Saturday Boy (9 page)

MY EYES OPENED
in the morning before the alarm went off and I lay there looking up at the Apache helicopter. I took a deep breath and counted seventy-six Mississippis before letting it out. I wasn't looking forward to today. Not one bit.

Mom was in the kitchen when I got downstairs. She put frozen waffles in the toaster oven and we talked a little while waiting for it to ding. She didn't say anything about yesterday, though, and if she wasn't going to bring it up, then neither was I.

When the waffles were ready, Mom got the peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff out of the cabinet and brought them to the table. Then she filled her mug with coffee and sat across from me, blowing on it a little before taking a sip.

“What happened yesterday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Derek.”

“I got in trouble.”

“I know that,” she said. “What happened?”

I took a knife and spread peanut butter on one waffle and Fluff on the other and then pressed them together like a sandwich. I took a bite and chewed slowly. I didn't want to tell her it was all Budgie's fault because she was probably sick of hearing about him but I wasn't going to lie to her, either.

“Budgie called me a loser and said our castle was stupid,” I said. I expected her to sigh or roll her eyes when she heard Budgie's name but she didn't. She looked troubled instead.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. He shouldn't have said those things,” she said. “You know your castle's not stupid, right?”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess?”

I shrugged and stared at the waffle sandwich on my plate. I could feel Mom looking at me, waiting for me to say something.

“I guess it's not stupid.”

“It's
not
stupid. It's the most creative thing I've ever seen,” she said. “You two put a lot of thought into that castle and you should be proud. I know I am.”

She smiled. I smiled, too. Then she frowned.

“But what I'm not proud of is what you did yesterday. Writing on the walls is called vandalism. People can go to jail for that.”

“But Budgie—”

“But nothing,” she said. “Look, Derek, I hate to say it but Budgie is going to keep on being Budgie. If you want to be his friend, then you need to figure out a way to not let him get to you.”

“You mean be the bigger person, right?”

“I just mean you should find a way to live in the same world as Budgie that works for you—preferably one that doesn't land you in the principal's office.”

Mom was still talking while I got my book bag and put on my sneakers but my mind was spinning so I wasn't really listening. Had she really said I didn't have to be the bigger person anymore?

“So you understand, right?” she said.

“Understand what?”

“That because of yesterday the TV is going to have to stay off for a while.”

“What? For how long?”

“Two weeks.”

“But what about the
Zeroman
special episode?”

“I'm sorry, Derek, but you should've thought of that before doing what you did.”

“Nobody does that!” I blurted.

“Derek, stop. You're making it worse. Stop and think.”

“No! It's not fair! It's Budgie's fault! It's
always
Budgie's fault!” I could feel myself getting angry. I couldn't stop.

“Then why isn't
he
the one staying after school for a week? Think about it.”

“
Stop telling me to think about it!
”

Mom's mouth dropped open and her face went white. I don't think I'd ever yelled at her like that before. It was like I had slapped her. Then I noticed something else—the book I'd been putting in my backpack was no longer in my hand. It was lying on the counter where it had hit the drying rack with enough force to scatter silverware across the countertop and onto the floor. Mom stood up and went past me, her footsteps getting faster as she left the kitchen. They got even quicker as she went up the stairs and by the time I heard her bedroom door close she was practically running.

* * *

I didn't want anyone to sit next to me on the bus that morning. I didn't want to have to look at anyone or hear or smell them so it figured that as the bus filled up, who should sit next to me but Edwina Stubbs—the biggest, loudest, smelliest girl in school.

“Move in,” she said.

I pulled my book bag onto my lap and moved over until I was smashed up against the wall. Our arms were touching.

“I said move over!”

“I did!” I said. “There's no room left!”

She made a harrumphing sound that reminded me of farm animals, then she wiggled around in the seat and started talking real loud to someone who was at least two rows back. Somehow her book bag ended up in my lap, so not only was I totally squashed but now I was buried as well.

I tried to get comfortable but couldn't. It seemed like every time I moved—even a little—more of Edwina Stubbs would fill the space like she were a puddle. I closed my eyes and imagined her as a boneless, flesh-colored blob. In my mind, the Edwina puddle oozed down the fifth-grade hallway, absorbing the slower kids while the others ran screaming. By the time we got to school I imagined she'd absorbed the whole town and everyone in it.

“Hey! Quit trying to steal my bag!” she said, snatching it from my lap.

“But you're the one who put—”

“If anything is missing,” she said, making a fist and holding it up to my face, “you'll get this. Got it?”

“We're gonna be late.”

“Got it?”

“Just get off the bus.”

“I'm watching you,” Edwina said.

With that she oozed into the aisle with the other kids and stood in line waiting, tossing an occasional nasty look back my way. I sat with my book bag in my lap and planned to stay there until the driver kicked me off, suddenly feeling that being threatened by Edwina Stubbs was going to be the best thing that was going to happen to me today.

I wasn't wrong.

Ms. Dickson gave us a pop quiz I wasn't prepared for. At lunchtime I realized I'd forgotten to bring mine. Then at afternoon recess I got hit in the face with a kickball during a game I wasn't even in. The nurse said she hadn't seen a nose bleed like that in a long time like it was some big accomplishment but when I asked if I'd get an award or a plaque or something she just laughed.

That was Tuesday.

Wednesday wasn't much better.

And all I'm going to say about Thursday is that I was nowhere near Barely O'Donahue when the hamster bit him.

It didn't matter to me that Friday was rainy and cold. It didn't matter to me that Budgie took my hat on the bus, and the fact that I thought Montevideo was a movie rental place and not the capital of Uruguay only seemed to matter to Ms. Dickson. As far as I was concerned, all that mattered was that it was Friday and the school week was finally over.

When I got off the bus it wasn't really raining that hard anymore and by the time I got home it had stopped completely. Water filled the holes in the empty driveway. I let myself into the house and hung up my jacket and kicked off my shoes and dropped my book bag in the corner.

“Aunt Josie? Hello?”

I went to the pantry and got a Chocolate Ka-Blam. Then I went to the fridge and took out the milk and sat down at the table. I unwrapped the Ka-Blam, took a bite, and washed it down with a swig of milk from the jug. They tasted best that way. It was a scientific fact.

When I was done licking the last of the crumbs out of the wrapper and had taken a final gulp of milk, I put the cap back on the jug and put it back in the fridge. I saw the note when the door shut. It was stuck there with a magnet that looked like a baloney sandwich.

Derek—

Aunt Josie's car is finally fixed. I took her to pick it up. Be back soon. If you're going to have milk pls use a glass ok? And remember—no TV.

Love you—

Mom

I looked into the living room and could see part of the television. I looked out the kitchen window and could see part of the driveway. I wondered how soon “be back soon” was. I took a couple of steps toward the living room, stopped, and looked back. The driveway was still empty. I took a few more steps. Pretty soon I couldn't see the kitchen window anymore. Pretty soon after that I was sitting on the couch.

I stared at the television. I rubbed my hands on my pants and swallowed. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest. I squinted my ears and listened for Mom's car in the driveway or the banging of the storm door but didn't hear either of them.

I picked up the remote and pointed it at the television. Was I really going to do this? My thumb hovered over the red power button for a second or two like I was giving someone or something a last chance to stop me. I listened for Mom's car again and didn't hear it. I closed my eyes and slowly pressed the button.

Mom must have been watching the news before because when I opened my eyes I wasn't looking at
Zeroman
or
A Dog Named Cat
or even
Jenny Rainbow and the Starlight Pony Squad
. Instead I was looking at two people behind a desk and a lot of numbers and little symbols moving across the bottom of the screen. The volume was also turned way down. I flipped to a cartoon channel but Mom had blocked it. I flipped to another cartoon channel but she'd blocked that one also. I tried all the channels I could think of that might be showing something I'd want to watch but I was locked out of all of them. She'd even blocked the Adventure Kids channel and that one was educational.

I slumped back into the couch and sat there staring at the screen. Fine. I might not have been able to watch TV but if Mom thought that would get me to do homework instead, she was crazy. I switched back over to the news channel. The last thing I needed was for her to turn on the TV and have it be on one of the channels she'd blocked. I'd learned that one the hard way.

I wasn't sure it was the same channel Mom had been watching because all those news people look the same to me. The same numbers and little symbols moved across the bottom of the screen. The only thing different from before was that there was a picture of a soldier in the corner.

He was wearing desert camo and looking at the camera with a serious expression on his face. I bet he had a code name. I bet it was Sandstorm or something cool and desert related like that. The soldier looked kinda familiar, too, but I couldn't place him.

Then I pictured him without his helmet on and instead of jeeps in the background I imagined our backyard and the way it looked when he held me by the wrists and swung me around until my feet came off the ground and I couldn't hear anything but the roar of the wind and the sound of my own laughter.

“Mom! Mom! Come quick,” I shouted, jumping up and banging both knees on the table. The remote fell from my hand and struck the table in such a way that the batteries came flying out. “Dad's on TV! I think he won the war!”

I was so excited to see my father I'd forgotten I was the only one in the house but I didn't have time to feel embarrassed. I didn't have time to put the batteries back in the remote either so I scrambled over the table and launched myself at the television, flipping open the control panel and searching like crazy for the volume button.

The news people were talking about my dad and I was missing it. I tried to read their lips while I stabbed blindly for the volume button with my finger. I was pretty sure they'd just said my dad had not only won the war all by himself but he had also saved the president and they couldn't say it on TV if it wasn't true.

I could feel my smile bumping up against the boundaries of my face, pushing against them, threatening to break through. Maybe Dad could come home now. Maybe it could be for good this time. I found the volume button, pressed it, and held it down. It was easier to read lips with the sound turned up. They weren't talking about the president after all.

* * *

When my mom came home I was still sitting there. A minute could have passed. Or a day. Or a week. At some point she must have pulled into the driveway but I hadn't heard it. The storm door must have banged when she'd come inside but I hadn't heard that either. I almost hadn't heard her put the groceries down or call my name—once in anger when she saw I was watching TV and another time in sadness when she saw what I was watching. She came to me quickly and scooped me into her lap, putting herself between me and the television.

“Oh no,” she said. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”

And she kept saying it, too, until the words just came together and weren't really words anymore. I don't think she even stopped to breathe. My face was pressed into her neck and when I lifted up my head I was looking at the world through the auburn curtain of her hair. On TV a girl in a raincoat with an umbrella and a microphone was standing in front of our house looking wet and serious.