Skinnybones (8 page)

I don’t know why, but all of a sudden this whole conversation sounded unbelievably funny to me. I started to chuckle to myself.

The umpire told me to get off the field.

I looked up at him and grinned. “Booga,” I said softly.

The man looked at me like I was nuts. And who knows? Maybe I was.

“I said, ‘Get off the field,’ ” he repeated.

I took his hand and shook it,
very sportsmanlike
.

“Booga booga,” I said again. Then, slowly, I began trotting off the field toward the bench.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see T.J. He was laughing his head off.

Instantly, I changed direction. Now, instead of
running off the field, I began running straight toward T.J.

If he wanted to laugh, I might as well give him something even
more
to laugh about.

When I got to the mound, I lifted up his arm and started tickling him. “Wanna laugh, T.J.? This’ll make you laugh,” I said.

T.J. swatted at me with his cap. “Quit it, Alex! Knock it off! Everyone is watching!”

For the first time in his life, he looked embarrassed. Truly
humiliated
, I mean. It was great, too. Almost as great as getting to second base.

It didn’t last long, though. The umpire had started to come after me again, so it was definitely time to split.

I gave T.J. a final tickle. Then I ran right off the field and out the gate. I didn’t slow down until I was home in my own room.

I locked the door behind me and collapsed on the floor.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t be coming out for a long, long time.

I’d been in my room about an hour when I heard my parents come home from the game. I had pushed my dresser over in front of the door so that no one could get in. I wasn’t sure exactly what my dad was going to do when he got home, but I was positive there would be a lecture involved. And I already knew what he’d say.

He’d start off by telling me that
running away from a problem never solves anything
. Then he’d say it was
high time
I stopped trying to make fun of everything I’m no good at.
Not everything in life is a big joke
, he would say. Then he’d end by telling me that no matter what I do in life,
I should always give a hundred and ten percent
.

After that, he’d stare at me awhile, like he was trying to figure out what had gone wrong in my upbringing. Then, finally, he’d ask me if I understood what he was trying to say.

“Yes,” I’d answer. “You’re trying to say I’ve embarrassed the family again.”

That’s when my father would shake his head and leave the room. On his way out, he’d mutter, “I might as well be talking to a brick wall.”

I was still going over this pretend conversation in my mind when I heard the back door open. Within seconds, Dad’s footsteps were pounding down the hall.

My heart began to race.

Knock, knock, knock
.

“Who is it?” I asked nervously.

“You know who it is, Alex. It’s Dad. I want to have a little talk with you.”

I tried to stall.

“Who did you say it was again? Tad? I don’t know any Tad.”

“Dad!”

“Brad?”

He pounded. “Open the door, Alex! Now!”

“No, Dad. Please. I already know what you want. You want to talk to me about what happened today. Only it won’t do any good. Talking isn’t going to
change anything. I blew it. I made a fool of myself and I ran out on my team. So if it’s all the same to you, I’m just going to live right here in my room for the rest of my life. That way I won’t ever bring shame on our family again. So if you could just shove a bologna sandwich under the door every day or so, I’d appreciate it.”

I paused a minute.

“Well, okay. I guess that’s it. It’s been nice having you for a father, Father. I’m grateful for all you’ve tried to do for me. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a big disappointment.”

I heaved a pathetic sigh.

On the other side of the door, there was nothing but silence. Finally, I heard the sound of Dad’s footsteps as he walked away.

I was sure he was on his way to tell my mother how miserable I sounded. Then the two of them would put their heads together and try to think up a way to get me to come out of my room.

A few minutes later, he was back.

I felt warm all over.
Now that’s a loving father
, I thought.
That’s a father who isn’t giving up on his kid
.

Pretty soon, I heard a rustling noise under my dresser. I got down on my stomach and looked.

It was a bologna sandwich in a plastic bag, being
squeezed underneath the little space at the bottom of my door!

I grabbed it and threw it in my trash can.

Parents! Just when you think you’ve got them figured out, they go and pull a lame stunt like that.

The next day was Sunday. Except for a few minutes while Mom and Dad were at church, I didn’t come out of my room all day long.

It was awful being stuck in there. And what made it even worse was that my parents didn’t seem bothered by it at all. They were going around the house laughing and talking like they didn’t even
have
a son. Like they’d never even heard of me before.

The other thing I hated was how totally bored I was. Most of the time I just lay on my bed. There were a zillion things I could have done to amuse myself, but I couldn’t risk it. If Mom decided to peek through my bedroom window to check on me, it couldn’t look like I was having a good time.

By dinnertime, I wanted to come out of there so bad I couldn’t stand it. I was starving.
Starving
, I tell you!

I had hardly eaten a thing all day. While my parents were at church, I had snuck a few snacks and a couple of apples, but it wasn’t nearly enough to keep a growing boy alive. All I had left were two pretzels
and one broken graham cracker. I tried putting the pretzels between the graham cracker pieces to make a sandwich, but it didn’t look that appetizing.

Also, I hate to mention this, but starvation wasn’t my only problem. I also needed to pay a little visit to the bathroom.

I did everything I could to put it off. I jumped up and down and crossed my legs and danced around till I couldn’t stand it. But all of a sudden it was get-out-of-my-way-’cause-I’m-comin’-through! I shoved the dresser out of the way and streaked to the bathroom!

On the way back to my room, I heard Mom and Dad sitting down to eat. I could smell the delicious aroma of dinner all the way down the hall.

Mmmm. Was that fried chicken? And what else? Mashed potatoes, maybe?

My stomach growled loudly. How long can a person go without food before he passed out? I wondered. Maybe if I just got a little peek at it, I would feel better.

Quietly, I tiptoed down the hall. I stopped at the kitchen door and got down on my hands and knees. Then, slowly, I looked around the corner.

Yup! Just as I thought. Fried chicken! Mashed potatoes! And … ohmygosh! Was that corn on the cob?

My mouth watered so much that I drooled on the floor. Unfortunately, my parents chose that exact moment to look over.

I grinned sheepishly and wiped up the drool spot with my T-shirt.

They turned back around like they hadn’t even noticed me.

“Oh, no, you don’t! You can’t look directly at a person and then pretend you don’t see him. That’s just dumb,” I said.

My father shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to stay locked up for the rest of your life, Alex,” he said. “You’re the one who didn’t want to be bothered. Mom and I are only trying to respect your wishes.”

I stared at all that corn on the cob. “Yeah, well, there’s been a change in my wishes,” I said quietly. “My wishes now include a chicken dinner from time to time.”

My father shrugged again. “Help yourself.”

I hurried to the table and picked up my fork.

My mother glanced over at me. “Chicken,” she said.

Geez! What was wrong with her, anyway? Couldn’t she give it a rest?

“I’m not a chicken, Mother! I ran off the Little League field because I’d already blown it and I
didn’t know what else to do! But that doesn’t mean I’m a chicken!”

Mom stared at me for quite a while. Finally, she turned to Dad and pointed at the food.

“Chicken?” she said.

After he had taken a piece, she turned back to me again. “Shall we try this one more time, Alex? Chicken?”

This time, I stuck my fork into a chicken breast and put it on my plate. I managed to mumble “thank you,” but that was the last thing I said during the entire meal.

After I ate, I went back to my room and fed my graham-cracker-and-pretzel sandwich to my fish.

Then I took a shower and went straight to bed.

Tomorrow I would have to face the whole school. And something told me it was going to take every bit of strength I had.

One of the things I really hate about my mom is how she always knows when I’m lying. Don’t ask me how she does it. I’ve tried to figure it out, but so far I’ve had no luck at all.

On Monday morning, when she came to get me out of bed, I moaned and groaned and held my sides. But she didn’t buy it for a second. Instead, she just opened my blinds and smiled.

“What a nice sunny day it is out there,” she said.

“Aggg … ooowww!” I cried out.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. I guess I’m supposed to play along and ask you what’s wrong with your stomach.”

I doubled over. “It’s killing me, Mother. That’s what’s wrong. There must have been something
wrong with my chicken last night.”

Mom walked over to my fish bowl. “Did your fish have chicken for dinner, too?” she asked.

“Don’t make jokes. This isn’t funny,” I told her.

“I’m not making a joke, Alex. Your fish is belly-up,” she said.

I jumped out of bed and ran over to the bowl. “That’s impossible. No! He can’t be! I just bought him! He couldn’t have croaked already!”

Mom looked closer. “Maybe he’s faking it. Maybe he just wants us to flush him down the toilet so he can swim to the sea,” she said.

I glared at her. “How can you make a joke about this? This is my dead pet we’re talking about here.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alex. You go through at least one fish a week. You’ve only had that one for three days. How much can a three-day-old goldfish mean to you?”

“A lot, Mother. That’s how much. For the past three days, that fish was the only friend I had.”

I put my hand over my heart. “We shared our secrets and our dreams.”

I thought a moment.

“Plus a graham cracker and two pretzels,” I added quietly.

I got my fish net and scooped him up. Then I ran
him into the bathroom and flushed. I watched him swirl. Another buck-fifty right down the pot.

When I got back to my room, my mother was smiling.

“Well, I see that your stomach is better,” she said. “You haven’t moaned or groaned for several minutes.”

I grabbed my sides and bent over.

“Forget it, Alex,” she said. “You’re going to school.”

Geez! If it hadn’t been for that stupid fish, I could have pulled it off! Man! You try to do your pet a favor by giving him a special snack and he pays you back by dying. How selfish and inconsiderate is
that?

After breakfast, I walked to school as slowly as I could. I was trying to brace myself for all the teasing. There was going to be a ton of it, too. And what made it even worse was that T.J. Stoner was going to be leading the pack.

As I walked onto the playground, I saw T.J. standing at the water fountain. He didn’t see me, though. That’s because there were about a million little kids gathered around him, waving pieces of paper.

No. It can’t be
, I thought.
They’re not asking him for his autograph, are they?

I looked closer.

They were! All those dumb kids were actually asking T.J. to sign his name! Now he’d be more obnoxious than
ever
.

I hurried to my classroom. If only I could get to my desk before school started, maybe my teacher would keep everyone from making fun of me.

When I walked into the room, Mrs. Grayson was sitting at her desk. She looked at me and started to grin.

“Ooga ooga,” she said.

I sucked in my cheeks.

“It wasn’t ‘ooga ooga,’ Mrs. Grayson,” I said, annoyed. “ ‘Ooga ooga’ is the sound an old-fashioned car makes. What I
said
was ‘booga booga.’ ”

“Oh,” she said, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. It was hard to hear you from the stands.”

Okay. Now that she had that out of her system, maybe she’d help me out.

“Mrs. Grayson? I was wondering … would it be okay if I sat in the back of the room today?” I asked. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure what’s going to happen when the rest of the kids get here. And I’m not really feeling that well.”

Before she had a chance to answer, the bell rang and everyone started piling into class. T.J. Stoner was the first one through the door.

“Hey! Look who it is!” he hollered. “It’s Booga Booga Frankovitch!”

Mrs. Grayson raised her eyebrows. “I see what you mean,” she said to me. “Do you want to go to the nurse?”

I glared at T.J.

“No. Forget it,” I said. “If I feel like I’m going to toss my cookies, I’ll just aim for T.J. He’s a pretty good catch.”

T.J. pretended to shiver. “Ooooo … what a threat,” he said. “If you toss your cookies like you toss a baseball, you’ll miss me by a mile.”

“Okay. That’s enough, boys,” said Mrs. Grayson. “Sit. Both of you.”

I was glad she stepped in. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have a comeback.

As soon as he was in his seat, T.J. raised his hand. “Mrs. Grayson, I’ve been signing autographs outside, and there are a couple I didn’t get to yet. Would you mind if I finished signing while you’re taking attendance?”

Mrs. Grayson practically burst with pride. “Why, certainly not, T.J. I think I can allow the Little League Pitching Champion to sign a few autographs.”

Then she stood up at her desk.