True (. . . Sort Of) (4 page)

T
hat night Delly didn't get a surpresent. Sleep brought her something, though, because in the morning she came downstairs with a smirk.

Walking to school, RB asked her, “You okay?”

“Oh yeah,” she sneered, “because I got good all around me.

“Who needs a surpresent with all this good around me?” She went on, kicking the sidewalk. “No more waiting and hoping for me, RB. I'm going to grab the good around me.” She swiped the air.

RB just watched her.

At the school entrance, Delly held the door. “Go on,” she told him.

So he did.

When he got to his classroom, RB turned to tell his sister, “See ya.”

But there was no sister to be seen. “No,” he gasped, and headed for the door.

Till Ms. Niederbaum nabbed him. “Your room's this way,” she said, and steered him back.

From his desk, RB stared out the window. “Oh, Delly,” he whispered.

Weekday mornings, Norma at the IGA made doughnuts. She made vanilla-glazed with nuts, maple-glazed with coconut, chocolate with chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles. Those days the air around the IGA smelled so good, you'd want to eat it.

Delly peeked to make sure Norma wasn't at the checkout, then headed straight for the doughnut case. “Mm-mmm,” she greeted them. She grabbed a sack and filled it with a dozen Dellylicious delights.

Vern Teeter rang her up at the register. “You having a party?”

“Something like that.” Delly smirked.

“Better hurry,” he warned her, “or you'll be late for school.”

“Oh, I will,” she promised.

She ran out of the IGA and raced to the river. It wasn't two minutes till she was sitting under the River Road bridge, deciding which doughnut to devour first. “Triple chocolate,” she declared.

“Ma's right,” she said as she snatched it out of the sack. “I don't need a surpresent. I got a Delly-present.” With Dellypresents, there'd be no more waiting, no worrying if she was good enough. “Perfecterrific,” she proclaimed.

With the river rolling by and the sun shining on her, she raised the doughnut in the air. “Good all around me.” She grinned, and took a bite. “Good in me, too,” she said, spitting chocolate chunks.

Clayton Fitch was on his way to the IGA when Delly dashed by him. It wasn't a minute till he was on the phone to Officer Tibbetts.

“Verena,” he squawked, “that Pattison's running to the riv—”

Officer Tibbetts hung up before he could finish. Delly wouldn't be celebrating alone.

It wasn't three minutes till the policewoman had parked the cruiser by the bridge. There was half a doughnut hanging out of Delly's mouth when she ordered, “Drop it, Delaware.”

“What the glub?” Delly muttered, and the doughnut plopped to the ground.

Officer Tibbetts seized the bag. “You won't need these where you're going.” She grabbed the girl's arm.

Delly was too stunned to struggle.

The policewoman led her to the cruiser. She put her in back, behind the bars.

“But it was perfecterrific,” Delly mumbled, as they drove to school with the siren screaming.

L
ionel Terwilliger taught the fifth grade, including Delly. He liked big words, and he called everybody Ms. or Mr.

What Delly liked about Lionel Terwilliger, though, was he never shamed her. When she was in trouble, he'd bend down beside her and whisper, “Ms. Pattison, there is an issue we need to discuss.” Then he'd tell her what she'd done wrong. Delly always listened; somehow, she always messed up again. Still, she was never just trouble to Lionel Terwilliger.

So when Ms. Niederbaum brought Delly to the classroom and told him, “Delaware's joining us after all,” he said, “Ms. Pattison, your presence is always appreciated.”

Delly was still in shock. She stared at the floor, seeing river and rocks instead.

“We have a new student,” he told her. “Since you missed introductions, I will present you now.”

Lionel Terwilliger put his hand on Delly's shoulder, and that made her look up. He raised his arm, and Delly's eyes followed it.

To a boy. The bawlgram no-surpresent boy.

“Ms. Delaware Pattison,” he announced, “this is Ms. Ferris Boyd.”

Delly didn't say it to be mean. She said it because after being wrong about everything else, she was right about this. “That's no Ms.,” she announced. “That's a boy.”

Right away, there were giggles. Danny Novello laughed out loud. Bright red ran up the boy's neck and covered his face.

“This is Ms. Boyd,” Lionel Terwilliger insisted.

“But he—”

“Ms. Pattison,” he boomed, “that is enough!”

And Delly heard it in his voice. Now she was just trouble to Lionel Terwilliger, too.

“Please be seated,” he said sternly.

Delly shuffled to her seat and slumped into it. The feeling bad was back, full blast. It pounded her with
bad, wrong, trouble
all morning long.

When the recess bell rang, Delly didn't hurry. As she slouched past his desk, Lionel Terwilliger called to her, “Ms. Pattison.”

She trudged over.

“There is information I shared with the class, before Ms. Boyd arrived, which you need to know,” he said, no warmth in his words. “First, Ms. Boyd does not speak.”

“What the—?” she mumbled.

His hand went up. “She can hear, but she does not speak. In addition, she must not be touched.”

Delly dropped her head. Now he thought she was so bad she'd hit a no-talking girl. “I wouldn't fight her,” she muttered.

“I was not suggesting you would strike Ms. Boyd,” he replied. “She must not be touched, by anyone. Is that understood?”

Delly nodded.

“You may go.” He dismissed her.

But she had to tell Lionel Terwilliger, who hadn't given up on her till today, “I didn't mean to—”

“Delaware.” He stopped her. Then he said, softly, “I know.”

Delly looked up.

“Despite your intentions, however, you injure others. You must learn to . . . ”

Delly watched his mouth, waiting for the words. How could she stop the trouble? How could she be good?

Instead, he sighed. He couldn't help her.

She slunk outside to recess.

D
anny Novello was good-looking. He was good at school, good at sports, and there was good in him somewhere.

But his mouth was mean. He'd ask Delilah Dingham, who was smart in science, “Do you have a mom and dad, or did they make you in a test tube?” He told the Dettbarn twins, who had problems with personal hygiene, “I heard skunks won't get near you.” He oinked at Melbert Fouts, who was fat, and Melbert cried.

Everybody was afraid of Danny Novello's mouth. Everybody except Delly.

Danny Novello loved Delly. He loved her tininess and her trouble. He'd loved her since first grade, but his mouth was too mean to tell her.

The love had only festered with time. Soon, whenever he got near her, his heart beat so hard it hurt. Tell her, it pounded, or I'll burst. So, this past Christmas, he decided to declare it. “Best gift she'll ever get,” he boasted.

He was so sure of himself he brought a crowd. “Watch this,” he told them, and parked himself in front of her.

“What do you want?” she rasped.

As soon as Delly closed her mouth, he smacked it, with a big, fat kiss. He stood there, waiting for her to say, “I love you, too, bawlgrammit.”

Delly's eyes went wild. She coughed, like a cat hacking up a hairball. Then she puckered up, too.

Novello closed his eyes for the kiss he knew was coming.

Instead, Delly turned her head and spit the biggest goober those children had ever seen.

The crowd gasped.

Novello's eyes flipped open. “What the . . . ?” he wondered.

And Delly slugged him.

She dropped him, hard. As he hit the ground, air blew out of him, like a popped tire.

She bent down. With her mouth as close to his as it would ever get, she growled, “You try that again, I'll knock you into next week,” and walked away.

Tater was still staring at the spot where the spit hit. “Wow,” was all he could say.

The crowd giggled.

“Something funny?” Novello hissed.

They all shook their heads.

Danny Novello couldn't stop loving Delly. But he couldn't forgive her for refusing him, either. From then on, most of his mouth meanness went to her.

He was waiting for Delly with a pack of kids when she came out for recess. He and Tater stood in front of her, so she had to stop.

“Hey Danny,” Tater shouted, “it's Ms. Pattison.”

“That's no Ms.,” Novello yelled, “that's a monkey.”

The crowd exploded with laughter.

Delly exploded, with punches. But she was wild; mostly she was pummeling air.

And Novello was laughing. “I feel a flea. A bug's biting me.”

Till she got him. In the gut.

“Oof,” he exclaimed.

She jumped him, and he toppled, like a tree taken down by a tiny lumberjack.

“Ayeeeeee!” he screamed.

He landed with her on his chest. “Open wide,” she hollered, “here comes lunch.” She cocked her right fist behind her head, all ready to send a knuckle sandwich to his mouth.

Ms. Niederbaum stopped the delivery. She grabbed Delly's arm, then hoisted her off him.

“What the glub?” Delly exclaimed.

“We're taking a trip,” Ms. Niederbaum said as she carried her across the playground.

“How many weeks on Alaska this time?” Delly grumbled.

But they did not travel to Alaska. They went straight to the place big trouble ends up: the principal's office.

As Ms. Niederbaum set her down outside Ms. McDougal's door, she said, “I think you've done it this time.”

And Delly, who'd lost her surpresent, her Dellypresent, and Lionel Terwilliger, muttered, “Nothing left to lose.”

She was wrong about that, too.

A
ll afternoon Delly sat in the chair. “Must've forgot about me.” She snickered.

Then, from down the hall, she heard Clarice's voice. “We're here to see Ms. McDougal.”

“It's about Delly,” Boomer added.

“Chizzle,” Delly murmured. She watched them walk toward her.

Boomer shook his head when he spotted her.

“Delly,” Clarice sighed, as if the word meant something sad.

Ms. McDougal was at her door. “Mr. and Mrs. Pattison, come in,” she told them, and they disappeared.

It was a long time later when the principal called, “Delaware, please join us.”

She trudged to the door.

Boomer and Clarice were sitting against the wall. Boomer's eyes were red and his jaw was tight. Clarice was clenching her chair so her knuckles were white.

Delly slumped to her seat.

“I've told your parents about your trip to the river and the fight at recess.” Ms. McDougal began.

“Hunh,” Delly mumbled.

“For the rest of the week, you'll have detention, and recess on Alaska. Your parents have decided on a punishment for home.”

Boomer's mouth barely moved. “Your room, for a week.”

Delly's head popped up. For Dellypunishments, it was puny. “That's it?” she muttered.

It wasn't.

“Delaware, the trouble is chronic.” Ms. McDougal continued. “We're not sure this school can help you and keep the other children safe, too. We think another placement might be better for everyone.”

Delly was wondering if that meant Alaska, all day every day, when the principal told her, “We've agreed to give you one more chance to succeed here.”

“Huh?” Delly didn't understand.

Boomer explained. “If you mess up one more time, it's over. You go to a new school, for troubled kids.”

Delly thought about that. Then she asked, “If I went to this other place, would I stop being bad?”

Ms. McDougal shrugged. “We hope it doesn't come to that.”

Nobody'd been watching Clarice, because Clarice wasn't talking. But sounds were coming out of her now. Delly glanced at her mother.

Tears were pouring down Clarice's cheeks, like tiny waterfalls. She was holding in sobs, so they sounded like hiccups.

Delly's heart stopped. This was worse than any trouble; it was the world falling apart. Because Clarice Pattison didn't cry, ever.

Till today.

“Ma,” Delly called, trying to stop it.

Clarice turned to her. She didn't speak, but her eyes were asking.

Delly knew what she wanted: she wanted hope. She wanted her to say, “I'll be different, I promise.”

But Delly didn't know how to be not-Delly. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Clarice closed her eyes. Her head dropped to her chest. She'd given up on Delly, too.

Ms. McDougal stood. Boomer and Clarice walked out of the office with Delly behind them.

They rode in the van without words. When they got home, nobody had to tell Delly to go to her room.

D
elly lay on her bed. In her head, she made a list of the people who'd given up on her.

It was a long one. There was Officer Tibbetts, Clayton Fitch, Norma, and all the friends she didn't have anymore. Just today she'd added Lionel Terwilliger, Ms. McDougal, and Boomer. And Clarice. Making Clarice cry was the worst of it.

Then Delly added one more name to the list: “Me.”

“It'd be better if I wasn't around,” she said out loud, so whatever brought surpresents could take her away.

There were two rivers of tears backing up behind her eyeballs, but she wouldn't let them out. She squeezed her eyes tight, till they stopped stinging.

It was late when RB showed up. He lay down beside her. “Delly,” he asked, “are you going to a different school?”

She shrugged, and the bed shook a little.

“Don't go.” His voice was cracking like he'd cry.

She shrugged again.

Then RB was shouting, “Just quit getting in trouble. Just quit it!”

“I'm not trying to get in trouble!” she shouted back.

RB knew that was true. “What
are
you trying to do?” he asked.

She thought about it. “Have fun. Do something good. Except when I fight.”

He said it quietly, so she wouldn't slug him too hard: “Maybe you should try something different.”

She didn't smack him. Instead, she rasped, “I don't know how to be . . . not me.”

They both lay there for a while.

“Del?” he said.

“Huh.”

“You know when I knock on your door and you say, ‘Go away, I'm doing something.' And I want to say, ‘You're not doing anything. Let me in!' But I don't, I just sit there and wait.”

Delly didn't know that.

“Or you know when Galveston says, ‘RB, I'm in charge. Clean up this room,' and I want to take Ma's spatula and whap her. But I don't, I just walk away.”

Delly didn't know that, either.

“Know what I'm doing instead of whapping?”

“What?” She turned to him, waiting for the words. Finally, somebody was going to tell her how to stop the trouble.

“I'm counting.” RB smiled, so proud of himself.

“What?” she screeched.

“I'm counting. You know: one, two, three . . . It makes me calm down.

“That's what you gotta do, Del. You gotta count,” he told her, like he'd solved everything.

“RB.” She was talking through her teeth. “I'm in trouble up to my eyeballs, and you think I should count?”

“Yep,” he said surely.

“RB, bed,” Boomer called.

He slid off from beside her. “Will you try?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Del, please?” And the tears were two seconds away.

“Okay,” she agreed, just so somebody else wouldn't be sobbing because of her.

He put his face close to hers. “I know you can do it,” he whispered.

“RB?”

“Yep.”

“One, two, three . . . ” She counted, like Clarice did when somebody had till ten before trouble.

And he was gone.

“Counting.” Delly spit the word. “I'd rather eat worm sandwiches.”

In the dark, she tried to think of something else she could do to be Dellyifferent. “They could tie me up,” she said. “Then I couldn't fight.” But she couldn't eat or do her homework, either.

“They could keep me in my room forever,” she suggested. Clarice wouldn't leave her alone in the house, though, since she parachuted off the porch roof.

“Forget it. There's no fixing me.” She gave up again.

Till she remembered Clarice crying. “Chizzle,” she murmured.

Because Delly could take people calling her names or being sent to a special school. Everybody in the world could give up on her. Except Clarice.

“RB only counts when he gets worked up. That's hardly ever. I'll have to do it every bawlgram second,” she complained.

But there was Clarice, her eyes still asking.

“All right, I'll count,” she told the darkness. And that's how she went to sleep. “One bawlgrammit, two bawlgrammit . . . ”