If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period (10 page)

"You know, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. Rebecca Dunkel called me this afternoon. She told me something I'm"—she sucks in her breath—"a little concerned about."

"What?"

"She says that you don't sit with the girls anymore. You sit with the boys. And everyone wonders why."

"Oh, that. Don't worry, Mom. Things are fine." I turn back to my computer.

"But I
am
worried. What are you doing with these boys, Kirsten?"

My head snaps back. "Oh god, Mom. They're my friends. It's not like that. It isn't."

She looks hard at me, her mouth chewing tiny bites one hundred miles an hour.

"Okay, okay. I thought that's what you'd say. But you know reputations are a delicate thing, Kirsten. Once you get a bad reputation, it can stay with you all the way through high school."

"Yeah, but it's a lie."

"Even if it is a lie."

"So what am I supposed to do? I can't keep people from lying."

"Look"—she sets down her bowl—"I think what's happened is Rory and Brianna and Madison feel a little rejected by you."

"By me? Hello?
By me?
"

"Yes. That's what I think. And their feelings are hurt. So maybe if you ate lunch with them sometimes. Because, you know, it isn't natural for seventh-grade girls to always eat lunch with boys, unless..." She jiggles her popcorn. The unpopped old maids rattle on the bottom.

"Mom, you got this wrong. That's
so
not what's happening. You gotta trust me on this, okay?"

She looks at me. "These are nice boys?"

"Mom ... I'm doing extra-credit assignments because
of them.
These are the nicest boys."

"Even so, Kirsten..."

"Besides, there's another girl who sits with us, too. Her name is Jade."

"Jade? Jade Schwartz? The girl who wears army clothes to school every day?"

"Not every day."

My mother groans. She definitely won't like Jade. Will she like Walk and Matteo?

Matteo is so polite. And everybody loves Walk. If she could just get to know Walk and Matteo, she wouldn't worry. "Mom, look, I'll bring them home, okay? Because it's
so
not the way Rebecca Dunkel says. If you could meet them, I know you'd see."

She bites her lip. "You'll let me meet them?"

"Of course."

"And they're nice?"

"I promise," I say, though suddenly I remember how weird she was about Walk that first day, but it was only because she wanted to meet his mom, right?

I go back to my computer but I can feel she is still standing at the door.

"Kirsten, tell me you're not going to start wearing army fatigues every day?"

I jump up and give her a hug. "I promise I won't, Mom. Okay? I promise."

Pleeeeease!" Kirsten pleads. Walk hates to see girls beg, but he really doesn't want to come over to her house just because Kirsten's mom wants to make sure he isn't a bad boy.

"How about Matteo?" he says. "Couldn't you ask him?"

"He has to help his dad with something."

"Yeah, and I have student council."

"You can come over after. Pleeeeease. She just wants to see that you're nice."

"I'm not nice."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

She rolls her eyes.

"What am I supposed to do? Say the pledge of allegiance, the ten commandments? How far is it, anyway?"

"It's only a mile. Come on. We can finish the extra credit and you can check out our bathrooms! And I will owe you, like, forever for this." She shoves her cell in his face.

"Forever?"

"Forever."

Walk can see she's not going to let up on this. "Oh, man," he mutters, taking her cell. He leaves a message for Sylvia to pick him up at five at Kirsten McKenna's house. Walk tells her how to get there, even though Sylvia always knows how to get everywhere. She has a GPS wired in her brain.

"Why am I doing this?" Walk hands Kirsten's cell back.

"Because you like me."

"I do?"

"Yes," she tells him.

When Walk gets out of student council and heads for Kirsten's house he wishes more than ever he'd told her no. She lives in the heart of white world. All the houses are enormous, as if somebody shot them full of steroids. Kirsten's house is brand-new. It looks as if the path was swept fifteen minutes ago. Even the dirt on the ground isn't dirty; it's hidden under these bark chip things. The place is all decked out like one of those poor circus dogs wearing a matching hat and jacket.

The doorbell chimes a few bars of Bob Dylan. The door cracks open and a little girl, who looks like a tiny Kirsten—Kirsten put in the dryer and shrunk all up—sticks her head out. "Who are you?" she asks.

"Walker Jones, Kirsten's friend."

"Are you a
nice
friend or a
mean
friend?" she asks, her shrunken Kirsten eyes gone all squinty.

"I don't think you can be a
mean friend,
" Walk answers.

"Oh, yes you can. Kirsten has lots of mean friends."

Walk laughs. "I guess she does."

"She's my best sister," the little girl says, her face all fierce. She looks Walk up and down.

Mini Kirsten is tougher than the super-sized one. Mini Kirsten knows how to push back. Walk raises his hand like he's taking an oath. "I'll be nice," he says.

"Do you like rabbits?"

"Yes, very much." Walk tries hard to keep a straight face.

Her mouth curls to one side like she's thinking about this. "Okay." She opens the door. "You can come in."

"Hey, Walk." Kirsten comes down a big staircase. The little girl turns to Kirsten and whispers, "I checked him out. He's okay."

"Nice work," Kirsten says. "That's my little sister, Kippy."

"Hi," Kippy says to Walk, then she whispers to Kirsten, "Mom wants you in the craft room."

The craft room? What is this, the YMCA?

They go to the kitchen. At least Walk thinks it's the kitchen. There are three sinks. "One sink, two sink, red sink, blue sink," Walk says.

Kirsten looks like she never counted how many sinks she has in her own kitchen.

"Okay, I give up. Where's the refrigerator?" Walk asks.

Kirsten yanks on a large white wood cabinet. Inside the refrigerator is big enough to hold bodies. Bathroom like this, too? Gigantic toilets that sink into the floor?

But it's the living room that busts Walk's eyes out of his head. Big windows looking out at the whole of San Francisco across the Bay.

"Whoa," Walk says.

Kirsten smiles. "Nice, huh?"

Walk snorts. "You could give tours of this place."

In "the craft room" they sit in wicker chairs at a wicker table with wicker baskets—each labeled
SCISSORS, BEADS, MARKERS
.
This is kindergarten,
Walk thinks. Any minute they'll crank up the
Barney
song and a purple dinosaur will come in and shake his hand.

"You bet. Let's talk tonight." A fine-looking woman with long white-blond hair and tight jeans walks in. She flips closed her cell.

"I'm Walk." Walk reaches out his hand.

Mrs. McKenna stares at him like he has burrito dribbled down his shirt. Her hand is cold in his.

"You have a beautiful house, Mrs. McKenna. Thanks so much for inviting me over." Walk lays it on thick. That's why he's here, right?

"Uh, thank you." Mrs. McKenna's eyes zip from Walk to Kirsten and back. "You're in the same class, you two?"

"History," Kirsten says. "Walk and Matteo have more points than anyone in the whole class, Mom."

"Points?" Mrs. McKenna asks.

"It means they're the head of the class, Mom. Really smart."

"Oh. That's nice. Well, I see you're working," she says like she can't get out of there fast enough.

Walk looks at Kirsten. "Not much of a third degree."

Kirsten shrugs. "One look at you was all she needed."

"You tell her something about me?"

"That you're nice. She'll come back and ask more. My mom's gotta know everything. She leaves the door open when she pees so she won't miss out on the conversation while she's in the bathroom."

"Remind me not to walk by the bathroom."

"This is our favorite subject, you know."

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm not the one brought it up."

While they're doing homework, Kippy brings them dinky cups of nasty-looking green juice that she claims is just pineapple juice plus a secret ingredient, but it smells strange, like boiled spinach water. Then she needs help with a word in
Fifty Ways to Make Ooze,
and after that she asks, "When is it going to be time to feed the bunnies?"

Then Kirsten's father shows up. Guess the whole family has to check Walk out. The guy kind of looks like his wife. Blond handsome with blond bushy eyebrows, a square jaw, and small round glasses. He's tall and lean like a tennis player and he walks like he knows he looks good even in his scrubs. Wait. He looks familiar. It's the hippie-sandals guy, only he's in real shoes now.

"Dad," Kirsten says. "What are you doing home?"

"I'm on my way to the hospital. Thought I'd stop by for a minute."

"Oh, okay, well, this is Walk."

"We've met," Walk says, taking Mr. McKenna's outstretched hand. "At the Open House."

"That's right. Nice to see you again." He shakes Walk's hand.

"Daddy!" Kippy pops in. "Look! I've read all the way to page fifty-three today!"

"Very good, Kip." He messes up her hair. "My little chemist."

"Yep, we're going to call her Doctor Goop," Kirsten mutters.

"So Walk"—Mr. McKenna pulls up a chair—"how do you like school? What's your best subject?"

"History."

"How are you in science? Got any aptitude there?"

"I'm okay," Walk says.

Mr. McKenna nods like he wants more. "I got an A in science, but I like history and English better," Walk tells him.

"What's your GPA, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Dad!" Kirsten growls.

"4.0," Walk says.

Mr. McKenna takes off his glasses and polishes them all up with a little blue rag he has in his pocket. "I understand you have to do better than 4.0 to get into Cal," he tells his glasses.

"Cal?" Walk asks.

"UC Berkeley," Mr. McKenna says.

"They don't offer AP classes until ninth grade," Walk tells him.

"So 4.0 is as good as it gets right now?" Mr. McKenna asks.

"Yes, sir," Walk says.

Mr. McKenna smiles so big it looks like it might split his face apart. "Well, I gotta get going. It's good to meet you, Walk."

When he's gone, Kirsten stares at Walk. "You really have a 4.0?"

Walk shrugs. "They don't give out scholarships for nothing, you know."

"You definitely passed with my dad. That's for sure."

Walk rolls his eyes at her. "Of course I did."

"Tell me something ... Do you
ever
doubt yourself,
ever?
" she asks.

"No," Walk tells her. "Never."

So, you feel better now, Mom?" I ask. She's been in bed since Walk left.

"I have a migraine, Kirsten. There is no feeling better."

"A migraine? You've never had a migraine before."

My mom doesn't move. She is lying on her bed with a washcloth on her head.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I was just wondering if you liked Walk?"

"Seems nice enough. My head is killing me, honey. Could you get some dinner for you and Kippy? I can't talk right now."

"Sure, Mom. Can I get you something? Advil or anything?"

"That would be nice, babe. I'll take four."

At ten minutes to five Walk heads for the street to wait for Sylvia, but she's there already, parked down the block like she got the wrong address.

The car door's open, Sylvia's leg is kicked out, and smoke curls out of a cigarette in her hand. When she sees Walk, she drops the cigarette, grinds it out, and shuts the door.

Walk knocks on the window and she rolls it down. "I can't believe you," he says.

"You getting in?" she asks, searching through her CDs.

"Momma! What's the matter with you?"

"I'm not gonna start smoking again, if that's what you're worried about," she announces when Walk clicks his seat belt.

"What happened to 'One cigarette is too many, a million aren't enough'? What happened to that?"