Jeremy couldn’t be late again. He just couldn’t. Mr. Calvert already put down four red checkmarks. Jeremy did not want five. Five meant being called into Mr. Bonth’s office. Being called into Mr. Bonth’s office meant detention and a parental phone call. He’d had two of those this past month. And he’d only been a freshman at Ritger High just over one.
He picked up his pace, potentially wearing out the soles on his back-to-school grey skater sneakers faster than need be. He moved along, wishing that he had them because he could classify himself as a skater. No, he just liked them. If he did have a skateboard, he could get places faster and maybe not be late all the time. Plus it would be really cool. But he knew he’d kill himself on a board. Even if he could skate, he’d want to do all of the impressive tricks right off the bat. He figured rightly that he had no knack for those. Besides, his mother would never let him have a skateboard. Especially not with another tardy and detention. By this time he’d started running.
At least I have an excuse. Not that anyone will think it’s a good one.
He did have a good excuse. He followed a different route, one he assumed would be more direct with less traffic lights. Although true, he didn’t plan on such a great distraction.
He almost passed by without noticing it. Before his sole touched the pavement beyond the boutique next door, his brain flickered. Did he really see something? He walked backward, head turned to look down the little alley. Well, not quite an alley. A person could fit through it. Yet it did not seem intended as a passageway. What he saw just down the mini alley made him blink hard. A ritzy apartment building with a vast, lush courtyard. How very cool. Looks like a nice place. I wonder who lives there.
He wanted a closer look. The sides of the alley limited his view. An unsettling absurdity kicked in. The mysterious edifice and its courtyard had been tucked away in negative space. As if inserted behind the other buildings on the street. Impossibly. The whole place threw him for a loop. He took more steps backward to get a better understanding. A noise like popping fire forced his eyes back down the alley. It had vanished. The building, the courtyard. Gone!
No time to wonder. He shot off like a fugitive. The crackling noise stayed in his ears, steadily rushing into a roar of flame being born. He gazed back from the corner. A geyser burst over the architectural marvel’s rooftop. Faintly. Briefly. Unbelievably. I didn’t just see that. The sun’s in my eyes. Yeah, that’s it. He heard nothing now but regular sounds. The world kept going on around him, oblivious to the event. I shouldn’t stay up so late reading.
He resumed racing to Ritger’s halls of learning. At last he arrived at a side entrance. He looked inside. No activity.
Crud. I’ve missed the bell. Again. Stupid building!
In the classroom where Jeremy should have already been, Mr. Calvert scanned the room, taking stock of no-show students. He noticed Franklin’s hand raised. “Yes, Mr. Euler?”
“Jeremy’s here, just so you know. He had to make an emergency run to the bathroom.”
“Oh really,” responded Mr. Calvert with only half a belief in what he’d been told.
Jeremy walked in at that moment.
“So good of you to join us, Mr. Strache. I had you marked absent.”
“No, sir, I −”
“I trust you are feeling well?”
“I’m okay,” he replied, hoping he did not sound winded.
“Nothing you need to go see the nurse about then, is it?”
The remark confused him, but still freaked out by the alley, he cared little. “What? No.”
“Please do try and take care of such things before you leave for school, Mr. Strache.”
“I keep telling you. It’s pronounced like Bach.” His words carried the disdain of having said that too many times.
“Just take your seat, Jeremy.”
He shuffled over and sat in his usual place by Frank. Eventually Mr. Calvert faced the blackboard and chalked up the notes for his own class. The normal lack of activity called Homeroom started up. Morning announcements droned over the school intercom, but few students bothered to listen.
Frankie passed a note to Jeremy. But not a secretively, creatively and decisively folded piece of paper with elaborate markings in which presentation outweighed content, like the girls were so fond of concocting. Just scribbles and a crease. Jeremy lifted open the scrap and read: ‘I told Pervert you were here but had a bathroom emergency.’ He crumpled it and gave Frank thumbs up.
Even with the weighty wackiness of his walk, boredom reigned for the remaining minutes until the bell rang. Students scrambled out of their seats and crowded unorganizedly to the door only to haphazardly assimilate into the larger scramble in the halls. Jeremy and Frankie had the same first period, so they pushed and squeezed their way together.
“Thanks for saving my butt back there,” Jeremy said halfway up the stairs.
“No prob. Were you up late again?”
“Yeah.”
“What this time? Egyptian mythology? Internal combustion engines?”
“Constellations.”
Franklin laughed as they entered classroom 204. “You’re the only guy I know of who makes his own homework.”
“Shaddup. I play Tyro Pyro just like everybody else.”
“Everyone’s so done with Tyro Pyro.”
“Oh sure,” replied Jeremy, plopping into his seat. “Until Tyro Pyro 2 comes out.”
“Separate Realm is out on hump day!” Frankie tumbled into the seat behind Jeremy.
“Like I need reminding? That game should be pretty sweet.”
“I’ve had it reserved for months. I can enter the Realm this very Wednesday.”
“Excellent!” Then he changed his tone to a grumble. “My mom won’t get it for me.”
“No worries! Play at my house. I’ll give you a block on my memory card.”
Ms. Thurbis wheeled in a cart teeming with paperback books. “Class, say hello to your new reading assignment.”
And thus the school day plodded along like any other. The only highlight for Jeremy came when the cafeteria had oatmeal raisin cookies. They compensated for the hamburgers with the undesirable and unidentifiable aftertaste.
At the end of the day he paced by the line up of school buses. Glad I don’t have to deal with that whole mess. He didn’t relish the idea of being cooped up on a bus with other kids he didn’t even want to be seeing inside the school. As if it’s better to be cooped up on an elevated train with a bunch of strangers. As he passed the last bus, he looked up into the window.
Alice Seager. She didn’t notice him, thank goodness. She chatted it up about who knows what with her friends. He fancied she spoke about him. Wishful thinking. She’d never go out with someone like me. But then, I have seen her give me a look. Who am I kidding? I’m misreading signals. Or there are no signals. Or they were meant for someone else. Alice turned and looked his way. Jeremy scooted off. Now I’ve done it.
Remembering the mysterious morning, he decided to take the same way back. I gotta see if it’s there. Cautiously he moved to the middle of the block, slowing down as he passed the boutique. He peered into the itty bitty alley, just one step away. Nope. I imagined it. A lingering dream. He continued on to Blurkburn Avenue, turned left and trekked along the rest of the way, looking up at the street lamps. They each had two hanging baskets. Empty baskets. While he scratched an itch at the back of his right ear of all places, he found himself complaining. Lousy city. They’ve got these excellent decorative ideas for the streets and they can’t even follow up on it. No, they just leave them as barren eyesores. They really oughta put something in them. Like straw or corn husks and little tiny pumpkins and stuff. He finally suppressed the itch as he reached Emteten Parkway. From there he had to go another half a block to the train station. He checked the time. Yup, definitely a quicker way to go.
Once the train arrived, which it did with irregularity without being entirely infrequent, Jeremy had to ride a good half hour or so. He got off at Letheate, the last leg of his journey. He walked a short block and a half to Apartment 1390 in a complex he called home.
When he opened the door, the television no longer held the attention of the girl looking at it. She bounded up from her seat and jumped up and down.
“Jeremy! Jeremy! Jeremy!”
The attention felt good. “What’s up, lil’ sis?” he smiled. He gave her hair a playful tousle and moved to the couch. He plopped his book bag down and whumped into the couch next to her. Feet propped on the table in front of him, he admired his sneaks and wondered if he imagined a new scuff or not as he extended for the remote control. He started flipping channels.
“Hey! I’m watching that!” she protested, trying in vain to snatch the remote away from him as he always darted it just out of her reach.
“Not any more,” he snickered, still hurling through stations rapidly.
“Jer-re-my!”
“Hush, Mindy. Look what else is on!” He pointed to the screen.
Mindy turned to see. “Flintstones! All right!”
Jeremy examined the remote control. The most used keys on it had little flecks of orange on them. He looked sharply over at Mindy, specifically her hands. Her fingertips all had a bright orange glow. “Hey! Did you eat all the cheese doodles?! Aw, Mynds! You were supposed to save some for me!” The disappointment in his voice could have pressed a flower.
“Calm down, cheese head. Mom took them away from me before I finished the whole bag.” She poked out her tongue, also coated in orange.
“Well all right then,” he said, sounding like he’d just won an argument.
The Flintstones continued their antics on the screen and the two of them watched, much too mindlessly for their own good. After a while, Jeremy settled further into the cushion of the couch, slouching and slumping like a pro. From his new vantage, he noticed the box on the table in the dining room.
“Hey, Mom shouldn’t be torturing you by leaving out birthday presents like that.”
“Oh! That’s not for me. That’s yours.”
“Mine?” He didn’t even bother to get up. “I don’t think so. You’re the one with a birthday next week. It’s gotta be for you, Mynds.”
“Nuh-unh! That’s yours!” she repeated.
“She’s right, Dumpling,” said Mom, emerging from her bedroom at the end of the small hall. “That came for you. And get your feet off the table, Jeremy!”
He obeyed, but purposefully clomped his feet on the floor. “Hey, Mom,” he greeted, continuing to watch the television like a magnet. A commercial for Separate Realm had just come on the screen.
Mom walked past, blocking his view at just the right moment so that he missed his favorite part of the ad. She went over to the table in the dining area of the technically one room apartment space. “Aren’t you interested in the package at all?”
It’s probably another pity gift from Aunt Rebecca.
Aunt Rebecca couldn’t stand the idea of her niece or nephew being hurt or jealous when sending a gift to the other one. Never mind that it didn’t make sense to give Jeremy a present for Mindy’s birthday. Or to send Mindy a small token when Jeremy won the Science Fair as a little guy. Aunt Rebecca just wanted to make sure no one felt left out. A lovely gesture, but a somewhat ludicrously invented necessity. Not that Jeremy didn’t appreciate her efforts. He just wished she would stop hitting so far off the mark.
Probably another hideous sweater to clutter my closet and make my mother wonder why I never wear it. Hoodies for me, Aunt Rebecca. Hoodies and sweatshirts. Stop with the multi-colored, pictorial knit things already. She could at least give me flannels. I like those. But no, it’s like she’s blind to that fact.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Jeremy,” snapped his mother. “If you don’t come for it in two shakes of a lamb’s tail I’m going to throw it out.”
While you’re at it, raid my closet and get rid of the rest of them, why don’t you? “Why does Aunt Rebecca always think we both deserve something?”
“It’s not from your aunt.”
“Really? Who’s it from?”
“Shhhhhhh!” hushed Mindy. “I can’t hear Barney Rubble!”
“Oh, as if you haven’t seen the Upside Down Flint-Rubble Bubble cake episode like twenty times,” said Jeremy, launching himself from the couch.
“It says here D-Bom Games,” answered Mom.
“D-Bom Games?” Jeremy pondered for a second. His eyes lit up. He knew what must be in the box. “About bloody time! I forgot all about it!”
His mother handed him the package. He saw his name right there in the center on a big white sticker. ‘Jeremy N. Strache’ The order form had a place for a middle initial and he obliged, even though his middle name always made him wince. The company’s logo graced the upper left corner of the sticker.
Wasting no more time, he began the arduous process of getting the wrapping and tape off. None of it came up easily even though he fiercely clawed and picked at it. Finally he made a tear.
Suddenly Barney Rubble’s antics no longer held Mindy’s interest. She turned in her seat, tucked her legs under herself and bobbed up and down. “What is it? What is it? What is it?”
Mom had gone into their little kitchen to start dinner, while Jeremy still struggled with the stubborn packing material.
“What is it?” Mindy asked again, more obnoxiously than before.
“If I can ever get the blasted thing open I’ll show you. I ordered this six months ago or more. I wonder what took so long.” A thought crossed his mind as to the reason, but he pushed it away because it mildly depressed him. He finally managed to bust the package apart and reached inside.
Mindy bounced over to her big brother as he pulled out the contents. Green material in plastic wrap. “What is it?”
He granked at it and let the green material drape down in front of him. “All right!” It pleased him greatly. Especially the quality of the merchandise.
“What is it?” demanded Mindy, who could no longer handle any suspense.
Barbara came out of the kitchen wringing her hands in a faux tie-dyed dishtowel. She couldn’t stand Mindy not being able to sit still about the prolonged event. Besides, she wanted to know, too.
Jeremy held it up for Mindy to see. She looked upon an intricately embroidered demented looking boy with literally flaming hair, an alarming smile, pointed ears, a flaring red tank top, jeans and burnt orange boots. A column of fire blasted forth to the ground from his outstretched hand. Flames engulfed, as well as provided the background to, the words ‘Tyro Pyro’ with the word ‘pyro’ made from fire itself.
“Oh,” said Mindy, none too excited anymore. “That’s that little guy you play on TV.” She paced back to the couch.
“Oh good lord,” Mom sighed. “It’s not that stupid little demon thing you like?”
Jeremy turned around. “Tyro’s not a demon. He’s an Unearthly Imp.”
“Oh, right. Silly of me. That makes it all better,” she replied in her special brand of sarcasm as she went back into the kitchen. She twisted a knob on the stove.
Jeremy heard the clicks of it trying to ignite. “Tyro doesn’t need a stove to make fire, Mom,” he called in to her. He knew it would get her goat.
“Uh-huh,” she said, still serving sarcasm.
Jeremy flipped the sweatshirt over and took another look.
This just rocks. I’m so glad it’s not some cheap iron-on or something. This is some pretty heavy duty stitching. I should call up Frankie and gloat. Naw, better yet, I should just show up with it on at school tomorrow. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
He dashed into his room. Door shut, he stood before the full length mirror and put the Tyro Pyro sweatshirt up to his chest, just for a few moments, to see how it looked. He tossed it over a chair and jumped onto his bed. He relaxed silently for a little while, looking up at the planes frozen in flight. He’d put together all the models and hung them up himself. He reached for the stereo remote on the night table. Two presses and music started up.
While other kids of his generation listened to whatever diva or garage band came onto the scene each week, Jeremy much preferred the older stuff. He’d learned to appreciate Tom Petty and The Doors, having been introduced to them by his father so many years ago. He sang along to song after song of Petty crooning. Eventually he grabbed the book on the night table. He thumbed through medieval feudalism, read a few bits here and there and studied the artwork of this picture or that. Before he knew it, Mom called him for dinner.
He heard Mindy as he went into the petite hall. “Can I have steak sauce on mine?”
Steak? Are we having steak? But he soon saw a small pile of hamburgers. Crud. Oh well. At least Mom’s don’t have that weird aftertaste.
Mom always insisted on them doing their homework right after dinner. Mindy tried to get her to believe that she didn’t have any today, but failed. Fortunately she didn’t fail her subjects, too.
Jeremy, on the other hand, might very well have been headed in that direction for a couple of his classes. But as long as Mom didn’t know that, content to see him looking studious at the desk wedged into the always-open double sliding door closet in his room. The doors of the closet had been removed, actually, and he used the roomy interior for his workspace.
Most of his clothes fit into the chest of drawers opposite his bed. But he did have his flannels hanging on the beam in the closet pushed off to the rightmost edge. On the leftmost side were his “good” suit, “nice” shirts, a decent sport coat and a heavy winter jacket, none of which he used too often, if ever. He obscured these from view with a hung black sheet. He also had an oblong plastic storage box that he usually kept tucked away under the bed. But as it contained his sweatshirts and hoodies, he left it out these days considering the chillier months had arrived. And now he had his exclusive Tyro Pyro sweatshirt to add to his collection. Aunt Rebecca’s unwanted contributions had been relegated to a box on the highest shelf in the closet.
As for decorating, a few action figures and more models (a bridge, some buildings and sleek, giant robots) sat atop his dresser. He had three posters ― a skateboarder performing a rail slide, a comprehensive chart of all the various eras of dinosaurs and a fearsome Viking ship cutting through the water. He had artistically littered the inner wall of the work-in closet with a collage of comic strips, pictures, magazine clippings and other various bits of printed memorabilia. And of course Miles, his childhood stuffed fox that he could not yet abandon, sat on the desk near his beloved flannels.
Once he completed his homework to a passing degree, he retrieved what Mindy had left of the cheese doodles. He came back in to the semi-neat stack of books. He reached for the one on constellations again and went about his own pursuits. He whittled away some time within its pages and had no trouble finishing the cheese puffs.
A rap on the door jerked him away. He looked at the digital alarm clock on the far right near Miles. 11:36 p.m. The door crept open slowly. He could see a splash of color from his mom’s tie-dyed shirt before he saw her face.
“You all right in here, Dumpling?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Well, kiddo, shouldn’t you be heading to bed?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“I mean it, Jeremy. Lights out pretty soon, okay? School again tomorrow, in case you’d forgotten.” Her sarcasm had made another visit. “And you already have tardy strikes against you, don’t you?”
“I know I know I know,” he said snidely.
“Hey! Don’t give me that attitude! You’re the one who gets too sleepy and cranky in the mornings, bucko! Now get ready for bed.”
“Okaaaay.”
He closed the book and rolled his chair back.
“Listen, Jeremy, I’m only pushing you because I don’t want to see you get behind.”
He didn’t reply.
“Mrs. Delgotti…you know, one of the ladies I play Bridge with.” She watched him pop off his cap, take out his cell phone and put it in the charger. “She has a boy that goes to Mindy’s school. Well anyway, she’s been telling me what’s been going on there.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
Barb shook her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s happening at your school, too.”
“What is?”
She waved her arm, “No, you’ve got enough to deal with already.”
“Jeez! Just tell me!” he snapped.
“Hey! I already told you not to take that tone with me.” She spied his book. “Seriously, Jeremy. You can study everything and anything but what the school gives you. What’s wrong with you?”
He shrugged.
She sighed. “Just don’t slack off your schoolwork, okay?” she pleaded with a slight roar, obviously thinking about what she wouldn’t tell him.
He let out a huge sigh. “Mom, just tell me wh—”
“Listen, Dumpling, I know I’m annoying,” she said. She watched as he peeled off his flannel. “But I can’t help it, Jeremy. I’m your mother and it’s my job to annoy you because I love you. I hope you realize that.”
He threw the flannel over the chair. “Yeah, I do.”
Barbara knew better than to expect an adolescent boy to return the words. But she hear them in the three words he gave her. “Night!”
“Night, Mom.”
The door closed. Jeremy pulled his grey sweatshirt over his head and tossed it onto the plastic chest. He waited until he heard the clicking shut of his mom’s bedroom door before he ventured outside his own for his bathroom ritual. He took a few moments to examine the back of his right ear. Well, as best he could see it in the mirror, which is to say not very well. He had scratched something fierce, evidenced by how it felt. Stupid.
He pondered what his mother said on his way back to his room. He pulled out a book on Arthurian legends, turned out the light and crawled into bed. Without any trouble in the dark, he pulled open the night table drawer. He ran his hand along inside and grabbed hold of a little flashlight. He switched it on and commenced his secret seminar.
When he next bothered to take a gander at the time, the clock read 2:27 a.m. Crud! Well, lights out for real. He shined the flashlight over to his desk. The soft brown eyes of the plush fox gleamed. Good night, Miles. With that, he put the book on the little table, deposited the light stick inside the drawer and pulled the covers over his head and tried not to think about the Courtyard.