We Are All Made of Molecules (23 page)

BEING HOME ALONE WAS
getting tired very fast. Dad took Tuesday off to hang out with me, and also to visit the principal, but he had to go back to work on Wednesday. I knew he was worried about me. I didn't think I should tell him that I felt better than I had all year (since we were only a week into the new year, this wasn't all that hard). On the one hand, I knew I shouldn't have done what I'd done. On the other hand, I was secretly proud of myself. Who knew I could be that fierce? And I couldn't help feeling that my mom would have been secretly proud of me, too. After all, this was the woman who'd thrown rocks at a seven-year-old.

I also kept thinking,
That creep got what was coming to him
.

But I also knew that creep would try to get his revenge when I got back to school. I cannot tell a lie: That scared me, big-time.

Phoebe paid me a visit on Wednesday night. She'd brought me all my homework, which was really nice of her. We sat in the family room. She said the whole school was talking about what I'd done, and a lot of people were on my side; but she was scared for me, too.

“I'm so sorry about Schrödinger,” she said.

“I still go out looking for him every day. I've called the SPCA, vets…nothing.”

“You could still find him. How long has he been missing?”

“A week.”

“Oh.” We both knew: a week was a long time.

She was about to leave for her Mandarin lesson when I remembered I still hadn't given her the brooch. “Wait here.” I ran upstairs and got the small gift-wrapped box.

“Merry Christmas,” I said when I got back to the family room.

She looked surprised. “I didn't get anything for you.”

“That's okay.”

Phoebe opened the box and lifted out the unicorn pin. “It's great, Stewart. I love it.”

“A beautiful brooch for a beautiful girl.”

She blushed. “Smooth.” Then she held out the brooch. “You can pin it on me if you want.”

So I did. I was very careful to pin it well above her you-know-whats. But my fingers still touched her skin. Our faces were inches apart. Before I knew what was happening, she leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. “Thanks again.”

Then she was gone. And I sat there for a long time, trying to memorize the sensation of her lips on mine.

—

BY THURSDAY I WAS
bored, and lonely. I'd finished my electric bike, and I took it out for a test spin when there was a break in the rain. It worked like a charm. But then the rain came back with a vengeance. And I felt Schrödinger's absence in a profound way. I wanted to stay hopeful, but it was getting harder; I kept picturing him in the jaws of a coyote, or under the wheels of a car.

When I saw Phil arrive home, I dashed out the patio doors to his place, dying for some company. The awful word had been painted over in white, but we still had to buy the light brown paint that matched the rest of the house and finish the job.

“Hey, Stewart,” he said when he saw me. “How are you holding up?” He knew about my suspension.

“I'm okay,” I said. “How are
you
holding up?”

He sighed. “About the same. I think I'm doing better than Michael. He keeps threatening to go over to that boy's house and tear a strip off him.”

“I don't think that would be a good idea.”

He smiled, but he looked really tired. “You and me both. Hey, I had your posters copied.” He opened his briefcase and handed me a stack of eight-by-ten papers.
MISSING
, they pronounced at the top. Most of the room was taken up by a color photo of Schrödinger. Our phone number appeared below. “Want to go out and plaster them all over the neighborhood?”

“Sure,” I said, just as someone knocked at the door.

Ashley.

Even though she'd been really nice to me all week, I still felt a lot of residual anger toward her. I didn't make eye contact when Phil let her in. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dad. Um. Is Michael here?”

“He's coming over later. Why?”

“I wanted to talk to him about something.”

Phil looked surprised. “Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll be happy to talk to you. I can call you when he gets here.”

“Okay,” she said. I waited for her to leave.

“Stewart and I were just about to put up these posters,” Phil said.

“Can I help?” she asked.

I really didn't want her along. But Phil said, “Sure.”

So the three of us bundled up against the cold and the wet and headed out. I walked ahead, calling Schrödinger's name as we walked down streets and alleys, putting up posters. At one point, I looked back and was shocked to see Ashley grab her dad's hand. Phil looked shocked, too. But he held on tight.

We turned down another laneway, one I hadn't visited in a couple of days. It was about five blocks from our house. I called Schrödinger's name again.

Suddenly, Ashley said, “Shhh!”

We stopped.

That was when we heard it: a faint
meow
, coming from an old, run-down garage.

I RAN THROUGH THE
gate and pounded on the back door of the house. A guy with a lot of tattoos answered, and at first I was a little scared, but then I saw his pretty redheaded wife in the background and she was carrying a baby, so I relaxed.

“I think my cat is stuck in your garage,” I blurted. “I can hear meowing, and he's been gone a long time, a whole week—”

“Okay. It's okay,” he said in a calm voice. “Let's go have a look. I just need to get the keys. Amanda, where are the keys to the garage?” he asked the redhead.

“They're in my purse.” He found the keys. Then all of us, even the baby, went back to the garage. The man with the tattoos unlocked the door and lifted it.

It was dark inside. “I'm sorry, the light's busted,” he said.

But in the darkness, I saw two big green eyes peering out at me. “Schrödinger!”

He was wedged between a rusty old car and a stack of lumber. He did not look happy. I ran to him and gently lifted him up. He was so thin. I held him close. Tears filled my eyes, and pretty soon I was bawling. “You're alive! Schrödinger, you're alive!”

—

THE MAN WITH THE TATTOOS
—whose name, we discovered, was Cosmo—gave us a cardboard box so we could safely carry Schrödinger home. His wife placed an old towel in the bottom. We thanked them and said we'd see them around the neighborhood. Ashley said if they ever needed a
babysitter they could call us. Then, with Schrödinger carefully placed in the box, we walked home.

Ashley was crying, too. “Scooby-Doo, we've missed you so much!” she wailed into one of the airholes I'd punched into the box.

Some things never change
, I thought. But I didn't bother correcting her, because I was still crying, too.

WE HAD A BIG
steak dinner to celebrate Shoelace's return. Dad and Michael joined us. Dad brought his famous Caesar salad, and I ate a whole bunch of it 'cause now that Jared and I are finished, I don't have to worry about garlic breath. As part of our now-nightly ritual, we did “Truly thankful,” which didn't seem as barfy as usual because I really was truly thankful that Stewart's cat was home.

After dinner, I took Michael up to my room and told him about my idea. He said he'd be more than happy to help, and he gave me a hug. “That's a bold and inspiring plan, Ashley.”

Then Mom came in and I told her, too, and she actually started to cry. She put her arms around me and held me tight. “I'm so proud of you.”

!!!

My heart started beating really fast, because if I am one hundred percent totally honest, people don't say stuff like that to me very often.

I stayed up super-late, drawing my ideas on the sketch pad Dad had gotten me for Christmas. At lunchtime, I found Claudia, Violet, Phoebe, Melanie, Larry, Sam, and Jeff in the cafeteria, and told them what I was thinking.

“It was Larry who gave me the idea. I started thinking, why not? Why couldn't we have protection squads?”

“Protection squads?” Claudia repeated as she blew a bubble with her gum. She sounded skeptical.

“Think about it. If we can get enough people interested, we can all do different shifts.”

They looked at each other. Phoebe spoke first. “It's not a bad idea. We could take turns walking with Stewart to classes, and to his house after school.”

“No reason why we should just do it for Stewart,” Sam said. “We could do it for other kids, too.”

“I bet I can get the Mathletes involved,” Phoebe said.

“I can work on the Drama Club,” Jeff added.

“Ditto the Dungeons and Dragons Club,” said Larry. I didn't point out that I was pretty sure he was the sole member, since it was the thought that counted.

“Bet I can get some of the volleyball team to help out, too,” said Claudia, less skeptical.

“Once I have all the names, I can draw up a schedule,” said Melanie. “I'm good at scheduling.”

“And of course,” I said, “we have to stand out. Which is why I took the liberty of designing our outfits.” I took out my
sketch pad, flipped it open, and placed it on the table. They gathered around for a good look.

“Wow,” said Jeff. “Your sketches are great.”

I wanted to kiss him.

“I like the shirts,” Violet said. “You think we could get those colors?”

“I know we can.”

“What's with the funny hats?” asked Larry.

“They're called
berets
,” I explained. “They're French.”

“So…why do we have to wear French hats?” asked Sam.

“To stand out!” I replied, feeling a bit exasperated. “There's no reason why we can't protect Stewart
and
look stylish at the same time.”