Crenshaw (11 page)

Authors: Katherine Applegate

She was talking about vampire bats, the ones that slice open sleeping mammals in the dark of night. They don't actually suck blood. It's more like they lap it up, which is awesome enough. But the really amazing part, the
no way
part, is that when they get back to their caves, they share with the unlucky bats who haven't found anything to eat. They actually puke up warm blood into the hungry bats' mouths.

If that's not the coolest nature fact ever, I don't know what is.

Ms. Malone said maybe bats are altruists, which means they're sharing to help the other bats, even if it's a risk. She said some scientists say yes, some say no.

Scientists love to disagree about things.

Ms. Malone looked at me then, because even though it was only like the third week of school, she already had me pegged pretty well. “Jackson,” she said, “maybe you'll be the one to settle the great
Are Bats Nice Guys?
debate.”

I said probably not, because I wanted to be a cheetah or manatee or dog scientist, but I would keep bats in mind as a backup plan.

Ms. Malone said something else about bats that day.

She said she sometimes wondered if maybe bats are better human beings than human beings are.

I must have
finally fallen asleep, because I woke from a horrible nightmare. I was panting. Tears streamed down my cheeks. The moon was wrapped in fog.

Crenshaw placed a paw on my shoulder. Gently he butted his head against mine.

“Bad dream?” he asked.

“I don't remember it, really. I was in a cave, I think, and I was yelling for someone to help me, and nobody would listen.”

“I'll help,” said Crenshaw. “I'll listen.”

I turned to him. Looking in his eyes, I could see myself reflected.

“I can't go with my family,” I said. My own words surprised me. “I can't live in the minivan again. I don't want to have to worry anymore. I'm tired, Crenshaw.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

I blinked. The answer was obvious.

I had to run away.

It wasn't going to be much of a trip. I'd just have to ask Marisol if I could stay with her. She had plenty of room. I could help around the house.

I leaped up. Crenshaw watched me, but he didn't say a word.

It wasn't like I had a lot to pack. I grabbed my pillow, my keepsakes bag, some clothes, and my toothbrush.

The way I figured it, I'd go over to Marisol's house before my family woke up. Marisol was an early riser. She wouldn't mind.

It was hard to find a piece of paper and a pencil, but I managed. Aretha and Crenshaw watched me chew on the pencil as I tried to decide what to write.

“What should I say?” I asked, as much to myself as to Crenshaw.

“Tell the truth to the person who matters most,” said Crenshaw. “You.”

And so I did.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Here are the facts.

I am tired of not knowing what is going to happen.

I am old enough to understand things.

I hate living this way.

I'm going to live with Marisol for a while.

When you figure things out, maybe I can join you.

Love,

Jackson

PS: Aretha likes to sleep on a pillow, so don't forget.

PPS: Robin needs to know what's happening, too.

In an envelope, I put ten dollars I'd made from walking the Gouchers' dachshunds. On the outside I wrote:
To cover two unfortunate incidents where I used very bad judgment, please give $7 to Safeway (for 2 jars of Gerber chicken and rice) and $3 to Pet Food Express (for a cookie shaped like a cat).

Ta-tap-ta-ta-tap.

It was Robin, knocking at my door. “Jacks?”

I dropped my pencil. “Go to sleep, Robin. It's late.”

“It's scary in my room.”

“It'll be morning soon,” I said.

“I'll just wait here by your door,” Robin said. “I have Spot to keep me company.”

I looked at Crenshaw. He held up his paws. “Don't ask me. Human children are infinitely more complicated than kittens.”

“Please go back to bed, Robin,” I pleaded.

“I don't mind waiting,” she said.

I stood.

I went to the door.

I hesitated.

I opened it.

Robin came in. She had Spot, her pillow, and her Lyle book.

I looked at her.

I looked at my note.

I crumpled it up and tossed it aside.

We read Lyle together until we both fell asleep.

When I awoke,
Robin, Aretha, and Crenshaw were spread out on my mattress. Robin and Aretha were both drooling a little.

Sitting on the floor across from us were my mom and dad. They had on their bathrobes. My dad had my crumpled note, flattened out, in his lap.

“Good morning,” my mom whispered.

I didn't answer her. I didn't even look at her.

“Fact,” my dad said softly. “Parents make mistakes.”

“A lot,” my mom added.

“Fact,” said my dad. “Parents try not to burden their kids with grown-up problems. But sometimes that's hard to do.”

Robin stirred, but she didn't wake.

“Well, it's hard being a kid, too,” I said. I was glad I sounded so angry. “It's hard not to know what's happening.”

“I know,” said my dad.

“I don't want to go back to that time,” I said, my voice getting louder with each word. “I hated you for putting us through it. It wasn't fair. Other kids don't have to sleep in their car. Other kids aren't hungry.”

I knew that wasn't true. I knew that lots of other kids had it worse than I did. But I didn't care.

“Why can't you just be like other parents?” I demanded. I was crying hard. I gasped for breath. “Why does it have to be this way?”

My mom came over and tried to hug me. I wouldn't let her.

“We're so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered.

My dad sniffed. He cleared his throat.

I looked over at Crenshaw. He was awake, watching me carefully.

I took a deep, shuddery breath. “I know you're sorry. But that doesn't change the way things are.”

“You're right,” said my dad.

No one talked for a few minutes. The only sound was Crenshaw, purring gently. And only I could hear him.

Slowly, very slowly, I began to feel my anger changing into something softer.

“It's okay,” I finally said. “It's really okay. I just want you to tell me the truth from now on. That's all.”

“That's fair,” my dad said.

“More than fair,” my mom agreed.

“I'm getting older,” I said. “I can handle it.”

“Well, then here's another fact,” said my dad. “Last night I called the guy who wanted to buy our guitars. He told me his brother owns that music store down by the mall. He needs an assistant manager. His brother also has a garage apartment behind the store that won't be occupied for a month. It'd give us a roof over our heads for a little while, anyway. Maybe some more work.”

“That's good, right?” I asked.

“It's good,” my dad said. “But it's not a certainty. Here's the thing, Jackson. Life is messy. It's complicated. It would be nice if life were always like this.” He drew an imaginary line that kept going up and up. “But life is actually a lot more like this.” He made a jiggly line that went up and down like a mountain range. “You just have to keep trying.”

“What's that expression?” asked my mom. “Fall down seven times, get up eight?”

“More fortune cookie wisdom,” said my dad. “But it's true.”

My mom patted my back. “Starting today, we'll be as honest with you as we can. Is that what you want?”

I looked over at Crenshaw. He nodded.

“Yes,” I said. “That's what I want.”

“All right, then,” said my dad. “It's a deal.”

“Fact,” said my mom. “I'd really like some breakfast. Let's go see what we can do about that.”

The music store
looked pretty run-down. We waited in the car while my parents went to talk to the owner. It took a long time. Robin and I played cerealball with her T-ball cap and some sugarless bubble gum.

“You remember those purple jelly beans?” Robin asked.

“The magic ones?”

Robin nodded. “They were maybe not so magic.”

I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“They were from Kylie's birthday party.” Robin pulled on her ponytail. “I just wanted you to think they were magic. But there's no such thing. Of course.”

“I don't know,” I said. “Could be magic happens sometimes.”

“Really?” Robin asked.

“Really,” I said.

When my parents came out of the store, they were smiling. They shook a man's hand, and he gave my dad a set of keys.

“Got the job,” my dad said. “It's part-time, but with everything else, it should help. And we can stay in that apartment for a month, anyway. Hopefully by then we'll have come up with yet another plan. We really want to keep you and Robin at the same school. We're going to do our best, but there are no guarantees.”

“I know,” I said, and even though it didn't solve all our problems, I felt a little better.

The garage apartment was tiny, with only one bedroom. There was no TV, and the carpeting was a weary beige.

Still. It had a roof and a door and a family who needed it.

The article I
read about imaginary friends said they often appear during times of stress. It said that as kids mature, they tend to outgrow their pretend world.

But Crenshaw told me something else.

He said imaginary friends never leave. He said they were on call. Just waiting, in case they were needed.

I said that sounded like a lot of waiting around, and he said he didn't mind. It was his job.

The first night in our new apartment, I slept on a chair in the living room. I woke up in the middle of the night. Everyone else was sleeping soundly.

As I headed to the bathroom to get a drink, I was surprised when I heard the water running. I knocked, and when no one answered, I opened the door a crack.

Bubbles floated and danced. Steam billowed. But through the mist I could make out Crenshaw in the shower, fashioning a bubble beard.

“Do you have any purple jelly beans?” he asked.

Before I could answer, I felt my dad's hand on my shoulder. “Jackson? You okay?”

I turned and hugged him hard. “I love you,” I said. “And that's a fact.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

I smiled, recalling the question I'd been meaning to ask. “Dad,” I said, “have you ever known anyone by the name of Finian?”

“Did you say
Finian
?” he asked with a faraway look in his eyes.

I closed the bathroom door, and as I did, I caught another glimpse of Crenshaw. He was standing on his head. His tail was covered with bubbles.

I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten. Slowly.

Ten seconds seemed like the right amount of time for me to be sure he wasn't going to leave.

When I opened my eyes, Crenshaw was still there.

There had to be a logical explanation.

There's always a logical explanation.

Meantime, I was going to enjoy the magic while I could.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My heartfelt thanks
to

â¢ The Feiwel and Friends pantheon: Rich Deas, Liz Dresner, Nicole Moulaison, and Mary Van Akin for their patience and breathtaking talents; Liz Szabla for her TLC, remarkable insights, and gracious good humor; Angus Killick for his leadership and enthusiasm; and Jean Feiwel for just about everything;

â¢ Elena Giovinazzo, agent extraordinaire, at Pippin Properties, Inc., for her guidance and friendship;

â¢ Artist Erwin Madrid for bringing Crenshaw to life;

â¢ The amazing students and staff of the Monarch School in San Diego, California, a unique campus for students affected by homelessness, for sharing their stories;

â¢ My friends and family for pretending not to notice my long chats with an imaginary cat;

â¢ Jake and Julia for tolerating the “don't bug me while I'm writing unless you're bleeding” mandate;

â¢ and Michael, for asking to borrow that can opener so many years ago.

Thank you for reading this
FEIWEL AND FRIENDS
book.

The friends who made

Crenshaw

possible are:

JEAN FEIWEL,
Publisher

LIZ SZABLA,
Editor in Chief

RICH DEAS,
Senior Creative Director

HOLLY WEST,
Associate Editor

DAVE BARRETT,
Executive Managing Editor