Saturday Boy (11 page)

“And did Dad?”

“Did Dad what?”

“Want to?”

“No of course not,” said Mom. “But he did. And I know for a fact it was the hardest thing he ever had to do.”

“How?”

“Because having to say good-bye to your father again was the hardest thing
I
ever had to do.”

The phone rang and I heard Aunt Josie answer it. Then I heard her coming up the stairs and down the hall. My bedroom door was open so she knocked a little on the frame.

“You guys awake up here?” she asked. “Annie? It's for you.”

“I'm with Derek right now, Jo. Can I call them back?”

“I think you'll want to take this. It's the army.”

Mom rolled over and got out of bed, taking the phone from Aunt Josie and stepping into the hallway. Josie stood there like she didn't know what to do—like she was wondering if she should stay in here with me or go join her sister. In the end she stayed standing right where she was and offered me a sad kind of smile. I did my best to smile back. I'm not sure it worked.

Mom came back in and sat down on the bed, the letters crackling underneath her. She took my hand. Held it. I didn't let go because I figured that, at that moment, she needed somebody to hang on to. Aunt Josie sat on Mom's other side and took her other hand. We stayed like that for a while. Connected. Just being there.

Mom started to say something but she stopped and cleared her throat a little. Then she tried again.

“Jason's coming home,” she said.

MR. HOWARD MET ME
when I got off the bus on Monday morning. It was cold and windy and his bald head was chapped. I wondered how long he'd been standing there. He was wearing big wool mittens and a matching scarf and it didn't look like his little beard was doing a good job of keeping his face warm because the tip of his nose was red and drippy.

“Good morning, Mr. Lamb,” he said. “How are you feeling today?”

The wind yanked the breath from his mouth and carried it off.

“Okay I guess. A little tired.”

Kids moved quickly around Mr. Howard and me as we walked to the door, and I caught a couple of them looking back over their shoulders at me. They must have thought I was public enemy number one to have the principal meet me at the bus like that. I wondered what they thought I'd done. I hoped they thought it was something cool.

“Could I speak with you for a moment in my office?”

“I don't want to be late.”

“I'm the principal, Derek. It's okay,” he said. “I'll give you a note for you to give to Ms. Dickson when we're done.”

Mr. Howard put his hand on my shoulder and steered me into his office. He closed the door and pulled his mittens off and started to unwind his scarf. It was longer than I thought it'd been. It just kept going and going. When he was finished he sat down and opened a binder on his desk and looked at a page. Then he pushed it away and leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Derek, I—that is to say—we here at the school—the administration and the faculty have—” he said, pulling the binder to him and checking the page again. When he looked up it was right into my eyes.

“We were all so very sorry to hear about your father, Derek, and I wanted to let you know that if you needed to talk or—or anything—that we're here to listen. My door is always open.”

“Okay.”

I think Mr. Howard expected me to say more things but I didn't so we just looked at each other instead—almost like a staring contest. We stayed like that for a while.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Of course.”

“It's something I've been wondering about.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“Why do you keep paper clips in your candy jar?”

“I'm sorry?”

“It says ‘candy' right on it but there's no candy,” I said. “That seems a little bit like cheating.”

“It used to have candy in it,” Mr. Howard said. “But I noticed the same few students were turning up here more and more often—twice, sometime three times a week, and I suspected it was because of the candy. So when I ran out I filled it with paper clips and I haven't seen them since.”

I didn't have any more questions and there wasn't anything I felt like talking about. Mr. Howard told me again how his door was always open if I needed anything. Then he wrote a note to Ms. Dickson and handed it to me.

“Wait, Derek, there's one more thing.”

He got something out of the top drawer and put it down on the desk.

“A peanut butter cup?” I said. “I thought you said you didn't have any candy in here.”

“All I said was I didn't keep candy in the jar. I never said anything about not having any candy in the office.” He winked. “Have a good day, Mr. Lamb.”

When I got back to the classroom everybody was doing math. On the whiteboard was another word problem about Kate and Timmy. This time Timmy had taken one-third of Kate's apples. He was always doing stuff like that and it made me wonder why Kate was friends with him at all.

I went in and put Mr. Howard's note on Ms. Dickson's desk and took my seat. When I looked up I noticed some kids staring at me. This one kid in the front row named Xavier had even turned all the way around.

“I should be seeing eyes, not backs of heads,” said Ms. Dickson.

Xavier and the other kids faced front again and Ms. Dickson went back to the problem on the board. I was glad she'd said something but I didn't have to turn around to know some of the kids behind me were still staring. I scrunched down into my chair and tried to become invisible. I guess it kinda worked because normally when I do that Ms. Dickson tells me to stop slouching and sit up straight but this morning she didn't. She didn't even call on me for answers or anything. I mean, she barely even looked in my direction. Then after recess she asked us to open our desks and take out our history workbooks and that's when I found the envelope. It was cream colored and had my name written on it.

I looked around to see if anyone else had gotten one but they were all pretty much fumbling around in their desks or trying to find the right page in the book or whatever so I figured it was just me. Then I looked up at Ms. Dickson and, for the first time today, she was looking right back at me. She smiled. Then the corners of her mouth turned down a little and she put her hand over her heart. It seemed strange but in that moment it was like she stopped being my teacher and became my friend instead. I slid the card out of the envelope.

Derek,

There are far too many Rory McReadys in the world and not enough Jason Lambs.

With my deepest sympathies,

Charlotte Dickson

I wondered who Rory McReady was for a second and then I remembered. He had been in my dad's eighth-grade English class and was the one who kept throwing his desk at Ms. Dickson. I felt myself smile a little. Not because of the desk-throwing thing but because I totally understood what she meant. I wanted to send her some kind of signal but when I looked up from the card the moment was over and she was a teacher again.

The rest of the day went like the morning had—kids looking at me when they thought I couldn't see them but I could. I could see them. It made me feel uncomfortable and I didn't like it. When we were let out at the end of the day I was surprised to see Mr. Howard waiting in the hall outside the classroom. He took me aside as the rest of the kids passed us on their way to the buses. I noticed a few kids looking over at me. I heard my name whispered. It was starting to make me angry.

“What are you looking at?”

“Come on, Derek, that's not necessary.”

“They've been staring at me all day and I'm sick of it.”

“They're uncomfortable. They don't know how to act or what to say around you.”

“They did last week.”

“Last week was different.”

“But I'm still the same person.”

“I know you are, Derek. And Ms. Dickson and the rest of the teachers and a lot of your classmates know you are, too. It's just that some people—the ones who are doing the staring—do not. Not everybody deals with this sort of thing the same way and you have to allow them time to come to terms with it.”

“No I don't,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I don't have to allow them to do anything. It's none of their business,” I said. “It's not even any of
your
business.”

He stopped walking but I didn't. I walked faster.

Then I started to run.

* * *

Play rehearsal went fine and afterward we all sat on the edge of the stage while Mr. Putnam gave notes to everybody. He said me and Violet's scene was good but that I had to remember to let her lead me offstage when we exited. He also said I needed to project more and I nodded even though I didn't really know what he was talking about.

Then he reminded us that since we opened this Thursday, tomorrow and Wednesday's rehearsals would be full run-throughs in costume, but I wasn't worried. I was actually getting excited. Mom was going to be there and probably Aunt Josie was, too. I pictured them standing up and cheering for me the second the lights came up and they saw me onstage and I imagined the rest of the audience joining them.

“I've recruited some students to assist you backstage with props and costumes and so forth,” Mr. Putnam was saying. “They'll be new at this so please treat them with respect. Violet, Derek—two of them are girls from your class, I believe.”

“Really?” said Violet. “Who?”

“Let's see, Ms. Dickson's class . . .” Mr. Putnam picked up a piece of paper and looked at it over the top of his glasses. “Ah, here we go. Helping us from Ms. Dickson's class will be Melissa Sprout and Marion—”

Mr. Putnam sneezed suddenly and everyone jumped. Violet even screamed a little. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and blew his nose into it, making a sound like a trumpet. His cheeks had gone red.

“Mr. Putnam,” I said. “There's no Marion in our class.”

“Then who is Marion Pratt?”

My heart sank, pushing whatever good mood I had right out through my toes. I remembered now, there
was
a Marion in our class. It just wasn't a girl.

“It's Budgie, sir.”

It had been the very first secret shared at the very first meeting of the original Secret Secret Club and I'd been keeping it for so long I'd completely forgotten about it until now, and now that I was thinking about it I remembered that was also the day he told me how he'd gotten his nickname. I'd asked him and since we were in the Fort of Truth he had to answer. It was one of the rules.

“A budgerigar. A budgie bird,” he'd said. “Y'know, a parakeet?”

Then he told me that when he was little he was always copying the sound of people's voices and his grandmother thought it was adorable because it reminded her of a pet parakeet she used to have that did the same thing until one day it got out of its cage and the cat ate it.

“So one time at dinner, she said, ‘Budgie, could you pass the rolls.'”

“That doesn't seem so bad.”

“Yeah, well,” said Budgie, “it was during Thanksgiving dinner. So the whole family was there.”

“Oh,” I said. “What was the bird's name?”

“Sissy.”

I remember wanting to laugh really, really badly but not wanting to open my mouth until I was sure I wouldn't.

“Well,” I'd said carefully. “I'd say you got lucky.”

* * *

“Thank you, Mr. Lamb,” said Mr. Putnam, making a note on the paper. Then Violet said that since names were being corrected, Melissa Sprout would probably like to be called Missy instead, so Mr. Putnam made a note of that as well.

“Mr. Putnam?” I asked. “Where did that list come from?”

“The attendance office.”

“The attendance office?”

“Yes,” Mr. Putnam said. “Why? Are you wearing a wire?”

“What? No. I'm just—it's just that his mother is the only one who calls him Marion.”

“Then she must have been the one to fill out all the paperwork at the beginning of the school year,” Mr. Putnam said. “Okay if I continue here?”

I nodded slowly, a feeling of impending doom beginning to seep in around the edges of me. It was bad enough that I'd broken the Secret Secret Club's only rule by sharing a secret with nonmembers and now I may have made it worse by talking about it. I needed to give them something else to think about instead.

“I was born with a tail,” I blurted.

I didn't know if that was going to be enough for them to forget the Marion thing but I had to be sure. Me and Budgie might not have been friends anymore but a club was a club and what was said there was supposed to stay there.

“And my middle name is Dorothy.”

* * *

I had trouble falling asleep that night even though I was tired. Someone had taken down the Apache helicopter. It was probably my mom but I just didn't have the energy to ask her about it. I tried looking at a different model. I looked at the F-14 Tomcat. I looked at the Spitfire. I even looked at the B-52 Stratofortress but it wasn't the same. I couldn't imagine myself flying any of them the way I could the Apache. I couldn't imagine my dad at all. It was like I'd forgotten him.

I rolled onto my side and looked out the window. The moon was cold. The yard shivered. I pulled the quilts up around my neck and closed my eyes. Everything I did in my dreams that night I did alone.