Signal (6 page)

I
BIKE ALONG FURIOUSLY
, O
KAY, SO
C
AM
t
HINKS
I’m ditching her. Fine. I
won’t
go back. That’ll serve her right! If that’s what she thinks of me, that I’d go back on my promise to help her, the heck with her.

But then I realize that if I don’t go back, she’ll think she was right about me ditching her, even though I didn’t even think of it until she accused me. Now I have to go back, to prove to her that she was wrong, even though she deserves to get ditched for acting like such a jerk.

She’s got me. I’m so mad I’ve been pedaling like a maniac, and I look back to see Josie panting and falling behind. I stop, park my bike, and walk over to the stream with her while she takes a drink. I sit down on a rock, take off my sneakers, and cool my feet in the water. When she’s had enough, Josie lies beside me and I rub her ears the way she likes.

This feels as good to me as it does to her. The stream feels good, too, and the rippling sound is soothing. Gradually, I feel my anger begin to fade. And while I can’t put it into words exactly, maybe I understand why Cam acted so weird. Anyway, I put on my sneakers, get up, and pedal back to the foot of the hill. I climb it and walk across the yard and into the kitchen. Cam is sitting at the table, eating the crackers and cheese I brought.

I blurt out, “Bastard toadflax!”

I expect her to look puzzled or to laugh. But, as usual, Campion does something I don’t expect. She crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Hoary puccoon.”

I can’t believe it. Not only wasn’t she surprised, but she came right back with one of the other gross flower names I found in the field guide last night. I pull the list out of my pocket and pick another.

“Clammy Everlasting.”

Quick as can be, she says, “Horny goatweed.”

I’m amazed. I’m looking at my list, but she actually
knows
these names. I come out with my favorite. “Naked miterwort.”

Saying it out loud cracks me up, and then we’re both laughing our heads off.

When she can talk, Cam says, “Nipplewort.”

This kills me.

After a minute she adds, “Don’t forget mugwort, lousewort, and its close relative swollen bladderwort.”

And we both lose it again. Finally, I scan the list, gasping for breath. “I think I’m out.”

Campion smiles and says, “There are more, but we hit the highlights.”

“Those are some
rude
names.” I wipe my eyes.

She nods. “So,” she says, “you did some homework.”

I smile.

“Did you tell your father about me?” she asks then.

“No!” I answer. “Why?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t think so. But I was trying to picture what you were doing last night. I guessed you were watching TV together.”

I’d never considered that she might think about me when I was gone, or try to imagine what I was doing. “We were,” I say. Inside, I’m thinking that if she’s picturing a cozy scene with Dad and me chuckling about the show we’re watching, after confiding in each other about how our days went, she’s got the wrong family in her head.

“I said I wouldn’t tell him about you, and I didn’t. Besides, my dad and I—we don’t—really talk.”

She looks at me, waiting for me to go on, and I do. Maybe it’s because of those amazing green eyes, which show nothing but interest. Anyway, I start telling her how it is with my father and me.

“I mean, we
talk
, like, ‘pass the butter’ or ‘I’ll be home at seven.’ But that’s pretty much it.”

I pause, because it’s hard to explain. “I guess you
could say that Dad and I are
careful
around each other since Mom died.” I shrug. “I’m used to it. The truth is, Dad doesn’t seem to have much to say. I mean, he goes to work and comes home and gets up and goes to work again. I swear, there is no way my life is going to end up like that.”

Cam’s glittery green eyes are on me, waiting for me to go on, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

Cam breaks the silence. “Sorry about being weird before,” she says quietly. “I got scared you weren’t coming back and I—I really need you to help me.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “But, listen. I promised Dad I’d mow the lawn, so I’ve really got to go.” I make a face and add, “And I promised I’d help you.
Do you believe me?”

She smiles. “Yeah.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll bring the stuff to make the signal.”

“Okay.”

“And if I’m not here at the crack of dawn, it’s because it might take me a while to find some of the stuff.
Okay
, Campion?”

She smiles again.
“Okay
, Nipplewort.”

At home I start on the lawn, but the mower runs out of gas after a couple minutes. The five-gallon can in the garage is empty, so I put it in my old wagon and drag it
down the highway to Mr. Powers’s gas pump to fill it up. Josie trots along beside me.

To my dismay, Ray’s car—there’s no mistaking that hideous piece of junk—is pulling away from the parking lot as I near the store. Instinctively, I try to hide my face, but he doesn’t even look in my direction. I realize I’d been secretly hoping he’d given up on looking for Cam and gone far, far away.

As I trudge across the parking lot to the gas pump, I see a leather work glove lying on the ground. It’s in pretty good shape, so I pick it up and put it in my pocket, pump gas into the red gas can, and go inside to pay.

“Hello, Mr. Powers,” I say.

Without a word, he gets a Slim Jim from the jar, peels it open, and feeds it to Josie. Then he takes a jawbreaker from the other jar. “You’re sure you want this now?”

I nod, and he rolls it across the counter with a friendly smirk.

I take the glove from my pocket and place it on the counter. “I found this outside,” I say. Then, thinking I might learn something about Ray, I add, “I thought that guy who just left might have dropped it.”

Mr. Powers examines the glove and shakes his head. “Not his,” he says without hesitation.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“This here’s a
work
glove.
Used.”

I look at him questioningly.

Mr. Powers snorts. “I’d lay odds that fella’s never done an honest day’s work in his life.”

I laugh, then notice that Mr. Powers is scowling, probably at the thought of Ray. I wait, hoping he’ll have more to say on the subject, but he doesn’t. I don’t want to appear too interested, so I don’t ask if Ray mentioned the girl again. I hand over the money for the gas and Mr. Powers takes it.

“No Tootsie Rolls today?”

“Well, actually,” I say, “now that you mention it, I think I will buy some. I’ll take two bags.”

He counts out my change, shaking his head and saying, “For a fella who doesn’t eat ’em, you sure buy a lot of these things.”

I give a nervous laugh and get the heck out of there before I say something stupid. On the way home I remind myself to be careful. Mr. Powers is old, but he doesn’t miss much.

By the time I’ve finished mowing the entire yard, it’s almost seven-thirty. Dad gets home as I’m putting the mower away. I worry that he’s going to ask why I’m finishing up so late, but he doesn’t. He just unpacks some ribs from a place called Sticky Fingers Bar-B-Q, and we get our plates and head for the living room.

I expect Dad to turn on the TV, but he says, “How was your doctor’s appointment?”

“Okay. I got approved for soccer tryouts.”

He nods. “Good.”

There’s a short silence, and Dad reaches for the remote.

In the morning, I raid the kitchen again and gather the stuff Cam said we’d need. We don’t have any clothesline or rope, but I do have a hammer, nails, and a tape measure. I even find the wooden board she asked for.

The first weekend after we moved here, Dad and I went to the home supply store to buy stuff to build a deck off the kitchen. He was pretty fired up about the idea then, but somehow the actual building of the deck kept getting postponed, along with the actual unpacking.

The eight-foot-long boards we bought are still lying in a pile under a blue tarp in the yard, and I pull one out. I figure it’ll be a long time before Dad notices it’s missing, if ever.

I take the brand-new circular saw out of the box, get an extension cord, and cut one of the boards in half, thinking how my old shop teacher, Mr. Weberly, would have a fit if he saw me doing this without safety glasses.

I put the other stuff in my backpack and use a couple of bungee cords to fasten the piece of wood onto the rack over my rear fender. Then I grab more of my allowance money, in case Mr. Powers has any clothesline for sale. My back tire looks low, and I know he has an air machine.

“Well, well, you and the hound are turning into my best customers.” He gives Josie her Slim Jim, then asks, “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have any clothesline?”

“Nope,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Doing the laundry, are you?” he asks with a sly little smile.

I can’t very well tell him I’m helping the girl I haven’t seen build a signal for space aliens, so I just stand there like a dope while he looks at me curiously from under those eyebrows.

“Son?” he prompts.

“Well, if you don’t have any …” I say, edging away from the counter.

“It’d help to know what you need it for.”

My mind goes blank. I’m lousy at this.

Mr. Powers sighs, then points to the wall near the door. “A lot of folks use that rope over there to tie up their boats. Will that do for you?”

I walk over and examine the spools of line. The thinnest one looks like it might be okay. Again, I wish I’d asked Cam more questions. I hold it up. “How much does it cost?”

“I’ll give you what’s left on the spool for ten dollars,” he says.

“Do you think there’s fifty yards?” I ask.

He nods. “I’m giving you a bargain, by the way.”

“Great. Thanks.”

After I pay and he gives me my change, I ask, “Is it okay if I fill up my bike tire?”

He rolls a jawbreaker across the counter to me, winks, and says, “Air’s still free, last I heard.”

“Thanks.”

He says, “Building something?”

“No,” I answer, puzzled at the question. But then I realize he’s looking at my bike with the board sticking out past my fender. I shrug and say, “No, it’s just a board,” which is right up there with the dumbest statements ever made.

Mr. Powers doesn’t comment on this. He just nods thoughtfully and looks at me with those droopy eyes. Josie and I make our escape and go around to the back of the store where the air pump is.

R
IDING DOWN THE TRAIL, CAREFULLY BALANCING
my load, I sigh when I see that the Dog People are here again. And—I can’t believe it—I think I see a new dog. Josie scoots right up to sit at the Dog Woman’s feet and waits patiently for the treat she knows will come. Sure enough, it does.

“You are so polite and ladylike,” the woman says to Josie. “Not like this bunch of hooligans we’ve got.”

“Is that a new one?” I ask, pointing to a cute, medium-size brown mutt with floppy ears. All the other dogs are tearing around, having a wonderful time, but this one is standing close to the van and shivering. His tail is between his legs and he looks totally pathetic.

“Yes,” says the woman. She makes a sad face. “That’s Sidney. He’s having a rough time. He must have been horribly mistreated. It’s going to take a while, I think, before he trusts us.”

“Where’d you get him?” I ask.

“Same place we get ’em all. The shelter called to say they had another dog nobody wanted.”

The man joins us. “He’d have been put down if we hadn’t taken him.” To Sidney, he says, “We couldn’t let that happen, could we, boy?”

Sidney’s tail moves in a tentative wag, then tucks back between his legs.

“He’ll come around once he settles in with us,” the man says confidently. “We’ve had worse cases, haven’t we, hon?”

The Dog Woman nods. “Lord, yes. Why, Simone over there was too terrified to leave her crate when we got her. It took us three days to coax her out. Now look at her.”

She points to a big black dog leading a string of followers over to the stream, where they begin to splash and play.