ON HIS FIRST DAY BACK AFTER HIS SUSPENSION, Reeve spends an hour getting ready. Clean shave, some product in his hair, and a couple of different outfit changes before he decides on jeans, a polo, and a pair of aviators. I can tell he’s nervous, because he applies deodorant three times. I get why. No one has called him since his fight with Alex. Not one of his friends. A few times Reeve scrolled through his phone, probably to reach out, but he never went through with it.
Before he backs his truck down the driveway, he stares into his rearview mirror and touches the puffy dark circles under his eyes.
He hasn’t been sleeping well. I’ve made sure of that.
When we reach the school parking lot, Reeve turns up his car stereo loud and sticks his arm out the side window, like he’s out for a springtime joyride. The weather has turned nice, and there are lots of kids hanging around the fountain. It’s been turned on again.
I can’t help but think of that first day of school, of confident, cocky Reeve hanging with his friends, not a care in the world.
Reeve tries to project that same attitude, but I can see the cracks. His pace is too quick. He keeps looking around, waiting for someone to see him and give him a wave or a “What’s up.” But it’s as if he’s invisible.
Actually, worse. No one wants to see him.
I know, because that’s how it was for me, after Reeve came to the Montessori. And I bet Reeve realizes the shift as quickly as I did. He’s a smart cookie.
Derek and PJ are tossing a Frisbee back and forth on the lawn. Reeve sees them, hustles over, and steals the catch in midair. “We gotta take advantage of this weather and get an ultimate game going stat. Maybe after school?” Reeve cocks back the Frisbee to join in the toss, but instead of holding out a hand, both Derek and PJ walk over toward him somberly.
“Look, I know what you guys are going to say. And you’re right,” Reeve says, holding up his hands. “Me versus Lind was never going to be a fair fight. But—”
“Hey, man, is it true, what people are saying?”
Reeve’s smile doesn’t waver. “What are they saying?” he says lightly. Derek and PJ share a weird look. Neither one wants to say it. “What?” Reeve asks again, though this time his voice has changed. It’s quieter. Scared.
Reeve walks to homeroom with his head down. He immediately opens his notebook and starts writing a note to Lillia. He works on several versions of it all day. Sometimes it’s defensive, sometimes apologetic, sometimes rambling. He’s so distracted that his teachers have to say his name two and three times before he’ll hear them.
They are the only people who speak to him.
When the final bell rings, he jumps out of his seat, folds up his note, and runs to Lillia’s locker. She doesn’t show up.
As we ride back home, Reeve doesn’t even put the radio on for show.
“Do you get it now?” I ask him. “Do you see what’s happening?”
He doesn’t answer me, of course, and I don’t need him to. I know he understands.
Reeve comes through the kitchen like a bull. His mother is trying to ask about his day, but Reeve doesn’t answer. Instead he opens the fridge, grabs a six-pack of beer, and takes it up to his room. He drinks them all.
Before I leave, while Reeve is peeing in the bathroom, I take the pocketknife out of his top drawer. With all the force I can muster, I ram the blade straight down into the wood.
He comes out of the bathroom at the sound. My present to him, quivering, the blade half into the wood.
He walks over and tries to take the knife out. But it’s stuck in too deep, and he has to work at it to get it free. He rubs his finger over the splintered wood, the gash in his dresser top. I can feel his heart racing as he says, “Tommy? Dude, what the hell?” His voice is slurry from the beer.
Tommy doesn’t answer.
Reeve turns the pocketknife over in his hands, examining it. As he does, I lean into his ear and whisper, “The sooner you do it, the sooner you’ll be out of your misery. Because I’m not going to stop until you’re gone, Reeve. That I promise you.”
