Spontaneous Sounds and Movements of the Face and Body that are the Instinctive Expressions of Lively Amusement

Julia helped me write a belief report that didn't just shine. It was blinding. Every word glistened. Made me sound like a sentimental piece of garbage, but Dr. White told me I did well. Enough. Austin studied me like I was an undiscovered element on the periodic table and called my bull, but he forgave me because I'd talked to somebody and enjoyed it.

Besides, therapy wasn't about that. In the words of Dr. White: therapy is about the bonds between people all searching for a purpose.

Julia offered to take me home after therapy. She hadn't in a while.

"Hey, you okay?"

I shrugged as she pulled from the curb. My head felt like I'd nailed it with a hammer.

I had used my last day of Spring Break freedom to do more research for my economics project, and the farther back in history I went with Google searches, the more intact the fountain was. Time just made it old. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find one shred of evidence about some big riot or any other reason for the poor site's appearance.

What I found instead made me want to throw the fountain off a bridge.

Villains in cartoons have big bodies and tiny heads. Mob villains usually have suits and sunglasses. Gang villains wear eye patches and ripped jeans (I think). Under headlines about the black market, I found combinations of these villains, with the eyes of a coo-coo clock.

The problem? The cartel was busted years ago. And these were photographs from five years back, showing teenagers wearing Wildwood High varsity jackets.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to therapy in a while," Julia said. Her need to apologize after I'd spent our week off at her place eating her food with her extended family members had me mind boggled. (Say that ten times fast.) "Austin's been a grump whenever I'm around and my friends at school were stressed after the…carnival incident…"

I switched the subject faster than a slot machine in Vegas. "Why's Austin been upset?"

Her eye twitched.

"What?" I asked.

"Aren't you…"

"Aren't I what?"

"Doesn't Austin tell you this stuff?"

"No one ever tells me anything."

She turned back to the wheel. I slouched in my seat and watched the grass whiz by. It twisted my stomach into a knot.

"Sorry," she said, "I've just been stressed. We've got finals in a month, and I haven't heard back from my choice college yet."

"But you're a senior."

She shrugged. "I retook the ACT a few times before I sent out applications."

It was weird having no temptation to insult someone after they insulted themselves, yet refreshing. I wiped a drop of sweat off my brow. "Where did you apply?"

"NYU."

Her hands were gripped around the wheel.

"Is that it?" I asked.

"I've got backup. It's probably not going to happen."

Every part of me disagreed. If there was a college out there that had accepted Kyle, there was a college for anyone. I glanced out the window and found the skyline. It was the same shade as Julia's lip-gloss.

At that moment, something blurted out of my mouth I never expected. No plot buildup. No foreshadowing. I'd cheated my system.

"Hey, can I have your phone number?"

✎✎✎

I dashed for my room, ripped open my birthday present, and found the abandoned smartphone. Fresh out of the package. I glanced at the slip of paper and typed in Julia's number. Then I opened the texting app (more like accidentally ran into it) and slipped a message through.

Hey, this is Ben.

I shoved it in my pocket.

Ding!

I clicked it on.

Hey Ben! So you do have a phone. (Laughing emoji.) I figured you were going to prank call me or something.

I swallowed. I'd watched Kyle text, seen it in movies, and read enough articles to know the lingo.

Haha, I typed. Why would I do that?

My lips curled towards my ears. Why hadn't I gotten this thing out earlier? Communication without verbal context was my only shot at a normal conversation.

Ding!

I glanced down.

Idk, seems like a very "Ben" thing to do. Guess Austin hasn't rubbed off on you as much as I thought.

Joke's on her. I haven't talked directly to Austin since we took our road trip.

Anyway, the conversation flowed on, with a few swerves but steady traffic that didn't cut the curbs.

I found myself in the kitchen digging my hand through a bag of blue Doritos. Wow, I really was turning into Kyle. Well, if I'm going to be my brother, I might as well plop in front of the TV and binge-watch a sitcom.

Ding!

Ugh, Valerie won't stop texting me.

This was three hours later. It felt like three minutes. My fingers dashed across the keypad: Guess she's not the only one.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

Yeah, but Valerie's just trying to get answers for math homework.

I googled how to respond to that.

Lol

I didn't even flinch when the front door opened. My eyes trailed to the device as my two parental figures walked in. "Ben?" Dad called. I could tell he'd just been with Peterson. "Are you home yet?"

"Yeah." My thumbs flew across the keypad. "How was work?"

My parents stopped at the doorway. Mom's eyes were little lollipops as she spoke with creases on the vowels, "Honey, are you feeling alright?"

I better get going. I've got a paper due tomorrow.

I clicked the power button. When my eyes came into focus, a woman in a cocktail dress stood before me, followed by a man in a James Bond suit.

"Yes?" I spoke.

Mom's hair was a bleacher blond than yesterday, and her nails had grown a full three inches of red. She wore a dress like a teenager at a drunk party in a dramedy. If I ever caught Julia in something like that, I'd choke. For Mom? This was normal.

Dad tilted his head. "Are you smiling?"

I frowned. "No."

My parents usually stand as if someone had plastered a ruler to their vertebrae. This time, they hunched. Had Peterson replaced their bones with gelatin?

"Can I go now?" I said. It wasn't much of a question, because I hopped up from the couch, pushed my hand off Dad's shoulder, and bounded for my bedroom. I plopped onto my grey and blue striped sheets and rested my hands behind my head. I was filled with helium.

The elation was strange, like eating frozen strawberries after a sour pickle.

My parents didn't disturb me again—for five minutes and six seconds. Whenever they crept my door open, I'd throw a book or phone on my head and hold my face straight. It turned into Jeopardy; I blurted answers before they asked the questions, fighting the unusual smile.

Yup, it was all fun and games until they both showed up with the family therapist. That's when Jeopardy transformed into a quiz show from the eighties.

I've talked to this guy before. I recorded the conversation on paper, and you've read it. Do you remember? It went something like this:

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"Did you do anything fun yesterday?"

"No."

"What did you do then?"

"Nothing."

"What didn't you do?"

"..."

"How's your dad?"

"He looks the same."

"Do you want to talk?"

"Not really."

"But I want to talk to you, Ben."

"I don't."

"Well, that's too bad."

"I don't see anything negative about the current situation."

All this time I thought my parents had fired Dr. Conner. Nope. They deemed it appropriate to stay on his list for a rainy day. I considered this a sunny one with happy butterflies and flowers. I guess they disagreed.

"Hi Doctor Conner," I said.

He tripped over himself. With what I can only describe as a peacock recovery, he crept over until he was inches from my face. My parents leaned closer. Guess they decided to make this a party. In my room. Goody.

I didn't know how to be upset. I still had a light feeling in my chest, like I was carrying a magic feather.

Doctor Conner glanced at my parents and knelt beside me. "So, Ben, how are you doing?"

"I'm great."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

"What medication?"

"How's group therapy?"

"The best."

"No problems?"

"Nada."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Are you high?"

"What?"

He rubbed his temples with his thumb. "Ben, you're behaving very strangely. You're never polite."

"I can be."

"But you're not."

"That's rude."

"What?"

"What?"

"What?"

"Are you messing with me, Ben?"

The exhausted lines near his eyes brought a strange feeling from my stomach up into my throat. From the joy of today's events and every happy moment came a sound from my lips I had never heard before. My breath shuffled around in a spastic, uncontrolled manner, and Doctor Conner became a helpless figure as my breaths quickened. Was this a heart attack?

No, it was much too enjoyable to be a heart attack.

These were easily defined by my dictionary: spontaneous sounds and movements of the face and body that are the instinctive expressions of lively amusement. I would state it blankly, but Doctor Conner did that for me.

"Ben." He checked me for a fever. "Are…are you laughing?"

"I, hahaha, don't, hahaha." I swallowed, "I guess I am!"

My parents, who I kind of forgot were there for a second, stepped forward. It was like I had the plague or something.

Dad whispered, "Doctor Conner, what's wrong with him? Are you sure he's not high?"

"No. He's not. Miraculously."

My parents frowned.

"Of course, that is a good thing."

"Yes," Mom said, "Absolutely, but…"

They all paused. If this were on a screen, I could press the PAUSE button and it would look the same as it would on PLAY.

I sat up. "I'm going to go get an apple."

My mouth erupted into this new diabolical form of expression. I snuck from my room, shutting the door behind me. Their whispered conversations followed my ears. It all should've weighed down on me, with mentions of my brother, my insanity, and their next vacation. But, hahaha, elation drowned it all out.

But, when I bit into the Red Delicious apple, I thought over the most prevalent question. The answer to which I had no clue:

What was wrong with me?