Exactly one year to the day after my brother, Coop, ditched me, I got a package in the mail. It came to the school, not our house. The secretary handed me the package with a warning that I was never to use the school as my personal address. I was going to tell her that I hadn't when I saw my name: Pat Meatloaf O'Toole scrawled in Coop's familiar handwriting. Meatloaf is not my real middle name. I told her I would never do it again, grabbed the package, locked myself in a restroom stall, and tore the box open. Inside was a handheld digital voice recorder, a supply of memory sticks, and a note written on a greasy hamburger wrapper: "Lil Bro, Pat, just turn the recorder to Play, and I'll explain what you're supposed to do with this. DO NOT share with parents. This is just between you and me. Your big bro, Coop . . ." I made sure the restroom was empty and switched on the recorder. Excerpted from Beneath by Roland Smith All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
