Saturday Boy (3 page)

I totally remember him saying that. Word for word. Mom agreed, saying something like if Dad was trying to get an argument out of her he'd have to try harder. Then she said, “Mr. Howard said Derek's in a different kind of trouble. There have been a few . . . outbursts.”

First of all, those had
not
been my fault. If Mrs. Bailey hadn't spent so much time with her back to the classroom she'd have
seen
all the stuff that went down—all the spitballs and ear flicks—but that wasn't the case. All she'd heard were the times I'd reacted. Because she was always facing the whiteboard she'd missed all the times I
did
ignore them—all the times I
hadn't
done anything.

She'd missed all the times I'd just sat there and taken it.

“What have they decided is the matter this time?”

“Don't be like that, Jason,” Mom said. “It's not like the teachers
want
him to fail.”

“How should I be then?” said Dad. He was frowning. I could hear it in his voice. “This is
exactly
what I was afraid of. It got written down in some file that
one
teacher
thought
there was a problem and now that red flag's always going to be there. I'm sorry. It just frustrates the hell out of me that he has to deal with this. Again. It sucks.”

I remember him saying that because it was a word that I wasn't allowed to use. But it
did
suck. It sucked a lot. I sat on the stairs then, feeling angry and frustrated at the unfairness—the
suckiness—
of it all. Feeling like there was nothing I could do.

“You're right. It completely sucks. But it happened.”

“Did your sister ever have to deal with anything like this?”

“Like what?”

“People thinking she had a problem or was strange because of the way she dressed or the music she was into or whatever,” Dad said. “Don't forget—I've seen Josie's Mohawk pictures from high school.”

I remember wondering how anybody could think Aunt Josie was strange. There was just no way. Maybe they were just jealous of how cool she was. Not everybody got to be an artist, after all, and I bet the number of people who got to be tattoo artists was even smaller. She'd also lived in Mexico and Japan and just about every time she came over she'd give me a new tattoo with Magic Markers. I was her favorite client because I sat like a rock. That's what she told me.

“. . . and right or wrong people are going to have their opinions of him,” Mom was saying. “They're going to label him in the same way they felt the need to label my sister and everything else—because their world doesn't make sense without them.

“Listen—Derek has proven them wrong before. Just have him meet with their behaviorist and he'll do it again and we can move on. Okay?” I remember hearing her chair scrape on the kitchen floor and her footsteps as she walked around the table. I knew she'd sat in my dad's lap because his chair made a noise like it was complaining. “Would you like to know what I think?”

“Yes I would,” my dad said.

“I think he missed his daddy. Plain and simple. He puts on a brave face but I can tell it's tough for him when you're not here. He needed you.”

“Well, he's got me,” Dad said. “I'm home now.”

“Why are you smiling?” Mom asked, smashing the memory to pieces and yanking me back to the present. “Is this funny to you? I asked you if you knew why they called.”

“Ms. Dickson told me to go to the office and I didn't go,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I was going to, I swear,” I said. “But I went to the boys' room and I lost track of time.”

“What were you doing in the boys' room?”

“Drying my hair.”

“Drying your—wait. What?”

So I told her. Then I told her about what happened—about Budgie and the notes he'd passed me and that it was impossible for me to love Violet because I barely even knew her. All I knew for sure was that she used a pencil with a heart-shaped eraser and every Friday she smelled like apples. That was it.

“Ms. Dickson didn't mention Budgie,” Mom said.

“See, it's not my fault!”

“Derek, just because it's
not
your fault doesn't mean you're not
at
fault,” Mom said. “What you did today was very dangerous. Do you understand why?”

I looked at the floor and thought for a second.

“I guess maybe I could have slipped and hit my head,” I said.

“No,” Mom said. “Well, yes, that's part of it. You
could
have hit your head, but more importantly, nobody would have known you were hurt and needed help. Does that make sense?”

I nodded.

“I promised Ms. Dickson and Mr. Howard I would talk to you about this but I wouldn't be surprised if there were some repercussions at school tomorrow.”

“What, like drums?”

“Drums?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Percussion. That's like drums, right?”

Mom smiled.

“Yes, percussion is like drums but I said repercussions, which are like consequences.”

I would have preferred drums. Drums were way better than consequences.

“And as far as that—as far as Budgie goes . . . just try to be the bigger person, okay? Try to ignore him?”

I told her I would but that trying to ignore Budgie was like trying to ignore a flaming elephant. Mom smiled again and laughed a little through her nose. I smiled, too, and that's how I knew we were going to be okay.

“I'm sorry about today, Mom,” I said. “I'll do better.”

“I know you will, Piggy-pig,” she said. She roughed up my hair, which was totally dry now.

I picked up the Chocolate Ka-Blam after all and went up to my bedroom and lay on my bed and ate it. Then I got out some paper and a pen.

Dear Dad,

Today Ms. Dickson picked me out of the whole class to be in a play with the middle school drama club. It's called a chrismas carol and it has ghosts in it. I think all plays should have ghosts. Violet is in it to. Maybe we will get to be ghosts. Also I got in trouble today for throwing something at Budgie. Last night on Zeroman doctor Mayhem was going to posion the water supply with Serum Z that would turn everyone into zombies but Zeroman flew in and fot him and destroyed the serum. It was cool. When you come home we can watch it together.

Love

derek

A COUPLE OF DAYS
went by and nothing much happened. Then one morning I missed the bus and Mom had to drive me to school and when I got to the classroom everybody was crowded around Budgie.

“What's going on?” I asked Barely O'Donahue.

“Budgie climbed the tree!”

There wasn't a kid in school who didn't know about the tree. It had silver bark and purply, reddish leaves and was a hundred feet tall. Maybe even two hundred. It was off limits because one time a kid fell out and broke his neck and turned into a vegetable but sometimes kids climbed it anyway when no one was looking.

“He even carved his name on the top branch with a knife!”

“No he didn't,” I said.

“Yes he did!”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Barely O'Donahue said. “Curds and way.”

Then Ms. Dickson told us all to sit down and I tried to listen to what she was saying but I kept thinking about Budgie and the tree and how I didn't believe any of it because Budgie had about as much natural climbing ability as a walrus no matter what Barely O'Donahue said.

I looked around at Budgie. He was sitting at his desk looking more puffed up than usual. I bet he hadn't climbed the tree at all. I bet he was giving Barely O'Donahue candy or cookies just to say he did. I was also pretty sure he didn't carve his name on any branch. As far as I knew he didn't even
have
a pocketknife.

Budgie found me on the monkey bars during recess. Barely O'Donahue and a couple other kids were with him.

“Barely says you don't believe I climbed the tree,” he said.

I looked down from the monkey bars at him. Barley seemed even smaller from up there.

“So?”

“So
do
you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you believe I climbed the tree?”

More kids were coming over. They quit playing tag. They stopped playing four square and crackabout and wall ball. I don't know why I said what I said next. Maybe it was because Budgie was surrounded by kids who thought he was some kind of hero when he hadn't done anything except lie to them and that didn't seem right. Maybe I thought I could get away with it because there were so many people around. Or maybe the words just popped into my head and they came out before I could stop them.

“Dude, I don't believe you could climb
any
tree.”

Some of the kids laughed including Barely O'Donahue. Budgie didn't laugh. His face went red instead.

“What did you just say?”

“He said he didn't believe you could climb any tree,” said Barely O'Donahue.

“I heard him.”

“You know, because you're fat.”

“Shut up!”

Now just about everyone was laughing. Budgie's face got redder—almost purple.

“Are you saying you could do better?” he asked.

Budgie stood below the monkey bars waiting for me to answer. I looked around at the kids. They were waiting for an answer, too. There was really only one thing I could say so I said it.

“Yeah.”

The kids in the crowd all started talking between each other and Budgie stood there with his arms crossed and a mean grin on his face. My mouth went dry all of a sudden. What if he
hadn't
made the whole thing up?

“After school,” he said. “At the tree.”

Then he turned around and walked away and Barely O'Donahue and a couple of other kids followed him. The kids who were left walked away, too. They started playing four square and crackabout and wall ball again. I was all alone on top of the monkey bars wondering if I hadn't just made the biggest mistake of my life.

* * *

Normally I couldn't wait for the day to be over. Normally I'd be counting down the minutes until the bell. Today was not a normal day. Today I actually wished the clock would slow down. Sally passed me a note and I opened it even though I knew I shouldn't have. At first I thought Budgie's drawing was of a weasel falling off a burning flagpole, then I realized it wasn't a burning flagpole at all. It was a tree. And if the burning flagpole was a tree, that meant I was the weasel.

I wanted to turn around and scream at him that nobody believed he'd climbed the stupid tree anyway and that I didn't have to prove anything to him or anybody else and that nobody liked him or cared about what he said, including Barely O'Donahue, who probably only hung around because he was short and afraid of being picked on. Instead I crumpled up the note and put it in my desk, which is what I should have done in the first place.

The clock kept ticking. The bell would ring soon and the day would end and I'd have to climb the tree and I wasn't very good at climbing trees. But just because I wasn't that good at it didn't mean I was scared to. Budgie would soon find out that Derek Lamb was no chicken. Plus about a thousand people heard me say I'd do it.

* * *

“All right, Lamb, up you go.”

Me, Budgie, Barely O'Donahue, and a few kids from recess were all standing at the bottom of the tree looking up. I could see part of the sky and some clouds through the branches. They seemed very far away.

“What branch?” I asked.

“What what branch?” said Budgie.

“What branch did you carve your name on?”

Budgie glanced at Barely O'Donahue, who shrugged and shook his head.

“You know—the top one,” said Budgie.

“There's more than one branch at the top.”

“Quit stalling!”

I wasn't stalling. How could Budgie expect me to climb higher than he did if he couldn't even remember which branch he carved his name on? I know that if it was me I'd totally remember. If it was me I would've hung a flag and claimed the tree for Derekland.

“Go on, Captain Saturday, get up there!” said Budgie.

“Yeah, go on!” said Barely O'Donahue. “Whatcha waiting for?”

“What's the matter, Lamb? Chicken?”

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

“Dude, you sound like that dog food commercial.”

“What?”

Now
I was stalling. I figured the longer I put it off, the more likely we'd get caught and I wouldn't have to do it at all.

“You know—the Hungry Pup commercial? With that song?”

“
I
know that one!” said Barely O'Donahue.

“If your pup is up and sniffin' in the kitchen,” I sang, with Barely O'Donahue and a couple of the other kids joining in. “Hungry Pup's got rice, lamb, and chicken!”

“What are you doing?” asked Budgie angrily.

“What?” answered Barely O'Donahue. “It's a commercial.”

“I know it's a commercial.”

I looked up at the school building while Budgie and Barely O'Donahue worked things out, hoping we'd be spotted by a teacher or a janitor—somebody,
anybody
with even the slightest bit of authority who might recognize this as a potential breaking of the rules.

“What're you doing now?” said Budgie.

“Making sure there's no teachers,” I said. “You wanna get busted?”

“Just hurry up!”

I looked up into the tree again and swallowed hard. Three hundred feet. At least.

Ignoring Budgie, Barely O'Donahue, and the others, I walked around the tree looking for a good place to start. Luckily, the tree had some branches close to the ground and I found a sturdy one and climbed up onto it. From there I found another branch a little farther up. It was narrower than the first one but still wide enough for both feet and I hugged the trunk and pressed my cheek against the bark. My hands were starting to sweat and I hoped that Budgie couldn't see that my legs were shaking.

“That branch looks wobbly,” said Budgie. “Are you sure it'll hold you?”

“It held you, didn't it?”

Some of the kids laughed.

“What did you just say?”

“He said, ‘It held you, didn't it,'” said Barely O'Donahue.

“I heard him.”

“You know, because you're fat.”

“Shut up!”

I tried not to listen to Budgie. I tried not to listen to Barely O'Donahue. I'd discovered something I didn't want to do more than climb the tree and that was fall out of it. My heart was pounding so loud I was pretty sure Budgie could hear it.

“You suck, Lamb!” he said.

“Rack of lamb!” said Barely O'Donahue. “Ram-a-lamb-a-ding-dong!”

I kept going. I'd stopped thinking about it. I was just climbing—grabbing one branch after another, hoisting, pulling myself higher into the tree. I kept an eye out for Budgie's name even though the higher I got, the more I believed it wasn't there.

I got to a place where I could balance pretty good and stopped to catch my breath. My hands hurt. They were dirty and shaky and hard to open. I didn't know how high up I was but I couldn't see Budgie anymore because there were too many leaves in the way. Come to think of it, I hadn't heard him for a while either.

I did hear something though. It sounded like bus engines.

“Budgie,” I shouted down, “do you hear the bus?”

Mom was working a late shift today, which meant my aunt Josie would be at my house, and since her car was still getting fixed it meant if I missed the bus I would have no way of getting home. I couldn't miss the bus. I just couldn't.

“Budgie?”

My stomach dropped. Budgie wasn't there anymore, I just knew it.

And if Budgie wasn't there, then Barely O'Donahue and the other kids weren't there either. They were probably in line for the bus already. They might even be
on
the bus. I pictured them sitting in the way back, yucking it up, giving each other high-fives for ditching me.

They were a clever bunch for sure.

I climbed down as fast as I could. My feet slipped on the branches and some of them bent and broke but I hung on. My shirt ripped. Branches poked at me. Leaves swirled around me. My foot got stuck and I unstuck it. I could feel something in my hair—leaves or twigs maybe—and something itching me on my back. I hoped it wasn't spiders. When I thought I was close enough to the ground to not get hurt, I took a deep breath and flung myself outward.

As I fell through the air I heard my dad's voice, recalling the words of his commanding officer from a story he told me about his first day of jump school.

“Landing is easy. All's you need to remember are the following three words in the following order.” I pictured my dad's CO wearing mirrored sunglasses and chewing on a cigar, voice raspy from a lifetime of barking orders. “Feet. Ass. Head.”

I hit the ground pretty hard but in the correct order, little darts of pain shooting up my legs even though I remembered to bend my knees. I grabbed my bag and my jacket, thankful that Budgie hadn't thought to hide them or, worse, open my bag and scatter everything around. I ran as fast as I could but when I got to the front of the school building the turnaround was empty. The smell of exhaust hung in the air.

I dropped my stuff and sat down on the curb. How could I be so stupid? All I had to do was make it through the day and get on the bus and go home and I couldn't even do that. Instead I had let Budgie get to me again. I wished I could go back in time and do the day again only this time when Barely O'Donahue said, “Budgie climbed the tree,” I'd say, “Good for him” or “Get bent” or something—
anything—
other than what I'd actually said. Sometimes I wished I could just take my brain out and put it in a box and bury it.

I went to wipe my dirty hands on my jeans but they were just as bad if not worse. My shirt was dirty, too. I was scratched in a few places and bleeding. Mom was going to kill me if I ever got home. I could just see Budgie sitting in the back of the bus smiling and thinking he was so clever. Maybe if he smiled wide enough the top of his head would fall off.

I pictured him on all fours, feeling around for his head and getting all dirty and gross from the bus floor while everyone laughed and pointed at him for a change. Even though it didn't help me get home at all, picturing Budgie getting exactly what he deserved made me feel a little bit better.

“Derek?”

I looked over my shoulder at the lady standing behind me. I almost didn't recognize her but then I pictured her standing in front of a whiteboard.

“Ms. Dickson?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I missed the bus.”

“Are you waiting for another one? Because there aren't any.”

“No, I know, I—”

“What happened to your shirt?”

“My what? Nothing.”

I couldn't tell her about the tree or I'd get in trouble and the last thing I needed right now was more of that. I was still on half recess for the whole bathroom thing. I tried to brush the bark dust off my shirt but only made it worse.

“I, um . . . fell down,” I said, which, in a way, was true. I just didn't tell her how far I'd fallen.