Brendan Buckley's Universe and Everything in It (9 page)

“I never thought of doing that,” I said.

“Well, you still could. The boy’s letters were so advanced, the geologists assumed he was an expert and they invited him to come speak at one of their meetings.”

“How old was he?”

“Twelve.”

That was only a little older than me! I chewed faster.

“When he showed up at their meeting, they were shocked, of course. He had to stand on a box to deliver his speech.” Ed threw P.J. another piece of bacon. “What Oppenheimer liked about rocks were the crystals, their structure. How did rocks come to be as they were?” Ed looked at his plate as if he were examining
its
crystal structure. “How did things get this way?” His forehead looked like dry clay, full of deep cracks.

“Why did he make a bomb?” I asked. “Bombs kill people.”

Ed’s blue eyes looked cloudy again. “It’s like I said before. People are complicated.”

A knock came from the other room. I jumped in my chair. P.J. barked like crazy.

“Calm down, now. It’s just the door.” I wasn’t sure if Ed’s words were meant for P.J. or me, but I couldn’t help my jumpiness. What if Mom had somehow found out? I stood in the kitchen and peeked around the wall.

A black man stepped inside. “I got a good feeling about today,” he said, slapping his hands together.

“You say the same thing every week. And I win every time.”

“Not true. There was that one time—February 16, 2001.”

They both laughed. Why did the man keep coming back if he always lost? And what did he lose at?

He saw me then. “Well, hello there,” he said. “I didn’t realize Ed had company already.”

“Hi,” I said.

Ed looked over at me. “This is Brendan.” He looked toward the man again. “My grandson.”

My eyes widened at the same time the black man’s narrowed. “Your grandson?”

An electric current traveled through my body. Ed had called me his grandson!

“This is Levi Henderson,” Ed said. “We play chess every other Friday.”

Mr. Henderson held out his hand and we shook.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ed’s grandson.” He turned to Ed. “I didn’t know—”

“Enough stalling. The board is calling.” Ed walked toward the chess set in front of the bookshelves. “You started last time.”

“Oh, no. You’re not pulling that one on me again.”

“You did!”

“Brendan, would you tell your granddaddy here that he’s going senile?”

“I’m sharp as cheddar cheese, and you started last time.”

“Did you know your grandpa doesn’t just collect fossils? He
is
one. Can’t even remember what happened two weeks ago.”

“Brendan, think of a number between one and ten,” Ed said.

I picked three.

Mr. Henderson picked four and Ed picked five.

“It was three,” I said. Ed grumbled. Mr. Henderson roared. They pulled up their chairs while I dragged one from the kitchen. P.J. plopped on the floor by Ed’s feet.

Mr. Henderson sat on the side of the board with the white pieces. “Look who gets to be white!”

“Is being white better?” I asked. I didn’t know anything about chess, but I was definitely looking forward to learning.

“Some people think so.” He winked at me. I suddenly felt like I was sitting there with my two grandpas. Grampa Clem used to wink at me like that, too.

“White goes first,” Mr. Henderson said. “That menas the White player always has an adventage.”

“Not much of an advantage, if black plays it right,” Ed said. “And I know how to play it right. Now, let’s get this show on the road.” His hands rubbing together sounded like sandpaper on wood.

Mr. Henderson moved one of the short white pieces in the front row forward.

Ed picked up a piece that looked like a horse head and jumped it over his front row.

“You don’t have to move the front ones first?” I asked.

“I like to get my knights out fast, because as I always say—”

“‘A knight on the rim is grim.’” Mr. Henderson finished Ed’s sentence. “Your granddad hasn’t taught you about chess?” He moved another piece.

My eyes flicked to Ed, then back to the board.

“The boy’s into science—got my interest in minerals.” Ed moved one of the short ones forward, then stood. “Speaking of which—” He left the room and came back.

He dropped a black chunk into my hand. “Here’s your hematite.”

I held the mineral between my fingers and twisted it around to see every side. This one looked different than Morgan’s kidney ore. It had sharp edges instead of round ones and it sparkled.

Looking at the hematite made me think about the meeting. Now was my chance. “Why didn’t you tell the people at the rock club I was your grandson?”

Mr. Henderson glanced at me, then stared at Ed. He crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow.

Ed considered the board. He moved the piece that wore a pointy crown. “I guess I’m still getting used to the idea. You’re my only one, you know.”

I nodded. Uncle Chris didn’t have any kids.

I wasn’t sure what I thought about Ed’s answer, but I didn’t have time to think about it because my questions about chess started piling up. What was a rook and why did it look like the tower on a castle? Were some pieces more valuable than others? And how did Ed and Mr. Henderson know what piece to move when?

After a while, only a few pieces were left because every time one piece landed on another piece’s square, the second piece was “captured” and taken off the board.

“Check and mate!” Ed hollered.

Mr. Henderson rubbed his cheek, scowling at the board.

Ed grinned. “So, you feeling like a glutton for punishment? Ready to go again?”

Mr. Henderson leaned forward and opened his eyes wide. “You’re going
down,
” he said.

After he won the second game, Ed brought us lemonade and crackers with pineapple cream cheese spread on top to celebrate his victory.

Watching the third game, I secretly rooted for Mr. Henderson. And I tried to make sense of how Ed had responded to my questions. He hadn’t answered my first one, and I wasn’t sure if he’d answered the second. He was still hiding something; he wasn’t practicing complete
yom chi.

Mr. Henderson won this time, although Ed kept saying it was best two out of three, so he was still Overall Champion of the Day.

The whole time they played, I hadn’t looked at my watch once or even thought about the bus. When I finally glanced at my wrist, I popped out of my chair and grabbed my bag from the kitchen. “I’ve got to go!” I yelled.

“Hold your horses. What’s going on?” Ed asked.

“My mom’s picking me up at two-thirty and I missed my bus!”

“Better give the boy a ride,” Mr. Henderson said. “I’ll close up shop.”

Ed looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Uh…”

Mr. Henderson nudged Ed’s shoulder. “What are you waiting for? You want the boy to get in trouble?”

Ed stumbled to the table under the picture of him and Grandma DeBose with Mom and Uncle Chris. He picked up his keys, then we got into the truck and sped toward Tacoma.

I had to take deep breaths the whole way to avoid losing my
guk gi
—self-control. Especially down below. The pancakes, egg sandwich and pineapple cream cheese had reached my large intestine.

I told Ed I needed to go to the bus stop, where Khalfani should be waiting. It was just 1:45.

As we got nearer, I could see Khal’s round head. He was balancing on his bike, holding on to the pole.

Ed pulled up to the curb and I started to get out.

“Tell your friend to put his bike in the back. I’ll drive you.”

I glanced at my watch. We would make it in time on Khal’s bike, but getting a ride seemed better. “Okay.”

I opened the door.

“Man, you should have seen me playing NBA Slam ’N’ Jam. I was awesome!” Khalfani said. “How come you’re not on the bus?”

“Missed it.” We got the bike into the truck and climbed back into the cab. Khal directed Ed to his house.

When we got there, Ed stopped across the street. I had been checking my watch the whole way. 2:04. Plenty of time. Hopefully Mrs. Jones wouldn’t see us getting out of the truck. Khal hopped out and went to the back.

“Big place.” Ed peered out his window.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, stepping onto the sidewalk. This was my chance. If I was going to ask, I had to do it now. “Could we go on an expedition sometime? For thunder eggs?”

The corners of Ed’s lips pulled down. “Don’t see why not.”

“Great!” I thought for a moment. “How will I know when?”

“We’ll figure something out.” He hesitated. “But let’s not tell your mom.”

“I haven’t told her anything.” I swung the door shut and patted the side of the truck. The truck I had driven.

When I looked up, Mom’s red car was zooming toward us. I started to duck, but she’d already seen me. Our eyes met.

It was too late.

CHAPTER 15

The brakes screeched. The door flew open. She stormed toward us. “What are you doing with him?”

I started to stutter an answer—I didn’t know what, just something, anything—but she was glaring at Ed.

His window was open, but if he said anything, I couldn’t hear it.

“Brendan, get in my car. Now.”

“He didn’t do anything,” I said.

Mom turned her laser eyes on me. Her neck and face had turned bright pink. The Momometer was about to burst. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now do what I said.”

Khalfani stood near the back of the truck, looking scared. “See you later,” he whispered, then jumped on his bike and zoomed across the street. He dropped the bike on the front lawn and slipped inside his house. I looked both ways about ten times and could have crossed ten times, too, but stalling is one of my secret skills.

“What is going on?” she yelled.

I thought I heard Ed say, “He found
me,
Kate,” but I couldn’t tell because the motor sounded like it was choking, and so did Ed. I shuffled toward Mom’s car with my backpack over one shoulder.

“I don’t care. Just stay away from him. You hear me?” Mom wasn’t hard to hear. “
Stay away.
” She pounded her fist on the hood.

When I looked back, Ed had rolled up his window. He didn’t look at me. He just drove off.

Mom fell into the car and slumped over the wheel. Her shoulders shook as if she was crying, but she didn’t make any sound.

I’ve only seen my mom cry a few times—when she broke her ankle sliding into home plate at a police department picnic, when one of the pregnant girls she had helped killed herself and at Grampa Clem’s funeral.

The seat and everything around me felt like sandstone, like if I spoke, the walls might crumble.

After what felt like a really long time but according to my watch was only two minutes, Mom sat up, wiped her nose with the back of her hand and got out of the car.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Same place as you. Get out.”

She led me by the elbow to the front door and rang the bell. Khalfani’s mom answered.

“Kate, you’re early. Is something wrong?”

I kept my eyes down.

“Brendan, I believe you owe Mrs. Jones an explanation. And an apology.”

“We didn’t go to the library,” I said quietly. I stared at the small stones that made up their porch. “Sorry.”

“Then where did you go?” Mrs. Jones’s voice stayed steady, calm. Then suddenly, “Khalfani!” She turned and looked toward the stairs.

“I went to see my grandpa,” I said. “Khalfani just took me to the bus stop. He only did it because I asked him to.”

“I’m so sorry about this, Doreen. Brendan will be punished, don’t worry.”

Mom was silent the whole way home. When we pulled into our driveway, she turned off the car and sat. “You’re not seeing him anymore.”

My face got hot. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. He’s a mean man.”

“You’re the one who was mean.”

Her head turned so quickly, I was surprised she didn’t break her neck. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Because you won’t tell me.”

She put her hands over her face and exhaled loudly. Her hands dropped in her lap. “I don’t want you around him. And that’s final.”

My hands balled into fists. “You can’t tell me what to do, because he’s
my
grandpa!”

“Well, I’m your mother, and I still know what’s best for you. That cranky old man in his run-down truck
doesn’t.
”

“I like his truck better than your stupid car.” I almost said that he’d let me drive it, but I stopped myself just in time. “And
he’s
a scientist. Like me!” I got out and slammed the door as hard as I could.

I was going with Ed on that expedition. Nothing would stop me now.

CHAPTER 16

I was grounded for two weeks. I couldn’t go to Khalfani’s. I couldn’t even go beyond our front yard, except to attend Tae Kwon Do. Dad would call every hour when he and Mom were at work, and I had to answer the phone.

I spent Saturday morning in my room. A knock came at my door. I could tell it was Dad. He knocked like a police detective.

If it had been Mom, I might not have answered, but if I did that with Dad, I’d get into worse trouble than I already was in. “Come in,” I said. I sat at my computer, reading on the Internet about caring for a pet salamander.

Dad sat on my bed. “You’re old enough to know the truth,” he said. “Your mom finally agrees with me.”

The truth.
What I’d been searching for all along. What every scientist was after. What every Tae Kwon Do warrior defended.

I turned and faced Dad. He put his hands on his knees and looked me in the eyes. “Your grandfather didn’t want us to get married because I’m black. When we did, he cut off ties with your mom and they haven’t spoken since.”

“But—” My insides felt like a sleeping bag stuffed into a small sack and cinched tight. I wanted to say, “He’s been nice to me, he’s given me his minerals, and he plays chess with Mr. Henderson.” Those things didn’t change the facts, but couldn’t Ed have changed?

I slumped back in my chair, trying to make sense of this new data. Hard data that couldn’t be denied.

Ed DeBose had been like those bullies in the park. Even if he was different now, at some point he hadn’t thought black people were as good as white. The hypothesis I hadn’t wanted to consider was the correct one after all.

“I don’t get it” was all I could think of to say. I stared at the rocks in my window.

“You know what Tae Kwon Do teaches about parents.”

“To respect them,” I said. “But what about Mom and Ed?”

“For now you need to do what she has asked. No more visits behind our backs. She may come around eventually…if you still want to see him.”

I glanced at Dad, pulled my lips to one side. Did I? I didn’t know.

Dad patted my shoulder, then left the room.

I pulled out Ed’s magnifying glass and held it over my arm. I looked at the black hairs growing like grass out of the tiny holes in my skin. I tried to see inside the holes to what was underneath. But all I could see was brown.

Brown. The color Dad had painted our house. The color of Mom’s healthy pizza crust. And the root beer I loved to drink. And like Grampa Clem’s skin, except lighter. Milk chocolate.

Or the color of dirt.

Ed had told me that without soil, we couldn’t live. There’d be no trees and plants, no oxygen.

I looked at my skin again. If the brown on my skin had been dirt, I could have washed it away. Was that what Ed DeBose wanted? For us all to be the same color? Then would he have loved me enough to find me, instead of the other way around?

That night, Gladys came over so Mom and Dad could attend a police fund-raiser. If my parents had told her about my secret visits to Ed’s, or about me getting into trouble, she didn’t say anything, thankfully.

Sitting at the table eating Mom’s pizza, I asked Gladys again why some white people thought black people weren’t as good as them.

She pushed her glasses up on her face. “I used to ask myself that question all the time. Clem never did, but I did. And you know what I figured out?”

“What?”

“There is no explanation. So I stopped asking, and went on living. Just because someone can’t appreciate beauty doesn’t mean God’s gonna stop making it.” She put her hand on my arm. It felt rough against my skin. “Look at you.”

I was brown, but I came from white people, too. A mixture. Like a rock more than a mineral.

Ed DeBose liked minerals better. Because they were
pure.

After dinner, I went to my room. I opened my
Book of Big Questions.
Next to my question “What makes white people be mean to black people?” I wrote, “No answer.”

Even as I wrote it, though, my palms itched and my stomach fizzed. I didn’t like not having answers. Not having an answer was like Gladys not being able to figure out the last word on her crossword puzzle, or one of Dad’s screwdrivers not being in its place. None of us could do anything else until that space was filled.

If I asked Ed DeBose this question, what would he say? Would
he
have an answer for me? I would ask him, straight out. As Grampa Clem would say, no more beating around the bush.