Call Me Amy (7 page)

“Is everything okay, Amy?” asked Miss Cogshell after he'd left.

I nodded. “Yeah, I'm just tired.”

The two of us read our books in the parlor. Like a couple of old biddies, we settled in for a quiet weekend.

Near sunset, I finally said goodbye to Pup and Miss Cogshell, and plodded towards home.

As I neared the wharf I heard faint musical sounds. The low sun was in my eyes, but I could make out someone sitting at the end of the pier and by the stick-shape jutting out, I knew they must be playing a guitar. I moved closer and shaded my eyes. One of my favorite songs reached me and my mouth fell open when I recognized Craig's old army jacket. As he continued to strum, I tiptoed over and sat cross-legged about three feet behind him. To steal the words from another favorite song, I felt like he was singing my life—like he was reading my diary out loud.

Craig sang out about the seasons and how all I had to do is call and he'd be there. He finished up the last verse of “You've Got a Friend,” while I sat there dumb-struck. Then I clapped.

“Hey, you shouldn't sneak up on people.” Craig threw me his trademark grin.

“That was great! How did you do that? I didn't know you played.” I was so excited I couldn't stop babbling. “I've always wanted to play music, but I can't sing. And then in third grade when we had those recorders, I ended up faking it the whole time. I just couldn't keep the beat.”

“Well, I don't really play. I mean I don't read music or nothing. One of those big houses out on the main road was getting rid of this a few years ago. I put new strings on it.”

“So, you play by ear? And sing, too?”

“I just fool around. Really, it's nothing.” Craig looked content as he tuned one of the strings.

“I thought you'd left early to go to Claire's party,” I said.

“Nah, I had to watch my little brother while my mom took my sisters over to Thomaston.” Craig nodded towards a little boy on the beach, a short distance away. The towheaded boy, a miniature version of Craig, carried a green pail. Every few steps, he stopped to dig through the seaweed, until he found a new treasure for his bucket.

“Wasn't in the mood to play party games anyhow,” Craig added.

I felt as happy as a clam at high tide. “Well, your music sounds cool.”

Craig laughed. “I know all of three songs, and I mess up a lot.”

“Play some more?”

Craig played another song. He used a small flat shell to pluck the strings. Then he passed me the guitar. “Give it a shot.”

“I can't.”

“Here, position it like this.” Craig adjusted the instrument. “Okay, hold these three strings down and strum here.” His voice was low and musical as he taught me the chord.

The guitar felt bulky and awkward in my lap. I produced a few twangs. Craig's pale hair hung over his
face, and I was grateful he couldn't see me. My face felt the heat of the sunset as he pressed my fingers into place. My breathing quickened. At that moment, it was like I was no longer Amy and would maybe do anything this guy asked. Even jump off the pier in my favorite lime-green sneakers. The feeling scared me, and I quickly handed Craig back his guitar.

“Got to go,” I said. I jumped up and got myself a safe distance away. Then I turned and waved. I couldn't stop grinning. I hummed “You've Got a Friend” all the way home. People sure could be surprising.

W
E ALWAYS GOT
progress reports way ahead of report cards so there wouldn't be any surprises. When Mrs. Marston, the homeroom teacher, handed them out, I saw Craig flip his over quick and then slump further down in his seat. My grades were pretty good, but I worried that Craig had spent more time with Pup than with his homework.

We filed out of the room. Those of us who rode the bus got on. As always I sat second seat from the front on the right. Craig moved past me to the back of the bus, the sleeve of his army jacket brushing my shoulder.

As we rumbled along, I listened to all the usual fooling around. I sat up as tall as I could, peeked into the bus driver's rearview mirror and discovered Craig wasn't joining in. He was slouched down, staring out the window.

Unfortunately, Miss Cogshell was walking past the post office when the bus came barreling around the corner.

“Old Coot!” a couple of the usual voices yelled. The familiar words stung my ears like never before.

All of a sudden I heard this wicked loud “Shut up!” I spun around and saw a red-faced Craig standing in the aisle with clenched fists. His friends stared at him with blank faces.

Then one said, “It's okay man, we didn't realize she was your girlfriend.”

Another mocking voice called out, “Pamela will be jealous.” Pamela, hair teased high, blushed and giggled on cue.

I was waiting for Craig to smack them; luckily we got to his stop right then. Craig grabbed his books, pushed past everyone and got off. That's when I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out slowly.

W
HEN
I
GOT
home, Mom and Dad were reviewing Nancy's progress report.

“Ooh, C+ in Math!” said Mom.

“Nice work, Nance,” said Dad. “You brought that grade right back up.”

“How did you do, Amy?” asked my mother. A bottle of Windex and a soft cloth stood on the windowsill, ready for her next cleaning project.

“I'm sure she'll make honor roll like always.” Nancy spoke with a bored sigh.

“Yep.” I handed the details to my mother.

“Hmm,” she said, “Math went down to a B.”

Dad took off his reading glasses and looked at me. My father was a slim, quiet man with a clean cut look. At times like this he appeared quite scholarly. “Are you having trouble understanding it?” he said.

“Ah . . .
no
. It's a B. Not a D!” I always seemed to get the short end of the stick when it came to daughter compliments.

Nancy pinched her nose. “Something's fishy.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dad. “Do you think Amy's grade is in error?”

Nancy sniffed around me until her nose came close to my jacket pocket. “Phew! What I mean is: Amy smells like an old fish!”

Well,
that
changed the subject. I made a mental note to wash my parka and a few minutes later I was on my way to Miss Cogshell's. I was pretty sure that Nancy's grades would be as good as mine if she spent as much time studying as she did writing fan letters to David Cassidy and the rest of the Partridge Family.

M
ISS
C
OGSHELL HAD
left the inside door open, probably to let the sun heat up the kitchen through the glass, while she caught up on some more letter writing. I pressed my nose against the door to see better, and she motioned for me to come in.

“Guess what!” I announced as I stepped inside. “We got progress reports today and I'm going to make the honor roll.”

She smiled and said, “How wonderful, Amy. Good job! That explains it; Craig must have received his report, too.” She nodded her head to indicate he was in with Pup. “When he put his school supplies on the table, a paper slipped out. He crumpled that thing up like it was on fire and tossed it fast.”

“Uh oh.” I peered over to see the crinkled ball just sitting there in the bucket two feet away.

“Now don't go getting any ideas while I'm busy concentrating on this letter.” Miss Cogshell opened a sheet of flowered stationery, her eyes still watching the wastebasket.

Before I knew it I was unwrapping the wrinkled document. Two F's, two D's, two A's, and a C. Something made me look up and there stood Craig in the doorway to the hall. He pushed through the kitchen and out the back door before I could even think.

“A pretty lousy report.” I placed it on the table.

“Ayuh.” Miss Cogshell shifted her weight in the chair, the floorboards creaking beneath her. “And the
poor kid isn't too proud of it. He feels everyone's against him. I don't know how they expect him to get any work done at that crazy house of his. With his father away and his mother loose as a goose. Oh my, I shouldn't be saying all this.”

“I'll go find him,” I said.

Craig sat at the end of the pier. I plunked myself down beside him. We watched the waves and seagulls for a while. Someone had left a fish mess on the edge of the pier and it didn't take long for a scrawny cat to come sniffing around. A seagull scared him away, but the cat soon circled back to finish his meal.

“Ya know, you could have asked to read my private stuff.” Craig jerked his bangs back.

He was right. I felt crummy and attempted to make things better. “I saw a couple of A's on there.”

“Yeah, art and gym. You can think what you want, but I don't want your sympathy. And don't ever call me stupid.”

“I never called you that. You may have this big complex about where you live, how your parents are, and how much money you have, but . . . ”

Craig leaped up. I had never seen him so angry. “Why don't you just go home, Goodie-Two-Shoes, so you won't catch cooties.”

I opened my mouth to speak.

“Just get outta my face. Little Miss Try to Fix Everything.”

He stomped away down the road. My lip quivered as he faded into a small green dot. Then he disappeared entirely. Two seagulls squabbled over the mess the cat left behind.

I went back to Miss Cogshell's and sat with Pup under the kitchen table while she read in the parlor.

“Maybe I didn't handle that so well?” I said.

Pup snorted in agreement.

T
HAT NIGHT AT
the dinner table everyone talked about problems the Skylab space station was having after its first launch. My head was so full I couldn't follow the conversation. Nancy's elbow practically touched my plate the whole time. I put up with it for at least three minutes and then shoved my half-eaten dinner closer to her.

“Do you have to hog the whole table?” I leaped up and headed for my room. “I'm not hungry, anyway!”

“What's her problem?” said Nancy. “Can I have her dessert?”

I could hear my parents' confused whispers as I ran upstairs.

I
WOKE EARLY
the next morning and discovered I still had on yesterday's clothes. My mouth tasted like an old trout. I rummaged through my bureau until I found a favorite shirt to wear. I streaked it with water and placed a few heavy notebooks on top of it. After my shower, the shirt almost looked like it had been ironed.

All day long, at school, I tried to determine how angry Craig might be, but since we never talked in public anyway, I couldn't tell. Finally the last bell rang.

O
N MY WAY
to her house, I spotted Miss Cogshell clambering up the post office steps, so I went to the pier instead. Craig sat at the end in our usual spot.

“Are you waiting for Miss Cogshell to get back?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said without turning around.

“You know,” I said, “about yesterday . . . ”

Waves from the wake of a passing speedboat slapped against the supports below us. I hollered over the noise. “I was only trying to say that how you see yourself isn't how other people see you.”

“Really, and how would you know?” His voice had an edge to it.

The words jammed in my throat. There was so much I wanted to tell Craig, but I didn't know how—thoughts were buzzing around in my head like bees in a beehive.

I forced myself to plop down beside him. He didn't know he was the best friend I'd ever had, that he was funny and clever and that every day he grew more special to me. My face got hot just picturing myself trying to express such sappy stuff.

“Sometimes I should mind my own beeswax,” I said. “And I'm sorry.”

I closed my eyes and felt Craig watching me, a red-faced idiot. He shifted his weight, and his arm brushed mine as he got comfortable. We sat there like two lumps, not speaking for the longest time. The clouds shifted and changed the reflected patterns in the water. I looked over at Miss Cogshell's house and saw the kitchen light was now on.

“When I was a little kid,” said Craig, “I used to sit on this dock and think the goofiest things. Like maybe…” he stopped. “Like maybe my dad didn't just take
off, maybe he was sitting right here one day and a giant wave came and swallowed him up.”

“I used to see you down here a lot. I never guessed you'd be thinking about that kind of stuff.”

“Stupid, huh?”

I suddenly felt sad. “No.”

Craig gave me a sideways glance and then put an exaggerated pout on his face. I grinned in spite of myself.

Then Craig, who could never stay still for long, jumped up. “Why did the elephant sit on the marshmallow?”

I knew the answer, but shrugged my shoulders.

“So he wouldn't fall in the hot chocolate!”

I laughed more than the joke warranted, just for the fun of it.