BFF* (45 page)

I wanted to tell her about the other night in the kitchen, when I asked Charles what he wanted from us and he couldn't answer. But I didn't.

“I'll tell you something, Rachel,” Jess continued. “If he can't get along with us, that's his problem! I've got too much to look forward to, to let him get in my way.” She flipped a few more pages, then tapped an ad for shampoo. “Just once I'd like to see a model in here with acne. Maybe someday they'll get real!”

W
hen we got to the city, we followed Dad's directions and took the subway from Grand Central Station to Battery Park, which is at the southern tip of Manhattan. We were proud of ourselves for not getting lost.

Once we were there, we waited in line for tickets. Dad was lucky we went by train because by the time his bus pulled in, the lines for ferry tickets were so long we would have waited till noon.

When Charles got off the bus, I worried he'd make some rude remark about me in front of Dad's students but he didn't even glance my way. He was talking and laughing with a group of kids. I guess he'd recovered from his Lyme disease.

Paul was the last to get off the bus. I'd held my breath until then, afraid he wasn't coming after all. But when I saw him, I turned away quickly, so he wouldn't get any ideas. As Dad rounded up his students and led the way through the park down to the ferry dock, I hung back, feeling slightly out of place until Paul called, “Rachel … wait …”

I love to hear him say my name!

“Have you been to Ellis Island before?” he asked when he caught up with me.

“No, have you?”

“Once,” he said, as we walked toward the ferry. “I took my grandparents for their fiftieth anniversary. They came here from Portugal right after they were married. Not exactly a romantic journey since they were both seasick the whole time.”

Romantic journey!
He said
romantic journey
to me!

“Victor tells me his father came over from Poland.” Paul spoke as if we were actually having a conversation. It was weird to hear him call my father by his first name. I wonder what else he and Dad talk about. Do they talk about Charles? Do they talk about
me?
I tried to say something but felt like I had a mouthful of marbles.

We boarded the ferry with a large crowd—tourists from different countries speaking their own languages, other school classes, groups on outings, and families. We climbed to the upper deck and watched
as two helicopters circled overhead. A group of Dad's students surrounded Paul, separating us. I looked around for Jessica but she was busy with friends.

I wandered around the deck, stopping when I heard a teacher scolding a boy, about ten. “Never mind Eric …” she told her class, “he's just looking for attention.” When the ferry began to move, the other kids cheered but Eric sat down, clutching his stomach. Was he seasick already or just scared?

I sat next to him. He looked up at me. “I forgot my lunch,” he said.

“Maybe one of your friends will share with you.”

“I don't have any friends,” he said. “Everyone hates me.”

“That's really sad.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You want my lunch?” I asked. Not that I wanted to give it to him, because I'd fixed things I really like. But I could always buy lunch if I had to, and he seemed so alone.

“What do you have?” he asked, perking up.

“Tuna with tomatoes and sprouts on rye.”

“What else?”

“Oatmeal cookies, cranberry juice and a peach.”

“I don't like any of that stuff,” he said.

“Well then, I guess I can't help you.”

“You're a geek!” he told me. “You're an ugly, stupid geek!”

“No wonder you don't have any friends!” I said, surprised at how angry I felt. Natural Helpers aren't supposed to get angry just because someone they're trying to help isn't grateful.

We stopped at the Statue of Liberty first. Eric and his class got off there. I watched from the deck as they marched off the ferry, two by two. When Eric turned and looked up at me, I waved. He stuck out his tongue. Well, at least I'd tried!

Our ferry waited at the statue while another group of school kids boarded. They were all wearing green foam Statue of Liberty crowns. As the ferry pulled out again, Dad began to recite the poem engraved at the base of the statue.

A few kids in his class joined in, then a few more, until they were all reciting the poem together. When they finished, it was so quiet on deck I could hear the wind as it whipped my hair away from my face.

Next stop was Ellis Island. Dad reminded us to imagine ourselves as immigrants arriving by ship after a long, difficult journey. “You're tired, hungry, scared, but you've made it to the new country,” Dad said. “You are about to start over in the land of opportunity!”

W
e entered the main building through a long portico and came into the Great Hall, which feels enormous. Probably thousands of people could fit in this room at once. The floor is made of white tile and the ceiling is so high it makes you feel tiny, even if you are the second tallest person in seventh grade.

If I were a thirteen-year-old immigrant girl coming into this vast hall, I know I'd have been scared, especially if I didn't understand a word of English, which most immigrants didn't.

Dad said we were free to look around on our own for an hour, then meet in front of the computers. Most kids went off in groups but I wandered by myself. I stopped at the first exhibit to look at the types of baggage the immigrants brought with them. There were trunks in all sizes. Some of them were made of wood, others of leather or what looked like cardboard. Some immigrants brought baskets as big as trunks. Some came with woven sacks in bright colors.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine my grandfather as a little boy, clutching his mother's hand while his father carried their baggage into this Great Hall.

I climbed up the stairs to the Registry Room, where each immigrant was inspected for diseases and where some guard who couldn't pronounce or spell our family name,
Rybczynski
, assigned Grandpa and his parents the name
Robinson
.

On the third floor were display cases filled with
the immigrants' most important possessions—hand-embroidered clothes, candlesticks, bibles, photos, musical instruments. What would I take if I had to leave the country quickly, with just one small bag? My flute, definitely. Photos of my family and friends and of Burt and Harry. And my favorite books, the ones I read over and over again.

I checked my watch and discovered I'd been browsing for over an hour. I raced down the stairs and found Dad and his students gathered around Charles, who was seated at one of the computers. I pushed my way through the group until I was standing next to Dad.

Then I watched as Charles typed R
YBCZYNSKI
into the computer. In two seconds R
YBCZYNSKI
, S
TEFAN AND
L
EILAH
popped up on the screen. I got goosebumps down my arms. These were my great-grandparents! Under their names was J
OSEF, AGE FOUR
. This was my grandfather! Charles moved the cursor down the screen to C
OUNTRY OF
O
RIGIN —
P
OLAND
.

Dad swallowed hard. He nodded several times, blinking back tears, and rested his hand on Charles's shoulder as Charles moved the cursor again, this time to D
ONOR—VICTOR (RYBCZYNSKI)
R
OBINSON
.

Charles sat absolutely still, studying the screen. Then suddenly he jumped up and turned to face Dad. They looked at each other for a minute, but when Dad moved toward him, Charles took off, pushing
everybody out of his way. He ran back into the Great Hall. Dad followed, calling, “Charles …” I followed Dad. Charles ran outside, under the portico and around to the left. He climbed up onto the seawall, where the immigrants' names are inscribed in bronze. For a minute I thought he was going to jump into the water. So did the tourists who were sitting nearby. You could hear a gasp go through the crowd. But instead of jumping, he spun around, arms outstretched, and began to recite.

A guard spotted him and called, “You!”

But Charles didn't stop. His voice grew stronger.

The guard headed for him.

“Charles!” Dad called.

Charles looked right at him. His voice broke as he finished the poem.

Dad stood in front of the wall. “Come down now.”

Charles hesitated. Then he jumped. Dad caught
him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and shielded him from the crowd. Charles hid his face against Dad. I think he was crying.

I felt myself choking up and looked away, confused, because I was also angry! Angry at Charles for making himself the center of attention again. Angry at Dad for loving him so completely. Angry at myself for … I don't know what. I tried to find Jessica. I needed to share this with her. But Jess was nowhere in sight.

“W
here were you when we were at the computers?” I asked her later.

“Upstairs, with my friends,” Jess said. “Don't tell Dad, okay?”

“You missed …”

“What?”

“Seeing our family name.”

“Really?” Jess said. “Well, maybe I'll go back in and have a look.”

“It won't be the same.”

“Of course it'll be the same. It's a computer.”

“No,” I said. “It wasn't just the computer.”

“Then what?”

I couldn't find the words to tell her what I sensed—that something between Charles and Dad had changed forever, something I could feel but couldn't explain. So I just shook my head and said, “Never mind.”

“Rachel …” Jess said, “you're acting very weird!”

A
t the end of the day, as we got off the ferry at Battery Park, I told Jessica, “I'm thinking of taking the bus home. That is, if you don't mind.”

Jessica looked surprised. “Really?”

I took the Sea-Bands out of my purse, where they've been since Gena gave them to me. “I've been meaning to try these,” I explained. I slipped the bands onto my wrists, then moved them three fingers up exactly the way Gena had showed me. I hoped the buttons were pressing on my Nei-Kuan points.

“Do you want me to sit next to you,” Jess asked, “or can I sit with my friends?”

“You can sit with your friends.”

When we boarded the bus, I took the first seat. Mom says you're less likely to get sick if you sit up front and look straight ahead, out the driver's window.

Charles seemed like his old self as he got on, talking and laughing with a group of kids. He was surprised when he saw me but he didn't say anything. He just walked by, toward the back of the bus.

When Dad saw me, he looked concerned. “Rachel, are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said. “I just want to try these.” And I held up my wrists, showing him the Sea-Bands.

“Good for you!” he said.

After all of Dad's students were accounted for and seated, Paul got on the bus. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, tapping the one next to mine.

I shook my head. “I don't know about you, Rachel,” he said, sinking low, “but I'm zonked.” Then he closed his eyes and slept most of the way home, waking only when we made a sharp turn or a sudden stop.

I can't say whether it was the Sea-Bands or the distraction of having Paul Medeiros sleeping next to me, but I made it back without getting sick!

When we got off the bus at the school parking lot, Paul yawned, stretched, adjusted his glasses and said, “There's a concert at the college tomorrow night. Would you like to go?”

Would I like to go?

“Does that look mean
yes?”
he asked.

I think I nodded.

“It's at six-thirty,” he said, “so I'll have you home by nine … in case you were worrying.”

This time I found my voice. “I wasn't worrying,” I told him.

I
was bursting! As soon as we got home, I ran over to Alison's to tell Gena the good news about the Sea-Bands. But when I got there, Leon said she was resting. “Her blood pressure's up and she's supposed to stay off her feet. Only a month to go …”

I told him I hope Gena feels better soon, then ran up to Alison's room. She was sprawled across her bed, her head hanging over the edge. Stephanie was there, too, sitting cross-legged on the floor, jotting something down in a notebook. As soon as they saw me, Steph closed the notebook and she and Alison looked at each other as if they knew something I didn't. But for once I didn't care. I sat on the edge of the bed and gave Maizie a few pats.