Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Jacque
cursed and crumpled the flyer in his hand with super villain strength. Why did
short-haired super villains get all the love? Was it because they looked the
part of the hero? He considered cutting his hair, trimming it Beaver length,
but thought better of it.
The
adversary is just as important as the plot to take over the world, Jacque
thought. He turned, incinerated the flyer by throwing it in a proper trash
receptacle, and stalked down the street. A kitty passed by and he wanted to
chase it, to wring its little neck, but knew he couldn’t catch it, so he kicked
at it—and missed.
“Hey,
kid, pick on someone your own size,” an older boy with blonde hair and a
chiseled face said. Instantly, he was Jacque’s nemesis, protecting even the
smallest living creatures from the wrath of his evil.
“What’s
you name?” Jacque asked.
“Kyle.
Give me your money,” the boy said.
Jacque
thought maybe Kyle could be his hired goon, best body guard, and the first to
be subjected to his wrath when his evil plans failed.
“You
will help me achieve my evil goals,” Jacque said.
Kyle
stole Jacque’s cape, twirled it into a rat tail and whipped Jacque with it
until, defeated and utterly certain Kyle was indeed his nemesis, Jacque ran
home.
I
need a death ray, Jacque thought in his room, looking from his netbook to the
posters of DC and Marvel Supervillains on the walls. He tried to picture them
at home in their castles of hate, researching and compiling a proper business
plan for a death ray using the same template from SCORE (the something something
Organization of Retired Executives). He couldn’t see it happening. Real
villains had resources from word one. Jacque thought about giving up the
supervillain gig. Letting it fall to the next evil genius. There was no way a
bank would give him a loan for a death ray with this profit margin. If it were
up to him, the first building he would destroy would be the bank, of course,
thereby negating the need for a profit, but any savvy loan officer would
probably realize that and deny him the loan.
There
was a knock on his door. His father opened it before Jacque could call for him
to enter.
“It
smells like smoke in here,” Jacque’s father, Bruce, said. Until a certain
blonde-haired boy name Kyle came along Jacque had been certain Bruce was his
nemesis. He had big nostrils.
“It’s
the cistern,” Jacque explained. In the corner was a smoldering Roman Fireplace
that Bruce bought for the backyard last summer. Jacque found it in the garage
searching for nails and a hammer.
“What
the hell is that doing in here?” Bruce asked.
Jacque
beamed at his father’s frustration. “Would you care to remove it?”
Bruce
went to the cistern and almost, bloody almost, put his hands right on
the hot sides of it. Thinking better of it, he used Jacque’s pillow as an oven
mitt.
“Hey!”
Jacque shouted.
“Oh,
sleep on the floor for all I care,” Bruce said. He carried the cistern out of
the room.
Jacque
searched for stock quotes on companies by industry. Death was not listed. He
couldn’t even find a publicly traded undertaker.
Bruce
returned. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,
why?” Jacque asked.
“I
can hardly breathe in here.”
“That’s
because you’re mortal.”
Bruce
sat on the bed with a sigh. “Jack, I’m worried about you.”
“Why?
I have more ambitions in my pinky than most children have in a lifetime. You’ll
never have to worry about what I’ll do after high school. I’ll be a productive
citizen.”
“That’s
not what I mean,” Bruce said. He looked at the bed where the pillow wasn’t.
“Should give you one of mom’s pillows. She had twenty.”
“Hyperbole,”
Jacque said, searching for Department of Defense contracts. Perhaps he could
join the military and just steal a death ray.
“What
are you working on?” Bruce asked.
“A
business plan.”
“What
for?”
“A
death ray.”
“You
should play baseball,” Bruce said. “Summer league is coming up. No, wait, on
second thought, never mind.”
“What,
why?” Jacque asked.
Bruce
leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “They use bats,” he said,
conspiratorially.
“Indeed,”
Jacque said. “Have you ever thought about being a super villain?”
Bruce
nodded. “Every day I talk to you.”
So
he’s secretly my biggest supporter, Jacque thought. “I could play baseball,”
Jacque said. He closed the netbook.
“Want
to play pass?”
“Why
would I do that?” Jacque said.
“Just
grab your glove.”
“Okay,”
Jacque said. “Hey, dad, should I cut my hair?”
“You
wouldn’t look as evil.”
“That
is a drawback. But perhaps I’m advertising it a bit too much. I think I’d have
better chances getting a loan if I looked a little more clean-cut.”
Jacque hefted the aluminum bat. It
was a blunt instrument, obviously, and really only suited to surprise attacks.
He promised to find a cat—he hated cats. Dogs were downright lovable but he was
allergic to cats so it was okay to hate them—and try to sneak up on it,
something he had yet to do in his seven years of life, and pretend to use the
bat on it. No use going to jail or arousing a lifetime of suspicions over such
a petty, senseless act—he might kick the kitty though. In any case, he couldn’t
stop working on the loan application for the materials to manufacture a death
ray.
“Hey,
Jack, get up to the plate!” Kyle, his nemesis and the newest short stop of the
Clinton Elementary Bulldogs, hollered. In the outfield, boys snickered.
“I
want my cape back!” Jacque yelled at Kyle. “And my name is Jacque!”
“STRAP!”
the entire outfield yelled back.
“Okay,
okay,” the Coach, a man with a palatial gut, yelled. He motioned for Jacque to
step up to the plate.
The
first pitch went sailing by as Jacque tapped the bat on the toes of his cleats.
“That’s
strike one!” the Coach yelled behind the catcher. Jacque knew he would have to
dispose of the coach before long if he maintained the desire to steal the
aluminum bat and brain a kitten.
“Keep
your eye on the ball,” Coach said.
In
the stands, Jacque’s father, Bruce, clapped. “Get up there, Jack! Keep your
eyes open and swing for the fences.”
The
fences, Jacque thought. I should run a current of electricity through the
fence, then swing for it. He imagined Kyle’s body fricasseed on the fence,
waffle iron patterns seared into his arms, hands and face as he stretched to
catch the homerun ball that was out of reach anyways.
Jacque
could hear the applause now. Baseball would be so much more entertaining.
“Strike
three!” Coach yelled.
Jacque turned to
him. “What do you mean strike three? There were only two pitches!”
“Kid, there were
three. You were daydreaming.” Coach hunkered down on one knee so that he was
eye-level with Jacque. “Listen, is there someplace you’d rather be? You don’t
have to play baseball.”
Jacque swung the
bat at Coach’s head. The Coach grabbed it, stood and ripped it out of Jacque’s
hands. “Get off my field,” he growled.
On the sideline,
Bruce hung his head.
“Sorry, Allen,”
Bruce called to Coach as he placed a hand on Jacque’s shoulder.
“Want to tell me
what that was about?” Bruce said when they were in the car. Jack watched as a
cat, casually stalking a moth under a bush, passed by.
“How much does an
underground generator cost?” Jacque asked.
“More than your
annual salary,” Bruce said. “Baseball’s not your thing, is it?”
“It’s kind of
boring. I think the coach knows Tae Kwan Do. His reflexes were positively
primitive.”
“Too bad you
hadn’t swung at the ball that way. You probably would have hit a home run.”
“I realized my
options are infinite today,” Jacque said.
“How so?” Bruce
asked. His voice had that tired, indulgent lilt to it he sometimes got at the
end of the day.
“My plans aren’t
entirely dependent on a death ray.”
“It’s a little
clichéd anyway.”
“Do you think I’ll
ever make anything of myself, really?”
Bruce sighed. “Of
course. Of course you’ll make something of yourself. I’d kind of rather not
have fathered the world’s first super villain, but…”
“It’s a calling I
can’t help answer. Wait, did you just say I’d be the first super villain?
Really?”
“Well, no, there
was Hitler, Mussolini, Thomas De Torquemada—”
“Who?”
“Mass murderers,
all of them,” Bruce explained.
“I never said I
wanted to be a mass murderer. In fact, I’m sort of doubting I have the ability
to brain a kitten. They look rather soft and cuddly.”
“That’s good,”
Bruce said. “Hey,” he touched Jacque’s arm. “You know what, I’m proud of you.”
“Why?” Jacque
asked.
“You tried.”
“Yeah. Wasn’t
really my cup of tea though, as they say…” Jacque stared out the window, saw
his reflections superimposed on the passing landscape. “If I had an idea, one
of my ideas, you know, the good ones—”
“You mean the
super villain ones?” Bruce asked.
“Yes, those. Could
I run it by you, first?”
“I wish you
would.”
Jacque smiled and
looked out the window. A hot dog man pushed his cart along the side of the
road. Jacque imagined sticks of dynamite smothered in ketchup, and smiled.
Part 3
Part 5
Part 7
Part 11
Want to read the rest? Click on the link! Jacque! The Super Villain!
Want to read it on your nook? Click Here!
###
The Financial Benefits of having a
death ray gun are myriad, Jacque wrote. Virtually any item can quickly be
obtained when a death ray is near. Check-out lines at grocery stores can be
skipped, and jewelry can be had for the price of electricity it takes to zap a
store clerk (roughly one nine volt battery per blast). Although the equipment
is bulky, the sheer magnitude and imposing nature of the device should
discourage those who possess valuable artifacts from risking the wrath of its
user. Using the formula for cost of living per day ($1,000.00) times the number
of blasts likely needed to obtain that amount (0.9) times the cost of a single
nine volt battery ($4.19) results in a profit margin of $900 for every $4.19
invested, minus the initial investment, which is substantial, but certainly, as
evidenced by the above equation, worth the up-front cost.
Clearly,
this idea is highly profitable, Jacque concluded.
He
stared at the screen of his netbook, re-reading his masterful words. Mrs.
Pennywimple, his math teacher who co-taught critical thinking with teachers
from the Science and English department, would love it. Jacque hit print, lay
his head down on the pillow and listened to the beautiful, imaginary sounds of
money practically being printed.
In
the morning, Jacque found his mother’s Taser in the spot she left it—the inside
pocket of her purse—and took out the nine volt battery, because he knew it
would be unlawful to bring a loaded weapon to school. He put the taser, the
battery, and a cardboard mock-up of his death ray in his backpack.
Jacque
smiled at everyone when he got on the bus. He felt taller and the weight of
each step he took felt more substantial. For once when the bus driver, Gus,
winked and blew a little kiss, per his usual, Jacque didn’t let it bother him.
Let a little of that lust get out of line Gus, Jacque thought, and I’ll run ten
thousand volts through your nuts.
“What’s
with the smile, Jack?” Allison asked when Jacque sat down.
“Watts ,” Jacque laughed.
“Why
did you bring a folded up box to school? And why’s it all covered in polka-hash
lines like a dress pattern?” Allison asked. Her mother ran a very successful
dress shop downtown. Presumably, she was being trained in the business.
“It’s
a mock-up, not a dress pattern,” Jacque said.
“A
mock-up of what?” Allison asked.
She
smelled good. Lilacs in spring. Her hair was held in place by a hair band. Jacque
tried to calm himself, cleared his throat.
“It’s
a mock up of a death ray I’m going to build,” Jacque said.
“A
death ray?” Allison laughed. “What do you need a death ray for?”
“Do
you realize what it costs to live these days?” Jacque asked.
“I
spend about three dollars on lunch. I buy a salad and a yogurt. Sometimes I’ll
buy a slice of pizza if I’m really hungry. But I pick off pepperonis.”
“It
costs more than that,” Jacque said.
Kyle,
Jacque’s nemesis and sometimes little league teammate, stood up from the seat
behind them and stole Allison’s hair elastic. He was fond of stealing clips,
scrunchies and nearly anything else that held women’s hair in place.
“Uh,
Kyle!” Allison groaned.
Jacque
stood up and faced Kyle—Gus the bus driver’s usual threats to stop the bus be
damned. “I’m tired of your quick ploys for attention,” Jacque said. “I demand
that you give back her hair band this instant!”
The
larger boys in the back of the bus laughed and Kyle seemed to notice this. Damn
it, Jacque thought, the stakes have just been raised.
“Or
what?” Kyle said. “Are you going to make me?”
Jacque
cleared his throat and retrieved his bag.
“Just
ignore him,” Allison said.
“No.
It’s a principal thing, Allison,” Jacque explained. “Ignoring the behavior will
only insure that this kind of thing will happen again in the future.”
“Sit
down!” Gus the bus driver roared. Jacque ignored him and stood up holding the
taser.
“What’s
that?” Kyle asked.
“You’ll
find out if you don’t give me the hair band. Right. Now,” Jacque demanded.
The
bus’s breaks groaned.
“No,”
Kyle said.
Jacque
slapped the battery in the taser and pointed it at Kyle. “I’ll count to three.”
The
bus slowed.
“One…Two…”
“That’s
a taser,” one of the older students in the back whispered.
“Shut
up, man…” Kyle said.
“Three,”
Jacque said.
The
bus rolled to a complete stop.
Jacque
squinted. Kyle stretched the hair elastic and pointed it at the window.
“Don’t
do it,” Jacque said.
Allison reached out and touched Jacque’s
shoulder, causing Jacque to flinch.
The taser went
off. The electrodes struck Kyle in each boob and he convulsed, sliding down in
the seat.
Allison
screamed.
“If
you hadn’t touched me it wouldn’t have gone off,” Jacque said calmly.
Strong
hands grabbed Jacque under the shoulders and hauled him off his feet. A moment
later, he was outside, staring at the yellow side of the bus. A mound of
students had formed over the seat where Kyle lay incapacitated by one-thousand
glorious volts. Jacque fought the urge to smile and won. A super villain must
never smile unless he triumphs. Although this was a victory, and it certainly
gave him pleasure to see his nemesis incapacitated, pants soaked in pee, it
came at a great cost.
Inside
on the radio, Gus the Bus Driver requested an ambulance and police.
“Damn,”
Jacque said.
One of the bus
windows slid down and Allison popped her head out. “Jack, why’d you do it?”
“It was an
accident,” Jacque said. “The mere threat of imminent danger should have been
enough to convince him.”
Allison sighed and
turned around. A moment later, she tossed the hair elastic out. It landed at
his feet and he picked it up. It smelled of lilacs and maybe vanilla. Sirens
rose in the distance as the children began filing out of the emergency exit at
the back of the bus.
Jacque sat
criss-cross applesauce on the grass and sighed. His father was going to kill
him.
Part 4
###
Part 4
“You’re not saying anything because
you are angry at me,” Jacque said to his father, Bruce, who sat next to him in
the office of Clinton
Elementary School
The
Principal opened his door. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, obviously in
decent shape. A police officer stood behind the Principal. While being
transported, Jacque learned the policeman had been a policeman for seven years,
and an officer in the Special Forces before that. He didn’t answer any
questions about weaponry except to say that a taser was a very unreliable and
exceedingly dangerous weapon. Using it constituted assault, a crime punishable
by up to ten years in prison.
Bruce
stood and pulled Jacque up with him.
“I’m
Jack’s father,” Bruce said, extending a hand to the Principal and the police
officer.
“Please,
come in,” the Principal said.
Jacque
found himself itching his palms and forced his hands into his pockets.
“So,”
the Principal said, sitting in a big chair behind an ordinary metal desk. “Before
I ask any questions, I want to make sure that we all understand the facts of
what happened.” The Principal consulted a yellow note-pad. “At approximately
eight-oh-seven, Jack tased, which I’m told is the correct term, another student
on the bus. The bus driver removed Jack and evacuated the bus while authorities
were en route.”
Bruce
glanced at Jacque. His face was stone.
The
Principal sighed and set down the pad of paper. “I assume that there is going
to be a really good explanation of what happened—”
“He
stole a—” Jacque said.
“But
I don’t want to hear it,” the Principal said. “Bringing a weapon to school is a
serious offense.” The Principal stretched and picked up a thin white book with
the Clinton Elementary School
Jacque
itched his palms. Bruce’s hands rested on his knees. His knuckles were white.
“This
is not a matter of negotiation. It is here, in black and white,” The Principal
said.
“I
understand,” Bruce said.
“It
is my duty to make sure certain steps are taken to ensure an education is made
available to Jack, and I intend to do so.”
“What
options are there?” Bruce asked.
“Well,
the district would be obliged to pay for tutoring. Fortunately, there’s not
much of the school year left. He would be allowed to complete the curriculum
and move on to second grade next year, so long as certain interventions are
taken.”
“Such
as?” Bruce asked.
“Yes,
such as?” Jacque echoed.
Bruce
shot Jacque a look.
The
Principal sighed. “Such as one-on-one sessions with a therapist, interventions
with law enforcement, which Officer Galla can fill you in on later. Now,” the
Principal readjusted in his seat. “For my own understanding, I’d like to ask
some questions.” He focused his attention on Jacque, who gave in and scratched
his palms.
“Yes,
sir?”
“Why
did you bring the taser to school?”
“I
left the battery out.”
“Answer
the question,” Bruce said.
Jacque
swallowed a dry lump. “I was going to use the basics of the machine—”
“The
taser?” Officer Gala clarified.
“Yes,”
Jacque said. “I was going to use it to explain to the critical thinking class
how a compact death ray could be made—”
Bruce
slapped a hand on his own forehead. “Jack—”
Jacque continued
on, undeterred. “If one had the resources and the funds. The machine could be
used for any number of reasons, most likely military, as its application is,
well, death and destruction.”
“Is this a machine
that you seek to make?” Officer Gala asked.
“Well, I did,”
Jacque said. “But that was only before I realized that I’d actually have to use
it. You see, the mere possession of a weapon isn’t a sufficient deterrent.
Having power in this society is only effective if you actually use it, or so
I’ve recently ascertained. By the way, I was only trying to get Allison’s hair
band back—and the taser went off by accident when she intervened. I believe she
was going to let him keep it. I suppose I need to learn to pick my battles. Is
he okay, by the way?”
The three men
stared at Jacque, speechless.
The Principal
finally cleared his throat. “Did you say, death ray?”
###
Part 5
Bruce turned up the radio and
tapped the wheel to a Lady Gaga song, trying his best to not be upset. Jacque
waited. Sooner or later, his father was going to turn into Mount
Vesuvius and wipe the world away, ground him for infinity times
twelve.
Abruptly,
Bruce turned off the radio. “I think an apology is in order,” Bruce said.
“I’m
sorry,” Jacque said.
“No,
not to me,” Bruce said. “You have to apologize to Kyle.”
“Kyle
was bullying a girl. A little shock was exactly what he deserved. Besides, contacting
someone I’ve just assaulted is probably not such a good thing,” Jacque said.
Bruce
turned up the radio and quickly turned it back down, nearly off.
“What
do you think an appropriate punishment is?”
Jacque
twiddled his thumbs. They were only a few miles from home. He hoped his father
would calm down once he got there.
“Well?”
Bruce said.
“Besides
being expelled? I think that’s enough, don’t you?”
“No,”
Bruce said. His head shook quickly. “Here’s the thing, Jack, I can’t afford to
send you to day care, and there is no way I’m going to let you sit home and do
whatever it is you want to do.”
“That
would involve nacho cheese, research, and possibly a cat,” Jacque said.
“Enough
about the death ray, okay?” Bruce said.
“But…Fine.
I’ll move on. I’ve already proved that the threat of force isn’t sufficient to
achieve my goals.”
“Well,
good. I think,” Bruce said. “So, back to my point—”
“Punishment,”
“Yes,”
Bruce shot Jacque a severe look. “Punishment. You have to come to work with me.
There’s no other option. And you’re going to sit, and be quiet, and do your
homework. All day. Nine to five. Just like me. Is that clear?”
“So,
I have to sit in your cubicle and watch you stare at a computer screen all day?”
“You
get to suffer along with me. Grown up consequences,” Bruce said. Something in
Bruce’s face betrayed the fact that, ultimately, he was being punished as well.
Jacque
was quite aware of his own weaknesses, and he didn’t want to make his father
pay for them any more than he already had. “Father, I want to be fair to you.
Making me sit for eight hours a day—”
“Won’t
hurt you a bit,” Bruce said. “Besides, you don’t have any other options.”
Jacque
sighed. The car pulled into the driveway. “Can I bring my laptop, books, encyclopedias
and Captain America
figure?”
Bruce
chuckled. “Yes. But Jack—you have to be quiet. I’m on a tight deadline.”
“Yes,
sir!” Jacque said. “By the way, what are you designing at the moment?”
“A
bridge in Toronto .”
“A
bridge in Toronto ,”
Jacque whispered, wondering how many vehicles must pass over a busy bridge
every day, how much turmoil it could inflict should something…fail. “Is your
firm hiring?”
###
Sometimes,
I can’t tell who the captors are in this prison. They all function like
automatons, slaving away at their computation machines, staring at blue
screens, occasionally answering messages on their com devices, which rest on
chains. I’d like to strangle one of them with those chains, but they keep a
pretty close eye on me.
“Write.”
They
want me to write a confession, some tall tale of a story I never heard of, let
alone participated in. I’m assuming they’ll send it home to my folks, embarrass
me. What concerns me is the real interrogation hasn’t even started yet. They
haven’t asked me a single question about troop formations or supply lines. I
know they’ll get to that, they just want to demoralize me first.
“I
want that letter done before lunch.”
“What’s
for lunch?” Jacque asked.
“Sandwiches
from the cafeteria. Soda if you’re good. Now, write.”
This
society is strange. They all seem dependant on various chemicals they imbibe
throughout the day. The standard is a black liquid, swilled out of mugs by the
entire population. Others step outside to use inhalers that smell awful and
cause their teeth to yellow. Some, the bigger ones, are constantly eating
sweet-smelling confections dispensed in cellophane wrappers. I wouldn’t eat
anything they gave me.
“You’re still not done? Fine. I’m going to the cafeteria. I’ll bring you something back.”
“You’re still not done? Fine. I’m going to the cafeteria. I’ll bring you something back.”
My
captor has made the mistake of leaving me unguarded. Now is my chance to
escape. I roll across the corridor into another cell block. The guard who
occupies it glances at me, but he’s too busy on his com device to stop me. I
check to see if the coast is clear and dart down the hallway into a room called
wash.
Inside,
I stand and walk slowly into a waste disposal facility, close the door, and
make water. Above me, a vent is in the ceiling. It would be perfect to escape
the building. I stand on the back of the waste disposal unit and stretch, but
the ceiling is impossibly high. The men on this planet are giants. The door
opens.
“Jack,
what are you doing?”
I
play it cool, slowly step down off the waste facility, zip up my pants.
“Doug
told me where you went. Listen, everyone knows you’re here. They’re all looking
out for you. Please, please, don’t embarrass me.”
This
must be some sort of confidence game. I accompany the giant back to the cell.
They are a savvy race, even if they choose to confine themselves to small
spaces and work like slaves. It appears I must outsmart them.
“Are
you even listening to me? I got you a hamburger and fries. Ketchup packets are
in my drawer.”
The
ketchup packets are marked with a giant M—clearly for mustard. They are a paranoid
race, intentionally mislabeling things they covet.
“Jack,
what do you want to do tonight?”
Escape.
I want to escape.
“It’s
hot. I was thinking, maybe we could swing by Knight’s Pond, take a dip. I
packed our bathing suits this morning.”
And
there it is: water torture. Now I know my fate.
“If
you finish that apology letter to Kyle, that is.”
I
should just write the damn confession. When I escape and return home, everyone
will know my scrawling words were written under duress.
“I
even packed your water wings.”
They
are a cruel, cruel race, intent on embarrassing their foe.
###
Part 7
“Jack, this is Alicia, your tutor,”
Bruce said.
Hair
of almond, sweetened with cardamom and brown sugar.
“My,
Tutor?” Jacque said.
“Hi,
Jack,” Alicia said.
Jacque
felt his cheeks burn. His socks were red and blue, stylishly mismatching. He
hoped she noticed. He decided to tell her in case his careful selection was
lost on her.
“Blue
and, uh, red.”
Her
mouth hung open for a moment as both she and Bruce were shocked at how well he
(mis)matched.
“Your
socks. Cute,” Alicia said.
Jacque’s
chin touched his sternum. She thought he was cute.
“I’ll
take it from here,” Alicia said to Bruce.
Alicia
took a knee. Her hair nearly touched the floor. Jacque wanted to wrap his
fingers in it and suck his thumb.
“So, what’s your
favorite subject?” Alicia asked.
Bruce
carefully retreated from the room and motioned to the table.
Jacque
understood the cue immediately. She was the type that responded to brains.
Jacque casually strode by Alicia and jumped up to the table. “So, what mnemonic
exercises do you have for me?”
“Well,”
Alicia said, sitting down opposite Jacque. “I think we should start with spelling.”
“Well
then, okay. Don’t ask me to spell Mississippi
though, I only spell it with one eye.” Jacque slapped a hand over one eye and
spelled the word, double consonants and all.
Alicia
swallowed visibly.
“Hmm…”
Jacque said. It was certainly easier to impress girls his own age.
Alicia
took out a vocab book, flipped a few pages and found herself in the middle of
the letter T. “Tourniquet,” she said. “Spell that.”
Jacque
did, perfectly, as he pictured himself tying a tourniquet on her thigh after a
spy from the evil empire—which was trying to thwart his ambitions—had infiltrated
his secret organization and stabbed her before he could obliterate them with
his death ray.
“Jack?”
Alicia said.
“I’m
sorry, what was that?” Jacque said.
“I
asked if you liked science,” Alicia said.
“Science…Yes.
I like science. Do you know anything about lasers?”
“I
know the difference between concave and convex lenses,” Alicia added, not too
helpfully.
“Well,
let me tell you the first thing about them—”
“Jack,”
Bruce said.
Jacque
looked. Bruce, his father and nemesis—George Lucas was a prophet—was carefully
listening, spying, from the kitchen.
“You
are shrouded in darkness, father,” Jacque said.
“That
subject is taboo, Alicia,” Bruce said. “Jack, why don’t you show her what your
letter looks like?”
“It’s
a little bit early to be writing letters to Santa, isn’t it?” Alicia laughed awkwardly.
Jacque fell in the
love with the cleft in her upper lip.
“It’s
not that sort of letter,” Bruce said.
“What
sort of letter is it?” Alicia asked.
“I
uh, hurt someone,” Jacque said, “and father thinks it’s imperative I pay some
sort of reparations.”
“Can
you spell reparations?” Alicia asked.
Jacque
did, perfectly.
“Wow,”
Alicia said.
“Impressive,
aren’t I?”
“Jack,
who did you hurt?” Alicia asked.
“A
boy who bullied a girl,” Jacque said.
Alicia’s
heart-shaped face pulled back. Honey almond hair shivered. I could love her,
but then I’d have to kill her, Jacque thought.
“Will
you be my babysitter?” Jacque asked.
###
“So, you’re a therapist?” Jacque
said.
“I’m
a psychiatrist,” Mrs. Malone said. She had curly gray hair that hovered like a
cloud about her face, glasses, and wore a gray pants suit. “And you’re Jack.”
“I
prefer Jacque,” Jacque said.
“Ah.
And how are you spelling that?” Mrs. Malone said.
“J-a-c-q-u-e,”
Jacque said.
“No
s?” Mrs. Malone asked. If her face stayed that bunched up for long, Jacque
thought, her glasses would fog up.
“No.
Why would there be?”
“There
usually is,” Mrs. Malone said.
“I
didn’t know that,” Jacques said. He thought about it for a moment, then changed
his mind.
“Nope.
I like it better without the s. And it’s my name, so…”
“Of
course,” Mrs. Malone said.
Jacque eyed the
fish tank filled with tropical fish. According to Bruce, Jacque didn’t have a
choice. If he ever wanted to get back to school, he had to see a therapist and
prove his sanity. “Do you think it’s cruel to keep them in there?” Jacque said
of the tank.
“Do
you?” Mrs. Malone asked. Jacque could tell these sessions were going to drag.
“I’m
fairly certain they would like the ocean better,” Jacque said.
“Why
is that?”
“It’s
bigger?”
“Why
else?”
“They
could clean shark’s teeth.”
“Those
aren’t pilot fish…” Mrs. Malone said. “They are angel fish, most of them.”
Jacque
was impressed. The woman knew her ichthyology. “I thought we were supposed to
talk about my issues?”
“There’s
plenty of time for that.”
“That’s right, we pay you by the hour.”
“That’s right, we pay you by the hour.”
“Why
else might the fish like the sea better, Jack?”
“They
can blend in. Meet other fish. Have little baby fish. Are we really talking
about this?” Jacque pushed hair out of his eyes, drawing attention to it,
hoping she might pick up on the clue that he was evil to the core and there was
no saving him.
“Is
that what you would like to do, Jack? Blend in, disappear?”
“Well…”
Jacque paused. “Well look at your bespectacled self. You’re good.”
“Jack—Jacque,”
Mrs. Malone said, “let’s talk about why you’re here—”
“My
father has big nostrils?”
Mrs. Malone could
not be distracted. “Do you feel that you did anything wrong when you assaulted
that boy?”
“I’m told the correct word is tased.”
“I’m told the correct word is tased.”
Mrs.
Malone smiled patiently.
“I
was protecting a girl. I stood up to a bully and I’m the one in trouble. If you
ask me, it’s proof the world needs a dictating overlord to keep everyone in
check.”
Mrs.
Malone put down her pencil. “Jacque, do you really believe you’re destined to
be a super villain?”
Jacque
looked at the fish. “I could design bridges like my father. Stay above the
fish.”
“I’m
sure you could.” Mrs. Malone made a note. “If you were given a fresh start, a
new set of kids, what would you do?”
Jacque
considered. “They won’t let me back in school.”
Mrs.
Malone smiled. “There are other, opportunities, that come to mind. Places where
you could meet new children. Children who don’t know what happened unless you
tell them.”
“Are
you encouraging me to lie?” Jacque asked. Jacque liked this woman. She was
clever and honest, yet strangely evil. She wielded power in a subtle way.
“I’m
encouraging you to make some friends. You’re smart. I bet most people like
you.”
Jacque’s
cheeks flushed. He thought he may have discovered his Achilles heel: he was
susceptible to flattery.
The prisoners assemble at meal
time. They ply each other with platitudes and placate each other with water
cooler humor to boost morale. It’s apparent they need to squeeze every bit of
humor they can from each interaction.
“Hey,
cool Captain America
doll! You want some freedom fries?”
“I’m
actually a Nazi spy with unnatural longevity.”
“Jack,
be nice,” Bruce said.
“Yes,
I’ll take some fries.”
Outsiders
that try to buck the façade of false happiness are ostracized.
“Enjoy
your lunch.”
“Thank
you.”
It’s
pathetic how much a smile brightens their marginal little existence.
“Jack,
I have a presentation after lunch.”
A
public execution.
“That means you
have a choice. You can come with me—”
I
don’t want to see a fellow prisoner hanged.
“Or
you can wait, quietly, responsibly, here. I’ll have Cookie keep an eye on you.”
That’s
no choice at all. Damn you people.
“I’ll
accompany you to the presentation.”
“Good,
you can be my little cheering section.”
There
is no end to their need for reassurance.
The
Gestapo brass wear tailored uniforms, unique in color but otherwise the same.
While outside their chambers, they too take place in the exchanging of
platitudes, but inside this chamber, it’s clear they are an assembly of
assassins, a firing squad ready to fight over the scraps of their fellow
prisoner’s bodies.
“If
that bridge were to fail, approximately eight hundred people would die and
nearly ten thousand would be inconvenienced,” Jacque said, doing his best to
interrupt Bruce’s misery. Everyone in the room faced him.
“Yes,
Jack, that’s why it’s important,” Bruce said.
“I
just thought you should know that,” Jacque said.
“Cute
kid. He going to be here long?”
“Just
until summer camp starts.”
“Summer
camp? The bridge will fail! Look at the A-frame, I implore you!”
###
Part 10
Jacque
clung to the seat belt with white-knuckled fever as Bruce pulled on his legs.
“I
don’t want to go I don’t want to go I don’t want to go.”
Jacque’s
shoe came off and Bruce fell on his bottom.
“Jack,
come on. It will be good for you. Don’t you want to water-ski again?”
“You’re
going to leave me here,” Jacque said.
“I’m
not going to leave you here.”
“Why
can’t I destroy bridges with you?”
“I
build bridges, not destroy them.”
“Still,”
Jacque said.
“It’s
eight hours,” Bruce said. “You can do eight hours. Anyone can do eight hours.
Now, go. Have some fun, would ya?”
Jacque
saw several healthy females watching by the corner of the lodge. Jacque put on
his sneaker, stood, and dusted off his pants. “I’ll go with dignity, but I
don’t have to like it.”
“That’s
the spirit,” Bruce said. “Make me proud.”
###
“So,
what are you in for?” Jacque asked Martin, a boy with hair so blond his
eyebrows were invisible. He had very thin arms, even for a six year-old. Obviously
he’d been doing hard labor for a while.
“I
wanted to learn how to shoot a bow,” Martin said. “I can’t draw it, so they put
me here.”
Figures,
Jacque thought. Forced to fight in a war he doesn’t believe in, forced to
work if he won’t fight.
Jacque’s stomach
growled. He figured by the looks of Martin he wouldn’t get much for lunch, let
alone morning snack.
Jacque
pulled a splinter from his thumb nail. The wardens were watching. He had to
keep working. He slathered mortar on the top of the wall and threw another log
on.
“Can
you pass the paste?” Martin asked.
“Sure,”
Jacque said. He passed the mortar and selected another long, rectangular log.
“I
wish there were popsicles on these tongue depressors,” Martin said. He sniffed
the stick, dipped it in mortar, and stuck it in his mouth.
I
don’t know how much more I can take of this, Jacque thought.
One
of the wardens—her name was Ms. Pettigue and she was tall and fat with large udders—grabbed
the stick from Martin. “Don’t eat that!” she squealed.
Can’t
even eat inedibles, Jacque thought. What sort of depraved people
think it’s okay to starve children and make them work like this?
“Look
everyone!” a girl stood up holding a box over her head. She had freckles and
cheeks so red they had obviously been recently pinched by one of the wardens.
“I made a bird house!” The bird house was painted patriotic red, white, and
blue.
“Okay,
that’s pretty cool,” Martin said.
“She’s
been brainwashed!” Jacque yelled. “Can’t you see we’re all prisoners here?!”
“Jack,”
Ms. Pettigue said, “Would you like to go outside?”
“No!
Don’t let them take me! I’ll never return!”
“I
would like to go outside,” Martin said. “It’s warm in here.”
“No,
you can’t!” Jacque whispered to Martin.
“There’s
a water fountain out there. I’m thirsty,” Martin said.
“That’s
because you ate the mortar,” Jacque said. “Just, please, hold out with me for
another minute.”
“Why
don’t you come outside with me?” Martin said.
Jacque
glanced at Ms. Pettigue. She shrugged. “It’s up to you, Jack.”
“Well,”
Jacque said, “I’ll go with you, I suppose. There’s strength in numbers. I’ll
watch your back if you watch mine.”
Martin
looked behind Jacque.
“Oh
come on,” Jacque said.
At
the water fountain outside on the porch, Martin took an epic drink. “Cold,” he
said when he finished.
“We
should make a break for it,” Jacque said.
Martin
pointed to a shed beside the lodge. “We could take the bikes.”
Just
inside the shed, the reflectors of a herd of bicycles glittered. “It’s the mother
lode,” Jacque whispered. “Come on, run for it!”
Jacque
took off running. Martin followed. Between breaths he said, “I like playing,
with you. You make, everything, urgent.”
“Thanks,”
Jacque said.
At
the shed, Jacque selected a fast-looking bike with streamers. He looked around.
They had evaded the notice of the guards, for now. Suddenly, Jacque was pushed
from the bike and his head hit the ground.
“It’s
mine!” a boy twice Martin’s size growled. He swung a leg over the bike and rode
off down the hill.
“Who
was that?” Jacque asked.
“Tony,”
Martin said. “He was here last year. He hit a growth spurt.”
Jacque
watched as Tony stopped, stole a bagel from a girl, took a bite and threw it on
the ground cream cheese side down. He rode off, laughing as she cried.
“He’s
a villain,” Jacque whispered in awe. Jacque had never seen someone so like
himself before—born to be bad.
“He’s
a prick,” Martin said.
“Well…maybe,”
Jacque said. “But people don’t become villains to win friends.”
“You
want to ride?” Martin asked.
Jacque
selected another bike, sans streamers. “Yes, let’s ride.”
###
Part 11
“Do these board shorts make my legs
look too skinny?” Jacque asked Martin. Water lapped at the edges of the dock. A
ski boat with a giant boom on one side rocked side-to-side restlessly, like a
steed awaiting its master.
“You’re
a little skinny,” Martin said. Martin looked twice as big with a lifejacket on,
but it still sounded funny coming from him.
“I
couldn’t get away with tights,” Jacque said. “Those superheroes are all
bodybuilders. Their thighs look like walnuts.”
Martin
pointed at the sky. “Look, a bald eagle.”
There was, indeed,
a bald eagle. Martin shielded his eyes from the sun as the majestic eagle
swooped over the lake, circling.
A
shadow approached. Jacque turned. Tony was behind them. He put a finger to his
lips—shhh. In the next moment everything slowed down and a thousand
things ran through Jacque’s mind; that Tony was going to push Martin in the
water, that Martin was Jacque’s friend and that he should help Martin, that
Jacque had only known Martin for an hour, that Tony was asking for Jacque’s
help, and that Tony was the villain Jacque had always wanted to be.
“Look!”
Martin said. The eagle tucked its wings in, its nose angled toward the water,
and it began a hypersonic descent closing in on a fish.
Tony
took three quick steps and launched Martin into the water. He surfaced in a
fury of foaming bubbles and loosed a muted scream. Water streamed down his face.
His eyes were red.
“Al-right!” Tony
said. He hi-fived Jacque. “Thanks for keeping it on the DL, man. I’m Tony.”
“Jacque.”
“Jock?
Like Jock-strap? Alright, tool.” Tony laughed.
“I
can’t swim,” Martin mewed.
Jacque
squatted, careful to keep an eye on Tony, and offered Martin a hand. Martin
took it just long enough to get purchase on the dock, then punched Jacque in
the mouth. It didn’t hurt at all, but it shocked him.
“What
was that for?” Jacque said.
“You
let him push me!” Martin yelled as he climbed onto the dock.
“Oh
come on, you were going to get wet anyway!” Tony said.
“I
can’t swim!” Martin said. “I told my parents I learned last year but I lied.”
“Why
would you do that?” Jacque asked.
Martin
shrugged. “So they wouldn’t make me learn. And I thought they would like me
more.”
For
reasons Jacque didn’t quite understand, those words made him automatically face
Tony. “Don’t push him in again,” Jacque said.
Two
Tony steps later, Jacque sailed off the dock into the water. The lake was
surprisingly warm. He peed in it immediately as he paddled around on his back.
“Thanks
for the help in,” Jacque said, hoping Tony would dive in after him.
Tony
sneered and pushed Martin in again. Jacque splashed pee water on Tony.
Martin
bobbed to the surface, his lifejacket buoying him up.
“I
didn’t know you couldn’t swim,” Jacque said.
“I’m
sorry I punched you,” Martin said.
“Alright
little dudes, who’s going waterskiing?” a man walking down the dock said. He
had long blonde hair, purple shades, and wore a shark tooth on a black string
around his neck that blended in with his chest hair.
“We
are,” Tony said, motioning to all three of them.
“Al-right!
Already in the water! That’s the way we roll around here. Come on up, get into
the boat and I’ll give you a little talk through. We’ll have you on skis,
flying around the lake in no time.”
“What’s
your name?” Jacque asked.
“Name’s
Pete, little bro.”
“Peter.
Yes, you look like a dick,” Jacque said.
“What?”
Pete said.
“Nothing,”
Jacque said. “Mind giving me a hand up?”
###
“Hey, Tony,” Jacque shouted.
Tony
and a few other boys played basketball. Tony did a double dribble, took three
steps and tried a lay-up. It hit the rim and bounced out. Well, at least he’s
not good at everything, Jacque thought.
Tony
stopped playing, grabbed the extra basketball they had, and came over to
Jacque. His face was covered in beads of sweat. “What’s up, Jacque strap?”
“Oh,
nothing. I was just wondering if you wanted to steal some bikes, or something.”
“Steal
some bikes?” Tony said. He dribbled the basketball a few times. “What do you
think this is, Grand Theft Auto?”
Jacque
laughed nervously. “No. Of course not. That’s a cool game though. Hey how old
are you, anyways?” Jacque asked.
“Nine,”
Tony said. “What are you like, seven?”
Jacque
laughed. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Hmm…”
Tony dribbled the ball between his legs. “You want to hang out with us, is that
it?”
“Well,
maybe,” Jacque said.
“Okay
here’s the deal. We’ve all stolen something. That’s how you get into our gang.”
“You
guys have a gang?”
“We
are a gang. If you want to get in, you have to steal something, and it
can’t be something somebody else has already stolen, got it?”
Gangs
are cool, Jacque thought. “What did everyone else steal?”
Tony
turned to the basketball court. “Hey Doug, what’d you steal last year?”
“A
flyswatter!” Doug called back.
“Lame,”
Tony said. “And Allan, what about you?”
“I
stole a canoe and dragged it on top of the lodge.”
Jacque
was intimidated.
“That’s
the stuff of legend.” Tony dribbled the ball three times. “Usually, we have an
age requirement,” Tony said.
“What’s
the age requirement?” Jacque asked nervously.
“Eight.
But you seem like a cool kid. Tell you what, you pull off something better than
Allan’s stunt, we’ll let you in. Now,” Tony bounced the ball off Jacque’s
forehead. Jacque’s eyes watered as
he bent over. The blacktop was blurry.
“Get
lost,” Tony said.
“No,” Jacque said. Tony’s feet approached
Jacque and stood, inches away.
“What?”
Tony asked.
Jacque
stood. “I know what I’m going to steal.”
Tony tucked the
ball loosely under his arm. “And what’s that?”
“A
jet ski,” Jacque said. He punched the ball out from under Tony’s arm. It
bounced into Doug’s way as he drove to the hoop, causing him to stumble and
stop.
“I’m going to
steal a jet ski,” Jacque said.
Doug and Allan
stared. Tony swallowed and shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Alright, prove
it.”
###
“How did your day go?” Bruce asked.
Jacque
pushed a finger into his skin and watched as the white spot re-filled with
bright-pink sunburned skin.
“I
know, I know, I’ll get some sun block right now,” Bruce said, putting on his
blinker to pull into the pharmacy. He took the corner hard. Rolled-up
blueprints and energy drink bottles slid around in the back seat.
“You
need to clean this place,” Jacque said.
“Do
you want to come in?” Bruce said when they parked.
Jacque
looked at his hands. “Mom bought sunblock here. A lot, it seemed like.”
“Come
on, I’ll buy you a candy bar,” Bruce said. “Just like she used to.”
Jacque
opened the door. “She used to talk me into buying licorice whips, so she could
eat half of them.”
“Yuck,”
Bruce said. “Stuff’s like dried slime.”
Crisp
air met them inside the pharmacy along with a display of summer-fun items like
lawn chairs, a portable grill, water guns, kick boards, and water wings.
“I
want that,” Jacque said, pointing to the kickboard.
“But
you know how to swim,” Bruce said.
“It’s
not for me,” Jacque said. “It’s for my friend.”
“A
friend!” Bruce exclaimed. “You made a friend?”
“Yeah,
and I’m going to make more friends tomorrow.”
“What’s
his name?” Bruce asked. “Or is it a she?”
“It’s
a he. His name is Martin,” Jacque said.
“Well
good,” Bruce said. He picked up the kickboard, some sunblock, and they walked
to the register. Jacque grabbed a pair of water shoes and snuck them on the
counter. Bruce smiled but said nothing.
“Rocks
on the bottom of the lake,” Jacque explained.
“Sure,”
Bruce said. “Do they still have that dance at the end of the week?” Bruce
asked.
Jacque
thought Bruce’s tone dubious. He suspected Bruce knew the answer. “I haven’t
heard anything about it,” Jacque said.
“Oh,
well if they have a dance, you should ask one of the girls soon, before they
all have dates.”
Jacque
wished Allison were there. She owed him one.
That
night, Jacque made a short to-do list. It read:
1. Give Martin his kickboard and teach him how to swim. Then teach him how
to water ski.
2. Steal a jetski.
3. Get a date.
4. Kiss the date.
He wasn’t terribly
sure about the last one, but better to have high expectations and
not meet them than to rest on his
laurels when he could be accomplishing something.
###
“I don’t understand why you gave me
the kickboard,” Martin said. On the kickboard, he was graceful like a manatee,
all slow-mo and no hurry. The ears of his lifejacket framed his face. “Because
you want me to help you steal the jet ski?”
“No,”
Jacque said. They were out well over Martin’s head. On the dock, a lifeguard
sat in a recliner working on his tan, a thick coat of white sunblock smeared on
his nose. From this distance, he was pretty sure the lifeguard couldn’t hear
them—and he couldn’t tell if he was even awake—but Jacque whispered just the
same. “I gave you the kickboard because I like swimming and I need someone to
swim with.”
“I
like water,” Martin said. “I wonder how Aqua Man learned how to talk to fish.”
“Focus,
Martin,” Jacque said. “I don’t want to steal it for long, just steal it for a
little bit, ride it around, and bring it back.”
“That’s
more like borrowing than stealing,” Martin said. He looked at his fingers. “I’m
all pruney,” he said. He slipped off the kickboard a little. There was some
squeaking, a flash of bubbles and, Jacque was pretty sure, a new warm spot
created in the lake, then Martin was back on the kickboard, lazing quietly like
a manatee again.
“Will
you help me?” Jacque asked.
“We’re
out here pretty deep,” Martin said.
Below,
rays of lemon sunshine sliced through the black water.
“It’s
not a big deal if you can’t swim. So, my question, can you help me steal it?”
Jacque asked.
“I
guess. Will you teach me to swim?”
Jacque
nodded, fairly certain he wouldn’t finish everything on his to do list today.
“Give me the kickboard,” Jacque said.
“Indian
giver.”
“No,”
Jacque said. “It’s yours, this is just the first step in teaching you how
to—wait. No, I got it. Race me to the beach.”
“I
keep the kickboard?”
“You
keep the kickboard. Kick as hard as you can, from the hips, legs straight.”
Bruce
taught Jacque how to swim at a young age. Apparently, he used to blow in
Jacque’s face to get him to inhale, then dunk him. Jacque blamed that sinister
act on why he was now on his way to becoming a super villain. The impression of
being tortured, and laughing about it, had been a lasting one.
###
Water
streamed off Jacque’s body. He’d been marooned, left to die, on a desert island
by sundry people who would profit from his death. Several sunbathing women, startled
by his Adonis body, barely contained their stares through the thin veils of
sunglasses.
“Sorry
for disturbing you, mademoiselles,” Jacque said, and bowed.
They
giggled. Jacque liked the red-head. She would make a great villainess, all cute,
fiery tangles and dimples.
The
kindly porpoise that had saved him from certain starvation straggled onto the
beach behind him. Though he was a creature of the water, he didn’t know how
best to use his stream-lined body.
“Excuse
me,” Jacque said to the mademoiselles, “I have to perform a lesson.”
They
exchanged glances as Jacque bowed.
“So,”
Jacque said to the porpoise, “you have found the power in your legs, is that
correct?”
“Yeah,”
Martin said. “But I’m still not as fast as you.”
“That’s
because you have this,” Jacque tugged at Martin’s life jacket, “slowing you
down. It creates resistance, drag, in proper terms, and you have not yet taken
advantage of your full propulsion system.” Jacque grabbed the kickboard and
drove it into the sand, intending to make it stand like a surfboard. It made a
small dent and flopped over. The mademoiselles were still watching, so Jacque
ignored it.
“Here,
cup your hands like this,” Jacque said, demonstrating the cupping motion he’d
used to escape the desert isle. “Now, kick like you did on your life raft, but
this time, paddle-boat your arms, like this. Keep your chin lifted out of the
water at all times. If you can do that with a life-preserver on, you’ll be fine
without one. Now, into the water!” Jacque shouted.
His
audience had grown. The lifeguard was sitting up, shading his eyes, and several
of the older children had paused, their toes curled on the edge of the dock.
Jacque
led the way into the depths of the sea.
“Hey
kid,” the lifeguard waved over Jacque.
“Keep
swimming,” Jacque called to Martin. “Out to beyond the dock and back!”
Jacque
changed direction and headed for the lifeguard. “We need another swim
instructor,” the lifeguard said, “If he learns to swim by the end of the day, I’ll
put a good word in for you.”
Jacque
reclined in the water, allowing himself to float on his back, and squirted
water out of his mouth like a fountain. “Perhaps we could work, something,
out,” Jacque said, noting how difficult it was to take someone serious when
their nose was slathered in goo.
“Nice,”
the lifeguard said. “You might want to turn him around.” Martin was heading for
the buoys, paddling for all he was worth, his head straight up out of the water
like a seal’s.
“Despite
its seeming domesticity, the porpoise still has wild tendencies,” Jacque said.
“Martin, turn around!”
###
Lydia ’s hand
flew to her nose. “Oh no. I already have enough freckles.”
Lydia smiled
and tucked her chin down.
Lydia giggled.
Jacque took that as a yes and ran back into the water.
“Look,” Jacque said, bobbing in the
water, “touching, not touching.” Jacque’s feet went from bouncing on soft dirt
to treading water and back again as he demonstrated.
Martin’s
mouth was puckered like he was sucking on an anchovy. “You’re not going to
drown. You’ve got me, the lifeguard, and water that isn’t over your head like,
one foot away.”
“Cannonball!”
A
tsunami rolled over by and Tony surfaced beside them. Martin spit water and
wiped his face.
“You’re
not gonna steal a jetski, are you?” Tony said. “Cause you’re a wimp.” Tony
splashed Jacque in the face and paddled off like an otter on its back.
“Just,
give me a few minutes,” Jacque said. On the dock, the lifeguard turned away,
clearly well aware of Tony’s antics.
“I
hate that guy,” Martin said. “Why do you try to impress him?”
“Are
you going to swim or not?” Jacque asked.
Martin
blew his nose into his fingers and washed them in the water. A loose wad of
boogers floated off into the deep. “Duck food,” Martin explained.
“Nice.”
Jacque laughed. “Okay, give me the life jacket.”
Martin
recoiled. “I’ll swim alongside you,” Jacque said, “ready to hand it over if you
need it.”
“You
can do it!” someone shouted from the beach. The red-headed girl waved at
Jacque. Jacque smiled and waved back. She blushed.
“Hold on,” Jacque said to Martin. He swam up
to the beach like a narwhal with a death wish and walked up to her.
“I’m…Jacque,”
Jacque said.
“Lydia ,” the
redhead said.
“Your
nose is burning. I can get you some sun block, if you need it,” Jacque said.
Jacque
slowly pulled her hand away. “I like freckles.”
“If
I teach him how to swim, will you go to the dance to me?” Jacque asked.
“What
was that?” Martin asked when he had returned.
“You
have to learn how to swim now,” Jacque said.
“Why?”
Martin asked.
“So
she’ll go to the dance with me.”
“Ahh!”
Martin screamed. “That’s too much pressure!”
Jacque
grabbed him by the lifejacket straps. “Pull yourself together. It’s just like
we planned. If we can make it to the buoys and back, we can perhaps survive
this ordeal and gain some semblance of a life for ourselves!”
Martin
giggled.
“Are
you ready?” Jacque asked.
Martin
took a deep breath and un-clicked the life jacket.
###
After
teaching the king’s son how to swim, Jacque received his just reward, a ride on
the Jetski with Captain half-brain Pete, the dock hand in charge of PWC’s, or
personal watercraft. It was amazing they gave a nincompoop such responsibility.
The
jetski jumped over boatwake with alacrity and Jack tightened his grip on
Captain half-brain, who throttled back.
“You
okay back there, little fella?”
“Yes,”
Jacque said. “Perhaps you could just maneuver me a little closer to shore. I’d
like to be a little closer to shore,” Jacque said, doing his best to sound
pathetic. He didn’t imagine his performance needed to be Oscar-worthy.
“No
problem, bro,” Captain Half-Brain said.
Jacque
had to admit that even being a passenger on such a vessel was amazing. Water
splashed before them as they rolled over the waves and with the slightest lean
they changed direction. Seagulls and crows flew overhead. It almost felt like
he could touch them. At the very least, he knew he could outrun them.
Captain
Half-Brain pulled up beyond the swim buoys. He waved at Lydia . Tony,
waiting for the diving board, nudged Doug and pointed.
“So
what do you think?” Captain Half-Brain asked.
Sink
or swim, Jacque thought. “So,” Jacque said, “How does one operate this thing?”
“Oh
it’s real easy,” Captain Half-Brain said. “This here by my thumb is the
throttle, that makes it go, and you steer.”
“No
brakes?”
“Nope,
gotta allow time to stop. The water slows you down pretty well, but all you can
do is coast.”
“And
steering is really pretty easy, huh?” Jacque asked. He hoped the quiver of
nerves in his voice was adequately concealed. Jacque quietly slipped off his
water shoe. It floated helplessly in the water.
“You
bet,” Captain Half-Brain said.
“Damn,
would you look at that,” Jacque said, and pointed at the shoe.
“Oh,
here, I’ll get it,” Captain Half-Brain said, and stretched for it.
“Yes,
you will,” Jacque agreed.
The jetski leaned
as Captain Half-Brain stretched, and Jacque gave him a little push—okay, it was
a big push, with all his might, and he had to fight to stay on the jetski and
keep it upright because, for whatever reason, it seemed the Captain didn’t want
to abandon ship—and he fell in with a splash.
Jacque
slid forward and waved to the dock. “Look at me! I’m free!” he yelled, and hit
the throttle as Captain Half-Brain muttered something.
Jacque nearly fell
off as the jetski leapt forward. He let off the throttle, allowing the jetski
to brake. It was quite fortuitous, actually, because it allowed him to gauge
how quickly the vehicle could stop, which wasn’t very fast at all.
Captain Half-Brain
yelled behind him. “Hey, like, you’re not supposed to be alone on that thing! I
could get in trouble!”
Jacque waved.
“You’re really an excellent teacher! I’ll be back momentarily!” he shouted, and
hit the throttle. He decided that if being a super villain didn’t work out, he
had a future as steam boat captain, jetboat racer, or the like. The velvety
soft feel of the rolling water made him smile from ear to ear.
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