The Dissolving Delinquent
Rieden Reece kind of liked being known as a delinquent.
The community service required? Not so much.
He stood on the park bluff overlooking his hometown of Desert Lime. El Verde Park was a glorified golf course designated for the old fogeys controlling his town. The central location provided a complete view of the houses, desert, citrus groves, and the winding canals irrigating the lettuce, garlic, and alfalfa fields.
Ri shifted the pellet gun across his back. He clenched his fingers around the big bag of gopher traps and heaved it up off the grass. A large bead of sweat dripped into his eyeball, and he blinked away the burning salt. His left hand held the little metal flags for marking the gopher holes. He jerked his hand upward to rub his eye and almost stabbed himself in the face.
Despite the heat and sweat, Ri sensed someone gazing at him with intense scrutiny. He focused on the park’s gazebo about twenty yards away down the grassy slope. The town mayor, Jack Johnson, was sitting in a lawn chair with a newspaper in his lap and his feet up on the picnic bench in front of him, in full-on lounging mode. Pulling his mirror sunglasses down, he dropped his feet and cleared his throat. “You need something?” he called out.
Ri faked a friendly toothy he hoped communicated: psychotic teenager. “Nah! I’m over here, sweating away at my child labor. Thought I saw a gopher juggling but realized I’m hallucinating from the heat.”
An ugly frown wrinkled Jack’s rough-skinned forehead. “It’s not even a hundred today. If you’re going to stand there and do nothing, I’m not going to mark your work complete. You’ll have to come out an extra day.”
Thirteen retorts bubbled to the surface of Ri’s lips, but he bit them back. Jack made a solid point. I gotta get this lame punishment over with so I can move on to more important things. Ri waved at him. “Gonna grab some water and get back to it, sir.” He slurred the word “sir” to make it sound like a drunk sailor about ready to start a fistfight.
Jack blew a loud raspberry. Leaning backward in his lawn chair, he kicked his feet back up onto the picnic table. He pulled the newspaper up and whistled an ancient tune from back when people thought they were so smart.
Ri whipped around on one foot, clanking the gopher traps. With great exaggeration, he mimicked a marching foot soldier. Stomping toward the water fountain, he muttered, “Must be nice to be mayor of a town where you’ve got nothing better to do than watch a thirteen-year-old kid do community service. And what’s with giving a delinquent a gun? Huh? I thought you were trying to punish me, not train me to use a weapon. And killing gophers? I know they’re pests and all, but murder? Whoa. Double whoa. No wonder our criminal system’s a pathetic mess. Instead of training me not to break into a store and steal electronic equipment, you stick me out in the hot sun. With a weapon. To murder animals. And you imagine that’s gonna re-hilly-billy-tate me? I tell you what, when I grow up and become president of the United States…yeah, yeah, you heard me…I’m gonna fix this ridiculous system and help criminals live better lives. And not train them to become better…”
Trailing off, Ri became aware of his surroundings. His left shoe was now soaked—submerged in a rain puddle. He stared at the water fountain. To his right stood a group of cheerleaders walking home from Horton Middle School’s after-school practice. The football field where the players and cheerleaders practiced sat adjacent to the park. They stopped, pointed, and giggled at him.
Within the group stood the glorious Lisa Lemmons.
His neck and face heated up, but not from the five p.m. sunlight. He stole a quick glance at Lisa—she was also laughing and pointing but with much less enthusiasm. Ri’s blood boiled. Emotional hijacking consumed his brain. The shame, embarrassment, and fear of public ridicule commandeered control over his body.
He dropped the heavy bags of gopher traps and supplies. Whipping out his survival lighter, he flicked on the flame with his left thumb. His right hand grabbed the barrel of his pellet gun. “So, you wanna mess with the kid who’s got a dead brother and is talking to himself?”
The girls’ eyes popped open wide, and they gaped at him before clutching each other and shuffling away. Ri’s rage prevented him from looking at Lisa. He shoved down his misguided desire to care about her. She failed, hardcore. I’ll never forgive her for manipulating me. Luring me toward the boys’ bathroom where Ian waited for a fight. Trying to humiliate me. Not on my side, never was, never will be. I’ve got no interest in a two-faced, stuck-up, pretentious girl obsessed with her own looks.
Ri’s heart pounded way too fast. Dizziness crept up on him. He started doing the breathing exercises his therapist—Esther Evans—had taught him. The solitary water fountain jutted out of the ground. He gripped its hot, textured cement. Leaning forward, he sipped the hot water. Gross! What’s worse? Drinking tepid water or staying thirsty? The smart part of his brain forced him to suck down the anti-refreshing water.
Across the length of the park, Jack shifted his lawn chair, and it scraped the concrete slab. The sound echoed beneath the metal awning. Ri gritted his teeth. Yeah, yeah. I’m getting back to work, stop worrying, I’ll resume murdering your innocent animals.
Ri extracted half a dozen more sips—not from thirst, only to annoy Jack. Ri’s self-destructive anger hit a solid ten. He didn’t even care if they continued to tack on more community service days. The angry part of himself wished they had locked him up in juvie. That would’ve given him the perfect excuse to avoid school and his annoying classmates.
He picked up the sack of gopher traps and marched farther away from the mayor. The approaching football players whooped and hollered as they passed by. There were only a couple of weeks left in the school year, but those bozos would continue to practice for half the summer. Bunch of weirdos. Who wants to spend even more time at school with other people? Most people came wired wanting to spend time with others, but not Ri. He found perfect contentment thriving in his own world.
Ri shifted his shoulders and wiped away some more sweat from his forehead. The unusual rain in May had increased the humidity. Huge rain puddles littered the parched ground. I gotta focus. I’m not gonna allow these unimportant, ridiculous, waste-of-good-DNA classmates to bug me. They view me as some pathetic victim—the poor little boy with the dead twin brother.
The truth was a lot more complicated.
Ri’s identical twin brother Rob was not dead. He had traveled to another universe for unclear motives. Unknown reasons that Ri hesitated to support. Well, Rob lives his own life, so whatever. The important point—Rob had returned to help Ri, but events had turned complicated fast. Moons had broken, alien infestations had happened, and they had visited alternate universes. Now, Ri faced a pile of new obstacles. During his last adventure, an unfortunate accident had occurred: they had fused his brother’s consciousness with his best friend Brian. Now, Brian and Rob possessed a conjoined personality. Sometimes Brian was Brian. And sometimes Brian was Rob.
A serious problem. Somehow, Ri had to separate Rob’s consciousness from Brian’s and download Rob back into his own body. But Makena had arrested him for breaking into DL-Micro Systems and stealing some tech. Now he had to waste time performing community service. All the authorities watched him like a starving hawk drinking espresso. And the cherry on top of all the nonsense was that Ri had to attend Rob’s funeral this week and pretend to be grieving for him. What does grieving even mean, anyway? Is it the same thing as anger? Because that sums up everything I feel. Anger. I’m angry that Rob put me in this ridiculous situation. I’m ticked off that Brian, Shelly, and I messed up saving him. Somewhere in the smart part of his brain, he recognized the truth. His inner thoughts whined at his therapist, Esther Evans.
Ri stepped into another puddle, splashing the muddy, caked dirt across his socks. He opened his mouth to curse aloud, but a loud shouting interrupted him.
“Ri! Ri! Ri!”
Brian. The sun beamed behind him while he shuffled toward Ri in his usual who-cares-who’s-watching waddle. Brian rushed as if the fate of the world rested on whatever nonsense he might choose to sputter.
Brian stopped short. His head shook. He took off his glasses, stood taller, and appeared slimmer. His gait shifted out of frantic-nerd pace. It became calm and overconfident with a generous helping of smugness. Rob had hijacked Brian’s body.
Glancing sideways, Ri wondered if any bystanders had discerned the obvious personality shift. Rob maintained a quick pace. His strong, commanding steps exuded confidence and demanded attention. He stopped shouting.
Ri dropped his two sacks, lifted the pellet gun off his back, and set it on the pile. At this point, he was going to call the afternoon community service a loss. Whatever Brian/Rob had to tell him came first. I couldn’t care less if the foolish adults don’t understand my priorities. Their problem, not mine.
Brian/Rob strolled less than fifty yards away. Rob locked his gaze on his twin brother with intensity—an expression he wore when nobody could argue with him. He was so focused on approaching Ri that he wasn’t watching where he walked.
Ri pointed. “Watch out for the big puddle, broseph.”
Ignoring him, Rob stepped into the center of the puddle.
And slipped down into the puddle and dissolved without a trace.
