***
Not once during the day did anyone ask Simon where he had been last night. The only one who even seemed to realize he had been gone was Ruthie. Whenever he passed her in the kitchen or the upstairs hall, he sensed that a question was burning in her eyes. But she always looked away instead of asking it.
-She must have a secret of her own. And it must be too valuable for her to risk exposing it by pushing me.-
When the night arrived, however, Ruthie knew she wouldn't be able to sleep without rubbing it in to Simon that she knew his secret. As he lay on his bed, she entered his room without knocking.
"I know where you went last night."
Simon, startled, dropped the book he had been reading for English class. But then he regained his composure. Maybe she was bluffing. Two could play that game.
"Of course you do, I went to the Glasses' house for dinner. You were there."
"No, I'm talking about afterward. I know where you went after you and Morris left the dinner."
"Yeah, we went home."
"Nope. You went somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn't have been."
Simon glared at her. She had to be bluffing.
Or maybe not; after all, this was Ruthie. Following in her parents' footsteps, she had become an ace snooper; the student had become the master. Maybe she really did know, or else she had a pretty good idea. It was probably better to play a spin game now than to keep bluffing.
"So what? So you know. Big freaking deal. Mom and Dad don't even know I was gone, let alone where I went. Do you really want to upset them even more, after the way Dad went off the deep end at dinner last night? It wouldn't be safe, not even for you. They would probably punish you for not telling them sooner."
Ruthie furrowed her eyebrows and crossed her arms. "Don't drag me into this. I haven't done anything wrong."
"Oh no? I've seen the way you've been avoiding eye contact with me all day. You have something to hide, and it's not just where I was last night."
Yes! Ruthie squirmed. It gave Simon secret satisfaction to see it, since it happened so rarely. But as Simon had done a minute ago, Ruthie quickly regained her composure. She took the tie-dyed card out of her pocket, the one she had found in Simon's pants pocket earlier in the day, and smugly tossed it onto his bed.
She knew.
"Simon, it's okay that you have secrets. So do I. The difference is, you'll never know my secrets, and I'll always know yours."
With that chilling statement, Ruthie turned and left Simon's room.
Resigned, he dropped his head back onto his pillow. He was getting so used to everyone – especially Ruthie – spying on him and harassing him that it was hard for him to even feel angry about it anymore. The frustration at his family and their ways was just becoming a background noise, a numbness.
Simon closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere else in the world. As he lay there, a scary thought occurred to him:
-Oh, dear God. Ruthie's becoming the next Matt!-
The similarities were all too apparent to Simon – the nosiness, the self-righteousness – except Ruthie almost took it to a new extreme. Could it be that, when Matt finally left the house for good to go to New York…Ruthie would become the man of the house?
-No way in hell can I stay here long enough to see that happen.-
***
Sunday morning came and went, and Simon didn't hear a word of his father's sermon. Having to sit next to Ruthie in the pew, his mind wandered back to the good old days. What had happened to them since then?
They used to get along so well; they had shared a room for a while and he hadn't even minded. They had had their own secrets and inside jokes that no one ever found out about. They had played together, and she had constantly asked him questions about everything. Plus she used to look to him for help on her homework, and for his advice. He had loved to share his knowledge, to give his help to her, and to be a good role model and big brother. Now, it was as if they were both different people.
Had aliens stolen her brain and replaced it with one of their own? After all, nowadays she acted as if she had already learned everything there was to know. She never bothered listening to anyone else's advice because she was too busy dispensing her own. She was overly confident of herself, as if she were beyond reproach. And worse, now she condescended to Simon, preaching to him as if she knew better than him, in that tone of voice similar to the one Dad or Matt would use.
Simon wasn't even sure anymore that she didn't know more than him. Lately, in fact, hardly anything had seemed to make sense to him anymore. Despite his parents' years of preaching and teaching, he was less sure about what was right and what was wrong than he had ever been before – especially when it came to the drinking. How could it be wrong when it made him feel so right – even if only for the few hours of buzz that it generated?
And so Simon now felt confusion, disillusionment, a longing for the past, and a sense of sorrow for the sanctimonious sneak whom Ruthie had become. He also felt guilt, deep down, for having all these feelings in church. After all, his father had always told him that church was a place where he should be letting love, the Word of God, and appreciation for all His many blessings into his heart. So many emotions conflicted within Simon, and he could feel them all turning into numbness.
***
By the time Monday morning arrived, Ruthie still had not told anyone about Simon's secret. However, Simon knew better than to view it as a good sign. She was probably saving it up for blackmail material later, or for collateral in case he ever managed to get any dirt on her. In any case, he was safe for the moment. Simply confronting her about whatever secret she was hiding had apparently bought Simon some time.
***
When he arrived at school, Simon sought out Morris to tell him about his new bartender friend. Also, he figured that maybe while he was telling Morris, he could make sure that a few key people were within earshot. After all, how popular would Simon be if word got out that he had a source for alcohol?
Simon found Morris at his locker. However as soon as Morris saw him approaching, he slammed his locker shut and stomped, scowling and wordless, into his homeroom.
Oops. Morris's bad attitude refreshed Simon's memory about how rude he had been to Morris at the bar on Friday night. Apparently damage control was going to be a challenge.
***
All day, Simon eagerly anticipated the final school bell; time could not pass nearly quickly enough. Each class was an agonizing period of waiting, waiting for the next opportunity to catch Morris in the halls. But Morris had avoided him at every turn.
Simon had begun to worry more each time Morris intentionally steered clear of him. Maybe he had been such an asshole to Morris on Friday that he was back to zero-friend status now. Maybe it was his destiny never to have friends. Maybe he was just a born loser.
Lunch didn't help him feel any less like a loser. As usual, he was forced to sit by himself when all the "clique tables" were either full or had seats "reserved". Of course, most of those "reserved" seats never filled up. Simon was used to it by now. No one wanted to be seen sitting with the preacher's son.
To make matters worse, the guidance counselor, Mr. Shaffer, had called him into his office after lunch. Mr. Shaffer was a pale, ugly, graying, balding, skinny, small skeleton, and most Glenoak High students considered him a pathetic human being. To Simon, the fact that this bozo was the man hired to guide him toward success after high school was a rather frightening prospect.
"Simon, a number of your teachers have notified me that…well, there's no easy way to say this. Your grades are slipping, and your performance in class has been disappointing. I have been told by more than one of your teachers that you seem 'spaced out', 'unable to focus', and 'in [your] own little world'." Mr. Shaffer looked as if he were reading a list of offenses from a piece of paper on his desk, and also as if he were trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact that he was enjoying it.
Simon hadn't been expecting this meeting, so he didn't know what to say for himself. He just sat and stared blankly at Mr. Shaffer.
"Simon, finals are coming up sooner than you might think. Now you have always been a solid A or B student, but the way your grades are headed you might finish this year with some C's, maybe even a D or two. I know you don't want that, do you?"
Simon was still dumbfounded and speechless. Why was this happening to him? It wasn't like he had stopped trying. Things had just been so much more difficult lately. It really was harder for him to focus on anything other than his constant misery. And this little meeting was only adding to that misery.
"Simon, you know I'm a good friend of your father's, and he asked me to notify him any time you seemed to be having problems in school," said Mr. Shaffer. Simon wasn't so sure about that. Any time someone brought up being a "good friend" of the Reverend's, it usually meant that they would stop by the church once every month or two to sit through a sermon and drop an offering on the plate. Simon knew that was how it worked for most of the families who attended their church.
It was sometimes sickening how false people's piety could be. Did they attend just to maintain a virtuous church-going image for their fake friends? Whatever. At least they weren't forced to go every weekend and listen to a bunch of "lessons" that had started to sound like his father's same old tired, extremely strict, narrow, and outdated interpretations of passages from the Bible…
"…Simon? Simon, are you listening to me? Good heavens, I can see what your teachers mean about you 'spacing out'. I asked you, do we need to bring your parents in here for a meeting, or are you going to shape up and bring your grades up to your normal standards by the end of the year?"
Simon chewed his lip and thought for a minute, then carelessly responded, "I don't know. We'll see."
He stood up to leave but as he did, Mr. Shaffer slammed a fist on his desk and said in a sinister tone, "Listen to me, Simon Camden. I've had three other Camden children pass through this school with flying colors and you will not be the first Camden to change my reputation, do you hear me? I put food on your table. Remember that!"
Simon just muttered, "Whatever," and walked out of the office. Seriously, who did this guy think he was? He couldn't be putting that much money in the collection plate if he was only a lowly school guidance counselor. And after all, Mary didn't exactly "pass through with flying colors" the way he claimed. Had he forgotten the whole gymnasium-trashing incident?
-Man, why is everybody on my ass? Even the loser guidance counselor is on me now. What is wrong with me?
I suck.
My whole life sucks.-
***
The much-anticipated final school bell rang, at long last. Simon normally would have joyously welcomed its ringing, but all feelings of joy and pain had become subdued. The numbness had set upon him again at some point during the day. Oh well. At least the many minutes of his long walk home had a chance to be fortuitously free of human contact.
As he left, however, he happened upon a bit of good luck when he spotted Morris in front of the school. Simon thought there could be no better way to break out of his strangely overwhelming numbness than to reconcile with Morris. He was the only human being Simon really cared to have contact with right now.
"Morris, wait up. I need to talk to you." Simon sprinted to catch Morris, who didn't bother to slow down as he walked toward home.
"Go away, Camden. I don't want to have anything to do with you. You're just a sophomore punk who thinks he's big shit when he gets a little alcohol in his system."
"OK, I deserved that, but…"
"Hell yeah, you deserved it because it's true." Morris finally looked at Simon, and it wasn't a friendly look.
Simon started his speech again, "Maybe so, but I just want to apologize. I am really, truly sorry for the way I acted and for the things I said to you Friday night."
Morris stopped walking and blew up. "No you're not, Camden. You liked it and you know it. You were just having a grand old time there, getting drunk, saying whatever dumb-assed shit popped into your head. You couldn't have cared less how badly you were insulting Jill, Barb, and me, not to mention annoying everybody else within a ten foot radius of you."
Simon felt the numbness fading away, but this hadn't been the way he had wanted to get rid of it. He could feel his eyes beginning to burn. Everyone had been such a dick to him lately; he so badly needed Morris not to be. Why couldn't Morris just get over this and forgive him?
"Come on, man, what could I have possibly done or said when I was drunk that was so bad…"
"You called me a fag."
-What? Did he just say I…did I really call him a…?-
Morris silently glared at Simon for an extremely uncomfortable and long moment, and Simon stared back in shock. It was as if Morris were waiting for Simon to say something, but Simon couldn't find any words in his dry mouth. Morris eventually gave up, turned, and walked away.
When Simon finally regained his sense, he yelled, "Morris, wait up! I'm sorry! Please, come back, let's talk!"
But Morris was gone, and it was too late.