Page 21 of I Will Ruin You
“It’s for Mr. Boyle’s class,” Andrew said.
“Oh,” Herb said. “Mr. Boyle. Any good?”
Andrew shrugged. “It’s creepy.”
“What’s so creepy about it?”
“Like, civilization is totally wiped out and it’s about how they survive. People do some really awful things. Like eating each other.” Andrew put the book into his backpack and picked up his phone. “I have to text my mom every hour.”
“Okay,” Herb said. He waited while Andrew typed a short note and hit the send button. “So this book, sounds pretty troubling.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you ask to be excused from reading it? Because if it’s upsetting to you, if it triggers certain anxieties, you could get an exemption. It’s not right, Mr. Boyle making you read something that upsets you.”
The boy considered that. “I didn’t know you can get out of stuff you don’t like.”
“Well, you can’t do it with everything. A lot of us don’t like math, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to take it. But if something upsets you on an... I don’t know, on an emotional level, something that’s very subjective, then sometimes a case can be made for being excused from studying it. Like, let’s say you had family in your past who were killed in the Holocaust, you might feel uncomfortable reading Elie Wiesel’s Night.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just making a point.” Herb sighed.
“Okay.” Andrew tucked his phone into his pocket and turned to leave.
“Hey,” Herb said.
Andrew stopped, waited.
“You might want to talk to your parents about it.”
“About what?”
“The book. If it’s... objectionable in some way, they might want to know. Just a thought.” He smiled and added, “You didn’t hear it from me.”
Nine
“Stuart!” Billy shouted. He banged on the door with his fist. “Stuart! Open up!”
Stuart lived in a second-floor unit of a low-rent motel in Milford. Most of the rentals were long-term, with only a few on the first floor available for transients who needed a place to stay for a couple of days, or certain types of businesswomen and their clients who might only need a room for an hour or two.
Billy was hitting the door hard enough that some neighbors had popped their heads out to see what the fuss was about. It wasn’t unusual for the police to drop by, always good for breaking the monotony. But this was some regular guy making a racket, looking pretty pissed, and it was better not to get in the way of someone like that, so they closed their doors after taking a quick peek.
Billy heard a chain slide back and then the door opened.
“What the fuck?” Stuart said, a video game controller in his hand. “I had my ’buds in and couldn’t hear—”
Billy put a hand on Stuart’s chest and shoved him back into the room. He tripped on his own feet and landed on his back on the unmade double bed. The game controller hit the floor.
“Jesus,” Stuart said.
“Need a word,” Billy said, closing the door behind him and turning off the TV where Stuart had been virtually wandering some dark alley, shooting one person after another.
This was, at least by this motel’s standards, one of the nicer units. The bedroom area was up front by the door, while a small nook with a table and four chairs, a small fridge, and a cooktop took up the back. This, plus a bathroom, was home sweet home for Stuart.
He got himself sitting on the end of the bed while Billy paced back and forth, his face flushed.
Stuart said, “You look like you’re gonna have a heart attack or something. You got blood on your shirt.”