Chapter 2: Toxic Words

After a brief moment of anxiety on the part of my entire family, we all realized that there was no danger from whatever had caused that sound, and promptly fell asleep. That morning was about the same as any other, though Amanda had the local news on all morning while I was eating breakfast, picking out clothes, etc. The anchorman said that it was an unusually large meteor entering the atmosphere and bursting a dozen miles above Broadleaf. They had a revolving door of experts and local figures talking about their reaction to it all, but I wasn’t as invested in it as my parents were.

In the entire duration of my time at North Broadleaf High, I had used the main gate of the building maybe a dozen times, maximum. Because of the location of the bus stop in relation to the rest of the school, it’s actually much faster to get to homeroom via a small gate in the fence. It just so happened that on this day in particular, this plan backfired. 

I was about fifteen feet past the gate, about to pass around the corner of the big concrete structure near the gate, when I got grabbed from behind. Whoever it was, they were stronger than me. One arm was around my neck, the other around my stomach, and both might as well have been iron bars for how much I could resist. I lashed out, kicking towards his knees, only for him to yank me back for my troubles. Then Ian goddamn Underwood showed up. 

“How’s it going, you fat furry freak?” Ian asked, hate pouring from his voice. “You’ve been feeling really good about playing the hero, haven’t you?”

I didn’t respond, instead focusing on breaking the grip of whatever football-team thug he’d roped into attacking me. I got a weird taste in my mouth just thinking about it. I tried ripping his fingers out of their grip, but he tightened, making me gasp for breath.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Ian said, gritting his teeth. “I got put on disciplinary probation because of your little stunt. I could miss the end of the football season because little miss furry fuck thought he’d play the hero.”

Ian swung his fist right for my head. With his friend still holding on tight, I couldn’t do much more than turn my head so that the blow landed on my cheek. For a second the world flashed white, pain hitting me like a thunderbolt. I started panicking, thrashing against the grip around me, but whoever this guy was he was strong enough to not budge. Ian backed up and punched me again.

“Do you want me to let him go?” asked the asshole holding on to me.

“Nah,” Ian said. “I want to work out some stress.”

My thoughts were something along the lines of ‘this guy’s going to send me to the hospital’. I tucked my head low and, suddenly getting an idea, bit the arm wrapped around my neck with all my might. He screamed, releasing his grip and giving me the space I needed to slam my head back into the bridge of his nose. It made a crackling sound. 

I pulled away, quickly backing up against the wall of the building. I’d never been in a fight before, but I had seen enough to know that you’re supposed to put your fists up in front of your face. I also got a good look at the guy who’d been grabbing me for the first time. He was huge; like, super huge. I’m pretty sure he must have lifted weights or something. 

“He bit me! What is wrong with this guy?” asked the guy who I totally bit.

“I dunno, dude. He’s a weird piece of work, that’s for sure,” Ian said, shaking his head.

“I’m the weird one? You two just ambushed me and tried to break my face in!” I said, my voice coming out as a raspy whimper.

“Whatever,” Ian said. “If you didn’t want to face consequences, you shouldn’t have gotten in my way yesterday.”

All of a sudden, Ian dashed towards me. I ducked out of the way and his fist smashed into the wall behind me. He swore loudly while his friend or whoever put up his fists and inched towards the two of us. We swung at each other with all the grace of a pair of geese trying to play chess, both of us taking an avalanche of clumsy hits. 

This total travesty of a fight was interrupted by a high-pitched martial arts cry; “Ki-yaah!”. Ian and I had just enough time to turn our heads before he took a wicked kick to the shins, stumbling back with a wordless scream of agony.

“Alex! Are you okay?” asked Miri, still in her combat stance.

I shrugged. “Probably not.”

Ian looked back and forth between me and Miri, focusing more on Miri. I guess he hadn’t known that she was a black belt in wushu. To be fair to the guy, even I forget it sometimes.

“I can’t be-believe this,” said Ian, fear creeping into his voice. “Not only does he want to play the hero, but when he’s feeling the consequences, he has to call in his girlfriend for help. C’mon Vic, let’s get out of here.”

“Vic”, who I assumed was the one who’d grabbed me, wasn’t looking so good. His skin had gone bone-white and shiny from the sweat pouring down it. He was starting to slump over, looking confusedly at his hands and down at his chest.

“Ian… something’s wrong… I’m not feeling very good,” he said.

Ian gave Miri one last terrified look then jogged over to Vic. “Let’s go. You’re probably just having a bad hangover or something. Drink some water or something.” He patted Vic on the shoulder, which Vic responded to with a horrified look down at that shoulder.

“I can’t feel my arm,” said Vic. Then he inhaled sharply and collapsed, totally limp.

Ian went down with him, yelling to try to grab his attention. Vic’s eyes went glassy, and he didn’t respond. In a few seconds, Ian had his phone out and was dialing 911 while screaming for help. 

“We should get out of here,” I told Miri.

Miri nodded, and we both made a break for it. As we did, we passed by a pack of teachers and curious students, attracted by Ian’s shouts for help. We slowed down a little, to look less suspicious, and before long we had to split up to get to our different homerooms. Miri and I only shared two classes, which was a shame considering how good of a view she was.

I realized that I should probably do something about the injuries so nobody would ask questions. Oh sure, it might get them to finally expel Ian, but they’d probably expel me in the process. I went to my locker. Searching around for a little while, I found a little foundation palette and brush that I’d borrowed from a goth friend but never had the courage to use. A few quick swipes of the brush on the parts of my face that hurt the most and hopefully I wouldn’t be noticed. 

I was about to head back to class when I finally noticed something wet on my lip, probably blood. I roughly wiped it off with my finger, and saw something that was definitely not blood. It was a translucent mauve color. My heart rate spiked as I dashed over to the water fountain to wash it off; whatever it was, I didn’t want it on me. I washed out my mouth just to be sure, and felt a bit of relief when the fountain water was still clear after I spat it out. With my daily panic attack over, I slammed shut my locker door before anyone could see the borrowed makeup and headed off to class.

I wasn’t able to focus very well on education that day. I was still feeling sick, for one thing. All of my joints hurt so much I was expecting them to start creaking at any moment. Worse, I was exhausted, and not even the eleven hours of sleep I had gotten the night before staved off the tiredness.

More pressingly, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fight from that morning. I cycled through various nervous stims, twirling my pencil, tracing the stubbly curve of my jaw with a finger, rubbing the back of my hand with the other hand. If I could click my tongue without interrupting the class, I would have. None of it helped. 

What had happened to Vic? That was the thought that echoed through my head. He was clearly strong and fit, strong and fit enough to keep me totally locked down until I bit the jerk. In other words, not the type to suddenly collapse for no reason. The first thought that came to mind was that he and Ian had taken some bad drugs, and the stress of the fight had made it worse. The problem with that theory was that Ian was totally fine…

My thoughts drifted back to the weird grayish-purple (or perhaps purplish-grey) stuff that had been in my mouth. I tried to dismiss it as just being a weird symptom of whatever disease I had, I really tried. But before long my mind started to wander. I started to wonder if I’d poisoned him, or if his blood had had some sort of weird reaction to my spit… none of it made even the slightest bit of sense, but my imagination was going hog-wild.

That train of thought was interrupted in the middle of second period, when my stomach decided that it was time to go on strike. I had just enough time to wordlessly stumble out of my seat before I threw up my breakfast onto the classroom floor. One quick trip to the nurse’s office later, it was determined that it would be for the best if I went home. 

Schools being what they are, the first hour was spent waiting for one of my parents to show up. Eventually Amanda arrived, signed the paperwork (I have no idea why it was all still required even though I was eighteen), and carted me off to the car. My family only ever had the one car, a preppy hybrid four-seater kind of thing. As we got into the car, I noticed that something was… off about Amanda.

Her hair was still braided, but no longer neat, with tangles and stray strands all over the place, not like it had been when I left home in the morning. Stranger still, she looked on edge, her eyes constantly darting around like she was looking for something. Normally, if she’d been taken off of work, I’d have expected her to have makeup on, to still have a bit of that “back straight, walk like you own the place” aura that she cultivated for her job as a lawyer.

I tried asking what was wrong and didn’t get much more than “Work was stressful today.” I had seen what my mother looked like after a stressful day, and this wasn’t it. I decided not to push any further. 

The moment I got home I took off my backpack, collapsed into bed, and passed out for an hour. I was woken up by a craving for something salty, preferably with meat in it. Rubbing the sand out of my eyes, I crawled out of bed and inched my way to the door. When I opened it, slowly, I heard my parents talking in the living room. I got the sudden impression from their hushed tones that they didn’t intend to be heard. 

“I think that maybe this sickness he’s coming down with might be it,” said Amanda. “Some of the symptoms line up with what the manual says.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Stephanie. “The manual has been wrong before. Multiple times. And the timing with regards to their arrival is rather suspicious.”

Stephanie is my other mom. I’m the only one allowed to call her “Stephanie” instead of “Steph”, and she coaches baseball. That ought to tell you everything you need to know about her. 

“You think he might be allergic to—“

I could hear Stephanie’s eyes rolling. “I wouldn’t know, but I don’t think you should assume, especially given how long it’s been. Did your search at least go well?”

“It wasn’t going well when I got the call from his school, no,” said Amanda. "But you know how good they are at staying out of sight. With all the hills and foliage blocking lines of sight...we might just have to wait for them to come to us.”

While this conversation had been going on, I was slowly creeping my way down the hallway from my room to the kitchen. I knew that I shouldn’t have been snooping on my parents like that; if it was something I needed to be told, they would have told me. But then again… what the heck were they talking about? What could Amanda possibly be searching for that she’d have to contend with foliage? I stopped in my tracks, my mischievous, curious half and my responsible half wrestling for control. 

“Moms? What are you talking about?” I asked, halfway down the hall. I regretted it immediately, but at the same time felt a weight of guilt come off of my shoulders that I was no longer eavesdropping on my own parents.

Judging by the sudden sound of crashing as one or both of my parents stumbled into furniture, they weren’t expecting me to say anything. I just kept walking, intent on the fridge. 

“Um,” said Stephanie. “We were talking about personal things.”

“Yes, personal things,” said Amanda. “Your mother and I have been considering… going on a short vacation over the weekend, leaving you in charge of the house for a bit. Is that okay with you?”

I opened up the fridge and started rummaging around. While a little plastic pouch of healthy organic baby carrots wasn’t my first choice, it was what my hands landed on first, so I took that. I shuffled over to the living room. 

Stephanie was lying back on the couch, trying to look cool. The mantle, over the fireplace we literally never used, was off-kilter, with a couple of the old photos knocked over. The candle holder on the coffee table in the center of the room was chipped as well, like someone had knocked it over and hastily put it back up.

“How are you feeling, Alex?” Amanda asked.

I shrugged. “Kinda miserable. I guess I feel better than I did before taking a nap.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, kiddo,” said Stephanie. She stepped right over the back of the couch, nearly tripping in the process, and gave me a hug. “You can rest as much as you want, and make up the school stuff when you’re feeling better, okay?”

She pulled out of the hug to give me enough space to nod sleepily. She gave me an oddly quizzical look, then rubbed at my face with her thumb. It stung. 

“Alex, did you get into a fight?” Stephanie asked.

I nodded. “You know that asshole, Ian Underwood? Him and his friend ambushed me ‘cause I stopped him from beating up a gay kid yesterday. He got a few good hits in.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“We really need to file a complaint about him, he’s been getting worse each year.”

I gave Amanda my best “Please don’t, Mom” look. “You know his dad runs the PTA. It’s not going to do anything, and I could get in trouble for fighting back.”

Stephanie pressed her lips together. “How about this. You and me can go out to the park or something, and I can teach you how to fight properly. Thugs like that just can’t stand up to a real fighter.”

“You are not teaching our son how to fight!” said Amanda. 

Stephanie glared back at my other mom. “I don’t know, Amanda. It might be a useful skill to have in this day and age.” There was more anger between them, in that second, in that look, than I could understand. There was some context there.

“That won’t make it better, trust me,” I said. “If I hurt him more than he hurts me, that means it’s my fault. Not that I wouldn’t love to be able to kick his ass.”

Stephanie patted me on the shoulder. “Of course, of course. It was… just a suggestion.”

“A diplomatic approach is usually much more appropriate for these sorts of things. But, yes, your mother is right. Get lots of rest, son.” My parents then retreated into their bedroom and closed the door. I could still hear murmurs, but nothing distinct given how quietly they were talking.

The rest of that day went much like the one before had. I talked with all my friends online, caught up on homework and even managed to study a little bit, and fell asleep way earlier than I usually do. The next morning, I decided that I needed to go to school, even if I felt like crap. Finals were coming up and I wasn’t sure I could afford to miss anything. That choice would cost a man his life. Because that Thursday was the day that changed everything.