Teddy’s laugh is genuine. “That sounds exactly like something Lex would do.”
“He’ll be fine. Him knowing that guy, it’s a total coincidence. This is a small town, after all.” I leave the words unspoken, but the implication in my tone is and you should know. And he should, because Teddy’s not like the rest of us. He’s a day student, not a boarder. Meaning he’s a townie, too.
Teddy’s staring at my plate, what’s left of my food, and he’s no longer twitchy. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Hey, Win, you don’t still, you know, hurt yourself, do you?”
“No,” I say, and I stay very calm, but inside I’m shaken. Yes, he’s seen my marks and bruises in the past, but he has no right to ask me something so personal. None. This school devours privacy, and rumors are like drops of blood in an ocean full of predators. So while I like Teddy in an easy kind of way, I can’t go there and confess my sins to him. I won’t. I mean, he’s Lex’s best friend, and if there’s one thing I know, when it comes to humiliating me, Lex Emil is always down for chumming.
chapter
four
antimatter
When you’ve been kept caged in the dark, it’s impossible to see the forest for the trees. It’s impossible to see anything, really. Not without bars.
That’s what that Charlottesville fall was like, the one where I was nine and could still use my real name without fear. Back then I missed everything, even the most obvious clues, trapped as I was in a head filled with bleak and violent urges. So when Keith returned home from school one afternoon all worked up about animal rights, I felt more lost than enlightened.
Playoff baseball blared on the television. Our father sank torpedo deep in his den chair, Braves cap on, beer in hand, work tie still hanging around his neck like a noose. From my position on the carpeted floor, I sensed more than saw him. His presence loomed large, all shadows and chill. I’d inherited his long nose and severe expression. His dark, dark moods.
Dad held a tenured position at the university. I barely had words for what he did, but I knew it was important. And stressful. Phrases like “climate change,” “developing nations,” and “actuarial calculations” got thrown around when people talked about him. He traveled frequently. Drank even more frequently.
I dangled a piece of freeze-dried liver over our dog’s snout. Pilot was a collie, purebred and from impeccable lineage. At least that’s what I’d been told, and it’s what I liked to believe. He’d flown to us on a plane as a puppy, all the way from Ireland, which was where my mother grew up. I wanted him to play dead, so I tried using the treat to lure him onto his side. My father threw me a scornful look. I put my hand down.
“Get over here, Drew,” he said.
I didn’t move. “Huh?”
Dad’s eyes remained glued to the flat screen, but he patted the arm of his chair. “Get over here. I want to hear all about how you’re going to beat Midgins in the Fall Classic.”
“Well, I—I’m not sure if I’m p-playing,” I said, although I was sure. The tourney was next weekend and my coach hadn’t even brought it up. Not after Soren. No way. I couldn’t be trusted.
“What?”
I went to stroke Pilot, but I was too rough. My fingers tangled in his fur. He yelped.
“I just m-mean that I’m—”
“Hey, did you know,” Keith piped up in a singsong voice, “that animals have rights, too?”
“Like the right to vote?” My father glanced over to where Keith sat on the couch with homework spread all around him. Then he took a long swallow of beer. On the television, someone sang the national anthem in a warbling voice. Miles of patriotic bunting lay draped around the ballpark like a military funeral.
My brother kept going. “How about the right not to be exploited or tortured for our consumption?”
“Christ, Keith, where the hell is this coming from?”
“You’re being condescending!”
“No, I’m not. I just want to know where you’re getting these ideas.”
Keith made a loud huff. “Lee did a presentation at school today about the living conditions at poultry farms. He showed video clips of how the chickens are treated. It’s disgusting. Beyond disgusting, Dad. It’s bad enough to raise these animals solely for slaughter, but to keep them in those cages their entire lives, shooting them full of hormones…” He went on like this for a while. Dad nodded along as the Braves took the field, but I knew what he was thinking: Thanks a lot, Lee. Lee lived next door. He and Keith had struck up a friendship when Lee’s family moved in three years earlier. His family was Jewish, which still mattered in Charlottesville, but lucky for Lee, our family looked down on everybody—especially bigots—so we didn’t hold it against him. But he was a fat kid who hated all things physical, which meant he hated me. I decided right then and there that whatever stance Lee was taking on this whole animal rights thing, I was of the opposite view. Just because.