Free Apologize, Apologize! by Elizabeth Kelly Page A

collapsed on the bed, both exhausted and invigorated by yet another grueling interrogation. “You stole the answers to the exam and you still failed? That must be some kind of a world record for dumb. Or, don’t tell me, you were too lazy to memorize them.”
    “I didn’t steal the answers.”
    “Then who did?”
    “Teagan.”
    “Mark Teagan stole the answers and sold them. . . .”
    “Yup.”
    “But he says that you did it.”
    “Yeah, well, he’s lying. His old man will kill him if he gets turfed from the school.”
    “So what? He’s an asshole. His dad is his problem. For once you didn’t do it. You’ve got to tell them.”
    “No.” He shook his head. “I’m no rat.”
    “Are you insane? This isn’t the Cosa Nostra. Why are you protecting that little creep? He sure as hell isn’t worried about you. Come on, Bing, you don’t want to get expelled for cheating. Stuff like that follows you. . . . It’s one thing to shit on the roof of Fat-Ass’s Toyota . . .”
    He laughed at the memory. I couldn’t help it, I started to laugh, too, both of us side by side on the bed, so close we were touching, our shoulders adhering through the glue of habit, both of us staring up at the ceiling, laughter gradually subsiding, not looking at each other. In the end, my tone was pleading.
    “Come on, Bing, save yourself. . . .”
    But he wouldn’t, and I knew he wouldn’t because he was so goddamn unrelenting. I felt my throat pound and constrict. Bingo’s stubbornness was its own desolate country. Sometimes trying to navigate that barren landscape, I thought my heart had altered its geography, relocating to my feet, throbbing away inside my shoes.
    “Why does it always have to be like this? What’s wrong with you? Are you missing some crucial chromosome? Even Ma and Pop will make concessions when it suits them. Why is everything a crisis with you? Can’t you ever just stand down?”
    “Hey, Collie, just because you lack conviction . . .”
    “Lack conviction? Holy shit! You terrorize everyone with your behavior, and then you peddle all these moral absolutes. . . . Fine, get expelled, get branded a cheater . . . what do I care?”
    “You know what your problem is, Coll? You’re obsessed with what other people think.”
    I pulled myself up into a sitting position and looked down at Bing, who smiled back up at me. He didn’t have a clue.
    “No. You know what my problem is? My problem is caring about what you and Ma and Pop and Uncle Tom think. That’s my problem.”
    “You don’t give a shit what we think. You’re too busy sucking up to the Falcon to care about us. Anyway, we’re all nuts, isn’t that right, Collie? It must be hell to be so sane in a crazy world.”
    I couldn’t sleep thinking about what to do. The next morning, my insides tossing and turning like a washing machine, I went to the headmaster and told him that Mark Teagan stole the answers. He looked thoughtful and thanked me for coming forward. As he spoke, I glanced down at the tiny crack between the closed door and the floor, feeling small enough to crawl underneath.
    At lunchtime I was standing around outside my residence, scuffing the recessed ground with my running shoe, digging a deeper hole, surrounded by a bunch of guys, friends of mine, who were reassuring me that I’d done the right thing by ratting out Mark.
    “Teagan is a little prick,” somebody said.
    “Yeah, well, so is Bingo,” I said, staring down at the ground.
    “Yeah, but he’s a likable little prick,” someone else chimed in. “And he’d never hang your ass out to dry to save himself.”
    “Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” said my friend Crunchie, whistling, glancing up and nudging me with his elbow, nodding in the direction of Bingo, who broke into a run at first sight of me.
    I stepped out from inside my circle of friends to confront him, but before I had a chance to speak, he threw down his knapsack and let me have it, socked me