True (. . . Sort Of) (10 page)

A
t the old Hennepin place, Delly sat on the stoop. She pointed to the spot beside her. “Sit here,” she told RB.

So he did.

Ferris Boyd got the bowl and her ball, and the cat came running. At the steps, it stopped and sniffed the air around RB.

“That's the bawlgram cat.” Delly introduced it.

“Mowr,” the cat cried.

RB smiled. “Hello, Mowr. I'm RB.”

The cat flicked its tail twice and went to the bowl.

Ferris Boyd was dribbling the ball in the drive.

“She plays basketball?” RB whispered.

“Every day.” Delly groaned.

They watched for a while.

“She plays ball like you spit,” RB told her.

Delly nodded.

“What do you do while she's playing?” he asked.

“Tell stories.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Troubletales.”

He just stared at her, so she started. “Trouble-tale Fifty-six: I parachute off the porch roof and get grounded for a month.”

Maybe it was because RB was there. Or maybe it was because she wasn't just trouble anymore, and it was time to talk about something else. Whatever it was, Delly couldn't go on.

“I'll tell a story.” RB jumped in. “RB Story Number One: our dog, Tuba. Remember Delly?”

“Yep.” She smiled.

“How'd we get Tuba?” he asked her.

“She was running in the road, and Dallas brought her home.”

“And he named her Tuba because she sounded like a big, loud horn.” RB recalled.

“Oof oof oofoofoof.” Delly demonstrated.

RB giggled, then he began. “One day, me and Cletis were at the park. Danny Novello and Tater came over to us. ‘Want to try something fun?' they asked, and we said, ‘Yep.' So they took some rope, strung it through our belt loops, and threw it over the bar that holds the swings. They pulled on the ropes so we went up in the air.

“At first me and Cletis were laughing, 'cause it felt like flying. Then they made us go up and down so fast our stomachs got sick. ‘Stop!' we shouted.

“But they wouldn't. Cletis was about to throw up, when we heard, ‘Oof, oof, oofoofoof.' ‘Tuba!' I yelled. And there she was, running at us, with Delly behind her.

“‘Let them go!' Delly hollered. ‘Make me,' Novello said. So Delly ducked her head, and rammed him in the stomach with it.

“They dropped us then. ‘Come on!' she yelled, and we ran to the river. Delly taught us to skip stones. Tuba kept running in the water, trying to catch them. Remember?”

“Yep.” Delly did. They were both grinning.

The Pattisons were so busy being happy they didn't notice Ferris Boyd waiting. She put her pad in front of them. Tuba? it read.

“She was old.” RB sighed.

“She went to sleep on Dallas's bed,” Delly rasped, “and she didn't wake up.”

Now they were all sad. But it didn't feel so bad, being sad together.

Ferris Boyd stared into the woods. She passed her pad to them. Another, it read.

RB understood. “Tubatale Number Two: Tuba gobbles up Gal's birthday cake.”

Delly laughed just hearing the title.

Ferris Boyd went back to playing. She only stopped to ask for more.

Then RB told, and Delly listened, and she didn't mind. It was good, thinking about Tuba instead of trouble. It was good being together.

I
t was time to go to the woods.

“Where are we going?” RB asked.

“To the hideawaysis,” Delly answered.

“Oh,” he said, because he didn't want to seem too little to know what a hideawaysis was.

RB was last in line. In the dark of the woods, he got quiet. “Delly.” He gulped. He didn't say the “I'm afraid” part.

She heard it anyway. “Come on,” she said, and let him pass her. She grabbed the back of his shirt so he'd know she was there.

They got to the giant tree and stopped.

“Now what?” he whispered.

Delly looked at the cat, and it climbed. Ferris Boyd followed it.

“Now you,” she told him.

“Th-That's high,” he stammered.

“I'll be behind you,” she promised.

So he started up. Ferris Boyd put her head over the edge, showing him where to go.

“Pull yourself onto the boards,” Delly hollered when he reached the top.

By the time she got there, he was standing, turning around and around. “Wow,” he breathed.

Ferris Boyd was in her corner, with her book and the cat.

“It's a hideawaysis.” He sighed.

“Ferris Boyd's hideawaysis,” Delly told him. She emptied her backpack. She put the sandwiches between them.

“You got food, too,” he sang.

Delly closed the eye her friend couldn't see. “Ma's trying to get me to grow, but I can't eat it all. Ferris Boyd's helping me out.” The eye kept winking. “You and I will split this one.”

RB couldn't wink, but he blinked five times while he said, “Okay. I'm full anyway,” and patted his belly like Santa Claus.

They sat in a circle, eating the sandwiches, with RB humming the whole time.

When they finished, Delly put on her pack.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To get rocks.”

“How come?”

“So if something tries to get us, we got ammunition,” she explained.

She was halfway down the tree before she realized he wasn't with her. She climbed back up.

He was sitting about two feet from Ferris Boyd, taking books out of his bag.

“RB, come on,” Delly commanded.

“No thanks,” he answered, smiling.

Now, RB Pattison never turned down a chance to tag along with Delly. “How about you come with me?” She tried again, with her teeth clenched.

“I'm staying with Ferris Boyd,” he replied.

Delly didn't like it, him being so close to her. She thought about dragging him down the tree, but that might set the girl off. “Don't be a bugbotherer,” she warned.

“I know.” He waved.

So Delly left. She scoured the woods for stones. She hauled them in her pack, then piled them around the edge of the hideawaysis, like cannonballs.

And she checked on RB.

The first trip back, he'd scooched a little closer to Ferris Boyd. But the girl wasn't fussing, so Delly let it go.

By the next time, though, there wasn't six inches between them. RB was squinting over at Ferris Boyd's book, like he might need to get next to her.

“Hey,” Delly snarled.

He looked up.

No touching, she mouthed at him.

I know, he mouthed back.

Delly needed only one more load of rocks— extra-large ones for extra-large invaders. I'll go fast, she decided, and scrambled down the ladder.

It took longer than she figured. The rocks were so heavy they were pulling her down as she tried to climb the tree. “Oof,” she groaned as she flopped onto the hideawaysis floor. She looked up, and then she saw it.

RB Pattison had left his book and was reading Ferris Boyd's. He had his head on her shoulder and was leaning against her like he lived there.

“Holy shikes,” she breathed.

Ferris Boyd wasn't flipping out, though.

He must've snuck up slow, so she doesn't know he's there yet, Delly thought. She had to get him off, quick.

Delly tried to rise, but the rocks flattened her to the floor. So she slid, like a snake with boulders on its back, across the floor to snag him.

Just then Ferris Boyd glanced up from her book. She gazed at the boy beside her.

“It's over.” Delly gurgled.

But Ferris Boyd's eyes didn't go wild. They rested on RB's face. He looked up at her and smiled. Then they both went back to the book.

And Delly didn't even whisper, “What the glub?” She wouldn't wreck it.

Finally, she got the pack off her back. Quietly she piled the rocks while they read. Then she sat across from them, watching the peacefulness.

W
hen the whistle blew, Delly said softly, “RB, we got to go.”

He crawled to the edge of the hideawaysis. “That's a long way down.” He gasped.

“I'll go first,” she told him.

One Pattison, then the other climbed on the ladder.

Ferris Boyd stayed at the top of it. Delly could feel her telling him things without talking. When they got to the bottom, she was gone.

That's when Delly grabbed RB by the shirt and shook him. “Why were you touching Ferris Boyd?” she barked.

“I wasn't,” he replied.

“You were leaning against her.”

“I know. Touching is this.” He took his finger and poked her with it. “I didn't do that.”

“Jiminy fipes,” she growled, but she couldn't stay mad. He'd gotten Ferris Boyd to let somebody near her.

“We got to run,” she ordered.

So they did.

They were on the bridge when Delly slammed to a stop. “Shikes,” she howled. “Nobody knows where you were!” Clarice would be calling the police. “We're dead,” she groaned.

RB pulled up beside her. “No we're not. I told Ma I'd be with you.” He grinned. “Helping with your project.”

“When'd you do that?”

“This morning, after I said, ‘Go ahead.'”

Delly was impressed with his sneakiness. But now she needed to tell him he couldn't come again; she couldn't risk it. “Hey, RB—”

And RB interrupted her. “Delly,” he declared, “I love you, too.” He shot it, like a giant love bullet, straight into her heart.

It blew her heart up. It blew the words for keeping him away out of her mouth. “Shikes” was all she could say.

Then RB was running again. “Come on,” he hollered.

So she did.

As soon as Clarice got home, RB told her, “Ma, I'm working on Delly's project every day now.”

“Oh yeah? When's this project going to be done?” She asked Delly, but RB answered.

“Don't know. Might be a lo-o-o-o-ong time.”

“That's all right with your teacher?” she wondered.

They both nodded, because Ferris Boyd
was
teaching them things.

And Clarice Pattison, hearing Montana wail, “Ma, the washer's bubbling over!” let it go at that.

T
uesday at three o'clock, RB raced to the back of the school. “Hey,” he greeted the girls, and held the door for them.

“Jiminy fipes,” Delly mumbled, but she liked it.

At the old Hennepin place, RB told Tubatales while Ferris Boyd played ball. Delly and the cat listened, with their mouths curling.

And in the hideawaysis, when Delly brought out three peanut butter sandwiches, RB got something out of his pack, too: a jar of marshmallow fluff. He set it between them.

“Shikes.” Delly ogled it. “Where'd you get that?” Because Clarice didn't keep it in the house.

“I bought it, with my birthday money,” he answered.

“For us?”

He smiled and nodded, like he'd given her Christmas.

Delly felt a banging in her chest. It was pride, thumping through her.

“What do you want to do with it?” she asked, because it was his.

“Put it on the sandwiches,” he sang.

She opened them up and set the slices in front of him.

He took a spoon from his bag. He dropped a big gob of fluff on each slice. When he put the bread back together, the fluff squeezed out to the crusts.

“Sweet cloud sandwiches.” Delly sighed.

RB passed them around.

Delly smacked her lips like she'd kiss hers. Ferris Boyd's eyes were wide with wonder.

“One, two, three,” RB called out.

Altogether they bit into the fluffy deliciousness.

“Mmm,” the Pattisons hummed and gobbled.

But Ferris Boyd took tiny bites. She chewed and chewed like she didn't want the taste to leave her tongue.

“Hey RB,” Delly asked when they were done, “what are you going to do with the rest of that?” Because there was half a jar left.

He thought about it, then he grinned. “Put out your hands.”

So they did.

He plopped giant gobs of fluff onto their palms. They licked it till it was gone. It left their skin sticky.

Then RB and Ferris Boyd lay down, with their fluff-filled bellies in the air.

Delly went to the ladder.

“Where are you going?” he asked sleepily.

“To get sticks.”

“For what?”

“Spears,” she told him.

“Hmm.” He nodded off.

Delly clambered down the ladder.

When she'd gathered enough long, skinny branches, she hauled them up the tree and stacked them in a corner of the hideawaysis.

She woke RB at the whistle. “Shh,” she whispered. They laid the blanket over Ferris Boyd and tiptoed to the ladder.

Walking down the River Road, Delly still had fluff stuck to her teeth. Every time she got a taste, the pride started thumping again. It wouldn't stop till she told him.

“RB,” she rasped.

“Huh?”

“You did good.”

“Thanks, Del.” He smiled; then he set his fluff-sticky hand in hers.

And they went on like that, stuck to each other with spit and sweet deliciousness.

W
ednesday after school, they were at the old Hennepin place again. Ferris Boyd played ball, and RB told about the time Tuba got in bed with Boomer. Boomer thought the dog was Clarice, till he kissed her and got a big, wet slobber back. “Oof oof oof.” Tuba let him know she liked it.

When RB was done, he slid off the stoop and strolled over to Ferris Boyd.

“Hey.” Delly scowled. “Get back here.”

But RB stood there, smiling. “Can I play?” he asked.

“Ferris Boyd, he doesn't know . . . ” Delly started to explain, so she wouldn't freak out.

Instead, Ferris Boyd handed him the ball.

“Huh?” Delly muttered.

“Thanks,” RB said. He set the ball over his head and flung it as hard as he could. “Ooooof,” he groaned.

The ball flew a few feet, then dropped to the ground like he'd killed it.

Ferris Boyd passed it to him again. Again, RB committed basketball homicide.

“I'm not doing so good,” he told her. He gave her the ball and headed to the stoop.

There was a
smack, smack
behind him. It made him stop.

Ferris Boyd was slapping her thigh.

“What the glub?” Delly murmured. She'd never heard the girl make a noise, let alone a loud one.

Ferris Boyd was staring at RB and pointing to her eye.

“I'm watching,” he replied.

She spread her legs and held the ball between them. Her arms swept up over her head, heaving it into the air. It soared over the drive and dropped through the hoop.

“Nice,” RB sighed.

She passed the ball to him.

“Now me,” he said. He spread his legs and put the ball between them. Then he hurled it.

The ball went straight up. It came straight back down. RB had to jump out of the way so it wouldn't bop him.

“Oh,” he said. He looked at Ferris Boyd.

She stomped the drive to show him where to stand. She pointed to her eye, then the basket.

“I'll watch the basket,” he told her.

He windmilled his arms to warm up. Then he flung the ball, like a tiny human catapult. “Oooowooof,” he grunted.

It sailed through the air. It hit the rim and passed through it.

“Holy shikes,” Delly breathed.

RB was still watching the hoop. “Ferris Boyd?” he whispered, asking if it was true.

She got her pad and pen. She wrote something and put the paper between them.

RB took it, and his face bloomed a smile. “I want to quit with that,” he said, and went to the stoop.

“Now I got two of you playing that bawlgram game.” Delly pretended to grumble. But it was something, to see him so happy.

“What's that paper say?” she asked.

He passed it to her. There were no words; just a star in the center of it. “She thinks I'm a star,” he breathed, like if he said it out loud, he'd be lying. He was shining, though.

Delly understood. That's how having a friend made her feel, too.

“You're the star,” she rasped, wanting him to feel that way forever.

In the hideawaysis, RB didn't waste any time shimmying over to Ferris Boyd and sharing her book.

But Delly didn't worry now. She got up to go.

“Huh?” he asked.

“Getting spearheads,” she answered, and went to the woods.

The forest floor was covered with limestone. If Delly banged two chunks together, small, pointy pieces broke off.

She made enough for thirty spears. When she went back, she piled them by the sticks. Then she sat down across from those two.

She watched RB leaning on Ferris Boyd, pointing at the pages, and the girl nodding so her chin rubbed against his hair. And Delly's heart got so big it was hammering her chest.

“RB,” she rasped. Not to stop him, to let him know she was wrong.

Because Ferris Boyd had given Delly a world away from trouble, and she loved it. She'd thought RB would wreck it. Instead, he'd made it better. He filled it with his warm softness, so the hideawaysis felt like the happiest place ever.

RB glanced up at his sister.

She nodded. Without saying a word she told him, I'm glad you're here.

RB smiled so all his teeth showed.

And Delly had to turn away, before her heart busted out of her.