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“Tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”
I decide to point out the obvious: “You’re all redheads.”
“We’re part of less than two percent of the world’s population with red hair,” Joelle says. “I tell them they’re special when they complain about it.” She bumps Neil’s shoulder. “Baby, don’t forget your manners. You know how to treat a guest.”
The puddle of embarrassment formerly known as Neil McNair mutters, “Uh, do you want anything to drink?”
“I’m good. Do you want to get those books?” I ask, to save him from human combustion. He nods.
“Before you go—did you find out today?” his mom asks. “About valedictorian?”
“Oh”—Neil’s gaze darts to the floor—“yeah. I, um, I got it.”
“I am so proud of you,” she says, drawing him in for a hug.
And all of a sudden, I don’t feel like making fun of him anymore.
His mom releases him, and I hear him murmur a thank-you.
* * *
I follow him down the brown-carpeted hall to his r
oom. Once we’re inside, he shuts the door and leans against it, closing his eyes. It’s clear he needs a moment to decompress, though I don’t fully understand why. Truthfully, it puts me a little on edge. His mom is a sweetheart. His sister is cute.… I’m inclined to think his homelife is pretty normal.
Still, I take this opportunity to examine his room. The paint is peeling off the walls in some places. There’s a Star Wars poster, one of the new ones, I think, and a Free Puppies! concert flyer. Above his desk is the framed Torah portion from his bar mitzvah. His bookshelf is filled with titles like Learn Japanese the Easy Way and So You Want to Speak Modern Hebrew. His desk is cluttered with calligraphy pens, and off to one side, two eight-pound dumbbells. One McMystery solved. I try to picture it, McNair lifting weights while reciting the Hebrew alphabet.
And there’s his bed, a blanket haphazardly thrown across it. I assumed it would be perfectly neat. His suits, peeking out of the closet, are the nicest thing in this room. Being in his room feels too personal—like reading someone’s journal when you’re not supposed to.
“Sorry about all that,” he says when he opens his eyes.
“It’s cool. You talk to your family about me. I’m flattered.” Now that his eyes are on me, I’m suddenly not sure where to look. Clearly, looking at him is the safest. I don’t want him to think I’m staring at the weights on his desk or, God forbid, his bed. “Is everything okay with your sister?”
“It will be,” he says, and then waits a long, long time before speaking again. “My dad… is in prison.”
Oh. My heart drops to the floor.
That is not even remotely within the realm of what I was expecting, but now that he’s said it, I have no idea what I expected to hear. Prison. It sounds cold and distant and terrifying. I can barely wrap my mind around it, barely force words out.
“Neil, I—I’m so sorry.” It’s not nearly enough, but my voice has turned to chalk.
His shoulders tighten. “Don’t be sorry. He fucked up. That’s on him. He fucked up his life, and he fucked up ours, and that’s all on him.”
I’ve never seen him like this. There’s an intensity in his gaze that makes me back up a few paces. I have so many questions—what did he do and when did it happen and how is Neil dealing with it, because I don’t know how I would. And his sister, and his mom, and… holy shit. Neil’s dad is in prison. This is a lot.
“I had no idea” is what I say instead.
“I don’t talk to anyone about it. Ever. I don’t really have people over, either, because it’s easier not to answer questions about it.” He stares at the floor. “It happened in sixth grade. The fall of sixth grade, after I started middle school. Money’s always been tight. My dad owned a hardware store in Ballard, but it wasn’t doing great, and he had some anger issues. One night he caught a couple kids stealing. He was so furious… he beat one of them unconscious. The kid—he was in a coma for a month.”
I’m struck silent. Because truly—what can you say to that? Nothing I could say would make it okay.
When he speaks, his voice is scratchy. “I didn’t know he was capable of something like that. Of that kind of violence. My father… he nearly killed someone.”
“Neil,” I say quietly, but he’s not finished.
“I was old enough to understand what was happening, lucky me, but Natalie wasn’t. All she knew was that our dad was gone,” he says. “Kids in middle school found out, and it was horrible. The jokes, the insults, people trying to pick fights with me. To see if I’d lash out like he did. Most days, I didn’t even want to go to school. We couldn’t afford private school, and because of zoning, I couldn’t switch schools, so I came up with my own plan. I distracted everyone by doing the opposite of what I wanted to do, which was disappear. I threw myself into school, became consumed by being the best. If I could have that label, I figured, then I could shake the ‘dad in prison’ label. And… it worked. If anyone at Westview even remembers, they don’t say anything about it.
“Some kids at Natalie’s school found out and were bullying her about it, so she fought back. Despite how many times I tell her that’s not okay, that we don’t want to turn into our father…”
