Strong Boy - Chapter 3

Photo Credit: Education.com

Carl did not speak to me again for a while after that. He kept to himself more than usual, and the same old things—bullying, arguing, gossiping—all happened around him, but he did nothing. He was just a nice boy who talked to Travis when nobody else would and ate his bologna sandwich on the lawn. So much potential, and he wasted it on being a nice boy.

In contrast, I threw myself into the thickest of arguments, raising my voice with passion and making my case for various human rights issues. Other times I threw my water bottle at the senior boys when they attempted to steal money from Travis. This was usually done in secret behind a trash can for my own safety, of course. I knew I should not be annoyed with Travis, but he was a victim of not only senior jocks but freshman anime nerds. Everyone wanted to bully him. Even the school mascot, Rufus the terrier, did not let Travis pet him.

Often I would find myself in detention, but I took it as an opportunity. Martin Luther King, Jr. was sent to prison and wrote his famous letters, so I started writing blog posts on my phone when the detention teacher was not looking. It had only been a couple weeks since I started blogging, and I was close to 50 views per post.

A couple weeks went by, and finally I decided to confront Carl. After the bell rang, I found him staring intently at his locker.

            

“Are you going to open that?” I waved like a freshman girl. I was a junior. I should be clutching the straps of my backpack with my chin tilted up, like a cool person.

            

“Anna,” Carl jumped back. He acted nervous and guilty, as if I had caught him listening to Disney music.

            

I cut straight to the point. “Are you avoiding me after our fight?”

            

Carl shrugged. “I’m sorry, Anna. I just assumed…”

            

“No, Carl. Carl, no. Don’t try to make this about me when it’s obvious you are unable to argue like a grown-up and remain civil afterwards.” I was nervous and annoyed that I was nervous.

            

Carl rubbed his head and stepped away from his locker. “Okay,” he said. “Then I’m going to say what’s on my mind.”

            

A shock of excitement sparked in my gut—the feeling I always got before starting a debate. “Okay, what is it?”

            

“You are condescending and berating me. Just because I don’t say all the things that I think and believe does not mean I’m…passive, as you say.” The crease on Carl’s eyebrow returned.

            

“But you are non-confrontational. Wouldn’t you agree?”

            

“To confront someone, you would need to have a problem with them first, right? Did it occur to you that maybe I don’t have a problem with you, Anna?” He stood tall, maybe at 6’6’’, and I became keenly aware of the empty halls. “I think you’re very brave and inspiring, even if I don’t agree with everything you say.”

            

“Then what is it, Carl?” I laughed and then joked, “Are you in love with me?”

            

Carl’s sleek jaw clenched. Surprised, flattered, the sparkly feelings rushed over me until I realized he was not making a move. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have the balls to do anything about it.”

            

Carl’s eyes flashed, and he grabbed me lightly by the arm. His fingers had a sharp grip, like the delicate clench of a lion’s mouth. “No, Anna, you’re the one who came to me. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s fallen for someone?”

            

I slipped away and pointed my finger, annoyed that he had not kissed me yet. “I just want you to be brave and fight!”

            

“You're right,” he said, staring at the locker beside him. “I knew some day I might have to be brave like you.”

Annoyed, I said, "Why 'some day?' Why not now?"

"I wish I could tell you, but I can't. I wish I could explain..."

I clenched his forearm, his rock-hard forearm. "You don't have to explain why you're afraid, Carl. You just have to do what you're afraid to do."

His eyes softened as his jaw clenched tightly. Nodding his head, he walked away at an unusually fast pace. After he left, I examined his locker, curious why he had never opened it. Then I saw why. It was not Carl’s locker. Carl’s locker was on the other side of the hall. This locker had stickers of creepy YouTube channels and obscure bands.

#

The next morning was like every other morning. My father left for work before I woke up. My mother prepared a pot of coffee for everyone. My younger sister chattered about the latest boy band, and I rushed to do my makeup, nearly forgetting to brush my teeth. Everyone in the school halls walked to their classes and flirted as they always did. Some smelled like marijuana while others smelled like over-priced perfume. Carl sat in his usual corner, ignoring me. The teacher passed back our grades for the last test, and while we slumped in our chairs and reviewed our grades, something slammed into our mundane, predictable rhythm. 

A shrill chirp irritated my ears. At first I assumed someone had forgotten to silence their phone, but our teacher jumped to his feet, holding a device in his hand that flashed red. He motioned his arms and opened his mouth, his face white and his eyes round. No words were coming out, just strangled noises.

"Someone just texted me saying there is a shooter in the school!" Rachel screeched.

The teacher pointed to her and nodded his head. "She's right," he said. One of the Amys started crying. 

"Everyone under your desks," the teacher said hoarsely as he ran for the door, but it opened before he could reach the doorknob. Travis stood in the hall holding the neck of one of the freshman boys in the crook of his elbow. His right hand held a rifle, and his left hand held a handmade bomb. 

"Stay there, Carl," Travis said, pressing the gun against the side of the boy's head. Carl's arm muscles bulged under his shirt as he clenched his fists. He looked around the room as if he were getting ready to do something he should not, panic plain on his face. Waving the pistol at us, Travis first ordered us to line up against the wall. I expected him to start laughing and tell us it was all a sick joke, that he simply holding a paintball gun, and he was just having his twisted fun in his twisted way. The Amys and Rachel believed him, so they were the first to line up just as he ordered.

“Bastard, whore, idiot…” Travis named us all as he walked down the line, until he got to Carl. “Snoop,” he said, keeping his gun pointed at the freshman boy's temple. He pushed the freshman aside and pointed the gun at Carl.

“No!” I screamed. Travis shifted the barrel of the gun to me, and then something happened that I could not explain.

First, Carl was standing against the wall, and then he was not against the wall anymore. He appeared in front of the gun. Travis tried to aim the gun back at me, but Carl refused to let go of his grip on the barrel, so Travis fired off three shots. I screamed after each bullet lodged into Carl’s chest. Even as he dropped to the ground, Carl kept his grip on the gun, bending the barrel backwards until it was useless. Releasing the gun, Travis reached for his bomb. I thought Carl was as good as dead, so I cried louder than anyone else in the room, but he stood up, no blood on his shirt. All he had were a couple of holes under his collar. He reached for Travis’s bomb and ran out of the room. More accurately, he disappeared like a magician because my eyes did not register the speed of his body moving through space. By then, one of the boys in our class had tackled Travis to the ground. We were safe, but where was Carl?

           

Later, we heard on the news that the bomb had been diffused by an "anonymous hero" in the school parking lot. The newscaster used the words “somehow diffused” because no one could make sense of the fact the bomb had been frozen and shattered into tiny pieces. The authorities discovered a note from Travis’s locker that had detailed descriptions of victims he obviously intended as targets. One of them was me, probably because I had threatened to break his phone.

The newscaster also said the “strong boy,” Carl, had pushed the barrel of the gun far enough that the bullets had never properly fired. But I knew better. I knew three bullets had hit Carl in the chest.

#

When we were allowed to come back to school, no one flirted in the halls or joked and talked with their friends. Everyone arrived to class on time, well, everyone except for Carl who never came at all. After the bell rang, I drove out to his house on the outskirts of town. I found him sitting in the second floor of the barn, his long legs swinging over the ledge.

            

“There you are,” I said. I thought I would surprise him, but he did not act surprised. He did not even look my way. “You saved everyone’s life,” I said softly. “You were very brave. Braver than I could ever be.”

            

“It wasn’t that brave,” he said. "Not in the way you think. I was lucky."

            

“What?” I rubbed my ears, checking my hearing. “What are you talking about? You could have died!”

            

“Remember how you said if you know someone's secret, you have power over them? I knew Travis' secret, that he wanted to attack everyone, but I waited because I thought I could help him." I listened intently. Travis, a boy bullied by everyone, even by myself, had certainly left his mark on our campus. "I told myself I was trying to save him, but really, I just didn't want everyone to know I have a secret, too."

I laughed. "What's your secret, Carl?" I pretended like it was no big deal, but I was holding my breath for an answer. The bloodless holes in his shirt burned in my memory.

Of course, he did not answer my question. Instead, he said with deep sincerity, "You are brave."

           

“Woah!” I held up a hand. “I’m not the one who grabbed a gun out of a student’s hand! I'm not the one with holes in my shirt and no bullets.” 

            

He shifted nervously, and then repeated himself. “It’s only brave if there’s a possibility you could get hurt.”

            

I threw up my hands. “What could possibly be more dangerous than stopping a speeding bullet?”

            

Turning his head, he smiled, dimples in his cheeks. Part of his hair fell over his forehead. “Giving you a kiss.”

            
I held my breath until he kissed me.