The Wild Things - By Dave Eggers Page 0,8

with great speed and determination. Now he was listening to his mother’s footsteps on the stairs, coming up to see him, and he felt like erasing the past, everything he had ever done. He wanted to say, I know I’ve always been bad, and now I will be good. Just let me live.

“Anyone home?” Max’s mother asked. “Max?”

He could escape. He could slip downstairs and run out the front door. Could he? He could live in another town, he could hop trains, become a hobo. He could leave, try to explain himself in a note, wait it out while everyone calmed down. He was sure that there would be anger, and yelling and stomping, maybe that violent sort of silence his mother had perfected. He didn’t want to be around for all that.

So he got ready to leave home for good.

He retrieved his backpack, the one his father had bought him before they hiked through Maine. But just as he was getting up to put on dry clothes and pack the bag, his mom was there, door open, already in his room, standing over him.

“What’s happening in here? Anything good?” she asked.

She was wearing her work clothes, a wool skirt and white cotton blouse. She smelled of cold air and sweat and something else. God, he loved her so much. She sat down on his bed and kissed his head. He briefly fell apart, disintegrated by her gentle touch. But then he placed the smell: it was Gary’s deodorant, which she had begun sharing. It was a wet, chemical smell.

He sat back in his bed and his eyes welled. How could so many tears come so quickly? Stupid crying. So stupid. He threw the covers over his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Max didn’t answer. He couldn’t look at her.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

Max was surprised by this question, though it wasn’t a new one. For a second, it gave him strength. It reminded him there were other problems, other people to blame.

“No,” he said.

She pulled the covers down from his face.

“What is it then?” she asked. “Were you crying?”

“Claire’s stupid friends smashed my igloo,” he said. It came out far sooner than he’d planned.

“Oh,” his mom said, running her hand through his matted hair. She didn’t seem very impressed with the crime. He knew he had to make his mom furious at what Claire had done. If he made her angry enough, she might understand what Max had done in response. She might want to pour water on Claire’s room, too, or worse.

“I worked really hard on it,” Max added.

“I’m sure you did,” she said, bringing his head up and to her chest. He heard her heart, smelled her skin.

“I almost died. I was buried in the snow,” he said, his words muffled in her shirt.

She held Max tighter now, and for a moment Max felt hopeful. He was no longer cold, and his face no longer burned. For a moment Max again forgot that he might be in trouble, and that trouble would come as soon as his mom walked into his sister’s room.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day, Maxie,” she said.

It sounded like she was actually sorry, but was she sorry enough to understand what Max had done in return? He avoided her eyes, though he could feel the heavy weight of their compassion.

“Where’s Claire?” she asked.

“Who cares?” Max said.

“Who cares?” she laughed. “I do. And you should. She’s supposed to be here. You can’t be here alone after school. You both know that. Did she leave? I want to ask her about this igloo situation.”

This conversation was becoming very satisfying. It hadn’t occurred to Max until then that Claire was in trouble herself. She shouldn’t have left! She was supposed to watch him but she had gone off in the ugly station wagon to chew tobacco. If Max was careful with this situation, he could divert all the attention to Claire’s misdeeds.

But then came the sound of dripping.

“What’s that?” his mom asked.

Max put on an unknowing face and shrugged.

His mom stood quickly. “Sounds like something’s dripping. Did you take a bath?”

Max shook his head. He hadn’t bathed; that was true.

She left the room. He could hear her in the bathroom, tightening the knobs on the tub. The drip persisted. “Where is that coming from?” she asked aloud.

Then she was in Claire’s room.

She screamed.

Max never thought she would scream.

“What is this?” she shrieked.

This will be be hard, Max thought. So hard. He considered his options. He