Brianna shakes her head.
You traced that.
No I didn’t.
No one can draw like that.
I can. I told you. I’m probably the best artist in the state.
Yeah right.
I’ve seen what Caitlin can draw,
Emma says.
It’s awesome. And anyway it doesn’t matter. It can be traced or drawn for this project.
I drew it,
I tell her.
Whatever,
Brianna says.
Can you make the cardinal red?
Emma asks.
I don’t do colors,
I tell her.
Why not?
It’s easier when things are black and white.
But you’ve done the hard part already,
Emma says.
Coloring something in is easy. It’s drawing the tree and bird that’s hard.
Not for me,
I say.
Colors are mushy and I don’t know where they end or what happens to them when they run into each other because they change.
Emma tilts her head.
I don’t Get It. Black and white is boring. Colors are beautiful.
I take a deep breath and try to explain.
When you mix red and yellow it might come out orange like the sun when it’s setting but when you mix red and yellow another time it might come out like a school bus and when you do it again it might come out like a hornet. It’s always different. You don’t know what to expect.
Emma’s head is still tilted. And she’s not saying anything. Which means she REALLY doesn’t Get It because it’s unusual for Emma not to talk.
Never mind,
I tell her.
It’s too hard to explain.
I’m not even sure I Get It myself.
I get to see Michael on the playground and talk to him for the first time in what feels like a really long time. I tell him all about the chest Dad-oh and I are working on.
He listens politely but his Bambi eyes are kind of fuzzy.
What’s wrong?
I ask him.
I don’t Get It.
So I describe the chest and exactly what we’re doing to it and how it’ll look when we’re finished.
I still don’t Get It,
he says.
I start describing the chest again.
No. I mean I don’t Get how that makes Closure.
We’re bringing the project to Closure. We’re finishing the chest. That’s Closure.
Oh.
But his eyes are still fuzzy.
Will I feel better when it’s done?
I think about it for a minute. I’m pretty sure I’ll feel better. Much better than seeing it covered by a gray sheet in the corner. And I think Dad will feel better too. I know Devon would want it finished. I look at Michael with his fuzzy Bambi eyes and I’m not so sure how finishing the chest will help him. And it’s giving me a recess feeling in my stomach.
He shrugs.
That’s okay.
But it doesn’t sound okay. And my stomach doesn’t feel okay.
You’re still my friend,
he says softly.
I am? Why?
You’re nice to me and you don’t have to be ’cause you’re a fifth grader and you can do stuff like Closure and I’m only a first grader so I can only do stuff like be a pear.
A pair of what?
No. A pear. Like an apple.
Oh. Can I see you be a pear?
He Looks At The Person.
You really want to see me be a pear?
Yes.
He starts to smile.
You want to come to my play?
What play?
My class is doing a play about the food pyramid. I’m the pear. It’s my favorite fruit. Do you want to come watch?
When is it?
Tonight. At school. Can you come?
I don’t like going back to school once I’m already home. It’s like having school twice in one day. But Michael is finally looking happy so I decide the answer should be,
Okay.
My teacher said you have to be here with your costume by six thirty sharp. Oh. Except you don’t have to get here until seven because you’re one of the watchers.
Audience,
I say.
Michael gives me a high five and he’s smiling so much that I feel like a good friend again. I’m happy because of Michael. He’s the only friend I have and maybe the only friend I’ll ever have.
CHAPTER 34
MICHAEL’S PLAY
THAT NIGHT WHEN WE’RE WORKING on the chest I tell Dad,
I have to go to school tonight.
Tonight? What for?
Michael is in a play.
Who’s Michael?
My friend.
Your friend? Do I know him?
I shrug and wonder how I’m supposed to know that.
He’s in first grade,
I tell him.
And he’s your friend?
Yes. So I HAVE to go to his play. It’s important. It’s at seven o’clock.
Dad looks at his watch.
It’s almost quarter to seven already.
I stand up fast
. Then we have to go NOW because it takes almost nine minutes to get to school.
Caitlin—
I don’t want to be LATE.
You should’ve told me before—
It is before. But we have to MOVE!
I wasn’t planning on going out tonight.
You don’t have to plan! It’s already planned!
I run to the door and open it.
I’ll be IN THE CAR!
I run across the grass and pull on the car door but it won’t open. I run around to all four doors. They are all locked.
IT’S LOCKED IT’S LOCKED IT’S LOCKED IT’S LOCKED!
I hear the front door slam and Dad’s shoes clomping fast.
I’M COMING!
HURRY! HURRY!
The car beeps. The lights turn on and I open the door and throw myself inside.
Dad gets in the front seat and turns on the engine.
DRIVE! DRIVE!
He makes the engine go LOUD and whips around to me. I’m glad there is a seat back between us because he is trying to get into my Personal Space.
Caitlin! I’m not happy about this. Next time I need some warning—
I’M WARNING YOU!
I say in my warning voice.
CAITLIN!
DRIVE! DRIVE! FAST! NOW!
He lurches out of the driveway and I’m thrown off the backseat.
PUT ON YOUR SEAT BELT!
he yells.
DON’T YELL! I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE YELL!
Dad mutters a lot of things but I can’t hear them and I don’t care because at least he’s not yelling.
What time is it NOW Dad?
We have plenty of time.
WHAT TIME IS IT?
IT’S—
he stops and takes a breath
—it’s six forty-eight.
We’ll get there at six fifty-seven. Unless you HURRY then maybe we can get there at six fifty-six. Then we have to park and walk inside.
Where is the play?
I TOLD YOU! At SCHOOL!
I know,
he hisses,
but where in the school?
I freeze. Cafeteria? Gym? Classroom?
I DON’T KNOW! OH NOOOOO!
Dad switches to his Nice Voice fast.
We’ll find it. It’s okay. It’s okay. And we’ll get there in plenty of time. No problem. You’ll see Michael. And Michael will be happy to see you. It’s great to have a friend. Isn’t it? I’m really proud of you.
He keeps talking but I don’t listen. I just moan and chew and suck my sleeve until we pull into the school and he says,
Ahh the lights are on in the cafeteria and lots of people and little kids are there so that’s where it is. You see? Everything is okay.
Dad pulls into a Handicapped Spot right by the cafeteria door and I tell him,
You can’t park here,
but he turns off the engine and opens his door and says,
This counts.
He opens my door and says,
Come on. We made it.
There is no place left to sit where I can actually see Michael who is dressed in a smashed cardboard box that’s painted yellow to look like a pear. Sort of. I have to stand against the wall by the OUT door. I hate standing up. It makes my feet hurt. And I can smell the wet cafeteria smell and the lights are too bright.
At least I’m farther away from the noisy people. They are all talking LOUD about anything. I hear security system and school board and babysitter and nightmares and ulcer and high fiber. Not one person says food pyramid or dairy product or candy or anything about why they are here. They are worse than my class because most of the time we at least know what the subject is. They might as well go home if they don’t want to be here. That’s what Mrs. Johnson says.
Finally Mrs. Hanratty the kindergarten teacher gets up and tells everyone about healthy eating and the play begins and the people finally focus—their cameras at least.
Michael looks around the room and I know he is looking for me so I raise my hand high and close and open it three times and then six before he notices and waves back with a big grin on his face.
Afterward I tell Michael he looks like a pear even though he looks more like a kid in a squished cardboard box. The part about the squished box I just think in my head.
I think that makes him happy because he smiles. And he says,
You’re like my big sister.
It makes me feel kind of warm and glowy on the inside.
Wait here!
he says, and is back a moment later dragging a man.
This is my dad.
You must be Caitlin. It’s great to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you,
Michael’s dad says.
I don’t like football,
I tell him.
Oh,
he says.
But it’s okay if you do.
I remember to smile.
Thank you!
He smiles at me too and so does Michael.
Then Dad and Michael’s dad talk for a long time while Michael and I try to make the food pyramid out of all the snacks. It’s really hard to get brownies to balance on top of carrot sticks though.
On the drive home I think about Michael being dressed up as a pear and how that’s better than having to dress up as a ham like Scout did in
To Kill a Mockingbird.
I ask Dad,
Do you remember that movie?
What movie?
To Kill a Mockingbird.
Oh. Yes I do.
It’s a good one isn’t it?
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it but it was one of the best.
Devon liked it too.
Dad clears his throat and his hands clench and unclench the steering wheel.
Yes he did.
Do you think I’m like Scout?
The little girl in the movie?
Dad nods. Then he also says,
Very much.
I grin.
You’re like Atticus. He was brave.
Thank you.
He sighs.
I wish I were more like Atticus.
Being like Scout makes me happy so I want him to feel just like Atticus.
Maybe you can get glasses like his.
If I ever need glasses I’ll think about buying some like his.
Maybe you should dress like him.
I’m not sure. His clothes are too practical for my kind of job.
Maybe you can shoot a dog.
We swerve on the road a little.
I’d rather not do that.
Just one that was going to kill us. A sick dog. Can I get some overalls like Scout?
Honey . . . we have to live in the real world. I like you as Caitlin.
But you said the movie was the best.
For a movie. But this is real life. A movie isn’t as good as real life. It can’t even compare.
Dad is wrong about that. A movie is better than real life because in the movies only the bad guys die. Or you can pick the good movies where the bad guys die and only watch those. If you get tricked and a good person dies in the movie then you can rewrite it in your head so the good person lives and the part about death is superfluous.
Right honey?
Dad has been talking but I wasn’t ready to listen.
What?
Life is special.
You mean . . . it’s not just me who’s special? It’s all of life?
Yes.
I guess the good news is that everybody has to put up with being special because everybody is alive.
CHAPTER 35
MONKEY BARS
ON MONDAY WE HAVE A FIRE drill which means first recess is late so they get to stay out for part of second recess. I don’t like that many kids at once. That many kids can only lead to problems which is exactly what happens. Mrs. Brook has to take three boys inside who get in a big fight.
I look around for Michael. I still feel warm and fuzzy because I’m his big sister. I’ll take care of him just like Devon always took care of me. Scout’s honor.
And then I see Michael and my hands start shaking.
He is on the monkey bars.
He is screaming.
And Josh is pulling on his legs.
NOOOOOOOO!
I run all the way to the monkey bars and I HIT Josh hard and yell,
LET GO OF HIM! LEAVE HIM ALONE! DON’T TOUCH HIM! YOU’RE EVIL!
Stop hitting me you freak!
Josh yells.
But I have to keep hitting him because he won’t let go of Michael.
Stop! Stop!
Michael says.
And don’t call my friend a freak!
I’m helping him stay up,
Josh says as I try to pry his hands off of Michael.
No you’re not!
I say.
You’re evil Evil EVIL!
Stop it or I’ll fall!
Michael screams.
Josh lets go.
You idiot!
he says to me.
Don’t say that!
Michael shouts.