He did it! The crazy fool actually did it!
We’re gathered around the Smart Board in Ms. DeLeo’s room, watching How to Clean Your Tricycle on YouTube. I’ve got to hand it to Brendan—when he sets his mind on something, he follows through, even after the entire video club told him to take a hike. And you know what? He knocked it out of the park. I’ve never seen anything so funny. It’s a wonder he didn’t get himself killed. But he’s very much alive, beaming like a proud papa, as he premieres his work to rave reviews from the club.
Ms. DeLeo, our faculty advisor, laughs until tears are streaming down her cheeks. “Brendan, how could you even dream of doing such a thing?”
“The worst part was how cold the water was,” he says. “But it was totally worth it.”
We burst into thunderous applause when the music comes to a crescendo and the tricycle is pedaled out of The Shiny Bumper into the light. Brendan takes a bow, a goofy grin plastered onto his face.
Credits appear on the screen: PRODUCED BY BRENDAN ESPINOZA AND CHASE AMBROSE.
Chase Ambrose?
The ovation dies abruptly in the classroom.
“That’s part of the joke, right?” Mauricia Dunbar offers dubiously. “Like produced by William Shakespeare or Mickey Mouse?”
“No, it was really him,” Brendan tells us. “None of you guys would help me, and he said okay.”
“Why would you even ask him?” I blurt, furious. “Do you have a death wish or something?”
Ms. DeLeo steps in. “Isn’t it enough that the video got made and it’s fabulous?”
“I don’t have a death wish,” Brendan retorts. “And you know what? I’m glad I asked him, because he did an awesome job on camera two. Maybe it’s from sports, but he has a really steady hand. Better than any of us—including me. We could use a guy like that.”
I get a sinking feeling in my gut. “You didn’t!”
Brendan nods. “I invited him to join the club.”
We all start babbling at the same time. I’m so angry that I can’t really make out much of it. But it’s pretty obvious that everybody is relating the story of some mean thing that Chase and probably Aaron and Bear did to them. There’s definitely no shortage of material. The chorus of complaint goes on and on.
“Yeah, I get it!” Brendan holds up his hands. “Those guys picked on me too—more than any of you!”
Not more than my poor brother, I think.
“But the Chase Ambrose who worked on this video,” Brendan goes on, “is not the same person. He lost his memory when he fell off his roof this summer—total amnesia. I know it sounds weird, but maybe he forgot what a jerk he was.”
“Big talk from the guy who thinks riding a tricycle through a car wash is a smart thing to do,” puts in Hugo.
Brendan doesn’t back down. “Seriously—we had a great time yesterday. He was helpful. He had good ideas. He was even nice. He’s different.”
All I can see is a red haze in front of my eyes—and through it, Joel, packing his suitcase to go away to school.
I remind Brendan, “My brother would be in this room right now if it wasn’t for that jerk! I don’t want him here. None of us do.”
“That’s enough,” Ms. DeLeo cuts me off. “School clubs are open to everyone. We don’t pick and choose. If this boy wants to be a member, then we take him in. It’s as simple as that.”
The atmosphere in the room is supercharged—rage from me, defiance from Brendan, firmness from the teacher, and varying degrees of protest, discontent, and unease from everyone else. It boils around us when a voice from the doorway asks, “Am I late? What did I miss?”
It’s him—the enemy.
He enters the room, tentative but smiling. And here I am unarmed, without my trusty tub of frozen yogurt.
“Welcome,” Ms. DeLeo greets him. “Brendan was just showing us your new video. We’re so happy you decided to join us.”
Chase seems hesitant. He probably picks up on the disconnect between Ms. DeLeo’s warm welcome and the body language coming off the rest of us. Only the KEEP OUT sign is missing. When he sees me, he takes a step back, a little fearful. The fear looks good on him. At least that part of his memory works. He remembers that I’m the person who hates his guts.
“How to Clean Your Tricycle killed,” Brendan assures him. “And look—we already have forty-six views on YouTube. I was hoping it would be viral already, but these things take time.”
“They call it viral because it’s supposed to spread fast, like a virus,” I put in sourly.
“Some viruses are slower than others,” Brendan replies.
“So what exactly do you guys do?” Chase asks. “You know, when you’re not riding tricycles through car washes?”
That bugs me too. For sure, that’s how he sees us—a collection of nerdy wing nuts who pull off moronic stunts and call it brilliance. Brendan can be kind of a goofball, but he’s also the smartest kid in school. A knuckle dragger like Chase will never appreciate someone who’s destined to accomplish something that will make the world a better place. Why would he? The simplest way to make the world a better place would be to kick out Chase Ambrose.
Ms. DeLeo provides the answer. “Well, some of us will be working on entries for the National Video Journalism Contest.”
“You mean just Shoshanna,” Brendan snickers.
“If you could get your head out of YouTube long enough,” I tell him, “you’d see what a great opportunity it is. This year’s guideline is to profile a senior citizen with an interesting story to tell. We should all consider it.”
“I don’t think I know any old people,” is Chase’s reaction. Probably because he gets his jollies by pushing them out into traffic.
“We’ll also be producing the school’s video yearbook,” the teacher goes on. “That’s something you can sink your teeth into.”
I cringe. Bad analogy for Chase, who I always pictured as a mountain lion picking over a carcass.
“What goes into a video yearbook?” Chase asks.
“Student interviews, mostly,” Hugo jumps in. “You get so much more than the standard picture and quote.” He shrinks back when he remembers who he’s talking to. My brother’s experience has trained us to avoid capturing Chase’s attention. He can’t target you if he doesn’t notice you’re there.
Chase nods. “Makes sense.”
“Nifty way to keep score of the kids whose lives you’ve ruined over the year, isn’t it?” I add bitterly.
He’s thrown by that, but Ms. DeLeo jumps in quickly. “We’ll also need content on every club and team in the school. Chase, since you play sports, I thought you’d be a natural to cover the athletic program.”
A hopeful buzz greets this suggestion. Interviewing the jocks is a miserable job, since they’re always so uncooperative and hostile. The worst of them is usually our newest member himself, but we’ve still got Aaron and Bear, plus Joey Petronus, Landon Rubio, and some of the others to contend with. It’s like Miss America. If the winner can’t fulfill her duties, there are plenty of runners-up to take over the tiara.
“I’ll try,” says Chase. “But I don’t really know those guys so well anymore. I mean, they know me—”
Well, how about that? Brendan’s right—this big dummy fell on his ugly head hard enough to give himself amnesia. What other explanation could there be that he “doesn’t really know” the juvenile co-delinquents that he’s partnered with in a reign of terror that covers the entire town?
Could Brendan also be right that Chase has no idea what a jerk he is?
No. Amnesia can wipe out the details of your past, but it can’t change the kind of person you are. Maybe he doesn’t remember being a bully. He might have no clue that he tortured Joel to the point where he had no choice but to leave town. But when a person like that wants to know how he feels about something, and looks deep inside his black heart, it’s still going to be filled with acid.
I message my theory to Joel later that night.
JWPianoMan: So what ur telling me is: I’m in exile, and the guy who exiled me doesn’t even remember doing it?
Shosh466: That’s what they say.
JWPianoMan: Don’t know what 2 think about that.
Shosh466: He’ll remember soon enough. Or Beta & Gamma Rats will remind him.
JWPianoMan: U seem 2 know a lot about Alpha Rat these days.
I start to tell Joel the real headline—who the video club’s newest member is. My fingers freeze over my phone screen. My brother is depressed enough. The thought of Chase forcing him away and then parachuting into his spot in the club and ruining it will only make him feel worse.
No, that’s not it. That slimeball didn’t ruin video club. What really happened was even worse: nothing.
The worst person in the world came to Ms. DeLeo’s room and … life went on. The other members didn’t quit. The ceiling didn’t cave in; our equipment didn’t burst into flame. Ms. DeLeo didn’t collapse at her desk.
We can’t stand that guy, but we’re going to put up with him. No way am I going to tell Joel that. He’s upset enough as it is.
Besides, Chase Ambrose will last about ten minutes in video club. As soon as Ms. DeLeo actually asks him to do something, he’ll be gone.
So I type:
Shosh466: Boring school, boring town. Amnesia = big news.
JWPianoMan: Alpha Rat squeezing zits = big news at that school.
Shosh466: He doesn’t have any zits.
That’s a pointless thing to text Joel. But by the time that occurs to me, I’ve already tapped send.
JWPianoMan: HMS kids r such morons.
Shosh466: Melton kids any better???
JWPianoMan: NO!!!
It’s as if a deep chasm opens up in my stomach. I don’t want to make him feel worse, but it needs to be said.
Shosh466: C’mon, little bro. U were miserable at home.
JWPianoMan: At least there I was special. Here I’m just another 2nd rate piano player.
I think of Chase and want to explode.