Free Breathing Underwater by Alex Flinn Page B

“Simmer down, Ray.” He holds up his hand, and when Ray sits, Mario says to Leo, “Go ahead.”
    Leo sits, and I watch him. “That was when we were nine. After that, Hector knew how to hurt us. Hector wanted me to like him, but I hated him because of Felix. So if Felix did something wrong, Hector made me beat him up. Or sometimes, he made Felix hit me, and he’d scream, ‘Don’t let him beat you! Fight back, little girl!’ Like I was his prize rooster. And finally, I hated Felix because he got me in trouble. I stopped playing with him, stopped bringing things home, wouldn’t even talk to him at school. I had my own friends.
    “The violence stopped then. Hector had what he wanted. But when we were twelve, Felix swallowed a bottle of pills. My mother took him to the doctor, and they made him puke, sent him home like nothing happened. By then, I hadn’t spoken to my twin brother in over a year.”
    Leo stops, running a hand across dry eyes, and Mario says, “You okay to go on? You don’t have to.”
    “I’m fine,” Leo says.
    “I don’t want to push you,” Mario says.
    “You aren’t,” Leo says. “I’m fine.” Leo continues, his voice even, like reciting the multiplication table.
    “The day Hector and I were supposed to be partners at his father-son picnic at work, I woke up, feeling sicker than I’d ever felt. Ten minutes later, I look out the bathroom window over the driveway. There’s a police car outside. The doorbell rings, and I go downstairs, stand behind Mama.” Leo jabs a finger at Ray. “She’s talking to one of your kind. He tells her my brother’s dead, like he was asking for donations to the Police Athletic League. I ran back upstairs. I knew Felix was there. But when I got in our room, his bed was made. Even his bear … the brown teddy bear he’d hidden from Hector was sitting on top of his turned-down blue sheet. He made the bed and walked to the train station—that one right there.”
    Leo gestures toward the window, and we all look out at the elevated train. He pushes his knees forward and rests his elbows on them, looking at us as if he expects us to speak. There’s nothing to say. Outside, the train roars by. I watch it, listening to the background music of Leo’s voice.
    “At the funeral, I saw my mother pretend to cry, her friends pretending to comfort her. The priest prayed God would spare Felix’s soul, and people shook their heads because he’d committed such a grievous sin. I hated them. I hated the ones who sympathized, and I hated the ones who judged. Mostly, though, I hated Felix for being weak. I hoped Father Michael was wrong about his soul being saved.”
    Leo stands and walks to Ray, eyes burning. Ray looks away.
    “So that’s how spoiled I am, Policeman. And you’re right. My parents never hit me.”
    We’re all silent a moment, hearing the hum of fluorescent lights. Finally, Mario starts to talk, pulling together what we’ve said, how it affects our other relationships. I want to listen, but I can’t stop thinking about Leo’s story, even though what Mario says applies to me. Finally, Mario closes his notebook, saying he hopes we’ll think about what we discussed. Then, he dismisses us.
    I’m almost out the door when I hear Leo say, “Neysa and I have a date tonight. With any luck, this will be my last day here.”
    “I hope it’s not,” Mario replies. “That’s quite a tale you told. I’d imagine someone with a story like that has a lot of anger stored up.”
    I turn in time to see Leo smile. “Do I look angry?”
    “You are angry,” Mario says. “Only reason you told that story’s ’cause you were angry with Ray. You need this group even if you won’t admit it.”
    “Well, I’ll go on needing it,” Leo replies, starting to walk away.
    Mario stops him. “My uncle Gustavo used to say, ‘If you’re halfway across the lake, it’s just as easy to swim forward as swim back.’”
    “Don’t say?” Leo turns. “Tell Uncle Gus I