Freeze Frame Read online

  DOLLY ZOOM/HITCHCOCK ZOOM: the shelves. The shelves overwhelm the foreground. The viewer’s attention is taken away from Kyle and Jason and directed to the contents of the shelves. The viewer sees a newspaper clipping, with a picture of Hitchcock advertising a weight-loss product, lying on top of an old dollhouse.

  CLOSE-UP of the dollhouse staircase.

  WIDE ANGLE: Jason is facing the camera. The viewer sees the back of the murderer. He has shaggy brown hair. He is short and thin. He looks like Kyle from behind, but the viewer does not see his face. He breathes in deep. Jason holds the gun out.

  CLOSE-UP of gun in Jason’s hands.

  27

  After Mom and Dad’s conference with all the Carson City school district’s employees, I became every teacher’s project. I couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed by somebody who wanted me to be involved.

  At home, things weren’t much better. Uncle Ray came down from Reno at least once a week so he and my dad could have breakfast. They invited me once, but I couldn’t stand the breakfast smells: syrup, pancakes, fried sausage. I felt nauseous and had to go sit outside. The only things I could stomach for breakfast anymore were cereal and Pop-Tarts.

  I went to Dr. Matthews’s office every Tuesday, the only day I had left to visit Jase because I got out of library duty for the shrink.

  At Dr. Matthews’s I hardly ever spoke. Every week she asked me to tell her about October 8. Over and again. Once I asked, “Tarantino or Hitchcock style?”

  It threw her for a loop. That afternoon, neither of us said much.

  The days dragged. At school, I couldn’t understand how Karen Jacobs and Maria Ramirez were excited about Sadie Hawkins. I couldn’t understand why nominating the winter homecoming court was so important. The only things that made sense were watching Chase, going to the graveyard, and the library.

  Then I saw the flyers.

  MEMORIAL ASSEMBLY FOR JASON BISHOP: 5TH PERIOD

  How long had the flyers been up? Why hadn’t I seen them before? They were pasted everywhere with a picture of Jason from freshman year, when he didn’t have long hair. He hated that picture.

  The sophomore class officers handed out flyers and balloons that read: JASON, YOU’RE IN OUR HEARTS FOREVER. They all wore black, and Sarah McGraw, class president, dabbed her eyes with Kleenex. I’d never even seen her talk to Jason. They swept through the hallway like storm-troopers.

  Jesus, they were probably going to read some bad poetry, the kind you find on greeting cards and bumper stickers. I bet I was the only one who knew that Jason’s favorite poet was e. e. cummings.

  All of last year, Jason had refused to capitalize his name in English class. The student teacher, Miss Torrence, marked Jase down for bad capitalization one day. He brought in e. e. cummings’s poems and said, “If he doesn’t have to, why do I?”

  A few months ago, I saw Miss Torrence working at Costco. I think she decided not to be a teacher after all.

  The flyer felt like lead in my hand. The first bell rang for fifth period. “Shit,” I muttered. I crouched down between some lockers, behind a trash can, waiting for the tardy bell to ring. The halls emptied as kids rushed to the gym. I had to get out of school before the assembly began.

  When I stood up, prickles of light ripped through my skull. For just a second everything went grayish black. Steadying myself on the lockers, I walked down a side hallway nobody used except for the smokers. They had rigged the door of the emergency exit so the fire alarm wouldn’t go off. The hall smelled like potpourri spray and old cigarettes. I saw Clock walking across the field and thought I could catch up to him. I almost made it through the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Going somewhere, Mr. Caroll?”

  Cordoba.

  “Mr. Caroll, are you lost, perhaps?”

  There was no escape. My eyes darted around the hallway.

  Cordoba leaned over and picked up the flyer. “I need some help reshelving books in the library. I think you just got the job.”

  He didn’t smile. He didn’t give me one of those bummer-you-killed-your-friend looks. He didn’t give me a Mrs. Beacham–style sympathetic shoulder squeeze. He just pointed toward the library. Relieved, I followed Cordoba down the hall. I took out A Separate Peace and handed it to him.

  “You finished quickly.”

  “Yeah.”

  Cordoba raised his eyebrows. I knew the drill; it was book confession time.

  “It was so-so.”

  “Why so-so?”

  I sighed. “I dunno. I didn’t get it. How could Finny be so okay with everything after what Gene did to him?”

  “So Finny shouldn’t have forgiven Gene?”

  “I think there are some things…” I cleared my throat. “Some things aren’t forgivable.”

  “Even between best friends?”

  I thought for a bit. “Especially between best friends.”

  “How so? What isn’t forgivable?”

  Living. Being alive. Breathing, eating, sleeping, jacking off.

  I heard “The Star-Spangled Banner” blaring out the gym speakers. Mel slumped into the library and sat next to me. “Didn’t feel much like an assembly today.” Her mascara was smeared underneath her eyes. I was relieved to see her. I didn’t want to talk about Cordoba’s books anymore.

  “Me neither,” I whispered.

  “They’re all assholes, Kyle. You know that.”

  I didn’t know who “they” were, but I figured it had to do with her cheerleader friends. It sucked to see Mel so sad all the time.

  Sorry, I wanted to say. But it just seemed like such a copout.

  “The Bishops are coming. They’re planting a tree with a plaque or something.”

  The knot in my stomach moved up to my throat. My eyes burned. It was like everybody wanted to relive it over and again. But they weren’t there. They didn’t know how awful Jason had sounded—gurgling, gasping, dying. It wasn’t like it was in the movies. It was final. It was over. What good was a fucking tree? Trees died too. And it was November. You can’t plant a tree in November.

  They should’ve made some kind of cockroach memorial. Those prehistoric fuckers never die. They’ll live way longer than the whole human race. It could be the cockroach memorial to Jason Bishop. It would’ve been perfect because of The Metamorphosis. Jase would’ve liked that.

  Mr. Cordoba watched Mel and me whispering. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Caroll, why don’t you help me reshelve these books? Miss Caroll, I assume you’ve got a note.”

  Mel handed it to him.

  “Are you ready to work too?”

  Mel nodded.

  I liked the smell of the library. I liked the feel of the book pages between my fingers, and the crinkly sound of the plastic covers. We spent the afternoon sorting and shelving books.

  “It’s time to go now.” Mr. Cordoba pointed toward the clock: 5:00.

  It was weird how the library was the only place where time meant nothing to me. There were no ticks or pings. I felt like I could sit there forever without wanting to go backward or forward.

  “Let’s go home, Kyle.” Mel grabbed her keys and put on her coat.

  “Yeah. Wait a sec. Um, Mr. Cordoba. Do you have a book by that poetry guy, e. e. cummings?”

  “Poetry guy,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Interesting choice.” He pulled a book down and handed it to me. I should’ve taken the time to read e. e. cummings while Jason was still alive.

  All evening, something didn’t feel right. As I listened to the sounds of nighttime, I saw the jar of red M&M’s on the nightstand and realized what it was. Chase. I’d forgotten about Chase. I couldn’t even keep the simplest promise.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  28

  I stood behind the Dumpsters. The bell rang and kids came running out with construction-paper turkeys in their hands. Some class had made stick mobiles with glittery winter scenes dangling from the tips. A little girl tripped and crush
ed her mobile. Poor kid. She couldn’t stop crying.

  I saw the circus act. They looked over at me. Julian looked especially pale and ran to his bus, leaving Bowling Pin and Twitchy behind.

  No Chase.

  Kids piled into the buses. The crusty snow looked dirty and tired after being trampled by little feet. The buses pulled out.

  No Chase.

  My heart raced.

  Maybe he’s sick. Yeah, he’s probably sick.

  An icy tightness gripped my stomach. I had missed yesterday and now there was no Chase. I stood up to leave when I felt somebody tugging on my coat sleeves.

  “Chase, what are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t see your orange shoes yesterday.” Chase had a huge bruise on his left cheek. His eye was a little swollen.

  “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  Chase shrugged. The kid could talk a thousand miles a minute, but only when he wanted to. “What happened to your neck, Kyle?”

  I had gotten so bruised and beaten lately, I had lost track. A few days earlier Alex had elbowed me in the neck and left a huge black-and-blue mark that was fading to a yellowish green. I’d been wearing turtlenecks so my parents wouldn’t see. They didn’t need anything else to worry about. But there was no fooling Chase. Looking up at me, the way he was, he saw the bruise where it poked above my shirt.

  “So? What happened to your neck?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Are you okay? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on the bus?”

  “Where were you?”

  “I blew it. I didn’t come.”

  “Yeah, they didn’t see you and kicked my butt. Plus it was a GCP day. Not good.”

  “GCP?”

  Chase nodded solemnly. “Green corduroy pants day. Whenever Julian wears his green corduroys, somebody gets beaten up. Usually me.” Chase pulled out a piece of paper. “This charts the days Julian beats me up. Here, you see what he wears. Sixty-two percent of the time he beats me up, it’s a GCP day. You can’t refute the facts.”

  I studied the chart. “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “Kyle, in life there are no coincidences.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a lot of pants.”

  Chase took the chart back and tucked it into his notebook. “So where were you?”

  Chase looked so small. I crouched down. “I’m so sorry,” I said, trying to control my voice. “It won’t happen again. I’ll always be here.”

  “Even if you’re sick?”

  “Even if I’m sick.”

  “Even if you have to have an emergency appendectomy?”

  “Oh. In that case, maybe not.”

  “So you won’t always be here.”

  “I’ll always…” I sighed. “I don’t know. Chase, buddy, you can’t let them do this to you. You’ve got to stand up for yourself.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you stand up for yourself?” Chase pointed at my turtleneck.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Do as I say, not as I do?”

  I tried to smile, but only one side of my mouth curved up. Chase was one of a kind. “Do you know how to throw a punch at least?”

  Chase shook his head. Another boy came around from the Dumpster. Chase nodded at him. “This is Mike. He’s my best friend. He has a GCP chart, too. His is forty-one percent.”

  Mike shrugged. “They just kick my butt a lot.” He gawked at me. “Geez, you’re big.”

  I stifled a laugh. I was 5'8" and weighed 120 pounds. Real big. “Nice to meet you, Mike.”

  “How much do you charge?”

  “For what?”

  “To be Chase’s bodyguard?”

  Chase looked at Mike as if he’d asked the dumbest damned thing. “He does my work pro bono.”

  Chase killed me. Where’d he come up with this stuff?

  “Okay, this is the thing, guys. These kids—that freckled guy, Julian, and his friends—they’ll never leave you alone if you don’t stand up for yourselves.”

  “Maybe they’ll grow out of it.” Chase shrugged. “Maybe he won’t buy any more GCPs after this year.”

  “No, Chase. They won’t grow out of it. Never. You have to stand up for yourself. I’ll be here. But what if I’m not here forever?”

  “Will you go away like Jason?”

  Tears stung my eyes. “No, not like that. But maybe I’ll have to get a job or something.”

  “Oh. This isn’t your job?” Mike asked. He was even smaller than Chase. “Is that why you come late sometimes?”

  Chase nudged him. Then he pulled a red Spiderman watch out of his pocket and handed it to me. “This is for you. I bought it with my allowance.”

  I held the watch in my hands. “For what?”

  “To tell the time, Kyle.”

  “I’ve got a watch.”

  “Oh.” He inspected my wrist. “That’s Jason’s old watch—the one you traded. It’s broken. I knew the watch was the problem—why you come late.”

  “It’s not—,” I said.

  “Did you really think it was ten forty-six?” Chase asked.

  10:46.

  “Anyway, I had to decide between Spiderman and the Hulk and decided Spiderman fit your profile better. The Hulk is entirely too conspicuous. This should help you get here on time, every day.” Chase took off my old watch and fastened Spiderman around my wrist. “It’s already set and has a new battery. Do you want me to throw this one away?”

  “No!” I snatched the watch from his hands. “I, uh, maybe I can fix it.” I stared at the two watches. One stopped at 10:46. The other ticking away, like nothing had ever happened.

  “Okay.” Chase looked at Mike, and they both shrugged.

  The Bishops’ minivan was idling in the school driveway. “There’s Mom. She wanted to come pick me up today because of yesterday. I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

  I bit my lip and ducked back down behind the Dumpsters. “I know. I know.” I swallowed hard. “Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chase’s eyes got really big.

  “I promise, Chase,” I said.

  A large shadow blocked the sunlight. Mr. Bishop towered above me.

  “Dad!” Chase said. “Kyle was just—”

  “Chase, Mike, get in the car.”

  “Dad, but—” Chase said. He reached out for my hand.

  Mr. Bishop pointed to the minivan. “I said ‘Get in the car!’ Now.”

  Chase nodded. He and Mike looked back at me.

  “What the hell are you doing here? At Chase’s school?”

  I couldn’t even begin to explain. “I, um. I…”

  Mr. Bishop clenched his fists. “You are to stay away from my family. Understood?”

  I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. I swallowed. I’m so sorry, I wanted to say. I’m sorry.

  My hands burned with the icy snow. Mr. Bishop kept talking, but I couldn’t hear him. I only heard a buzzing in my ears, like when I shot the gun. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Someone had muted the movie.

  I finally got the strength to stand and get to my bike. Mr. Bishop stood behind the Dumpsters staring at me, fists by his sides.

  I rode to the library as hard and fast as I could, the cold air piercing my lungs. My hands trembled, and I could barely open the library door. I sat in the first chair I found with my head between my knees, trying to control my breathing.

  Mr. Cordoba peered over his newspaper. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Yeah.” My voice wavered.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “I just want to sit right now, okay? Just sit,” I whispered. Vertigo. The floor spun, the colors of the carpet blending. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that life could stop, but all I could see was Jason’s dead body crumpled up in Dad’s shed.

  I hugged my knees, listening to my heart thud against my hollow chest.

  Mr. Cordoba set his newspaper down on his desk and
half read, half watched me.

  The minutes ticked by. Fiery orange light streamed through the windows, and pink clouds streaked from behind the mountains. Everything became blanketed in purple. I got up and started to pull down book after book, searching for Jason’s name. Which books did he take out? What did he use to read?

  Cordoba watched as the tables piled with books.

  “Are you looking for something?”

  “I just need to find,” I said, choking out the words, “I just need to find a book. That’s all. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anybody’s help. I’m just looking for a…” The titles blurred before me. My voice cracked.

  “Why don’t we call your folks?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I just need a book.”

  Mr. Cordoba approached me. “Can I help you pick one out?”

  “I don’t want your books. Don’t you get it?”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Caroll, it’s time to go home.”

  “No.” I pushed him away.

  “Why don’t you get your things out of your locker and come back here? We’ll find whatever book you want.”

  “We will?” I whispered.

  Mr. Cordoba nodded. “We can look all night if we have to.”

  “Okay,” I breathed. “Okay.”

  The hallways were empty. Most teachers had gone home. Sometimes after the library I could hear a vacuum in the distance. Sometimes, if varsity basketball practice was running late, I could hear the pounding of rubber balls on the court and the squeak of basketball shoes.

  Something felt wrong. It was later than usual, too dark. Too quiet.

  I was walking down the hallway when I heard glass shatter; then I felt thunderous pain in my head.

  “Fucking pansy. Hiding out in the library behind that freak, Cordoba. Didn’t even have the balls to show up at the assembly.”

  I staggered back and felt blood trickle down behind my ear, matting my hair. Dripping. Clumping.

  “What’s the matter, Kyle? Not so tough without your gun?” Troy asked.