Chapter 2 How good is he

Chapter 2

Ken

I had known my mother would embarrass me the second I landed in town, but I hadn't quite pictured the extent of her neuroticism.

I should have. About three seconds ago, 120 relatives and friends of the Forester family jumped out from behind the furniture and screamed "Surprise!" in my jetlagged face.

And, I was giving them nothing but a fixed smile. So what? I'm a tech man, not a PR professional.

"Woah!" I said, so lamely, I almost rolled my eyes at myself. "I can't believe you're all here!"

"It's all for you, darling! They're all here for you." My mother gushed, rushing over to grab me in a tight hug. I politely hugged her back, not bothering to inform her that she had invited her friends to celebrate my success –- the same friends of hers who had pitied me as the scrawny, rebellious geek who lacked the backbone to succeed in life.

Was part of the reason I came here just to show these people that I did, in fact, have a backbone?

Maybe.

Elegant lights wove along the sides of the walls, throwing shadows around us all. Alcohol was being freely passed – too freely, I noted, for a party thrown by my mother. I encountered several people I went to high school with. And, a few people whom I didn't recognize at all. Most of them were slightly tipsy by the time I had decided to engage in the party properly.

By the time it was eleven, the party was downright raging. I had to admit, it wasn't too bad.

The entire front yard and the porch were decorated with fairy lights that ran up and down through the foliage – my mother's handicraft, no doubt. Inside the house, alternate rock and general hip-hop drifted through the air, mingling with the chattering voices of what looked like half the town. People seemed more than happy to join wholeheartedly in celebrating a person they couldn't remember.

They couldn't even recognize me. Well, most of them couldn't.

"You owe me," a voice behind me exclaimed. My head whipped around to see Amalia's skinny figure pulling my best friend and right hand man, Felix, behind her.

"I can't believe you came!" I exclaimed, grabbing Felix in a tight hug. "Thank God you're here."

"Wow, you've been around your mother for half a day, and you're already cracking," he joked. I laughed jovially, slapping him on the back.

"You have no idea." I said. Felix Baker and I were the team, and we had been for the past 6 years. We swung back and forth in our hug, almost toppling over – he was quite buzzed already.

"How come you came?" I asked him.

"Oh, they said it was a false alarm," he said, smiling. His father had recently gotten the terrible news that his cancer had returned.

"False alarm?"

"Yeah, there was some new growth around the same place as before. They checked it, but it is completely benign."

"He must have freaked."

Felix nodded, thoughtfully. "He did. And, so did I."

"I'm really glad you're here," I said, grinning at him, grabbing the man into the tightest hug I could muster. He was the guy who had stood by me through all the terrible teens – the years of bullying, ridicule, and social awkwardness felt lighter than they did at the time when you've got someone on your team.

"Aw, you guys should be a couple," Amalia said, squeezing my cheeks.

"Yeah... Ken's not really my type," Felix said. She chortled.

"Your asshole brand of humor won't get to me tonight," I told him, grabbing another glass of champagne off the table for each of us.

"Speaking of assholes..." Amalia said, pointing her chin towards someone behind me.

I turned around to see who she was talking about. I felt the anger bubble before I even registered the man's identity. I grit my teeth together. Drake Dunstable.

The man was gigantic – 6 feet 7 inches of absolute dick, if I recalled correctly. His neatly-pressed suit was a giant departure from the days of leather jackets and football jerseys I remembered him from.

"You're a big man, Dev. I wouldn't have invited him," Felix commented, throwing Amalia a dark look. Felix was no stranger to the menace Drake Dunst was, although I had usually taken the brunt of his bullying. Drake was actually why Felix and I had become friends in the first place. I remembered the day so clearly, it kind of surprised me.

It was the third day of eighth grade. I was thin, gawky, and quiet, my head weighed down by prescription glasses that made my eyes look like a frog's. In only three days, I had learnt that I was far, far below on the rungs of social status than I had ever expected to be. Eighth grade was crueler and colder than even sixth grade, a most vicious year, as I recalled. I was brooding over the gut-wrenching social anxiety courting me as I stuffed my books into my locker when I saw her.

It was her cascading, wavy, dark brown hair that hung below her waist that hooked my attention. Her sky blue eyes seemed to glow against her tanned skin, trapping my gaze in a vice-like grip. Oh my God, a girl, my fourteen-year-old mind had wailed.

"Hey!" I yelled, unable to hold myself back. I had to talk to her. She wouldn't mind if I just said hey, right? Maybe I shouldn't have just yelled like a psycho? Too late to worry about that now, I thought as her head turned to face me. When she looked at me, I suddenly felt extremely...visible.

"Hey," she said, a small smile tilting her plush lips.

Holy shit. She said hey to me. I blinked at her nervously, feeling absolutely flustered. I cursed my father for not teaching me tips on how to talk to girls before he ditched us. All I got in the form of girl advice was from my mother repeatedly telling me, "Just be honest." I gnawed on my lip and took a deep breath. Okay. Just be honest.

"You're really pretty," I said, forcing my face into what I felt was a somewhat normal configuration.

"Why are you making that face?" she asked me, looking concerned. I promptly relaxed my muscles – whatever I thought was normal was clearly not working.

"Sorry..." I mumbled, shuffling away from her, admitting defeat.

"Hey..." she called, yanking me back by my sleeve. I let her pull me closer like it was the most natural thing. "Thanks for saying that. It was sweet."

I gave her a toothy smile, my heart running double time. "You're welcome! Maybe...if you don't have any plans...we could go somewhere... Not that you can't be alone or that you need company per se, just you know, coffee and... with me... Th-that might be fun-"

"What's going' on here?" a voice boomed from behind me. I shut my eyes, cursing the gods above and below. I would know that obnoxious voice from a mile away. "This guy bothering' you, Freda?"

"I was just leaving," I mumbled, turning around and walking away from them. However gorgeous this girl was, if she was connected to Drake In any way, I was out. Drake had never really grown past the kindergarten phase where you sucker punch anyone who touches your "toys," and those are the kinds of people I like to avoid.

"No, he's not. He just said that I was pretty," I heard her respond. I closed my eyes slowly.

Idiot. She just got me killed.

I increased the pace of my limbs as much as I could without actively running, but it didn't matter. Drake already chased me and grabbed me by my hood before I could take as much as two more steps. He hung the hood onto the edge of a locker, leaving me dangling a foot off the ground before the whole hallway.

"Blondie wants to play with Drake's girlfriend," he mocked me, his dark eyes full of malevolent pride.

"I-I didn't know she was with you-" I began.

"Like you had a shot with her in hell even if I wasn't here," he said, chuckling. He leaned down to the level of my face, making me squirm uncomfortably. "Nobody wants you here. You know that, right? Nobody wants you around. I'm just the only one who openly tells you."

"Tyler, come on," the girl – Freda, Drake had called her – said. "You're being mean."

"Is it meant to defend your girl from creepy geeks who wanna get in her pants? Then, I'm fucking mean." With that, he placed a well-aimed punch right in my gut that made me crumple inward in pain, clutching my stomach as tears threatened to leak out of my eyes. He laughed aloud, pulling the hood off the locker before he left so I crashed to the ground in a boney heap. I sniffed, my eyes boring into the ground, my teeth tight around the insults on my tongue that I could never use, at least not if I wanted to get out of school alive.

I raked my hand on the floor around me – my glasses had fallen off, and I was basically blind without them.

"Here," someone said. I felt the familiar heavy plastic of my glasses touch my fingers.

"Thank you," I said, profusely, shoving my glasses back on. They had been stepped on almost four times last year – an expensive loss that got me a nice whooping from my father each time.

I looked up to see the face of my helper. A bug-eyed teen with a dopey grin was staring at me.

"You alright?" he kept asking me. I was aware that I wasn't responding, but my head was reeling. Was someone in Jefferson High trying to be nice to me? I blinked at him. Surely, it was a ploy for further bullying.

"Did he hang you up by the locker?" he asked casually, as though we were talking about the weather. "That's every Monday morning for me."

"You know Tyler?" I asked, my face scrunching up as his name left an acrid taste in my mouth.

"Yeah." The cheery boy's face seemed to dim a little. He glanced around us and leaned into me. "Drake Is a cunt."

I laughed darkly. "He'd whoop you for saying that."

"Well he's not here, is he?"

"No, he's not..." I trailed off. I realized I was still sitting on the floor. I looked up at the guy, "Why does he hang you up?"

"I'm in his English class."

"So?"

"Does he need a specific reason?"

I nodded in understanding. "Probably not."

"What did you do?" he asked me.

I gave him a dry smile. "I told his girlfriend she's pretty."

"Ha ha!" he said, slapping me on the back. "You're a badass!"

"Not really," I told him, "I didn't know she was dating him."

He shrugged, "Still. You went up to a girl and said words. More guts than I have."

I smiled; that made me feel better. Even though I'd basically gotten my ass kicked and suffered crippling embarrassment, before Drake's gorilla self barged in, the girl seemed to think I was sweet.

"I'm Felix," the boy said, extending his hand. I felt my smile grow.

"I'm Ken," I said, grasping his hand. He pulled me up with surprising strength. "You good?"

"Yeah," I said, awkwardly. "Thanks for helping me out, man."

"It's no problem."

We stood next to each other silently for a few moments. There were still 26 minutes to go before the next class began. I glanced at Felix; he seemed to be in no rush to get anywhere, either.

"So, what do you wanna do?" I asked him.

He stared at me for a beat, as if debating whether to tell me something. Then, he leaned in and whispered, "Have you ever smoked a joint?"

"Yo!" someone yelled, snapping me out of my memories. The base of the music rose, thundering tremendously. The party was in full flow. My head swerved to see Felix nudging me pointedly in the ribs.

"What?" I asked him, shoving his elbow aside.

"She's coming here," he said through gritted teeth, giving me a fake smile.

"Who?"

"The girl you spent your entire school life mooning over," he snapped, pushing two drinks into my hands. Before I could protest, he grabbed my shoulders and spun me...and I came face to face, very suddenly, with Freda Steely.

She looked surprised to see me. Her hand was outstretched as if she were about to tap me on the shoulder. She looked like a walking, talking, human incarnation of elegance as she gave me a small, coy smile.

"Hey," she said.

You have to say something. You are 22 years old. Act like you've had a human conversation before. "Drink?" I asked, offering her one of the glasses Felix had handed me.

"Yes, please." She grabbed the glass with an almost unnecessary urgency. She took two very long gulps. It occured to me that she seemed nervous.

"Enjoying the party?" I asked her.

"Yeah," she said, nodding, her mind seemingly elsewhere. "Congratulations...on your life and everything."

I couldn't help it – I had to laugh at the way she said that.

Suddenly, she leaned in and grabbed my sleeve. "Is Drake Behind me?"

"N-no," I said, cursing myself for stuttering. Act. Normal.

She looked up at me earnestly. Her crystal blue eyes seemed to trap my gaze under the throbbing lights. "I'm very sorry for what he put you through. And, I'm very happy that you're doing so well."

"Thank you. That's very kind of you to say," I told her, honestly. My eyes were still rooted to hers – she had a force in her gaze that always surprised me. I did not know her very well. I had been so ridiculously infatuated with her throughout high school that I couldn't ever speak to her, let alone get to know her. Also, there was Drake

"I'm glad you guys came," I said, smiling politely.

She looked away from me, her eyes ridden with guilt, her shoulders hunched defensively. It was a posture I recognized from the lessons Felix gave me on how to read our investors' body language. Freda seemed out of place – a strangely tense presence in a room full of otherwise loose and happy people.

"Do you want a drink?" I half-shouted over the music.

"I'm sorry I brought him here. He insisted on meeting you..."

I rolled my eyes, "Don't worry about it. He'll find me harder to punch this time."

She let out a small laugh, "Yeah, you're not so tiny anymore."

I sniggered, "You're dating a six foot seven tree. Of course, I look tiny to you. You must look tiny to you."

She laughed – for real this time. Feeling distinctively proud of myself, I handed her a drink.

"Cheers," she said. "To improve your life."

How very specific. "To improve your life."

I took a sip, enjoying the cool wine washing down my dry throat. I had spent a majority of the evening talking to people who wanted to exchange the same stories over and over again. Where have you been? How did you do this? Are you dating someone? Do you want to listen to the cool startup idea my uncle gave me? The sheer number of questions was baffling.

"Can I ask you a question?" Freda began.

It took everything I had in me to not roll my eyes. "You already did."

"Another one, then."

"Go on."

She bit her lip, "Why did you change your hair color?"

I stared at her, surprised at her question. "I did that in 10th grade. Why are you asking me now?"

She shrugged lightly, sipping her drink. "I liked the blond better. I always wanted to ask you why you changed it, but never really got the chance."

It was my turn to be defensive. I frowned, shaking my head, "There were a lot of chances, to be really-"

"Hey!" I heard a very familiar voice boom. I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders, careless with its weight, and DrakeDunst's leering face appeared into my view.

"Little Ken!" he said, grinning at me.

"Drake Dunst," I finished, lamely. Was I supposed to make an effort into coming up with an equally moronic nickname for him? Perhaps. Was I supposed to at least exchange a few pleasantries with him since he was a guest in my house? Maybe. But I was drunk, and it was easy to forget my manners and become firm in my convictions.

I ducked out from under his arm, without giving him a warning. I slapped him on the back, "Have a good time, man. It was nice to see you, Freda."

She nodded at me as I spun away. I felt Tyler's hand grab my shoulder and stop me midway.

The wave of rage I felt at this simple action was astounding. It was a dejavu of the worst kind – the one where you relive your petty childhood traumas over and over again. I am a grown man now. There was no way I was going to let Drake Dunst hang me up by some locker. But I remembered the way he stopped me then, and it filled me with as much rage then as it did now.

"Where are you going, man?" he asked me jovially, smiling from ear to ear. "We gotta catch up!"

I liked to call this the "billionaire syndrome."

"Sorry, bro, I gotta go help out my friend. I think she's throwing up on the couch," I said, quickly ducking away and twisting and worming my way into the crowd so he wouldn't try to stop me again. My temper was close to the surface these days, and it wouldn't do well to break into a fight over petty, age-old rivalry. I had to be better. More mature.

"Bunny!" I heard my mother's voice from my left.

Shit. I tried to worm into the crowd, but I was blocked by five extremely drunk people engaged in sort of a five-way dance/grind jig. I'm too sober for this.

I felt my mother's talons piercing my arm as she grabbed me and dragged me toward the kitchen. There was no escaping her once she got you by the claws.

"Jesus, Mother," I growled, pulling myself free but following her. She gave me a piercing glare, her lips pursed into a frown. My eyes met Felix on the way, who was holding Amalia's hair back as she threw up at their feet.

He knew I would switch places with him in an instant.

I had only stepped in halfway into the kitchen when my mother's rant began. She couldn't even wait for me to adjust to the bright fluorescent lighting. "Absolutely uncultured brats – no sense of dignity – they're humping in your grandparents' room!"

I shrugged noncommittally. "Nobody's lived in that room for six years."

"So what?" she yelled.

I let out a low whistle, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Ma, you gotta calm down. We talked about this party. I told you this would happen-"

"So this is my fault-" she began, bitterness in every syllable.

"Ma, I told you not to have a party. You went ahead and did it, anyway!"

"I wanted to celebrate with you!"

"You hired an entire team of bartenders! Our living room looks like a 1980s disco! You went way fucking overboard!"

"Don't you dare talk to me that way-"

"So don't lie to me about doing this for me. You did this for you, as usual."

"Oh you are just like your father," she snapped.

"Here we go-"

"Manipulating my words and making me sound like an asshole," she seethed. "Your friends are trampling and screwing on top of our furniture! All of my friends are holed up inside the basement terrified of the things people are doing-"

"Your friends!" I yelled. "You invited them! Not me! I had no part in this. I landed here two hours ago!" She opened her mouth to argue, but I couldn't take it anymore.

"No – listen. You called half the town here. You gave them the booze. You gave them the music. I suggest you consider yourself a generous party thrower and just leave them alone. You can't control these people, Ma."

She stared at me, her lower lip trembling. "You are thankless," she spat.

I screwed my forehead as tight as I could. "I need some air."

"Ken-"

I didn't wait for her to finish. I simply marched out of the backdoor of the kitchen, slamming it shut behind me.

My chest was heaving as I took long, deep breaths, trying to calm down. I had been driven out of my own house by the madness of those inside. I lit a cigarette and took a big puff. It was a toxic remedy I had come to depend on after fights with my mother, which were always plentiful. I didn't think it had much to do with actually smoking the cigarette, rather than just puffing smoke out of your mouth, letting the five minutes feel like a "break" from life.

I took another drag and stared off into the distance. My mother had taken to our garden after our father left, obsessively pruning and maintaining each shrub, flower, and tree with care. The garden had flourished, branches of a variety of plants weaving in and around each other. It was a dark and soothing labyrinth.

"Stop it, just stop!" someone screamed. I immediately stood up, my head whipping to the source of the noise. Freda Steely charged along the path beside my garden, closely followed by Drake's hunting figure.

"No, you stop!" Drake yelled, slurring his words a bit. I glanced worriedly at them, feeling intrusive. "You wanna break up with me? We're soulmates!"

"No, we're not. I hate you!"

"It was you... You bitched behind my back, didn't you? To Forester? He totally ignored me... It was you-""It was you... You bitched behind my back, didn't you? To Forester? He totally ignored me... It was you-"

"No, I wasn't!"

"I saw you laughing' it up with that b-brat!" he accused, sounding almost incoherent.

"Drake you have to fucking control yourself, right now!"

Even from this distance, I could see his face crumpling. He raised his arm and in a powerful swing, slapped Freda across her right cheek. I saw her slam against a branch, hitting her head and crumpling onto the ground.

"Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do," Drake snarled at her.

Unfettered, boiling hot rage rose in my throat like lava. I felt anger so intense and pure, I could taste it in my mouth. Unthinking, I raced up to Drake, my cigarette's butt crushing under my iron grip. He whipped around as he heard me approach and without hesitation, I took my cigarette and stubbed it on his arm.

"Holy shit!" he cried, jumping away from me. Without missing a beat, I whipped my right arm around and clocked him directly in his chin. The crunch of the impact was loud, and Drake fell to the ground, unconscious.