Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,26
it, but it needs to be replaced. Every time it slams shut, it’s like a bomb went off.”
“A crash. Or something,” I say.
He looks at me, all curious, but then just nods. “You okay, then?”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” I say lightly, though my head is throbbing. He offers a hand to help me to my feet.
Nervously, I glance at the stage, imagining every face turned toward me, staring. But nobody other than the janitor seems to have noticed that I just fell to the floor like I’d been shot in the head.
The janitor nods slowly, as if he’s reassuring himself I’m not a lawsuit about to happen. “Okay then. Take it easy.” He lifts up the vacuum cleaner with one hand and walks out of the auditorium, keys jangling on his belt.
Sitting in the last row, I wait for my head to stop vibrating, for the gray spots in my vision to clear. Why the hell would the sound of a crashing door cause me to throw myself to the floor like that? Another question without an answer.
I stuff my plastic bag of clothes under the chair in front of me and turn my focus away from my problems and on to the redheaded girl sitting on the stage.
As if sensing my eyes locked on her, Hailey turns and looks up to where I’m sitting, leaning my arms on the seat in front of me, watching her. She squints, and then with one hand, shields her face from the lights on the stage so she can see me better. Encouraged, I stand up and start walking toward her.
Hailey hops off the stage and we meet in the aisle. She looks happy to see me.
“Hank,” she says, and gives me this sweet, shy smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, well, my dad is in town, looking at houses and property and stuff, and I didn’t feel like going along. I went for a walk and ended up here.” These lies come so easy, I’m proud and ashamed at the same time.
“Does that mean you’re transferring soon?”
She sounds hopeful, and I wish I could tell her yes. I wish I was a normal person who could go to this school and attend classes and take Hailey to dances and cheer for the Patriots sports teams.
“I might,” I tell her. “Although it’s so late in the school year, I might just hang out in Concord and, you know, do stuff on my own.”
“Stuff on your own?”
“Like home-schooling. To finish up the year.” I shrug and go for a confident smile to back it up.
She turns her head to one side and crinkles her forehead at me like she doesn’t get it. I notice that she’s wearing two different earrings, a dangly gold musical note in one ear, and a silver G-clef in the other.
“But where are you living, if your parents don’t have a house out here yet?”
“Oh, I have this, well, uncle who lives in town. I’m staying with him.” All these stacked-up lies are starting to make me nauseous. I gesture toward the stage. “So, what’s going on here?”
Hailey looks behind her at the stage. “Oh, it’s this thing we do every year called the Battle of the Bands, coming up in a couple weeks. It’s a big deal, with sets and lights and fog machines and stuff. A big deal for us, anyway.”
“That’s cool. You in the show?” I ask.
She looks away, shrugs. “Nah. I’m just helping backstage, organizing and stuff.”
From the stage, the suburban gangster is staring at the two of us.
“That your boyfriend?” I jut my chin toward the kid.
Startled, Hailey follows my gaze. “Cameron? No. He lives next door to me and we’ve known each other since we were kids. That’s all.” She shrugs. “Well, I should get back to work. Stick around for a while if you want.”
“Sure. Can I help?” I ask her.
Hailey introduces me to this hyper blond lady named Ms. Coleman who’s obviously in charge of the event.
“This is Hank, he’s a new student here,” Hailey says, cutting me a look that says, just go with it. “Can he help out?”
“Of course, of course,” Ms. Coleman says. She’s so busy she barely even looks at me. “Welcome aboard.” She points out a toolbox and gives some vague directions about building sets.
For about an hour, I join the other kids (who ignore me for the most part, which is fine with me), working on the sets and trying to be helpful. It turns out