Random by Tom Leveen

commit suicide?”
    â€œYes! I told you that.”
    â€œAnd they’re not kidding?”
    â€œOh, gee, Jack, I never thought of that, let me ask him.”
    Jack considers this for a moment. It’s long enough for me to realize that this is the most we’ve talked in a month. Ever since Dad told him they might have to raid his college account to pay for Mr. Halpern if my account isn’t enough.
    â€œYou think he means it,” Jack says finally, as if my sarcasm was totally lost on him. Maybe it was.
    I lean against my door frame. “I don’t know,” I say. “Probably not. I mean, what are the chances, right?”
    Jack snorts, and, very quickly, a look of pure disgust passes over his face. It makes my heart shrivel.
    â€œBut so far, he sounds for real,” I go on. “I don’t know.”
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œSome hill. Outside. One of the mountains, I guess, on a highway I think. I heard one of those tractor-trailer horns going by.”
    â€œThat’s all you got?”
    â€œYeah. Jack, please, you’ve got to help me. If something happens, if he’s really serious and something bad happens, and he has my number on his cell . . .”
    â€œHow’d he get your number?”
    â€œSays he dialed it randomly.”
    â€œYou believe that?”
    â€œNot exactly. But I don’t have any choice.”
    Jack snorts again. “You got that right.” Suddenly Jack shakes his head and backs off. “Well, good luck,” he says.
    â€œWait!” I whisper-screech. “Can’t you at least let me borrow your laptop?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œJack!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCome on! At least let me look up his number!”
    Jack shakes his head again, melodramatically walking backward down the hall toward his door. “No,” he repeats. “This is your mess, Vic. Maybe you should figure a way out of it. Or maybe try, I dunno, helping the guy out. Be a nice change of pace.”
    â€œI can help him if you let me use your laptop, dumb-ass!” I say, following him into the hallway.
    â€œRight, because I have satellite-imaging capabilities and just so happened to plant a tracking device on this guy too. Brilliant.”
    â€œI can at least look up his number and see if it matches the name he gave me,” I say. “That way if he’s lying, I can go to sleep.”
    â€œAnd that helps him somehow, right?”
    I clench about three dozen fists. “Goddammit, Jack!”
    â€œIt’s still all about you, isn’t it?” Jack says. “Jesus, Vic. Why can’t you just assume he’s for real? Why can’t you just offer to listen or to talk him down, or whatever needs to be done?”
    â€œBecause I’m on fucking trial , Jack,” I whisper, and it sounds demonic.
    He’s not impressed. I never could scare him. “All the more reason to stick with him, even if he’s full of crap,” Jack says. “If it’s a sick joke, you lose a little sleep. If it’s not, maybe you can—”
    He cuts himself off, snapping his mouth closed. I peer at him in the dark hallway, trembling at the many, many ways that sentence might end.
    â€œMaybe I can what?”
    My big brother stares at me. For a long time. Then he snorts and shakes his head. “My computer can’t help you help him,” Jack says. “You’re gonna have to do that on your own. If you want to.”
    â€œIf I want to?” I say. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    â€œOh, now suddenly you don’t remember Jack Pus -Berger? Krakatoa? Cyst—”
    These are all names Jack got called during the worst of his acne. I interrupt him. “What does any of that have to do with this?”
    Jack narrows his eyes. “I was an inconvenience to you last year,” he says. “And that’s the only way you could see me. Well, now this guy’s