Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous (14 page)

“Hey!” squeaks a voice behind him. Matthew bends down to pick up the backpack and return it. But the next minute, he's surprised to find himself flat on his stomach, his head ringing from an encounter with the floor.

He didn't just fall. He was pushed.

He hauls himself up and turns around, expecting Bender. But Bender has already claimed the back seat. Instead, it's Spencer: the wiry, jumpy redhead who seemed unusually interested in his science fair project.

Matthew doesn't think in terms of race very much; “live and let live” is working okay for him. But he's the child of his mama and granny and the kind of schools he went to before moving here and probably something in his DNA too—because the minute he turns around and sees Spencer smirking at him, he thinks,
White
Boy
. And then he punches.

Spencer boings back like a spring. He's smaller than Matthew but faster, and in about two seconds, Matthew is on the floor again with Spencer on top of him, getting in two hits for every one of Matthew's. A ruckus breaks out all around them, but Matthew feels like he's in a pod by himself, punching back at the unknown force that has been trying to get to him for a long, long time.

Then all of a sudden, he's punching air. A ring of white faces is hanging over him, roughly heart-shaped (is it still Valentine's Day?) with Spencer at the point, flushed and panting, held back by Jay. Then both of them are pushed aside by Mrs. B, whose face is as red as Spencer's.

“What's this about? I'm surprised at you, Spencer. You too, Matthew. The quietest, nicest boys on this bus—what have you two got to fight about?

• • •

Thinking about that question takes up most of the morning: what has he got to fight about? And where did the fight come from? Not until after lunch does Matthew realize something. His belt buckle with the eagle on it, whose weight felt so solid and reassuring in his pocket, is gone.

It must have slipped out while Spencer was pounding him. And then…two possibilities—it got kicked to one side or somebody picked it up. Some boy, probably. Some white boy.

He isn't the kind to resort to violence, but he might have a few punches left if that's what it took. First, he'd search the bus—after asking permission, like a nice quiet boy. Then, if the search turned up zero, he'd go house to house in Hidden Acres and quietly ask who has his eagle. That's how much he wants it back.

The junior high kids are last off in the morning and first on in the afternoon, so only a handful of them have to wait while Matthew searches the bus and finds nothing but candy wrappers. He feels Bender's eyes on him as Bender heads for his assigned seat but returns no one's gaze until Mrs. B stops at the elementary school. Then he stares Spencer down, packing a message in his eyes:
You'd better not have my eagle, or I'll hurt you bad.

First a tour of the neighborhood. He'll start with Bender, whose house is closest.

But in one of those surprises Steven Hawking might call a singularity, Bender starts with him. After Matthew has walked home from the bus and said hello to his grandmother and stuck a couple of frozen eggrolls into the microwave, his doorbell rings.

“Who that?” hollers Granny from the family room where she's watching TV. Doorbells ringing are pretty rare around here, unless it's a package delivery.

But instead of a package, it's Bender, with a book in one hand. In the other is a pewter belt buckle with an eagle on it. Holding it up like a police badge, Bender asks, “Is this yours?”

Matthew tries to speak and swallow at the same time and ends up nodding.

“Where'd you get it?” is Bender's next question.

“I—um—found it?”

“Where?”

“Why?”

“You first.”

“No, you.”

Bender, who has been leaning in like a bulldog, leans back. “It's cold out here. How about I come in?”

Matthew can't think of any reason why not. Passing the family room on the way to the kitchen, he says, “That's my grandmother.” All the intro he means to make, but Bender stops, makes eye contact, and says, “Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I'm Bender Thompson.”

Granny clearly doesn't expect such politeness from a neighborhood boy, and Matthew doesn't expect it of
this
boy. “Bender,” the old lady repeats. “What kind of name is that?”

“It's my mother's maiden name, ma'am,” Bender says. “My real full name is Charles Bender Thompson. Like my brother's is John Thornton Thompson, after my dad's grandfather.”

“They's some fancy-sounding names,” Granny says. “Nice to make yo' acquaintance. Now get along. I got things to do.” She returns her attention to the TV.

In the kitchen, Matthew nods toward his plate with one and a half eggrolls on it. “You, uh, hungry?”

“Enough with the hospitality.” Bender hikes himself up on one of the bar stools and slaps the book on the counter, laying the buckle on top. “Where did you find this?”

Matthew is still trying to catch up to the last three minutes. “Remember…when we all had to get off the bus so you could catch Igor's snake?”

“Sure I remember! That was only two weeks ago!”

Time
is
relative
, Matthew thinks of saying. But doesn't. “I found it then.”

Bender straightens up like a dog on the scent. “You mean by the bus shed?”

“Yeah. Behind it.”

“Anybody see you pick it up?”

“Spencer. He followed me.”

“Spencer? Baby Einstein? Does this have anything to do with why he knocked you down on the bus?”

Matthew shakes his head. Picking up the pewter eagle and tucking it in his pocket, he says, “Your turn.”

Bender hesitates before pulling a piece of newspaper from between the pages of the book. Matthew knows what it is before it's unfolded, of course.

“Last fall,” Bender begins, “I met this guy. Never mind how. I was sort of lost, and he gave me a ride home in a pickup truck.” He stops, as though Matthew should say something here. But Matthew can't think of what to say. “One of the first things I noticed about him was that thing, with the eagle? It was on his belt. I'm sure of it.”

“Where were you?”

“It was so foggy I couldn't tell where I was when he picked me up, and I was too, uh, disoriented to clock the distance on the truck's odometer when he dropped me off at home. But now I'd bet anything I met him on Farm Road 152. I even think I know who he is.”

Matthew has never thought much about Farm Road 152 one way or another, so Bender's words don't have the effect he obviously means them to have. But there's a curious energy radiating from an unknown source, like when virtual particles can only be observed by what's happening around them. The index finger of Bender's right hand is tapping one corner of the book. One word will release the energy, and after a pause, Matthew decides to say it. “Who?”

The cover springs open; pages rattle by. It's a high school yearbook: flashing faces, black-and-white snapshots, club photos of teens in rows. Suddenly the pages stop—at a white space headed by the word SENIORS, and under the heading, an enlarged reproduction of the same eagle in the newspaper and on the belt buckle.

“Oh,” says Matthew.

“Right,” says Bender. “Look at the initials.” He turns the book around and points to three letters on the lower right. JSH. The artist?

“Whose yearbook is this?” Matthew asks.

“My mom's. You may have noticed—she graduated in 1985.”

“Why would I notice that?”

Bender sighs, picks up the newspaper clipping, and points to a name. “That's my mom. Myra Bender Thompson. Only Myra is her middle name. In high school, she went by her first name, Anne, and I guess her friends called her Annie. I never knew that. After seeing that letter in the newspaper, I hunted all over the house for this yearbook. It was in a box in the garage.”

He's turning pages again. The class of '85 scrolls by, three or four to a page, each in a setting or pose that was supposed to indicate how they saw themselves or wanted others to see them. “There's my mom.” Bender pauses briefly at a studio shot of a girl lying on her stomach, arms crossed and chin propped on a football. Beside the picture is a long list of her activities and clubs, followed by a quote that he has no time to read. “Cheerleader,” Bender remarks, already moving on. “It figures. But look.” He stops, flattens the pages, and swivels the book around again so Matthew can get the full effect.

The picture shows a young man in a button-down shirt and hands straight at his sides and heavy horn-rimmed glasses—exactly like the class nerd. Except that he's standing on his head. The picture is slightly blurry, as though a friend snapped it just before he fell over. Matthew's eyes go to the name beside the picture: Jason Stanley Hall. “JSH?” Matthew asks.

“The only one,” Bender replies. “The only one of the seniors with those initials.”

The boy had no credits by his name, only a quote:
A
legend
in
his
own
time
. “What does that mean?”

“Some stupid thing they do every year. The class of '85 was supposed to write their own epitaphs.”

“Epitaphs?”

“What they'd put on their tombstones. My mom's is
Crashed
and
burned
. Creepy, huh? Typical overachiever. But here's the thing…”

Bender hesitates so long that Matthew steals a look at him. He's gazing at the upside-down boy (who would be right-side-up for him) as though he'd found his long-lost dad. Finally he says, “This is the guy who picked me up on Farm Road 152. I'm sure of it.”

“Why? Did he stand on his head?”

“Good one. No, I just got a close look at him. Older now, but this is the guy.”

Matthew leans closer to the picture, and something clicks. “You mean, ‘he who shall remain nameless'?”

“That's what I think too!”

“Why?”

“Why do you think so?”

“I asked you first.”

“Okay.” Eagerly Bender starts turning pages again, stopping at points of interest like a tour guide. “He doesn't show up in any more of the pictures, just the stuff he did. Crazy stuff. Like here—principal's car covered with saran wrap. Everybody knows who did it. And here—counselor's office packed full of balloons. Must have taken all night to do that. Oh yeah, and Murray High's track studded with toothpicks, and live turtles in the wastebaskets. This guy was
awesome
.”

“But…he went too far?” Matthew guessed.

“Yeah.” Bender paused. “That's the missing piece, and I think it had something to do with graduation. Because there aren't any graduation pictures—not a single one. Every yearbook I've ever seen has graduation pictures—that's what it's all about.
Getting
out
. But not here. And look at this.”

Bender turns to the personalities section and flattens the page at
Most
likely
to
succeed
. “Here's my mom, of course. But look who the guy is.”

Matthew stares at the grinning couple under the south portico of the high school. The girl is standing on the boy's shoulders with her arms raised, as though holding up the roof. He reads:
Anne
Bender. Troy Pasternak
. That name sounds familiar.

“Yeah,” Bender is saying. “That Troy Pasternak.”

“Which Troy Pasternak?”

“His name is on the gazebo, remember?”

“He died?”

“No. I asked my mom—who doesn't know I found her yearbook. She said he was hurt in an accident that messed him up. For life. He's in a nursing home somewhere.”

“What kind of accident?”

“She didn't want to talk about it. And if I asked a bunch of questions, she'd get suspicious. She's been…real hard to live with lately. But I'm thinking it still hurts, because from the yearbook, it looks like they were an
item
.”

After a moment, Matthew says, “Weird.”

“Totally.” Bender feathers the pages back to the beginning, like years in reverse, and slams the book shut. “Like, if she married him, I wouldn't be here. And she didn't. And I've got a real strong hunch it's because of JSH.”

“A hunch is not evidence,” Matthew corrected.

“I know, but things are adding up. I asked Jay what happened to his uncle, and all he knows is that he fell down some steps at graduation. Says his grandmother cries every time Troy's name comes up, so it doesn't come up much. And when I met the guy on the road, he was edgy. Like he didn't want anybody to know he was there. Like he had a
past
.” Bender flips back to the boy standing on his head and stares intently at him. “I've got to know.”

A long silence draws out, making Matthew feel he ought to say something. “What about newspaper archives? Did you look online?”

Bender shakes his head. “I've been grounded from the computer. Two weeks, just for tossing a shrunken head on the bus. Can't anybody take a joke?”

Matthew can't help but grin. Not at Bender, but at a spot on the wall behind him, where there's an imaginary door he decides to open. Nodding toward the house computer set up in the dining room, he says, “You can use mine.”

They say you can find anything on the Internet, but that's only partially true. Newspaper archives going back twenty years are available only for a price, and that price would include somebody's mother killing them once she found out they'd used her credit card. They search for Jason Stanley Hall and Troy Lawrence Pasternak but turn up only genealogical records, a college basketball player in New Hampshire, and a theater director in Spokane. They've about run out of ideas when Matthew's mother comes home.