From David to Kevin and Back Again
Leave it to me to fall in love in detention. Pretty typical for a Healy, right? Well, I'm not in detention because I'm a bad kid. And besides, why would girls notice me when I'm surrounded by big jocks? When I'm in a normal classroom setting, girls look right past me as if I am the broken desk in the back of the room. They like guys in letterman jackets, not flannels. That's why I prefer to sit in the back anyway. I learned not to anticipate attention from someone of the opposite sex, so I put myself out of the jocks' way. Why let myself be disappointed if I can avoid the humiliation altogether?
Detention is different, though. It's a whole different host of kids, some of which I've never seen before. The girls from math or history or gym don't get sent here. The detention girls won't recognize me as the one weird kid in their class with wiry hair, a baggy flannel shirt for every occasion, and ever-darting brown eyes.
All things considered, I'm not a bad kid-not really. I go to detention as a sort of relief from the embarrassment of the school day. Trust me, I've been around bad long enough to know what disentangle myself from my mom and my brother Mark. My mom is the yelling type. When she raises her voice, her red-rimmed eyes narrowing like a dog's, words like worthless and stupid falling off her tongue like poison, I can feel myself cowering down to her. I can't help it. I sometimes yell back, but even I don't believe my own words. Mark, on the other hand, is the type to knock over a vending machine, drive drunk, steal a kid's money and kick him while he's down. Me? I'm the type to watch all this happen and still cover for Mark at the end of the day. Brothers till the end, right?
Yeah, I guess my biggest sin isn't being bad, but being weak. Being passively complacent in all the shit happening around me. Not trying to change it, just running away or looking away. Till I can get out of it and attempt to define a world of my own. A world that isn't so predictable. A world where I can afford to win once in a while.
Who'd have guessed detention would be the place that would set that world into motion?
I didn't realize I was going to get what I wanted when I walked into detention and saw a furrowed brow surrounded by wild dark hair in my usual detention spot, the desk closest to the door. The girl was furiously erasing something on a slip of paper. She didn't look up at me, absorbed in her work. I knew I'd never seen her before. I stumbled past her, nearly tripping over my own clumsy feet, and parked in a desk in the next row, two desks behind her.
As soon as I sat down I felt like a moron. Why hadn't I sat directly next to her? In the time it took for detention to start, I could have mustered up a "hi." I had done this with girls before. A small squeak of a greeting: if they heard me, great; if not, it was quiet enough to pretend I hadn't said anything. Remember how I said I was weak?
On the other hand, I was at a safe enough distance to watch her without being spotted. I couldn't help myself. She was magnetic. She was a jolt of lightning in a boy's jacket. No one else at our school looked like that. Her shroud of dark curls hid her face from me. I leaned over slightly and saw that she was erasing the signature from some kind of parent slip. One quick look and I learned that the girl was failing history. The slip was to alert her parents of this fact. I knew because I'd gotten a few of those in my time.
She seemed to sense my eyes on her and abruptly turned toward me. I instinctively jumped back and averted my gaze. Now she'd think I was a total creep. If she was a regular in detention, she'd probably become well-acquainted with Lanford High's sex criminal population, who hung over the girls' shoulders like dogs on chains.
"Hey," she hissed. She was extending the slip. Was I supposed to take it? "Does this look forged?"
She was referring to the parent's signature line on the slip. I took it, looking at her hand as I did: small, white, short and not-fussed-over nails. The signature read "Roseanne Conner" in pencil on a swath of gray where she'd erased her first attempts. In her other hand she held a torn snippet from something the real Roseanne Conner had signed. Comparing the two, the signature the girl had forged looked damn near identical to the authentic.
"No," I said, my throat dry. "Looks real to me."
The girl smirked, grabbing the slip back from me triumphantly. "Only took me two tries to perfect it." I expected her to say more, but she had turned back to the front of the room. Didn't she have any other crimes she wanted me to examine? I had a sudden desire to praise her. Her confidence and radiance seemed to warrant it.
At that moment, Ms. Burke, the overlord of the detention hall, ambled in and began to call roll. Now was my chance to learn the girl's first name!
"Jesse Armentrout." A boy grunted in response.
"Sally Bates." No response. A blonde girl out of the corner of my eye raise her hand.
"Darlene Conner."
"Yeah," the girl with the curls said brazenly. So Darlene was her name. Oddly enough, I didn't think it suited her. She needed a badass rock-and-roll name, like Veronica or Jade. Darlene made me think of long dirt roads and corn fields.
Or sunflowers. Or a haze around the moon in the countryside. Not so bad, actually.
I opened my sketchpad and began drawing. I imagined Darlene in a field of flowers, her soft curls flowing around her on a gentle breeze.
I was snapped back to reality by the sound of Ms. Burke barking out the name Healy. Oops. I'd zoned out after hearing Darlene's name, but had nearly forgotten to respond to my own.
"H-here," I stammered, dropping my pencil. I'd only heard my last name, but it had to be me. There were no other Healys in school besides me and Mark.
Darlene turned her head toward me a fraction, seeming to size me up. "Kevin, huh?" I heard her say. "I know your brother, Kevin."
Kevin? She thought my name was Kevin? Did Ms. Burke say Kevin instead of David?
"No, not Kevin," I stammered, but Darlene didn't seem to hear me.
"My sister Becky knows him too," Darlene was saying. "With the cold sores to prove it." She rolled her eyes.
"Quiet," Ms. Burke called sharply. "Detention. No talking."
Darlene wasn't cowed. "Ms. Burke, you learned some longer words since last time!"
"Shut up, all of you," Ms. Burke warned, "or I'll keep you an extra hour!"
Darlene was laughing at her own self-proclaimed triumph. Where'd she get the guts to talk to a teacher like that? Not that overseeing detention counted as teaching, come to think of it...
"Yeah, Kevin, keep it down," she whispered, snickering. She turned back to the front and, pulling out a small red paperback, began to read.
So my name was Kevin now. Better than nothing. At least we knew each other on a first-name basis now. Never mind the fact that one of those names was made up.
I made a mental note to skip school next week, get to class late, walk the halls without a pass. Anything to see Darlene in that seat again. David was the weak, soft-spoken kid brother of Mark "Rebel-Without-a-Comb" Healy. Kevin could be something more than that. Kevin could be the guy that I wanted to be. Kevin would stand up to his mom when she called him worthless and stupid. Kevin would tell his brother he was a selfish jerk, and fought him if necessary. And Kevin would win that fight, too.
Kevin would talk to Darlene. And Darlene would like Kevin.