The Gatekeepers by Jen Lancaster
Goddamn it again.
I wrestle him off the ground and up the bluff. I seat him on a bench and he squirms around like a toddler who refuses to have his shoes tied. I practically pull teeth to get the barest idea of his afternoon. I glean he was in such a bad way from withdrawals that a quick trip to the rough areas north of town seemed a far better idea than white-knuckling his way through AP Government.
My parents were right.
My parents were right and I’m an idiot and Liam is in too deep. I thought that whatever it was with him and the pills, I could love him past it, but I was kidding myself. Liam’s self-destructing, regardless of who cares for him.
Liam is in danger.
“Let’s get you home, get you sorted,” I say, trying to drag him up by his sleeve.
He remains planted. “Nope. Home is no bueno.”
“Liam, please. You can’t stay here, you’re not safe. Come along, let’s go.”
He offers me what I assume he believes to be his sweet, slow smile, the one that makes me weak in the knees, but it comes across as rather menacing, particularly with how his tooth catches the split of his lip. I feel a small stab of fear, just a tiny prick, but enough to register.
“Negative.”
Warhol’s growing more and more tense right alongside me. The fur on the back of his neck rises and he flattens his ears. He lets out a low, guttural growl. “Warhol, behave.” I flick the braided leash to quiet him down. “Time to go home.”
“Time to stay here.”
How messed up is he right now? I can’t leave him; what if he takes more? Is he smoking it? Or snorting? I can’t imagine him using a needle, but then I never envisioned him doing anything even remotely related to this. We’re in uncharted territory. I’m desperately afraid for him.
I look around to see if there’s someone I can call for help, but the area’s deserted. I’m on my own. This is my problem and mine alone.
He slumps down on the bench and then suddenly he’s clawing his legs, as though they’re covered with biting insects. Who is he right now? I don’t know this man at all. He’s almost completely nonsensical and I’m terrified at what might happen next if he’s left alone.
I’m starting to fear for my own safety. Yet if I show agitation, I worry the situation will worsen.
Projecting fake serenity, I pretend to keep calm. To carry on. To channel Queen Elizabeth II when she woke up to find a psychiatric patient had broken into her chambers and was sitting on the edge of her bed. Did she scream or throw punches? No. She kept her head. She was the quintessential Brit, engaging the intruder in polite conversation about his family until a footman woke up and seized him.
As patiently as I’m able, I say, “Do you have anything left from what you bought? You need to give it to me.”
He swings his head side to side, as if it were a pendulum, and finally replies, “That does not sound like something I would like to do.”
I bend over and bring my face down close to his. My resolve seems icy, but my heart may well fly out of my chest. In my sweetest voice, I tell him, “Listen, Liam. I will fight for you. We didn’t come this far for me to not fight for you. I love you, okay? But you’ve a problem, that’s clear now. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m sorry I was in denial. Thing is, I will stand beside you. I just need you to get up and give me the drugs.”
His eyes, which have always been so soulful and intense, turn cold and hard. He’s a stranger to me now, a zombie inhabiting what once was Liam’s shell. The outside hasn’t changed but the inside’s all different.
“Don’t think so.”
My anger supplants my fear. While I care desperately for Liam, I have no love for this alien in front of me. Fury infuses me with a burst of strength and my muscles feel taut, primed for action. I’ve always opted for flight, but today I choose fight.
“Damn it, Liam, let’s go!” I hook my hand in the space under his arm and pull him up. We’re both surprised when I succeed in lifting him off the bench. I pat at his jacket, searching for something, maybe a Ziploc bag or plastic bottle. I locate a small square of folded aluminum foil in his pocket and I take it from him.
I half-expect him to be grateful, to be reticent, to recognize that I love him enough to try to save him from himself.
“NOT YOURS.”
With that, he pitches forward, lunging for the packet. Warhol, my sweet little fatty, my loving boy, dives at Liam to protect me, but he’s stopped short by the leash. Once Liam reclaims his great prize, he sweeps me aside with his forearm and sends me toppling down onto the rocky path. I land hard, skinning my hands and knees as I stop myself from rolling right off the edge of the ravine. Sharp stones and twigs pierce my skin but the pain of my broken skin has nothing on my breaking heart.
Liam takes off down the path at a slow jog, which is likely faster than my most balls-out sprint, and disappears into the gathering darkness. I’m in such shock that I don’t try to follow him.
I don’t know what else to do, so I text Kent.
Now that my aggressor is gone, Warhol concentrates on administering first aid via kisses, licking away my tears almost as quickly as they fall.
Almost.
Minnie Cho
9:08 AM
Kent, are you free sometime soon?
I’d like to talk to you. Pls
call/email/text and let me know.
38
KENT
“This is some bullshit.”
The five of us from lunch head over to the Goodmans’ house. I’m so mad about the school board nonsense that I don’t even want to go exploring in the hopes of finding a stray pair of Mallory’s underwear.
(Clarification: I’m not saying I wouldn’t be interested to see a thong, I’m just saying that’s not my purpose.)
“Is Simone coming?” I ask.
“Nope,” Mallory tells me. “Said she had homework. I don’t buy it. I feel like she wanted to search for Liam. She told me she was concerned because she spotted his mom’s car circling the school. She thought Mrs. Avery was looking for him, too. I’m worried, Kent. What should we do?”
I never thought there’d be a time in my life when Mallory deferred to me. The great irony of this whole situation is that she and I are becoming friends. Like, she’s nice to me, has been hugging me and stuff and sending me texts to see how I am. I’ve smelled her hair and everything.
(Very flowery, five stars, would recommend.)
All I want to do is tell Stephen every detail...and then I remember. The most fucked-up part is that she and I wouldn’t even be buddies if he were still here.
Believe me, I would trade a lifetime with her for five more minutes with him.
“Specifically, why are you worried?” I ask.
“Liam taking off without saying anything is out of character. He’s Mr. Can’t Be Alone Ever. So I told Simone, if she could, to check out the bluff at the end of Mayflower Road. There’s a huge pine tree a couple of steps off the path. I used to sit with him in the open space under the branches. He and I would meet up so he could decompress whenever his dad hurt him.”
Owen winces. “Was that, like, a usual thing at his house?”
Jasper and Mallory glance at each other, feeling out what the other person knows.
Jasper says, “The old man stopped knocking Liam around on the reg a couple of years ago. Probably because he got taller than his dad. But the man’s still a flaming dickbag to him, which is almost as bad.”
“That sucks,” I say. “I had no clue. You never really know, do you?”
Mallory nods. “The few times his father lost it when we were together would send Liam reeling. He’d go mute, like, all fragile, forgetting that he was a huge athlete and could punch back ten times harder. I think when you’re walked on for so l
Jasper runs a palm over his slicked-back hair. “Everyone deals with something. Some of us are just better at hiding it.”
No one comments. We’re all surprised to hear any sort of disclosure coming from the guy who embodies “perfect,” who’s the epitome of “lucky.”
Jasper claps his hands together, uncomfortable at our attention. “So, if Simone’s handling Liam, what do we do? Malibu, Kent State, what’s the plan?”
“We figure out our next steps for the Gatekeepers,” I say, taking control of the group. “We have to exist, you know? It’s imperative. If we can’t work within the system, we find a way around it.”
Owen pumps his fist. “Yaaas. We owe that to our friends.”
I say, “Mallory, you look up how other clubs in schools get around the no-charter thing. Owen, check out any spaces in North Shore where we could gather. Could be a church or a rec center. Jasper, see if you can ballpark costs for us to open and run our own Gatekeepers center. Theo, find out who’s in the parents’ organization. You said your mom’s on the email, maybe everyone’s carbon-copied. Let’s appeal to each parent individually, see if we can change their decision. As for me, I’ll try to get in touch with Mr. Gorton.”
We each pull out our various electronics. As we work, I catch Mallory sneaking glances at me. What’s that about? Uh-oh. She can’t read my mind about the underpants, right?
“I have his Facebook profile up,” I say a few minutes later. “Gorton posted ‘On Administrative Leave, FML.’”
The fuck-my-life abbreviation makes Owen laugh. “FML, Mr. Gorton? You never consider our teachers or counselors existing anywhere but in the school, do you? In my head, it’s like they just climb into lockers at the end of the day and wait for first period the next morning, like putting a ventriloquist’s dummy back into the case. You don’t assume they have a regular life, and, like, eat dinner at the Olive Garden or buy socks at Target.”
“Right?” Mallory says. “Sometimes I forget that we’re just their jobs.”
I tell them, “One time we ran into my fourth grade teacher at the grocery store and it blew my mind. I looked in her cart and was all, ‘Why would she need toilet paper?’” and everyone laughs.
“I’d really like to hear what Mr. Gorton thinks. Can you send him a direct message?” Mallory asks me.
“On it,” I reply, head bent over my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Check this out,” Theo says, holding up his Android. “I Googled ‘North Shore’ and ‘Parents’ Association.’ Here’s a Facebook post by Stephen’s mom.”
That catches my attention.
Theo scans the text. “Let’s see... She’s talking about the meeting last night. Says decreasing the workload will ‘make us less competitive going forward.’ Says ‘holding students to a lower standard will just spit in the face of Stephen’s legacy.’ Also, ‘lower test scores impact property values.’”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say, springing out of my seat. “You know she’s been texting me, saying she wants to talk? I’ve ignored her because I’m sure she’s going to lay a huge guilt trip on me, and, let’s be honest, I am chickenshit. But, now? Boom, the gloves are OFF.”
Owen puts his good hand on my forearm. “Bro, it’s okay. Settle. Stephen’s mom’s hurting and she’s doing the only thing she can think of right now, which is pushing forward. Do not hold her responsible for anything when emotions are so raw. She gets a pass today, okay? I don’t forgive anyone else for not wanting to ease up on us, but she gets a pass.”
He does make sense. I fall back onto the banquette, defused.
“You cool?” he asks.
I say, “I think so. Honestly? I don’t even know that Mrs. Cho was Stephen’s problem. Was she super strict? Hell, yeah. My own mom’s a lot like her and sometimes her micromanagement’s a lot. But I can handle it because I understand why. That was Stephen’s problem. He never understood why. He just figured he was destined to do everything wrong, which is why she was always bitching at him.”
More to herself than us, Mallory says, “Trying to figure out why will drive you mad.”
I nod. “With Stephen, he held himself to a higher standard than Mrs. Cho ever could. Shoulda seen him before our Physics meets. He’d practically slip into a trance, he was so intense. He’d stay up all night for a week to prep. And for what? To win some stupid trophy to be sold for a quarter at a yard sale in ten years?”
My eyes begin to water and my voice breaks, but I don’t fight the tears. If I cry, I don’t care. I’m learning it’s okay to show you’re vulnerable. “I heard from him coming home on the train that day. I think he was so convinced that he’d screwed up his alum interview that his life wasn’t even worth living.”
The guilt returns. The feeling of not having done enough surrounds me like one of those impossible-to-remove plastic clamshells. Remorse clings to me like spilled honey. I try to talk past the lump in my throat, but it’s hard. “I fucked up. I had no idea he meant to harm himself. I was...annoyed. Thought he was being all Johnny Drama and then I was smug when he admitted he was wrong and I was right. I gloated to myself. Now I want to pull a Superman and fly backward around the planet to reverse time that day. I want to go back and be different. Be supportive and maybe keep him from—”
“Kent, it’s not your fault,” Mallory says. I am full on crying now. She gestures for Jasper to bring me a bottle of water, which he sets down beside me.
“He did it on the way home from his alumni interview. I’d bet you anything he thought he’d fucked it up. How did he not know that no matter what happened with MIT, he’d be okay? Even if they said no, every other college in the country would fight over him? How did he not see how great he was?”
The group is quiet, intently listening.
“How did it not occur to him that every other eighteen-year-old kid might be nervous, too, might stammer a little over his answers? He’s not the White House press secretary, you know? He wasn’t someone who had to answer questions professionally, he was allowed to stumble and be thoughtful. He held himself to such a high standard that there was nowhere to go but down. I see that now. Everyone in this goddamned school is like that, too. Like the world is gonna end if we aren’t one hundred percent perfect all the time.”
I wipe a stray tear away with the cuff of my shirt. In the past, I’d have been mortified to break down in front of the popular kids. But having feelings doesn’t mean you’re weak. I finally realize they aren’t looking at me like I’m a loser, like I don’t belong.
Because I do belong. We all belong. We’re in this together.
Mallory grabs me and hugs me close and tight, her face pressed against my neck.
Then Owen, Theo, and Jasper join in the hug. They all hold me for so long that it gets a little weird.
I say, “You guys trying to have a five-way here?”
Jasper tells me, “There is something deeply wrong with you, K-Pop. I like it.”
And that breaks the tension.
Owen looks thoughtful as he returns to his seat. “This is why we have to be here for each other. We gotta keep the Gatekeepers intact. Like, assure everyone we have options. I mean, our futures are a huge deal, but right now is important, too. We can’t be miserable every day in the hopes of building something great ten years down the road. That’s a shitty way to live.”
“Amen,” Jasper says, toasting us with his Diet Coke.
Something dings in my pocket and I pull out my phone. “Goddamn it.”
“What?” Mallory asks.
I give them the condensed version of Simone’s 911 text.
“Aw, Jesus, Liam, why?” Theo asks, cupping his face in his left hand.
“We have to find him. Now,” Jasper says, standing and heading towards the door. “He’s
I grab my coat. “Listen, I’m more worried about her than him,” I say, pulling a coat on over my hoodie and winding my scarf around my neck. “Simone’s become an entirely different person, you know? Like in a real short amount of time. She was all world-wise and chill when she got here. She was confident and sure of herself.”
“That’s why I vibed with her,” Owen offers. “She’s totally different now.”
“Yes, exactly,” I say. “She didn’t grow up in all this, she doesn’t know how to handle it. North Shore has her twisted and Liam’s got her all... I don’t even know how to describe the changes, except, well, she’s a fucking mess. I don’t trust her judgment right now. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Kent’s right,” Mallory said. “She was relaxed to the point of comatose at first, just so stoked to be a citizen of the world. The girl I sat next to today is an entirely different entity.”
“Let’s split up and go looking, that way we cover more ground,” Owen suggests.
Mallory organizes us. “How about... Theo, you take Owen in your car. Kent, you don’t have a car and you know Simone best, so you’re with me. Jasper, can you strike out on your own? You’d be most tuned in to other places Liam would go.”
Jasper gives her a curt nod. “10-4, Malamute.”
She adds, “Okay, Gatekeepers, let’s do this.”
39
MALLORY
“Wait, where did Simone say she was going?”
After I peel out of my garage, I realize I have no idea where to head.
“She didn’t. Let me text her to see.” Kent furiously presses numbers and keys. His phone’s silence overwhelms us. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. “C’mon, Simone, hit me back.”
“Maybe she went home? Call her house,” I instruct. “Or do they not have a landline?”
They do, and her mom tells him she’s out with the dog.