Window Boy (18 page)

Sam strains to listen to their conversation, but he can’t make it out, only fragments. Mickey is bending towards Ann confidentially, trying to convince her of something. Mickey’s voice rises, and Sam hears, “I was in the principal’s office…I heard Principal Cullen say…”

Ann backs away, doubting him. Until finally the expression on Ann’s face changes, and she glances over at Sam. Her expression is soft, almost loving. Sam should be pleased, but he feels a stab of fear course through him.

“Now?” Ann says.

“Now!” Mickey exclaims.

“Are you sure?” Ann asks.

Mickey nods.

Ann shakes her head. “Thanks.” She starts walking over to Sam.

Sam is still puzzling over what Mickey Kotov had to say to anyone in the class, much less Ann Riley, when another strange thing happens. Mrs. Martin meets Ann halfway. “Not today,” she says.

“But…” Ann appears to be arguing with their teacher. Why won’t Mrs. Martin let Ann talk to Sam?

“I feel terrible. My mother complained,” Sam overhears Ann say.

“Several parents are upset. It wasn’t just your mother, Ann,” Mrs. Martin answers. “Now mind me and go outside for recess.”

What’s going on?
Sam feels himself start to panic.

Ann stands with her hands at her side.

Mrs. Martin gives Ann a hug, before turning and walking purposely towards Sam and Miss Perkins. Even before she says a single word, Sam fears the worst. As he listens to Miss Perkins search her purse for Kleenex, he keeps his eyes fixed on Mrs. Martin’s face.

“Principal Cullen told me the bad news,” Mrs. Martin says quickly to Sam and Miss Perkins.

“Not more bad news. I don’t think that I can take more bad news…. I’m almost at my wit’s end. On top of everything, my rheumatism really is bothering me…” Miss Perkins rattles on.

“Miss Perkins,” Mrs. Martin interrupts. “Don’t make this conversation more difficult. I think you’ve guessed how fond I am of Sam.”

“Why, yes. I think you like my boy. You know how smart and sweet he is, and…”

Sam wants to scream:
Be quiet. Let Mrs. Martin talk.

“I was glad to learn that Mrs. Davis has found a suitable place for Sam,” Mrs. Martin says.

Suitable place. The special school. The pain causes him to bend over.

“Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Martin,” Miss Perkins cries. “Mrs. Davis has decided to send Sam to Mannville Institution. I don’t know what to do.”

Sam pounds his head on his tray to say,
This can’t be true. An institution.

Miss Perkins strokes Sam on the back. “Dearie me. I never intended to break the bad news to my boy this way.”

How can you let this happen, Miss Perkins?
Sam thinks.

“Some parents are upset that Stirling is overcrowded,” Mrs. Martin says.

“But that’s wrong, ma’am. You know that, don’t you?” Miss Perkins breaks in.

“They think that Sam’s needs are a burden to the system,” Mrs. Martin continues as if she has not heard Miss Perkins. “When Principal Cullen called Sam’s mother, he learned that Mrs. Davis had already decided to move Sam.”

Sam knocks his head against his tray, hard.

Miss Perkins reaches out and strokes his hair. “Sam, don’t! Remember your promise.”

Sam remembers. But his promise applied to things like a burned dinner or a broken radio. He never meant that he wouldn’t stage a tantrum if he couldn’t go to school.

“I’m sorry. I share your concern about Mannville. If it were up to me, Sam could stay at Stirling.” Mrs. Martin pauses. “But it’s not.”

Sam expects Miss Perkins to argue. But then he realizes, what’s the point? The real problem is his mother, not the school. He guesses that Miss Perkins must agree with him because all she says is, “Thank you. We do appreciate all you’ve done for us. I guess we’ll be leaving.”

“You may certainly stay until the end of the day,” Mrs. Martin offers.

End of the day. This is only his twentieth day of school, but it’s the last day of his life. Without school, Sam will be reduced to watching from a window forever.

Miss Perkins studies Sam. “We better leave now.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Martin repeats, listlessly.

Sam wants to speak, but out of all the hundreds of words spinning around in his head, he can’t possibly catch the right ones, place them in correct order and then work his mouth around each slippery one. Instead, he drops his head again.

“Sam,” Miss Perkins hisses. “Not here. Not now. You’ll just prove Principal Cullen and those parents right.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “Mrs. Martin wants to say goodbye to you.”

Although his head feels as if it weighs one thousand pounds, slowly Sam lifts his neck to look at his teacher.

Mrs. Martin leans close to Sam. Behind her thick lenses, her brown eyes appear huge and sad. “I’m ashamed that I didn’t recognize your abilities from the beginning, but I promise you this: I’ll never forget you. Thank you for teaching me about Winston Churchill and his bravery. Please remember you have friends here. Ann and I will miss you very much.” She turns away from him. “Ann, I know you’re there.”

Ann pokes her head inside the door. Like always, she is wearing a dress. This one is brown with a black belt. Sam takes no pleasure in the fact that her lower lip is trembling like she’s going to cry.

“You can come in and tell Sam goodbye,” Mrs. Martin calls to her.

Ann runs to Sam. “Bye, Sam.” She squeezes his hand hard.

The word that Sam needs to say is the hardest word that he’s ever pronounced, harder even than the first few words that he worked on: ‘Mother, window’. Harder than the longest word that he unsuccessfully tried but was never able to master: ‘Mississippi.’ Sam finally manages to croak it out. “GGGoodbye.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ann runs ahead of Sam to the basketball court. Despite her blue coat, she has goose pimples on her legs, and he feels sorry for her. Marigold and the rest of her dance group have stayed inside today. He doesn’t know Ann’s plan, but he senses that her presence outside on such a cold day has something to do with him. Mickey is playing tether ball alone. Miss Perkins pushes Sam past him. On the court, the team is huddled around Charlie Simmons, who watches Ann with mild curiosity as she waves at him. Although none of the boys have zipped their jackets, a few are stamping their feet to keep warm.

“Charlie,” Ann calls from the sidelines. “Come here.”

Charlie turns toward Ann, frowning. “Can’t you see we’re practicing?” he yells.

“Sam’s leaving,” Ann shouts bravely.

“What do you mean?” Charlie walks over to Ann, who is standing on the sidelines.

Ann points at Sam. They have a hurried conversation. Sam guesses that she is telling Charlie that he is going to live in an institution, and for an instant, he feels vaguely ashamed.

“Oh, my goodness. What are we going to do?” Miss Perkins fusses to herself.

“Sstop!” Sam snaps.

Miss Perkins stops his chair a few yards from the basketball court. “Of course, you want to say goodbye to your friends. Oh, Sam…”

Sam had meant that he wanted Miss Perkins to stop talking, but when she quits pushing his wheelchair, Sam realizes that she’s right. He has one last chance to help his Tomcats. After all, no one in the whole school knows that Mickey’s a great basketball player, except for Sam. “CCharlie.”

Charlie and Ann are still talking.

“CCharlie,” Sam repeats.

Charlie runs over. He bends down and stares into Sam’s eyes.

When Sam points at the card, “Tomcats Score!” he experiences a familiar frustration. He has managed to communicate only a tiny fraction of what he needs to say. He shifts his tongue into position so he can speak clearly and carefully. “MMickey.” By turning slightly, he is able to point at Mickey. “Ppynt gaaard.”

Charlie nods his head slowly. “I understand. It’s just that the other kids don’t want to play with Mickey.”

This is Sam’s last chance. He tries to put all of Winnie’s conviction and determination into his words. “Ppynt gaaard,” he insists.

Charlie looks off into the distance, hesitating.

Sam needs to find one word that will help Charlie understand Sam’s vision for the team. What is it? “WWWin,” Sam bursts out.

Charlie scratches his head. “What?”

“WWin,” Sam repeats.

“You’re probably right.” Charlie agrees slowly. “The other kids don’t like losing all the time, either.”

Relieved, Sam nods.

“O.K. Thanks.” Charlie turns away from Sam.

You did it, Sam,
Winnie says.

Although the tip of his nose and his fingers are freezing, Sam feels his accomplishment warm his body.

Charlie stands in the middle of the court with the basketball in his hands. “Mickey,” he shouts.

Mickey’s hands drop to his sides, but he doesn’t turn to look at Charlie.

“Come here,” Charlie orders.

Mickey takes a few steps away.

“Me?” he says.

Charlie throws Mickey the ball, and Mickey leaps sideways and catches it.

“We don’t want to play with him,” Bobby Sur and A.J. jeer.

“Shut up,” Charlie shouts at them. “I saw him the other night. He’s good.”

When Mickey’s feet touch the court, he begins dribbling.

He moves the ball so fast that it’s a blur. The boys all part to let Mickey through. He stops in front of Charlie.

Charlie points at Mickey. “I need to talk to Mr. Fitzpatrick. But I want Mickey to be our point guard,” he says. “Now, play.”

Bobby and the rest of the team are staring at Charlie. They all ignore Mickey, who is standing on the court in torn jeans, looking lost.

“What are you doing, Charlie?” Bobby says.

“Sam’s right. Mickey’s our only hope to win the tournament,” Charlie says.

Bobby scratches his head. “Sam Davis?” he asks. “The kid in the wheelchair?”

“What does he know about basketball?” A.J. says.

“I can’t explain what’s happened. Just play,” Charlie shouts. He turns to Mickey. “Come on.”

Mickey continues to look doubtfully at him.

“Come on,” Charlie encourages him. “We don’t have all day.”

Mickey begins dribbling the ball toward the basket. He goes for an easy layup. The ball slices cleanly through the hoop.

Can’t you see?
Sam wants to shout to Bobby, A.J. and the others.
Mickey’s great!

“Bobby, guard Mickey,” Charlie demands.

Sam grins. Bobby’s too slow to stop Mickey.

As Bobby glares at Charlie, he blows a gum bubble as big as a baby’s head.

“Afraid you can’t do it?” Charlie goads him.

Bobby’s bubble pops as he darts forward to block Mickey.

Sure enough, Mickey feints, turns and drives to the basket. He is a small boy, but so quick. Popping in and out of the stronger, taller boys on the court effortlessly, he makes Bobby Sur and the others look as if they are moving in slow motion. Mickey shoots and scores.

“Stick closer to him, Bobby,” Charlie orders.

Bobby is furiously chomping on his gum. His blemished face has turned bright red. He raises his hands and jumps in an effort to block Mickey.

Mickey bounce-passes the ball past Bobby into A.J.’s outstretched hands.

With Bobby chasing him, Mickey races underneath the basket. He holds out his hands, and A.J. throws the ball to him. Just as Sam knew he would, Mickey makes the layup.

“Mickey’s not bad,” Larry shouts.

“You won’t get past me this time,” Bobby threatens.

As if Mickey hadn’t heard the taunt, he dribbles right past Bobby.

Yeah, Mickey
, Sam thinks. Despite the fact that Mickey has a foreign accent and a funny last name. Mickey scores again.

Miss Perkins jiggles the handles of his wheelchair. “It’s cold. We need to go.”

Sam wants to stay courtside forever, but when she starts pushing him away, he’s too tired to object. His eyes feel swollen, as if he had already been crying for hours. His head aches.

“Sam,” Charlie shouts. “Goodbye.”

We could have been friends
, Sam thinks sadly as Miss Perkins turns towards the apartment.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Miss Perkins stands behind Sam and rubs his shoulders. He faces the window.

“It’s been a rotten day, and I hate to make it even more rotten, but I’ve got to leave you again, Sammy,” Miss Perkins tells him.