If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period (15 page)

"Yeah, sure, but now I'm half white."

"What you talking about, boy?" She grabs his arm. "That ain't half white. That's black as the night is long. This doesn't mean anything except you got your school paid for. Do you hear me?" She squeezes tighter.

"I got a white dad and all it means is I got my school paid for? You're wrong about that." He pulls his arm back. "So, so, so wrong."

Matteo has this tiny chess set in his notebook. At lunch he teaches me how to play. This is kind of okay-fun, but the table is lonely without Walk. Even Jade and Hair Boy are subdued without him.

On the way to the library we run into Rory.

"I need to talk to you, Kirsten," she snaps.

Oh great.

Matteo zips and unzips his binder. He rolls his lips in and pulls his eyelids down low over his eyes. Matteo's expressions are pretty subtle, but I'm beginning to be able to read them. He hates Rory. That much is clear.

"What?" I ask when Matteo leaves.

"It's only because you can't sing." Rory spits the words at me.

"What's only because I can't sing?"

"You had to mess it up, didn't you?"

"Had to mess what up?"

"The talent show. Brianna told me you and your new boyfriends or whatever they are set her up so she'd get caught stealing Matteo's organizer. And now she's mad at
me
about it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do. I know when you're lying. You do that flutter thing with your hand. You forget I've known you for five years. I know
everything
about you."

"Brianna was forcing Matteo to do her homework and give her test answers. If he wouldn't do what she said, she'd tell her mom that Matteo's mom was breaking things."

"Matteo's mom's her
maid
. You're going to worry about somebody's
maid?
"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. Besides, Brianna wouldn't do that. That's just crazy."

"You know she would. You used to know that, anyway. I don't know what you know now."

"It was you and that black guy who did this. Does your mom even know about
him?
"

I can't help snickering at this. If Rory only knew.

"Why are you laughing? What's the matter with you?"

I shrug.

"She doesn't know, does she?"

"Yes she does," I tell her.

"You never used to be petty like that just because you couldn't be in the talent show. Spoil it for everyone. You know they canceled the whole thing, don't you?"

"Why?"

"Like I know why they're canceling. Probably because Brianna can't be in it so her mom isn't paying."

"They did it last year without all that extra money."

"Yeah, but Brianna was in it last year. If Jacqueline Hanna-Hines doesn't want it to happen, I guess it doesn't happen," she whispers. "And Brianna is blaming me because I'm the one who told her about Matteo's test. Me? I am
so
innocent here."

"Choose better friends, Rory. I mean,
Brianna?
You call
her
your friend?"

"Hello? She's, like, really popular. You could be popular, too. But you don't even try. You just want to feel sorry for yourself."

"I don't feel sorry for myself."

"My mom says I'm supposed to be nice because your parents are getting a divorce, but I'm so sick—"

"Shut up!" I cover my ears with my hands. "Just shut up!"

I'm not sure how I get to the library, but that's where I find myself, with my head facedown on the table. And then the next thing I know, Matteo is tapping my shoulder. "You okay?" he asks. "You look like you're going to pass out or something."

A few minutes later he scoots a Dixie cup full of water in my direction. "Here. Dorarian says to drink this."

No way Walk's sitting locked in the car with Sylvia clear to church and back. Walk was hoping she'd stay at Aunt Tanesha's all afternoon, all week ... forever'd be good. But Sylvia's back again, in his face, digging in his closet, pulling out his old suit.

"Too small," he mumbles. She makes a face. "Try it on."

"Why? Somebody die?"

"Just put it on."

Walk jams his arm in. Shoulders so tight he's a humpback. Guess it's been a while since he's been to a funeral.

She clucks like she does when the phone bill's too high. "Wear what you wear to church," she decides.

"Where we going?"

"We're meeting mkmakana," she says like her mouth is full of biscuits.

"What?"

"We're meeting Mac McKenna," she repeats.

Walk wads up the jacket and tosses it at her. "You outta your mind?" He brushes by Sylvia, pockets her keys on the way out the door. This isn't his plan, he just sees them there and suddenly he has them in his hand. Sylvia's still standing in his room. She can't see what he's doing out here.

He slams the front door—he knows that bugs her—and goes straight for her car. He heads for the driver's seat, jams the keys in the ignition. The motor turns over then catches.

Walk slips the transmission to
R
and steps on the gas pedal. The car shoots backward. His head yanks back. His toe finds the brake, pushes down, and the car jerks to a stop. Sweat drops off his face. He forgot to check what was back there. Luckily, nothing.

He moves the transmission to
D
and hits the gas again. The car jumps forward. He pushes down harder. It goes faster. Harder. Faster. His apartment disappears. His neighbors. The apartments all down the street.

In the car he sees Sylvia's cell hanging from the cigarette lighter. Out the window is the mailbox he once crashed into on his bike. The neighbor kid in her Girl Scout uniform.

But how fast can the car really go? He gives the car some gas. It leaps out of his hands, swerves right, then left. He slams the brakes, wipes the sweat off his hands.

Go slower for a while, he decides. Get the feel of it. His heart is cranking. Carefully, he pulls the car onto the busy street. He lurches forward, faster, faster, then he sees the stoplight. The intersection. He hits the brakes. Waits for the green.

When the light changes, he pushes forward and turns off the main road. No problem. He even remembers to use the turn signal. They should let kids drive. It really isn't that hard.

Then suddenly a stop sign. A stop sign? Too late to stop now, but a pickup truck on his left thunders toward him. His foot slips on the brake. His arms stiffen for the crash. His hand flies up to protect his head. The brake. His foot is on the brake. He's stopped.

His heart beats so loud it's like it's somewhere on the dashboard. A car behind him honks.

It suddenly dawns on him he's in the middle of the road. He's shaking so hard he can hardly get the car out of there. He pulls over, his head crammed full of pictures of Sylvia at a funeral. His funeral.

He's still breathing hard, but he's okay. Everything is okay. He didn't even get a scratch on her precious car. He grabs Sylvia's cell and dials Matteo.

"You'll never guess what I'm doin'." He tries to sound cool now.

"Your math homework."

"I'm driving, man."

"Where?"

"No,
I'm
driving."

"What? The little rides in front of Toys 'R' Us?"

"No. Sylvia's car."

"Where's Sylvia?"

"At home."

"
Driving
driving?" Matteo asks.

"Uh-huh. I thought I might drive over to get you."

"Wait, who else is in the car?"

"Just me."

"On the freeway?"

Walk imagines himself gunning down the freeway.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Matteo gulps. "What's the matter with you, man?"

"No, really. I could come pick you up. No one'll know."

"Walk?" Matteo whispers. "What are you doing?" Walk tries to answer, but his throat clogs all up. He hangs up so Matteo won't hear. What
is
he doing? He dials Jamal.

"Walk? That you?"

"Yeah. I'm just gonna drive on over there."

"You and Sylvia?"

"No, just me. I got Sylvia's car."

"You
drivin'
Sylvia's car?"

"Mebbe."

Jamal laughs his fool head off. "You be in so much trouble, boy. She going to iron your sorry butt till it so flat you can't sit anymore."

"She's not going to find out."

"Yeah, right. You gonna drive Sylvia's cherry-new 350 on over here and no one's gonna know."

"That's right," Walk tells him, when he hears knocking on the window. The police. Stupid fool. What has he been thinking?

But it's not the police. It's Sylvia still in her blue churchgoing dress. She's so mad, she's shaking all over and spit is flying wild out of her mouth.

Sylvia points to the door lock. Walk clicks her cell off, flips the door button, and she slips in on the passenger side.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing? You ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll make you wish you weren't alive. Do you understand me?"

Walk looks at the wheel. Shines it with his thumb. Keeps shining but it gets duller the more he rubs. "It was you who lied, Sylvia, not me."

"We're talking about you driving my car."

"Does Jamal know?"

"Does Jamal know what?"

"You know what."

She waits like she doesn't want to go there. "No," she finally says.

"How about everyone else?"

She shakes her head. "Only Shan."

"Yeah, and she has a big mouth."

Sylvia's eyes waver. "Shan swore she hasn't told anyone. I don't think Jamal knows."

Walk snorts. " 'Climpton this, Climpton that' my whole life. Is Climpton even dead?"

She breathes big and hard. "Yes," she finally says. "He died two years after you were born."

"I ever meet him?" Walk's voice cracks when he says this.

She shakes her head no.

"You even my mother? Or is that a big fat lie, too?"

She makes a noise then like her head is exploding off her body. Her hand shakes like it wants to slap him.

"You think I'd put up with this crap if you weren't my son?"

"I'm goin' back to City," Walk tells her. "I like it better."

Her eyes are so hot they're scorching his hair right off his head.

"You want to go back to City, be my guest. Just wait until the end of the semester, then you can go."

"You sure?"

"Yes I'm sure. And for what you've done today, you are grounded for your life, boy. Until you're eighty, do you hear me? You better hope, you better pray you never do this again."

I'm down in the basement watching TV when I hear the slamming.
Vip. Vup. Bang.
Everything slammable is being slammed.

Kippy hops down the stairs. "Mom's mad."

"How come?"

Kippy shrugs. Her shoulders stay glued near her ears like she's forgotten them up there.

"Kirsten," my mom calls down, "I need to talk to you,
right now.
Kippy, Daddy saved a program on walruses. Would you like to watch it?"

"No, thank you," Kippy says.

My mother comes down. Her face looks like it has been scrubbed raw by a loofah. Everything is pink and puffy.

I know what she's going to say. She's going to tell me they're getting divorced, just like Rory said.

"You gotta try this one, Kippy. Walruses are amazing," Mom says.

Kip can't stand TV, which makes my mom proud, except for when she needs a babysitter.

Kippy's shoulders slump. "Do I have to?"

My mother nods her head.

I follow my mom to the dining room.

My mom sits down on one of the white chairs and leans in toward me. "You'd tell me if anything unusual happened, wouldn't you?"

I look at the hutch full of our good china. It stays in there. We never use it. The wall is painted to look like marble. There's a photo of our family dressed in jeans and white shirts in front of a waterfall at Yosemite. Everything looks perfect ... too perfect.

"Kirsten?" My mom peers at me.

"What?"

"Anything ... upsetting...?" She reaches in her pocket and takes out a square of Ghirardelli chocolate and puts it in front of me.

"Mom? What's the matter with you?" I unwrap the square before she can change her mind.