Back at home Brent and Lucy hid out in his room, with the blinds down and the door locked. Despite the court order that was supposed to keep reporters away from his house there were people all over his lawn, some of them with cameras, some just holding notepads and pens, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for him to come down and tell them how he felt about saving people.
He'd already learned they didn't want to know how he really felt. They wanted him to say something like, "All in a day's work!" or "Anybody would have done the same." They didn't want to hear that he was struggling to get his homework done or that Grandma still couldn't get dressed by herself in the morning.
"Hold still," Lucy said. She had a measuring tape in her hands. He lifted her arms and let her loop it around his chest.
"Are you going to tell me what that's about?" he asked, nodding at the tape.
"No. It's a surprise." She smiled up at him, then measured the length of his leg from hip to ankle.
"I mean, I can probably guess - "
His cell phone rang. He sighed and pulled it out of his pocket. Most likely the screen would say UNKNOWN CALLER or just list some local phone number he wouldn't recognize. He'd learned never to answer those calls. Instead, though, this time it said the call was from Ryan Digby.
He frowned. Why would the freshman be calling him? How had Ryan even gotten his number? But it could be trouble. Maybe Matt Perkins was at it again. "Hello?" he asked, flipping the phone open.
Lucy wrote some measurements down in her Chemistry notebook, then brought the tape up to measure around his neck.
"No," Brent said. "I've got nothing to add." He held the phone away from his ear. "This is a new one. A reporter stopped in at Ryan Digby's house to interview him, then asked if he could use his phone. He knew I would answer if it was from Ryan's number." He put the phone back to his ear. "What? No. Dana's not my girlfriend. No. I don't have a girlfriend! Well, of course I like girls. That's a - that's a really personal question, but no, I'm fifteen years old and I've never - wait. Wait, I didn't say - "
He growled and started to throw the phone at the wall. Then he thought better of it. It might go right through the wall and hit somebody out in the yard. So instead he tossed it lightly onto the bed.
"What's tomorrow's headline?" Lucy asked.
"'Super Kid is Saving Himself... for Marriage.'" Brent scowled. "Probably. I don't think they would run with 'Brent's Still a Virgin!'"
Lucy brought her hands down. She turned her face away but she couldn't stifle the laugh bubbling up out of her mouth.
"Ha ha. Very funny. This media stuff is getting out of control. It's not like I'm getting anything out of it. Grandma won't let me do commercials or let them make a movie about me, and honestly, I don't want that either. Why should I bother talking to them at all? Who even listens to the things I say? Who - "
He stopped in mid-rant and stood very still for a second.
"Brent?" Lucy asked, when he didn't say anything more.
"Wait here," he told her. Then he headed out of the room and down the stairs. Grandma called out to him but she just wanted the TV remote - he found it for her, then headed for the front door.
Nobody was standing on the porch. There were maybe two dozen reporters on the front steps, though, and a pair of news vans were parked illegally in the street. When the reporters saw him come out they all flooded in, moving closer to get a better look at him, to get pictures, to ask him questions.
He held up his hands for silence. For once, he got it. "I want to say something," he told the reporters. "Can we get some TV people up here? I want this to go out on every network tonight." He felt like an idiot as he waited for them to set up their blinding lights and all their microphones. He felt like a pompous jerk, acting as if the whole world was just waiting, holding their breath to hear what he said next. But they kind of were - and anyway, this was important.
He needed to talk to Maggie, but he couldn't find her. Maybe there was another way to get through to her.
"Are we ready?" he asked. One of the camera men gave him a thumb's-up. He chewed on his lower lip for a second, then he looked right at the cameras and started.
"As everyone is aware by now my sister Maggie has run away from home. She's not showing up for classes at school and she avoids anyone who tries to talk to her. I think she's scared, mostly. I think she's worried about what will happen if the police catch her. And maybe she's ashamed of what she's done. I hope she is, because that means there's still a chance for her to make it all okay."
He turned to face a different camera. "Maggie. If anybody knows what you're going through, it's me. If anybody could understand, I'm the guy. I really want to talk to you. I need someone to talk to about what's happened to us. About what happened to Dad. About what you did, and how we can make it okay. It won't be easy, but I think that together we can work everything out. Come to some kind of solution."
He looked over at a reporter from the local newspaper. He wanted this to go out in print, as well. "Just come home, Maggie. Or if you're not willing to do that, come find me somewhere. Somewhere neutral. So we can just talk. I'm not going to cause trouble for you. I just want us to be a family again. I want us to be okay."
Brent lowered his head. Would she listen? He didn't know. But he knew it was what Dad would have wanted. Dad had believed in giving people second chances.
"Thank you," Brent said. "That's all I have right now." As the reporters surged up the steps and started climbing over the porch railing, he stepped back inside the house and closed the door behind him.
Please, Maggie, he thought. Just come talk to me. Mom and Dad are gone. I can't lose my big sister, too.
