by Anne Harris

Antonin’s warm, quirky, criminal family are a revelation to Harry, who grew up on an isolated island with his abusive, wealthy father. Harry’s unquestioning acceptance of Antonin and his loved ones is a refreshing change from the disbelief and scorn Antonin is accustomed to from classmates. The two teenagers become friends and soon fall in love, but Harry’s father has plans to manipulate their relationship for his own gain, and Antonin’s aunt harbors a secret that may destroy them all.

This is a preview of the first seven chapters of a young adult science fiction novel I am currently marketing.

Chapter 3 — The Green Memory

Antonin sat up from where Shane had been kneeling on his chest, bitch-slapping him. He wiped blood and grit from his lips, and looked up to see Harry, standing, panting, his arms stiff at his sides, watching Marcus and his friends limp off in the direction of the school. He whirled around and glared at Antonin. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

Antonin’s guts ached from Marcus’ punch, and he had a split lip and a bloody nose, but thanks to Harry’s efficiency as an ass-kicking machine, he wasn’t badly hurt. He nodded his head.

Harry had the beginnings of two black eyes and blood still oozed from the corner of his mouth. He nodded back stiffly, still glaring, and said, “Then you can tell me what the fuck you did that for? You know for a smart kid you’re a real dumbfuck. What’s the matter with you?”

Antonin blinked. “What do you mean? I was standing up for you. What’s the matter with you? Why were you letting those guys beat on you like that?”

Harry shook his head, his jaw clenched in frustration. “Those kids are amateurs. Another few minutes and they’d have been done. And things could have just. . .” He shrugged. “But now— You have no idea, no fucking idea the depth of the shit I am in now, because of you.” He looked out in the direction Marcus had gone once again, waving one hand as a hopeless look came over his face. His hand shook and he dropped it. “Fuck!” he suddenly screamed, jumping up and down and lifting his face to the sky in despair. “Fuck!”

Antonin was both baffled and irritated. He hadn’t been that much help in the fight, it was true, but he had stood up for the guy. Harry should be grateful for Antonin’s gesture — a brave and as it turned out quite painful gesture. “What are you talking about?” he said crossly.

Harry swung to face him, pointing at the school again. “I’m pretty sure I broke Marcus’ nose. He’s going to see the doctor, who’s going to report the fight even if Marcus doesn’t. The school will call my dad and . . .” He dropped his hand to his side again and stared at the ground, shoulders slumped.

“And what?” demanded Antonin, getting to his feet. “What is so bad that you’d let those guys beat up on you to avoid it?”

Harry gave him a weary look. “My dad said if he heard from the school about me one more time he was going to bring me home. Not another transfer to another school this time. Home, for good.”

Antonin frowned. “Is that so bad?”

Harry stared at him a moment, then turned and started walking toward the school.

Antonin took a deep breath and trotted to catch up with him. “But we’ll tell Headmistress Maitle what really happened. That it wasn’t your fault. You were just trying to keep those guys from kicking my ass.”

Harry smiled sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter.
She’ll have to notify all the parents, no matter who started it. And he said if he heard from the school about me, just heard from them, that was it. That’s all that matters. And she will. She’ll notify him. She’s probably doing it right now.”

“Well, maybe not,” said Antonin stubbornly. “Maybe Marcus won’t say there was a fight. Maybe he’ll make something up to save face or stay out of trouble himself.

Harry eyed him skeptically. “Maybe.” Antonin saw hope warring with defeat in Harry’s face. Hope gained a momentary edge and Harry straightened. “In that case our chances will be better if we get cleaned up. Come on.” He started walking faster, toward the entrance to the boy’s dorm.

They stopped at the vending machine in the hallway and Harry bought three cans of Orange Crush. Antonin was mystified but he wasn’t about to argue. Instead he followed Harry down the hall to their room. “Get washed up and change your clothes,” Harry ordered, shutting the door behind them.

Antonin tried to ignore the visceral thrill those words gave him as he obeyed, pulling off his ragged blue shirt and his scuffed jeans.

“Wait a minute,” said Harry as Antonin was about to put on a fresh shirt. “Let me see where he hit you.” Harry had stripped off his T-shirt. There were bruises already visible on his rib cage. Antonin froze as Harry peered critically at his abdomen. Harry put one hand on the small of Antonin’s back and pressed gently into his stomach with the other. His hands were warm. Antonin swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Does that hurt?” asked Harry.

Antonin shook his head. “Not really, a little sore, I guess.”

Harry looked him in the eye. “No stabbing pains?”

Antonin shook his head again. Harry nodded in evident satisfaction and moved away again, taking off his jeans and putting on a fresh pair. “Gut punches are dangerous,” he said. “If you have any trouble in the next couple of days — you know, going to the bathroom or whatever — go to the doctor,” he said. He went into the bathroom and washed his face.

Antonin finished dressing and leaned in the doorway of the bathroom, waiting for his turn at the sink. Harry turned around. Water ran down his face and neck, down his chest. Stop it, Antonin told himself sternly, and still he watched, mesmerized, as a bead of water collected under his roommate’s left nipple.

“Want some of this?” Harry asked.

“Huh?” Antonin looked up, blushing and woozy. Harry held out a tube of antibiotic ointment.

“Oh, uh, sure.” He took the tube from Harry and was about to start washing his face when he saw the scratches on Harry’s back. “Hey, wait, you’ve got some scrapes back there. Probably from the fence. I’ll put some of this on for you.”

“Nah,” said Harry. “My shirt’ll cover it up. We’re just worried about what’s visible.”

Antonin bit his lip. He shouldn’t take advantage of the situation, he knew, but when would an opportunity like this ever come again? “So what?” he admonished, “You want them to get all infected?”

Harry paused in the doorway of the little bathroom. “Fine, go ahead, but be quick about it. We haven’t got all day, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Antonin uncapped the ointment and dabbed it on the scrapes scattered across the broad, muscled expanse of Harry’s back, knowing in a kind of hopeless, guilty way that he would recall every moment of this later, when he was alone.

He finished with Harry’s back, and washed his own face and arms. Walking back into the room, he found Harry sitting on his bunk, dressed in a clean white T-shirt, holding two cans of Orange Crush to his face, one over each eye. “Here,” he said, setting one of them down for a moment and tossing the third can to Antonin. “For your lip.”

Antonin caught the can and didn’t embarrass himself by dropping it. Thank you, gods. He put the cold can to his swollen lip, winced a little, and then sat down backwards in the chair at his desk. They sat for a while in silence.  Antonin couldn’t see much of Harry’s face, but he knew he was thinking about what might be happening in the Headmistress’ office right then.

The can was cold against Antonin’s lip. He lifted it away and said, “So, is it true you killed a kid? At Holyoke?” Gods, why did he ask that? What was wrong with him?

Harry took the cans from his eyes and gave him a long, considering stare. Finally he said, “I haven’t killed anyone yet.”

Antonin nodded, a tad unnerved at the “yet” part. But before he could stop himself, his next question popped out.

“How come you’re scared to go home?”

“I’m not scared,” Harry said quickly. “I just don’t want to go back yet.” He put the cans back to his eyes.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I hate my dad, that’s all.”

“How come you hate him?”

“‘Cause he’s a wad,” said Harry, as if it should be obvious.

“Oh. My dad was a wad too.”

“Yeah, right,” said Harry, his voice full of contempt. “You probably don’t even know what a real wad is. What’d he do?”

Antonin shrugged. “Mostly he knocked my mother around a lot. Made her. . . made her do a bunch of stuff she didn’t want to do — I’m not exactly sure what but she’d cry a lot afterwards, you know? He stole money from her. Oh, and then he was gonna sell me into prostitution.”

Harry took the cans away from his eyes again and stared at Antonin with surprise and a new hint of respect. “Wow. That is pretty bad.”

Antonin nodded. “Yeah. He was an asshole. I’m glad my aunt killed him.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something but a loud knock at the door cut him short. “Mr. Fitzsimmons? Mr. Karganilla?” It was Mr. Honig, the assistant headmaster. “Open up. Headmistress Maitle wants to see you both right away.”

oOo

The interview went exactly as Harry had predicted. Antonin had pleaded Harry’s case for all he was worth, painting a moving account of his roommate’s innocent heroism, but despite everything, Maitle calmly informed him that school policy was school policy, and all the parents would be informed of the fight. Somewhere in the back of Antonin’s mind was the awareness that he was going to be in trouble with his mom, but it was easy to ignore for the moment.

No sooner did they get back to their room than Harry dragged his duffel bag out from under his bed and started packing. He didn’t say anything to Antonin, no blame, no yelling, nothing, just silence as he shoved clothes pell-mell into the duffel.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind and let you stay. Then you’ll just have to unpack again,” said Antonin, knowing even as he said it how idiotic it was. Why did he think he knew better than Harry what his own dad was going to do? Why was it so hard for him to believe that what Harry said was the truth?

Harry, who had just plucked Captain Invincible from the springs of the upper bunk, paused with the toy in his hand. “I’m not waiting for him,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Harry gave him a look that surveyed the depths of Antonin’s ignorance. “I’m making a break for it. Do you want to screw that up for me too?”

Antonin shook his head. “But—”

“Yeah, I know.” Harry placed Captain Invincible in the duffel and faced Antonin, his fists on his hips. “I know, he’ll find me. It won’t make any difference in the long run, but in the meantime...” He shrugged. “In the meantime maybe I can do some cool stuff. You know, like climb the Eiffel Tower, or go to Africa and dig on the zebras or something. I don’t know. It’s better than just sitting here and waiting. I might as well make him work for it.”

Antonin licked his lips. Before he even knew what he was saying, his mouth was moving again. “What if I talked to your dad, explained that you were just trying to keep me from getting hurt. Maybe he’d reconsider.”

Harry shoved a pair of socks in the duffel and gave Antonin a sharp look. “Why would you do that?”

Antonin gaped. It was a good question. Up until a couple hours ago, he would have liked nothing better than to be rid of Harry. But now... now he didn’t have time to think about that. “Because I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” he plunged on. “Because I was just trying to help in the first place.”

Harry snorted and tossed the socks into his duffel. “Right.” He walked over to his punching bag and gave it a few desultory, farewell punches. A puzzled look came over his face, and he paused, giving Antonin a long, searching look. Finally he lifted one shoulder in a kind of half-shrug. “It won’t do any good,” he said, “but if you actually want to talk to my dad, here’s his number.” He walked over to Antonin’s desk and jotted it down on the cover of his chemistry notebook. “Knock yourself out,” he said, hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder and heading out the door.

oOo

Antonin sat at his desk, his notebook in front of him, staring at the blank window of the dial screen, waiting nervously for Harry’s dad to answer. He licked his dry lips and glanced over his shoulder at Harry’s empty bunk. He wondered how far Harry could get on foot. Would it be too late?

“Antonin Karganilla.” The voice softly insinuated itself in Antonin’s ear as if the man were leaning right over his shoulder.

Antonin shivered and turned back to his notebook. Swallowing, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and focused on the face in the dial window.

He had Harry’s eyes, bright blue and focused, but other than that he didn’t look all that much like his son. His face was narrower, his nose longer, his chin less blunt. His deep chestnut brown hair skimmed his eyebrows in stylish loose bangs. He smiled and leaned in towards his camera. “Hellooo?”

“M-m-mr. Fitzsimmons?”

The man laughed and tilted his head to one side, staring at Antonin in frank amusement. “You called me.”

“Uh, I’m Antonin Karganilla.” Shit, he already knew that.

“I know.” His eyes held Antonin’s. He started slowly, as if explaining something to a simpleton, but his words picked up momentum as they went. “I have caller ID like every other fucking Cro-Magnon that ever crawled out of a cave. I also know that you’re my son’s roommate.” His gaze moved to a different window on his notebook and Antonin saw his fingers typing. When he spoke again it was with an air of distraction. “So what has that dumbfuck done now?”

 Antonin’s jaw dropped. He blinked and shut it with an effort. He found himself staring at the keyboard, afraid to look up. Shit, this guy was scary. “N-nothing sir. That’s why I’m calling you.” After Antonin had shoved the first few words out, he gained strength from them. He looked back up, and met the man’s eyes. “Harry didn’t do anything. Those kids were trying to pick a fight with him, but he wouldn’t do it. It was my fault. I went and got into it, and they started beating me up. He only fought them to help me. There’s no reason why he can’t stay. The school understands. They’re not marking him off for this. And he’s doing great here. He has lots of friends and he’s studying hard.”

That elicited a bark of laughter from Harry’s dad and gained his full attention once more. “Kid, you’re priceless. You almost sold it until that part at the end.” Harry’s dad shook his head, an amused smile playing across his lips. “Friends, studying? Please. I know my son.” The smile vanished. “And now I know you’re lying, and that gets me thinking that maybe you’re making the whole thing up, and he did start that fight.”

Antonin’s heart raced, his cheeks burned. “No! He didn’t. It was my fault.”

Harry’s dad sat back and crossed his arms. From this distance Antonin could see that his dusty blue tie and khaki shirt went beautifully with his mocha brown silk suit. He stared thoughtfully at Antonin, who became conscious of beads of sweat running down the sides of his face. “I’ll tell you what, Antonin. Since it seems that by some miracle, Harry’s actually managed to make one friend at St. Gidget’s or whatever the fuck it is, I’ll let him stay, under your supervision.” He leaned forward. His blue eyes bored into Antonin’s, irresistible. “You keep him out of trouble now. Understand?”

Antonin nodded.

He smiled and reached for the keypad. “Bye,” he said, and the window went blank.

By running the whole way, Antonin was able to catch up with Harry on the far side of the school grounds, just before the highway. “Harry!” he shouted. “Wait! It worked! He said yes!”

Harry, still a few yards away, stopped in his ground-eating stride and turned, staring at him with a puzzled expression, as if it took some time for the words to fall into coherent meaning. And then his expression turned to one of pure wonderment. “It worked?” The duffel bag slowly slid from his shoulder.

Antonin leaned over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He straightened again and nodded. “He said you could stay, as long as I kept you out of trouble.”

Harry smiled, and it was like the first sunrise after the long night of the Siberian winter. It transformed his face utterly, making what was cold and dark open and bright and full of life. With a sudden, lost feeling, Antonin knew that he would do anything to make it happen again.

And the next thing he knew he was caught up in a bone-crushing hug, his face mashed against Harry’s chest. He breathed in the smells of clean cotton and Dial soap, and felt the rumble of Harry’s voice. “I can’t believe you did it. Thank you.”

He was released as suddenly, Harry stepping back, still looking at Antonin as if he’d made an elephant materialize out of thin air. “How did you do it?”

Antonin shrugged. “I just told him the fight wasn’t your fault, that you were doing good here, studying hard and um... making friends.”

Harry nodded and a quarter-sized dot of red appeared on each of his cheeks. There was an awkward pause. “Well, thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Uh, I guess we should get back.”

Antonin nodded, and Harry picked up his duffel bag again, and they walked back across the rolling countryside toward the school. They were almost at the soccer field when Harry said, “So your aunt killed your dad, huh?”

Antonin nodded. “Yeah. Well, he was going to kill my mom and me, see.”

Harry nodded solemnly, then cast Antonin a sidelong glace of tentative concern. “Did he whore you out?”

Antonin blinked. He wasn’t used to people taking this stuff at face value. Most of them thought he made it all up. He shook his head. “No. He never got the chance. We got away from him, but then he caught up with us again and he kidnapped me. My mom came after me, and he was gonna kill us both. That’s when my Aunt Magnolia shot him.”

Harry looked at him speculatively, and Antonin braced himself for the inevitable scorn and disbelief. But all he said was, “That sucks man,” and they went on in to the main hall.

oOo

Harry awoke from a dream of smothering darkness, his heart pounding from the effort of escape. He sat up and looked about in panic, uncertain of where he was for a moment, and then he remembered. The new school. He was still at the new school.

Harry’s heartbeat slowed. He was slick with sweat and shivering, so he lay back again and pulled the blanket up under his chin. He retrieved Captain Invincible from the bedsprings of the upper bunk and held him against his chest. He wasn’t in the dark: moonlight filtered in through the blinds on the window, casting pale blue shadows on the walls. And he wasn’t alone: Antonin slept in the bunk above him, his breath slow, soft and even, like waves on a beach. Harry sighed and snuggled deeper into his pillow, soaking in the comfort of these facts.

Antonin grunted gently in sleep and flung one hand over the edge of his bunk. Harry stared at that hand; fingers delicately curled and limned in moonlight. In the dim quiet of the night, he allowed himself to experience a rush of wonder at the memory of Antonin, his skinny back straight and rigid as he placed himself between Harry and Marcus. He’d never seen anyone at once so fragile and so brave.

It was too much to try to think about why Antonin had helped him. Enough to know that he had done it, and more than enough to let the soft glow of that knowledge warm him through and through.

When he had good feelings like this Harry tried to pay attention so he could remember them later. He breathed deep, noting carefully the silver moonlight, the steady sound of Antonin’s breathing, the softness of the blanket under his chin and the faint smell of damp laundry from the open door of the bathroom.

It was like sleeping on the beach back home. Harry’s eyes closed and his mind drifted to a memory so old it was really a whole bunch of memories laid one over the other. His Green Memory. Full to brimming with sunshine and the smell of clipped grass. Her blue eyes shining and her arms warm and encompassing and her smile all for him. How she used to pick him up around the middle and run around the yard with him and he’d stretch out his arms like he was flying. Then they’d swoop down to the grass and she’d tickle him and hug him and kiss him. Baby stuff, sure, but no one had to know how much he missed it. Harry sighed and tucked this new Silver Memory next to the Green one, curled himself around them both and went to sleep.