Paul Melko: The Walls of the Universe

“Mr. Gushman needs to see John Rayburn.”

Mr. Wallace took the slip of paper from the acne-ridden freshman. “Again? Read the assignment for tomorrow, John. We have a lot to cover.” The man was disappointed in him, but Prime couldn’t find the emotion to care. He hardly knew him.

Prime nodded, then grabbed his stuff. He nudged the freshman hall monitor as they walked down the hall. “Where’s Mr. Gushman at?”

The freshman’s eyes widened like marbles. “He’s in the front office. He’s the principal.”

“No shit, douche bag,” Prime said.

Prime entered the fishbowl and gave his name to the receptionist. After just a few minutes, Mr. Gushman called him in.

Prime didn’t have anything on Gushman. He’d come to Findlay High School in the time Prime had been away. The old principal had fucked a student at his old school and that had come out in one of the universes that Prime had visited. That bit of dirt would be no good in this universe.

“Have you got the letter of apology for Mrs. Carson?” Mr. Gushman asked.

Prime suddenly realized what the meeting was about. He’d not written the letter.

“No, sir. I’ve decided not to write the letter.”

Mr. Gushman raised his eyebrows, then frowned. “You realize that this will have grave consequences for your future.”

“No, I don’t think so. In fact, I’ve contacted a lawyer. I’ll be suing Ted Carson.” Prime hadn’t thought of doing that until that moment, but now that he’d said it, he decided it was a good idea. “I’m an honor student, Gushman. I’m a varsity player in two sports. There will be fallout because of this. Big fallout.”

“It’s ‘Mr. Gushman,’ please. I’ll have your respect.” His knuckles were white, and Prime realized that Gushman had expected him to cave. Well, maybe Johnny Farm Boy would have caved, but not him. He had dirt on the education board members. He had dirt on the mayor. This would be a slam dunk for him.

“Respect is earned,” Prime said.

“I see. Shall I have your mother called or do you have transportation home?”

“Home? Why?” Prime said.

“Your three-day suspension starts right now.” Prime had forgotten about that. He shrugged. Johnny Farm Boy would have shit a brick at being expelled. To Prime, it didn’t really matter.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You are not allowed on school property until Thursday at noon. I’ll be sending a letter home to your parents. I’ll also inform Coach Jessick that you are off the roster for basketball and track.”

“Whatever.”

Mr. Gushman stood, leaning heavily on the desk. His voice was strained as he said, “I expected better of you, John. Everything I know about you says that you’re a good boy. Everything I’ve seen since you walked in this door has made me reevaluate my opinions.”

Prime shrugged again. “Whatever.” He stood, ignoring Gushman’s anger. “We done here?”

“Yes. You are dismissed.”

At least he didn’t have to worry about learning basketball. And three days was enough time to get started on his plans. He smiled as he passed the receptionist, smiled at the dirtbags waiting in the office. This was actually working out better than he expected.

Prime took the two o’clock Silver Mongoose to Toledo, right after he stood in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles trying to convince the clerk to file the paperwork for his lost license.

“I am positive that it won’t turn up,” Prime said.

“So many people say that and then there it is in the last place you look.”

“Really. It won’t,” he said slowly.

The clerk blinked at him, then said, “All righty, then. I’ll take that form from you.”

He was tempted to rent a car, but that would have raised as many eyebrows as hiring a patent lawyer in Findlay. Prime had to go to Toledo to get his business done. Three days off school was just about perfect.

As the northern Ohio farmland rolled by, he wondered how hurt he’d be if he had to transfer out right now. He was always considering his escape routes, always sleeping on the ground floor, always in structures that were as old as he could find. His chest itched where the device should have been. It was Johnny Farm Boy’s problem now. Prime was free of it. No one would come looking for him here. He blended right in. No police would come barging in at 3:00 A.M. No FBI agents wanting his device.

What an innocent he’d been. What a piece of work. How many times had he almost died? How many times had he screwed up within centimeters of the end?

For a moment, he had a twinge of guilt for the displaced John. Prime hoped that John figured out a few things quickly, before things went to hell. Maybe he could find a place to settle down just like Prime had. Maybe I should have written him a note, he thought.

Then he laughed to himself. Too late for that. Johnny Farm Boy was on his own. Just like he had been.

The first lawyer Prime visited listened to him for fifteen minutes until she said she wasn’t taking any new clients. Prime almost screamed at her, “Then why did you let me blather on for so long?”

The second took thirty seconds to say no. But the third listened dubiously to Prime’s idea for the Rayburn’s Cube. He didn’t even blink at the cash retainer Prime handed over for the three patents he wanted him to research and acquire.

Prime called Casey from his cheap hotel.

“Hey, Casey. It’s John!”

“John! I heard you were expelled for a month.”

“News of my expulsion has been greatly exaggerated.”

“What happened?”

“Just more of the Ted Carson saga. I told Gushman I wasn’t going to apologize, so he kicked me out of school. You should have seen the colors on his face.”

“You told Gushman no?” she asked. “Wow. He used to be a colonel in the army.”

“He used to molest small children too,” Prime said.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why? He sucks.”

“But it’s not true.”

“It could be true, probably is in some other universe.”

“But we don’t know for sure.”

Prime switched subjects. “Listen, I called to see if you wanted to go out on Saturday.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said quickly. “Yeah.”

“Movie?”

“Sounds good. What’s playing?”

“Does it matter?”

She giggled. “No.” After a moment, she added, “Didn’t your parents ground you?”

“Oh, shit!”

“What?”

“They don’t know yet,” Prime said. He looked at the cheap clock radio next to the bed: eight thirty. “Shit.”

“Do you think we can still go out?”

“One way or another, Casey, I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

He hung up.

His parents. He’d forgotten to call his parents. They were going to be pissed. Damn. He’d been without them for so long, he’d forgotten how they worked.

He dialed his home number.

“Mom?”

“Oh, my God!” she yelled. Then to his father she said, “Bill, it’s John. It’s John.”

“Where is he? Is he all right?”

“Mom, I’m okay.” Prime waited. He knew how Johnny Farm Boy would play this. Sure, he’d never have gone to Toledo, but Prime could play the suspension for all it was worth. “Did you hear from Gushman?”

“John, yes, and it’s okay. We understand. You can come home. We aren’t angry with you.”

“Then, Mom, you know how I feel. I did the right thing, Mom, and they took everything away from me.” It was what Farm Boy would have said.

“I know, dear. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, Johnny. Now where are you? You’ve got to come home.” His mother sounded pitiful.

“I won’t be home tonight, Mom. I’ve got things to do.”