would Cynthia.”

“Shut thefuck up. That’s my sister. Dick.”

Ericactually laughed and felt it come from a real place. It was great and he wantedmore. So they talked and laughed and ragged on each other like guys do. Ericsavored the one best friend he had left and longed to have his other one aswell.

He leftMelanie’s happy, laughing posse behind him not realizing that soon they’d bethe least of his problems.

And beforethe school doors closed behind him, Eric cocked his head and caught one moreglimpse of the horizon out beyond the tracks, the highway, and the mountains.His sense of more swelled inside of him again…

“Hey,Steele… keep it movin’!” Someone piped up from the gathering line of studentscrowding behind him to get inside.

“Yeah,yeah…”

* * *

The hallwaysat St. Paul’s Academy reminded Eric a lot of the Beltway around DC inasmuch asit was chaotic. There were students leaning into narrow lockers along the wall,others made up a second layer that stood slightly away from the lockers talkingwith friends, and finally there were the assholes blocking the remaining threefeet in the middle of the hall to pass. Usually these folks were seniors whothought they had been Tefloned by God to do anything. Some days Eric wanted tojust lower his shoulders and charge down the middle. Whoever got in the waywould get bopped.

Of course henever did that or made a fuss about fifteen-foot tall Simon Calloway standingin everyone’s way. Eric cursed them under his breath and kept moving. He wasn’tafraid of the bigger guys like Simon. He just knew that to straight out fightthem was foolhardy. But in his head he had mental battle plans just in case.It was the kind of thing his dad would do. For instance, Simon was such ablowhard that he’d most likely try to smash Eric in one hit. He’d use thatmassive size and brute force God gave him to end it quickly. The key to Eric’sattack would be in knowing that and understanding that no one expects himto win. If he could just hurt the big bastard or get him on his knees, he wouldwin by default because most people think Simon should just pummel him. Simonwouldn’t be doing much pummeling though after the shot to the neck Eric wouldgive him. As Simon wrestled with how difficult breathing had become, Eric wouldgo to work on his gut or maybe take his legs out. From there, it would be aneven fight. Was it cheating? Maybe. But it’s not like they’d be boxing. Therewere no rules in real fights. Even the alleged unbreakable “balls” rule had itsapplications when necessary. Eric figured a six-foot-six football player versusa five-foot-four 4th line hockey player was reason enough.

But Ericknew that even if he did start something, nothing would change. He wouldbe the bad guy. No one would rally around him and cheer like in the movies.Even though everyone hates it when people rudely block their way in the hall,Simon was too powerful. He belonged to that group—yes, the groupthat everyone knows and many other films and books have depicted in much thesame way. Popular. So called because they get all their friends to laughat their jokes and invite themselves to exclusive parties that everyoneelse hears about but cannot attend. Usually, it’s the same crowd that works atthe kitty litter plant after college or for Mommy or Daddy. Then,they have no power or influence. But in high school, they’re unstoppable. Onewould have better luck suing the federal government.

It was onething dealing with those people on a daily basis when you could bitch about itto your friends later, but now Eric couldn’t. He only had one friend to bitchto and they shared no classes. And Drew still talked to the old group. Hedidn’t sit with them at lunch or get invited out with them, but they talked.Before, Eric was Drew’s tenuous link to them, but now they engaged him. As ifto rub it in more.

For Drew’spart, he didn’t really like them much. Not sincewhat had happened,especially. But some of them were still partly friends with his sister andSamantha Mitchell. They all grew up together. Drew lived in the sameneighborhood as Kat Dawn, so he talked to them and played the “nice” card, buthe knew what had happened. He saw Eric’s face earlier and he’d seen that lookother times. They should’ve killed him. That would have been better than what theydid—what Melanie did.

Eric stoodbeside Drew’s locker on the first floor and watched Simon’s gaggle of goonsyell at freshman, block girls and poke at them, and laugh about it. Theirs wasa unique humor in that no one but them found it funny.

Drew luggeda thick English textbook out of his locker and slid it into his backpack. Helooked up at Eric. “Have you heard from Jim?”

“No. Notsince a little after Christmas,” Eric said. He still frowned in Simon’s generaldirection.

Drew slammedthe locker several times. “Fuckin’ lock. It never… why’s that? He was callingall the time first semester.”

“Soundedlike things were getting harder for him there,” Eric said, finally looking atDrew. “How would you feel if you were yanked out of your home and schoolfor your senior year?”

“I’d neverhave smashed Tommy Silverman’s face into the glass at hockey practice, so Iguess I’ll never know,” Drew smirked.

“Dammit, dowe have to argue about this every day? That wasn’t why. His parentsthought he wasn’t concentrating on his school enough or some crap like that,”Eric said. “He was getting a lot of C’s. Overall, his GPA wasn’t too bad. I betif he’d gotten to take the World War classes with us, he could’ve brought it upbig time. Mr. Mikhail liked him.”

They startedtowards the stairs and Drew shook his head. “Maybe. But those classesare electives and worth like a quarter of what everything else is. I don’tthink it would’ve helped that much…”

“It wouldahelped some. That’s enough. His parents were just pissed at all the C’s, Iguess. From what he told me, he’s doing even worse now. You can’t just takesomeone from their home like that. Bastards.”

Drew openedthe door into the stairwell. “You sound more broken up about it than he is.”

“You guysare all I have.” Eric thought of saying more, but that seemed to be enough.

Drew hadnothing to say to that. He just nodded. Looking up the stairs, he finally said,“Well, I gotta get to first period. See you at lunch?”

Eric thoughtabout it. “I think we’ve got the same lunch today. So yeah. Later.”

Drew tookoff up the stairs and disappeared as the door closed. Eric remained for amoment. He thought of Jim. Of Drew. And of Melanie. Eric glanced back at Simonand realized that, like Antonio, he envied the tall bastard. For them, thingswouldn’t change until graduation, if then. But for him, things were already sohard.

Ericwould later remember thinking that and laugh.