SYLO

FOUR

“Nots?”

“Not nots,” said Quinn impatiently. “Knots. With a k, like they put on the front of knife for some reason I never understood. You can tell a lot about people by the way they tie knots.”

“You are so odd.”

Quinn and I were taking a lunch break from work. It was Saturday morning, the day after the game. Saturday was the day that football players rested up and healed. Most of them, anyway. I’d only been in the game for a total of five plays and didn’t need a whole lot of recovery. Any soreness I felt wasn’t from football. It hurts to get thrown off your bike by a mysterious exploding shadow.

Working for my dad meant grunt work. We raked leaves and mowed grass and pulled weeds and did any number of other brainless tasks that weren’t exactly fun, but Dad paid us pretty well and it was work he didn’t have to do himself, so everybody won.

“It’s true, Tuck,” Quinn continued. “Observe.”

We were sitting on a bench in the town square drinking canned iced teas, trying to stay cool in the shade. It was early September and hotter than it had been all summer. Across the street was a vintage Ford pickup making a delivery of live lobsters to Lesser’s Fish Market.

“How do you come up with these bizarre theories?” I asked. “Was it on one of those cable shows you watch at two in the morning?”

“No. I’m just a brilliant student of human nature,” he replied quickly. “Watch and tell me I’m wrong.”

A girl carrying a Styrofoam cooler strode out of the store, headed for the pickup. It was Tori Sleeper, a girl from our class. Her Saturday job was to help her father with his lobster business. Tori was cute, but odd. She had long dark brown wavy hair that she kept tied back in a practical ponytail. She usually wore equally practical jeans and T-shirts, along with a faded University of Southern Maine baseball cap. I never saw her hanging out with anybody our age, which was strange considering how small our school was. The few times I tried talking to her she answered in monosyllables. I couldn’t tell if she was brilliant, aloof, or brain-dead. I guess you’d call her an enigma.

I kind of liked that.

“And we begin,” Quinn announced.

Tori tossed the cooler into the back of the pickup next to a bunch of others and grabbed the edge of a bright blue tarp. She deftly yanked the tarp over the coolers, then grabbed a rope that dangled from a grommet and in one quick move threaded it through a tie-down hook. She snapped the line tight and expertly tied a…whatever knot to secure the whole rig. The procedure took less than five seconds.

“Impressive,” I said.

“I’m telling you, Tuck,” Quinn said. “That shows confidence, intelligence, and creativity.”

“Or it just shows that she can tie a knot.”

Quinn shook his head in disappointment. “Look beyond the superficial, my narrow-minded friend. There’s so much to be learned from the minutia of human behavior. Now, go talk to her.”

“What? Why?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask her out for months. But you haven’t. Why? Because she’s intimidating and you think you’ve got nothing interesting to talk about. But that’s not the case anymore, is it? Now you can tell her all about unexplained celestial phenomena.”

I felt panic rising. “No! I mean, who said I wanted to ask her out?”

“Be serious,” he said impatiently. “Whenever she’s around, you get all quiet and start this hypnotic staring thing. It’s kind of creepy, to be honest.”

“Maybe I think she’s a freak.”

“And maybe you’ve got to start taking some risks. Nothing ventured, and all that.”

“I don’t want to ask her out.”

“You don’t want to get shot down. There’s a difference.”

He killed his iced tea, tossed the can to me, and stood up.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To prove my theory,” he said and headed for the truck.

I couldn’t be sure what theory he was talking about, he spewed so many, but before I could stop him, Quinn marched right up to Tori and started talking fast. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but he kept waving his arms for emphasis while she occasionally glanced across the street—at me.

Uh-oh. I sat up straight, suddenly self-conscious. But Tori didn’t seem particularly amused or even interested. To be honest, I did think she was—what’s the word?—different. But in a good way. I didn’t go for the giggly girls who always seemed to be hatching plots against one another. Tori couldn’t be bothered with that kind of drama. Question was, what sort of drama did interest her? I kind of wanted to know, but Quinn was right. She intimidated me.

Thankfully, a guy who I figured was Tori’s father came out of Lesser’s and that broke her away from Quinn. The two got into their truck and drove off, leaving a cloud of exhaust.

Quinn watched them for a second, then strode back toward me wearing a smug smile.

“See?” he announced with pride. “I was one hundred percent correct.”

“About what?”

“She’s not only astute but incredibly intelligent.”

“How did you get that? She didn’t say a word.”

“She didn’t have to. Her look said it all.”

“What look?”

“The look she gave me when I told her you think she’s hot. She wants nothing to do with you, by the way.”

“What!” I shouted, horrified.

“No, this is good. Most girls would have giggled and blushed but she didn’t even blink. That shows self-confidence. I’m telling you, son, it’s all in the knots.”

I threw his crumpled can at him, bouncing it off his chest.

“I’ll put a knot in your head!” I shouted.

Quinn laughed and backed off. “I was just proving a point! Now you don’t have to suffer the rejection of getting shot down. You owe me.”

He turned to run and I was right after him, more embarrassed than angry. I never knew what Quinn would do next, though that’s one of the reasons I liked him. He pushed people’s buttons just to see their reaction. I was used to it, even when it was at my expense, which was often. It’s what made Quinn Quinn.

We went back to work at the Blackbird Inn. It was a huge old Victorian mansion that had once belonged to some sea captain but had long since been converted into a hotel for people who liked to pretend they were vacationing in another era. It was one of Dad’s biggest accounts because of its huge lawn and dozens of flower beds. Our job that day was to mow the expansive lawn. It was grueling work but I always took pride in how good it all looked when we were done—which would have been a lot sooner if the two of us hadn’t been moving like zombies. It’s tough doing manual labor on two hours of sleep.

“I can’t believe you haven’t asked me yet,” Quinn said as he dumped a tarp full of grass clippings into a wheelbarrow.

“Asked you what?”

“About Marty. Don’t you want to know why he died? The autopsy, remember?”

“I was trying to forget. What happened?”

“I can’t tell you.”

I whacked him on the back of the head with the handle of my rake.

“You’re such an a-hole,” I said.

“I’m not! It’s unethical to discuss medical cases.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“Because I can’t tell you what happened.” He lowered his voice and added conspiratorially, “But it isn’t unethical to tell you what didn’t happen.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then whacked him on the back of the head again. “Cut the riddles,” I commanded.

Quinn looked around to see if anybody was listening, then continued softly. “The autopsy turned up zip.”

“Define zip,” I demanded. “There had to be something. I mean, the guy died.”

“There wasn’t. He didn’t have any heart problems; there was nothing wrong with his brain; there weren’t any drugs in his system or disease or abnormality of any kind. The guy just stopped living.”

That was disturbing news. I had hoped to hear that Marty had a previously undetected heart condition or rare genetic defect or anything else that would explain why the most athletic guy in school had suddenly become the most dead guy in school. A rare medical condition would have meant his problem was a tragic but understandable fluke. Having no explanation meant the same thing could happen to anybody.

“Tucker!” called a sweet voice.

Olivia Kinsey was waving to us from the porch of the hotel. On a table next to her was a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses. On her body was a tiny red bikini.

“That looks great,” Quinn said longingly. “The lemonade looks pretty good too.”

We dragged our sorry selves over as she poured some icy-cold drinks.

“You guys look like you could use a break,” she said sweetly. “It is so hot.”

“Really,” Quinn agreed while giving me a sideways look. “Really, really hot.” He wasn’t talking about the weather.

Olivia was from New York City and had been spending the summer on Pemberwick with her mother. It was her first time on the island. All season I volunteered to work at the Blackbird because, well, Olivia was there. That’s how we met. I was weeding the garden one day and—bang. She appeared like somebody out of a magazine ad for ridiculous hotness. Dad figured out my motives pretty quick and warned me about getting involved with an off-islander who I might never see again. We were actually having that conversation one day when Olivia returned from the beach in the aforementioned bikini. Dad took one look at her and said, “Uh…never mind.”

Dad was cool.

Olivia was really out of her big-city element on Pemberwick, so I volunteered to show her around the island. Come to think of it, she came right out and asked me. I wasn’t about to refuse. We went to a lot of movies. She loved movies. Didn’t matter what it was. I also introduced her to most of the people who ran the shops in Arbortown. For somebody who came from the city, she seemed overly interested in how our simple island worked, which was cool, I guess. She had blonde hair that was cut short like a guy’s, but there was nothing else remotely guy-like about her. I never put a move on her, either. Not that I didn’t think about it, but she was way out of my league. She was older than me by a couple of years and went to some uppity prep school in New York and hung out with future captains of industry. I went to a public school on a remote island and hung out with future captains of lobster boats. There wasn’t a whole lot of future for that kind of relationship but it was fun to dream.

Quinn liked to dream too. His mouth hung open as he stared at her unashamedly. I gave him a small shove to bring him back to reality before the line of drool hit his shoes.

“Thanks, Olivia, this is great,” I said as I took the cold glass that was already wet with condensation.

“I’m sorry to hear about the guy from your team,” she said. “What happened?”

“Funny you should ask,” Quinn said as he stepped forward to begin a lecture on the subject.

“Nobody knows yet,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not good to start rumors.”

Quinn backed off.

Olivia frowned. “So sad. He was having such an amazing game.”

“You were there?” I asked with surprise.

Olivia gave me a coy smile. “I wanted to see you play.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed.

“Oops,” Quinn said and pretended to be focused on his lemonade.

“Oh. Well, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t play much.”

“I didn’t see you play at all,” she said bluntly.

There was no pretense with Olivia—and no filter. She wasn’t malicious; she just said what was on her mind.

“Tucker’s on the kickoff team,” Quinn said, jumping in to save my dignity. “The most dangerous part of the game because they give up their bodies with no concern for their own well-being. They call them Kamikazes.”

“No, they don’t,” I said, scoffing. Then quickly added for Olivia’s benefit, “But it is pretty dangerous.”

Olivia gave a pouty frown. “I don’t know much about football. I just wanted to see you play.”

“I’m afraid you’ll get that chance,” came a voice from inside.

The screen door opened and Kent Berringer stepped out. Kent was the starting middle linebacker on our team. A junior. He was a tall guy with blond hair that was always perfectly messed up and a tan that lasted through the winter. His family was old-school Pemberwick. They’d lived there for centuries and acted as though they owned the place…because in some ways they actually did. His family owned the Blackbird Inn, meaning Quinn and I had been mowing the grass for Kent. Indirectly.

He stood next to Olivia, looking down on Quinn and me from the porch like he was the lord of the mansion…which I guess he was.

“How do you figure that?” I asked. “Freshmen don’t play much.”

“Unless a starting senior drops dead,” Kent said with an incredible lack of tact.

It hadn’t hit me until that moment. I was Marty’s backup.

“That’s right!” Quinn exclaimed. “That makes you the starting tailback.”

“You up for that, Rook?” Kent asked, as if he didn’t think I was even close to being up for it.

My head was spinning. “I…I guess.”

“You better be,” he added.

It came across like a threat. There’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence, and Kent came down firmly on the arrogant side. The Blackbird was the nicest hotel on Pemberwick Island, which meant that Kent’s family was rich and Kent was set for life. He knew it, too. He treated most everyone like he was their boss. Of course, in my case he actually was my boss.

“I saw you play, Kent,” Olivia said, suddenly all coy and flirty. “You were so…violent.”

She emphasized the word “violent” as if it made her all tingly just to think about it.

Kent shrugged with fake modesty.

Quinn rolled his eyes.

I had no right to be jealous, but I was.

“So does this mean you’ll come watch me play again next week?” I asked, trying to reclaim the conversation.

Olivia frowned. “I’m not sure. School starts soon, so I don’t know how much longer we’ll be staying.”

“Your school starts late,” Quinn pointed out.

Olivia shrugged. “What can I say? Private school. They make up their own rules.”

“But you’re not leaving today,” Kent said. “Let’s catch a movie.”

Jealousy growing.

Olivia brightened. “Kent Berringer! Why did you wait until the end of the summer to ask me out?”

I knew why. She’d been hanging out with me. But now that I had been revealed to be the bench-jockey scrub and Kent the violent star, the dynamic had changed.

“I wanted to,” Kent explained with a shrug. “From the minute I met you, but hotel policy says we can’t socialize with guests.”

“Too bad,” I said, not meaning it.

Kent added, “But seeing as you won’t be a guest much longer, I think it’ll be okay.”

Quinn kept looking back and forth between me and them, hoping I would say something to stop the Kent-train from gathering speed.

“Why don’t we all go!” he declared with a touch of desperation. “You know, a group thing like you see on TV.”

“That sounds like fun,” Olivia said with genuine enthusiasm.

Quinn beamed. He had successfully derailed the express.

“Sorry, Rook,” Kent said. “Your father agreed to finish the lawn today and you’re not even halfway done.” He lifted up the lemonade pitcher and added, “Too many breaks, I guess.”

And the train was back on the tracks.

“Rook?” Quinn asked with mock confusion. “What’s with the chess reference, Kent? You strike me as more of a checkers guy.”

Kent glared at him. Quinn knew full well that “Rook” was short for “rookie” and that Kent didn’t know a pawn from a bishop, but as I said, Quinn liked to push buttons.

Kent ignored him and faced Olivia. “You should get dressed. As much as I’d like to hang out with you like that, you might get cold in the movie theater.”

Olivia giggled and backed toward the front door. “You are so bad! Back in a jiff!”

She spun away and skipped inside.

“Jiff?” Quinn repeated with confusion.

Kent gave me a triumphant smile and said, “Finish the job, go home, and rest up for Monday.”

He left us standing there holding our lemonade glasses.

“What’s Monday?” Quinn asked.

“Practice. I’m the starting tailback now, remember?”

“And you just lost the hottest girl on the island,” Quinn added. “You’re oh-for-two today, my friend. Let’s hope you do better on Monday.”

As it turned out I didn’t have to worry about practice the following Monday. It was canceled out of respect for Marty. There was no practice for the rest of the week and Friday’s game was postponed. I’d never had to deal with the finality of death. All four of my grandparents had died before I was old enough to understand how it all worked. It was a strange feeling to know that I was the last person Marty had ever spoken to. The memory of his final few moments haunted me. What had been wrong with him? Did he know he was about to die or was it just the excitement of the game talking? I wondered if I should tell somebody about it, like his parents, but decided it would only make them feel worse if they knew Marty’s state of mind at the end had been so—so what? Troubled? Confused? Frightened?

The funeral was held on Tuesday afternoon at the big white Congregational church near the town square. The whole football team was there. Coach asked us to wear our game jerseys, which I thought was a bad idea. Marty had died during the game. His parents didn’t need to be reminded. But I was part of the team so I went along.

The church was packed. Looking around I saw many of the same faces I had seen watching with worry from the bleachers as Marty lay still in the end zone. I had never been to a funeral before so I didn’t know what to expect. I imagined everyone would be all weepy but it wasn’t like that at all. I think everyone was in shock. Especially Marty’s family. He had two younger sisters who sat with their parents, stone-faced, in the front row next to the coffin. I couldn’t imagine a sight more tragic than that.

The service lasted a long time, with many people getting up to talk about what a great guy Marty was. I hadn’t known him that well because I was three years younger, but hearing the speeches made me truly sad that such a good guy had died…and that his last few moments had been so troubled.

Looking around, I scanned the faces of the people who had come to say goodbye. It was a gut-wrenching scene. Quinn sat next to me and his parents next to him. He hadn’t known Marty very well either, but in a small town, you showed up. My eyes wandered over the crowd to see the gaunt looks on so many familiar faces—

And one unfamiliar face. It was the surfer dude from the game. He stood in the back of the church, still wearing his hoodie and sunglasses.

I turned to Quinn and whispered, “Who is that guy standing in the back?”

Quinn twisted around to look and said, “What guy?”

“The guy with the—”

I turned to point him out, but the man was already gone.