Bruiser

50) PRECIPICE

I can’t deny that things were changing in our family. It began at the very moment Brewster and Cody moved in; but it grew slowly, subtly enough for me to believe it was my own simple optimism. You see, when things are finally starting to go right after a whole lot of wrong, you can either focus on the good, or you can zero in on everything else that isn’t.

Most people go one way or the other: the glass half full or the glass half empty. It’s a rare skill to be able to see it both ways at the same time, and I, unfortunately, do not have that skill. All I could see was that Brew and his brother were saved, and my derailed family was back on sturdy tracks, thank you very much.

Yet as right as things were, Brew was having a harder and harder time. It was worse when he was home. He was constantly exhausted, like the walls themselves were draining life away from him. He was constantly on edge, like our house was teetering on a precipice that only he could see.

And then he saved Cody from the tower.

I wasn’t there when it happened, but half a dozen people captured it on video. It made the news, and turned Brew into an overnight hero—and although his fame lasted for the typical fifteen minutes, the shadow under which he had always lived was obliterated by the spotlight. That should have been a good thing.

51) BANDWAGON

“Hi, Brontë, mind if we sit by you?”

It was Amanda Milner and Joe Crippendorf, who may or may not have been an item—and enjoyed maintaining the mystery. This was the third visitation at our lunch table that day by unexpected apparitions.

“We were just leaving,” Brew said.

I put my hand over his, which was sufficient enough to keep him from bolting. “No we weren’t.” I slowly began eating some questionable Jell-O that I had originally planned to avoid. “Have a seat.”

They slid in with us. Amanda is what I would call a midrange friend. Not close enough to share deep secrets with but certainly close enough to choose each other as partners for the occasional class project. Joe is the easygoing kind of goofball you don’t mind having around, unless he’s surrounded by other such goofballs.

“We think what you did was great, Brewster!” Amanda said.

Everyone knew about it—if they hadn’t caught the news, they had heard it on morning announcements, when the principal lauded Brew’s feat and awarded him an honorary varsity letter.

“It was no big deal,” Brew said modestly, clearly wishing this would all go away.

Joe rapped him on the arm. “Man, I don’t know if I would’ve had the guts to do that. Way up there? All that electricity?”

Brew just shrugged. “I had to—he’s my brother.”

“Yeah,” said Joe. “I’ve got a brother, too. And if he was up there and it was up to me to save him, his name would probably be Splat right now.”

They asked us about how it happened, then talked a bit about the whole foster thing and how cool our parents are to let Brew and me live under the same roof.

“We have a strict rule that we’re just friends at home,” I told them. “We’re only dating when we’re out of the house.” And since we were currently out of the house, I rubbed his arm, taking advantage of the fact.

“I’d break that rule in five minutes,” said Joe. Amanda nudged him with her elbow, and he laughed. Brew laughed a little, too, before he caught himself.

“So listen,” said Amanda, pulling out two envelopes with heart stickers sealing them closed. “I know it’s corny and all, but my parents are throwing me a sweet sixteen, and I wanted to invite you two.” She handed Brew an invitation, and he just stared at it. “I hope you can make it.”

“I’m sure we can,” I said before Brew could respond. “Thank you.”

Amanda got up and left, satisfied, but Joe lingered. “Hey, Brewster,” he said, “all the years I’ve known you, I’ve kinda been an idiot. Maybe not as bad as Ozzy, but still, I was.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brew said.

But Joe wouldn’t let it go as fast as that. I found that admirable. “Well, it wasn’t right. I’m sorry. I just want you to know that I, for one, think you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Crippendorf.” And the fact that Brew called him by his last name solidified their friendship. Joe left, and Brew just sat there kind of dazzled— and with good reason. This was more than just my handpicked circle of close friends; this was a grassroots movement. People love jumping on bandwagons, and no bandwagon is more inviting than that of an unassuming hero. Sure, Brew might just have been the flavor of the week and next week everyone would forget, but some of these newfound friendships were bound to linger. I gave him a hug tight enough to adjust his spine in a chiropractic sort of way.

“See?” I told him. “Everything’s changing for you.”

He tucked his invitation into his pocket and didn’t say a word.

52) CLANDESTINE

That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, I went downstairs for a midnight snack. I couldn’t help but peek in through the open door of the guest room as I passed, admittedly hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of Brew in his boxers, which I have only seen when it’s my turn to fold the laundry.

Brew was sitting up in bed, fully dressed, knees to chest; and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

“Brew?”

He rolled out his shoulders. “Cody had a nightmare,” he said, although from what I could see, Cody was sleeping soundly. Brew, on the other hand, showed no sign of having slept at all.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “If something’s wrong and you want to talk about it…”

He didn’t say anything at first. Then he lowered his head, shaking it. “I just… I just don’t think I can do this, Brontë.”

“No one’s expecting you to do anything.”

But when he turned to me, the weighty look in his eyes said otherwise. I glanced away. “I’ve been thinking about Uncle Hoyt,” he said.

The mention of the man’s name made me uncomfortable. I know we should have respect for the dead, but why should we respect those who hadn’t earned it in life?

“Uncle Hoyt told me to hate the world—that it was the only way I’d survive.”

“What a terrible thing to say.”

“But what if he was right?” He looked at me, pleading for me to tell him that his uncle was wrong. I wanted to hold him, but that would be breaking the golden rule. While in this house, Brew could not be my boyfriend. An awful rule… but considering the fact that I was sitting on his bed in a clandestine midnight encounter, feeling the things I was feeling, well…that made it a necessary awful rule.

“Your uncle was not right. About anything,” I told him. “What’s the point of living if you’re going to hate the world? Guard your heart if you have to, but don’t shut it away.”

He smiled. “‘Guard your heart.’ My mother used to say that.” It was the first time he’d ever spoken of his mother. I waited for more, but that’s all he chose to share. “It’s going to be fine,” I told him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I got up to leave, but before I reached the threshold, he said:

“I killed my uncle.”

I froze in the doorway. There were a hundred different things that flew through my mind at that moment. Everything from Most Likely to Receive the Death Penalty to the unthinkable concept that all those ridiculous school rumors could be right. But I had enough rational thoughts swimming around to see through to what he meant rather than what he had said. I turned back to him.

“Your uncle died of a stroke.”

“Yes,” Brew admitted. “But I was there. I could have saved him. He asked me to, but instead I left him to die.”

Hearing that left me speechless for a moment. I took a look at his left leg—the one that had developed the sudden, strange limp. That wasn’t a twisted ankle; it wasn’t going away. Only now did I realize where it had come from, and why he harbored such guilt. The thought of Uncle Hoyt putting Brew in that position—of asking Brew to die for him—just made me even more furious at that miserable man.

“You took more than your share of pain from him,” I pointed out. “That day, and every day before. It was his life to lose, not yours.”

He nodded; but it was just an acknowledgment, not acceptance. I don’t know if anything anyone could say would convince him. It’s hard to understand how someone who has such power to transform the lives of those he touches could still feel so desperate for redemption.

“Your uncle used you, right down to the moment he died,” I told him. “I swear to you, Brew, no one’s ever going to use you like that again.”