Double Dutch

by Sharon M. Draper

  “It’s easy if you know how to play the game. At the store when I shop for groceries for my mom, I know the colors and the sizes of the packages I want. At the fast-food places they have pictures of everything. I just ask for a number two with a Coke. At school, I guess, I listen real good, I get the video instead of reading the book, and I do really well on nonreading reports like our project for English. But it’s hard to keep up,” she admitted. “I’m so tired of it all.”

  “What does your mother say about your, uh, reading problem, Delia?”

  “She doesn’t know,” Delia replied. She pulled at the hair of the Barbie doll.

  “That’s impossible. How can a mother NOT know something like that?”

  “It’s not so hard to hide the truth, Randy. Look at what you did. Nobody knew you were living all alone.”

  Randy sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I feel so stupid,” Delia said with her head down.

  “But you seem so smart!” Randy blurted out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say you were dumb.”

  “I wasn’t smart enough to read that flyer about your father,” Delia said quietly. “I really AM stupid. What does it say?”

  “The police aren’t looking for him—they have found him!” Randy said with excitement.

  “What? How? Where is he? He’s . . . alive?” she asked cautiously.

  “Yeah, at least he was when this flyer was made up. There’s no telling how old it is. Looks like it was sent out as a fax from a hospital in Columbus, Ohio. Gee, Dad,” Randy mused, “you only got as far as Columbus?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Wasn’t he on his way to California?” Delia asked.

  “Yeah, he was. From what I can tell here, he was beat up and robbed and left for dead near a truck stop. How’d you let them get the drop on you like that, Dad?” Randy said more to himself than to Delia. “He was in a coma for six weeks, but it seems, now that he has come out of it, his memory is foggy, and they are looking for anyone who knows him and can help him. And that’s me!” It was Randy’s turn to break down with emotion. “I was afraid he was dead, Delia.”

  “I almost threw that flyer away, Randy. I thought it was something really bad that would hurt you. Because I’m so stupid, I almost cost you the chance to get your daddy back.”

  Randy didn’t disagree with her. Instead, he said, “I gotta go. I gotta make this call.” Clutching the flyer, he ran out suddenly, leaving Delia sitting alone on the bleachers, listening to the echoes of all the victories and defeats that gym had witnessed—including her own.

  twenty-three

  MRS. DOUGLAS WALKED INTO THE GYM, LOOKING FOR Delia. “You ready to go?” she asked. “I was so proud of you today, Delia—jumping on that floor like there was no tomorrow.”

  Delia thought, I guess she’s right—there IS no tomorrow. I’m dumb as a rock and I always will be! To her mother she said with a smile, “Thanks, Mom.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?” her mother asked as she gathered up the second-place trophy and the huge first-place trophy.

  “Just tired, Mom,” Delia replied. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I have an idea,” her mother suggested. “Let’s go out to dinner to celebrate—someplace really nice.”

  “I’d like that, Mom,” Delia said quietly. They walked slowly out of the silent gym and into the early evening, the last bit of sun splashing off the gold of Delia’s trophies. Delia, quiet and thoughtful during the ride to the restaurant, was thankful her mother didn’t pepper her with questions and meaningless mother-talk.

  The restaurant was cool and lit with candles flickering on each table. Delia slid into the well-stuffed, comfortable seat and sighed with a bit of relief. The waiter brought two menus, glasses of water, and bread sticks, then hovered closely for their order.

  “Give us a minute to look this over, would you?” Mrs. Douglas said to him.

  “No problem, ma’am.” The waiter disappeared into the shadows.

  Delia looked at the menu and froze. It had no pictures on it like the menus in the restaurants that she and her friends usually visited. She held it tightly in front of her and tried to focus on the words. She squinted. She held it close to her eyes, then far away. Nothing helped. The words did their usual dance of disobedience.

  “Where are your glasses?” her mother asked, noticing Delia’s difficulty.

  “I didn’t bring them. I didn’t think I’d need them today since all we were doing is jumping. I just use them for reading.”

  “Do they help?” her mother asked.

  “Not really,” Delia mumbled.

  “Do you think we need to get the prescription adjusted? It’s been a couple of years since you’ve seen the eye doctor.”

  “Yeah, probably,” Delia replied. She nibbled on a bread stick. She decided she’d just order a hamburger and fries, like she always did. That way, she wouldn’t have to worry about what the menu says. But she was so sick of hamburgers! Some pasta or some steak or some chicken would be great. But she couldn’t figure out enough on the complicated menu to tell which was which. Delia sighed again.

  “Are you ready to order?” The waiter had reappeared from the shadows.

  “I’ll have a hamburger and fries, please,” Delia said with resignation.

  “Tonight is a celebration, Delia—for you,” her mother said. “Don’t you want to order something different tonight?”

  Delia hesitated. Then she sighed and said, “Thanks, Mom, but I really like hamburgers.”

  Mrs. Douglas ordered shrimp and pasta, and Delia wished she had as well. She slumped further into her seat. Her mother smiled and said, “Cheer up, Delia! You’ve lived through a tornado! You’re a champion! You’ve got more trophies than we can fit on our mantel! Why are you looking like you just lost your best friend?”

  “I think maybe I did,” Delia replied.

  “Yolanda? She looked great out there, although I admit I was a little worried about her—jumping like that so soon after what could have been a really serious injury.”

  “No, not Yo Yo,” Delia said quietly. “Randy.”

  “Oh, no wonder you look so glum,” her mother answered in that mother-knows-all tone of voice. “Did you and he have a fight?”

  “Not really, I did something really stupid and it... never mind, here comes the food.” The waiter effortlessly whipped the food in front of them and retreated after refilling their water glasses.

  “You want to tell me about it?” Mrs. Douglas asked as she dipped her shrimp in the butter sauce.

  Delia glanced at her hamburger, which was dry and overcooked, and looked with longing at her mother’s plate. “I wish I had ordered the pasta,” Delia said, sniffing the garlic flavor that drifted from her mother’s plate.

  “You had your chance—it’s delicious,” Mrs. Douglas replied. “But what does that have to do with you and the problem with Randy?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” Delia tried to blink back the tears. “You know, Mom, they’ll fix the school building eventually or make us take classes someplace else, and they’ll make us take that test eventually, too.”

  “Of course they will, dear,” her mother replied. “Not even tornadoes can stop the school process for very long. But what’s wrong?”

  “Mom,” Delia whispered, her voice barely louder than the flicker of the candle in front of them. “I can’t read. This is not one of Yolanda’s tall tales—this is for real. I can’t read my books at school. I can’t read the newspaper. I didn’t order the shrimp because I couldn’t read the stupid menu.”

  Mrs. Douglas dropped her fork. She tried to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth.

  “I’ve been hiding it, Mom, and I’m tired of pretending. I almost cost Randy his father because of it. You have to believe me. You gotta find me some help so the words quit jumping on the page like they’re jumping Double Dutch.” Delia’s eyes, rimmed with tears, looked directly into the amazed eyes of her mother. “I can’t read, Mom
.”

  Delia’s mother stared at her daughter, disbelief on her face. Delia sensed her thinking back through years of mystery about irregular grades and peculiar study habits. After a long moment, she said, “I believe you. Oh, my Lord, so much makes sense now! Delia, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Mom, guess what? I’m a dummy!’” Delia replied, sniffing, as she told her mother about how she had slipped around the edges of reading for so long.

  “Now I know you are intelligent. To be able to fake it this long shows amazing ingenuity. We just have to figure out how to open the doors of your brain that are locked right now,” her mother said with authority.

  “I’ve got scrambled brains,” Delia said as she dipped a cold French fry into her ketchup. “I’ve never seen anybody unscramble eggs. What makes you think somebody can unscramble my head?”

  Her mother laughed softly. “You’d be surprised what modern science and education can do today. Once again, I am very proud of you, Delia. First thing Monday morning we’re going to get you evaluated and get to the bottom of this. We’ll get you a tutor, a doctor, whatever it takes. Maybe even a specialist-your dad will help pay for it!” she said sharply.

  “I’m a loser,” Delia mumbled, her head bent so low over her plate she could see the texture of the hamburger bun.

  “Let me tell you something, Delia,” her mother began. “I’m the one who feels like a failure here. I remember when you were about two, I took you to the shoe store to get new shoes. I had just bought you shoes maybe two months before that, but the saleslady looked at me like I was some kind of abusive parent, telling me, ‘Your child’s foot is severely constricted in this shoe. Didn’t you notice that she had outgrown her current shoe?’ I felt so bad because it just hadn’t occurred to me that your foot would grow so fast. I didn’t mean to be a bad mother, but I guess I was. So that’s how I feel now—I should have noticed you were struggling. That’s a mother’s job.”

  Delia looked at her mother in surprise. “You had your own problems to deal with—all that mess with Daddy. Everybody else learns to read with no help at all. I was just too dumb to do that.”

  “Quit talking bad about yourself! You jumped like a winner today, because that’s what you are,” Mrs. Douglas said fiercely. “Losers don’t get to wear that beautiful jacket you’ve got on.”

  “I didn’t have to read to win it,” Delia countered.

  “But you had to work hard. You are a champion, inside and out, and champions know it takes hard work to succeed. This may not get fixed overnight, you know. But we’ll get there-you and me together.”

  “I know,” Delia replied with relief, glad the problem was now in her mother’s hands. “And Mom?”

  “What, Delia? Is there more?”

  Delia smiled. “Can I have the rest of your pasta? I’m really sick of hamburgers!” They both laughed, the awful tension of the evening flickering away like the candle that the waiter extinguished as he brought the bill.

  twenty-four

  DELIA TOOK A LONG SHOWER WHEN THEY GOT HOME, THEN headed for the phone. She had to find out about Randy and his father. But before she could pick it up to dial, it shrilled loudly as her hand touched the receiver. It was Yolanda.

  “What’s up, my red-jacketed girlfriend?” Yolanda said cheerfully.

  “Not much. Me and my mom went out to eat after the tournament. We had one of those mother-daughter talks.”

  “She finally got around to talking about sex?” Yolanda laughed.

  Delia chuckled. “No, probably by the time I’m twenty-five she’ll get the nerve to do that!”

  “Parents are so backward,” Yolanda agreed. “When I was five, I had to sit my mother down and tell her about sex!” She was laughing so hard, it sounded as if she had dropped the phone. “Seriously, what did you talk about?”

  “I told her about my problems at school—my broken brain. You’re right about parents being backward. It’s amazing she never figured it out. I dumped it all on her.”

  “How’d she take it? What’d she say?” asked Yo Yo.

  “I think she felt bad, like she was a bad parent or something. But basically she was pretty cool.”

  “I am so glad that’s out of the box. Lies will get you nowhere,” Yolanda said mischievously.

  Delia laughed. “Look who’s talking—the teen queen of extreme!” Trying to change the subject, she asked Yolanda, “So, how’s it going with your double dudes?”

  “Two is better than one, I guess. Believe it or not, they’re really shy, but they’re very good at acting mean.”

  “They fooled me,” Delia said, shuddering as she remembered.

  “Let’s put it this way—we won’t be going on any double dates anytime soon. They’re not ready for Yolanda’s fast track yet!”

  Delia chuckled and looked at the clock. “Hey, I gotta call Randy before it gets too late. I’ll catch you tomorrow, Yo Yo. Bye.”

  Delia called Bomani’s house, but the answering machine picked up, so she dialed Randy’s number, not really expecting an answer. She was surprised when she heard his deep bass voice. “Randy! I didn’t really expect you to be there. What’s going on?”

  Randy didn’t sound glad to hear from Delia. She knew he still had to be very angry. “I came to get a few clothes and my cat. Bomani says she can stay in his garage as long as I’m staying there with him.” He said nothing else.

  Delia hesitated. “Did you call the phone number on the flyer?”

  “Yeah,” Randy replied.

  She could hear him breathing slowly on the other end. “What did they say?” she whispered.

  “It’s my dad, for sure,” Randy answered with feeling. “I described the mole on his nose and the tattoo on his left arm that he got in the army.”

  “Did they give you any information about him? Like what happened? Is he gonna be okay?”

  Randy’s voice sounded choked. “From what I can figure out, his truck was found abandoned in Texas but from what they can piece together, he never even got out of Ohio. He was beat up by more than one person, the doctor told me. Knowing Dad, he probably picked up some hitchhikers again. He trusts everybody.”

  “Go on,” Delia prodded. “What else did they tell you?”

  “They took all his identification, his cell phone, his money—as well as his truck—and left him for dead after beating him in the head with a hammer.”

  Delia shuddered. “Oh, no! Your poor dad! Randy, I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”

  “Some lady on vacation from Canada found him and called the police, but they had no way of knowing who he was. He was almost dead. The doctor said he just started coming out of it a few days ago—around the time of the tornado. They sent flyers out by fax to places within a hundred miles of Columbus to see if anybody recognized him.”

  “Well, I’m glad I recognized the picture, at least. If it had been all words, I would never have known,” Delia told him with real remorse.

  “Well, I’m glad you can read pictures,” Randy said tersely.

  Delia could hear the anger in his voice. She asked quietly, “Is he going to recover?”

  “I think so. The doctor said he’s talking a little now, about trucks and cats.”

  “That’s good!” Delia said, trying to sound cheerful. “Are you going to go see him soon? Is Bomani going to take you? Maybe me and my mom could drive you up to Columbus,” she offered. “It’s the least I can do-I feel like some of this is my fault.”

  “No!” Randy replied loudly. “Bomani’s gonna take me up there in the morning. I gotta go, Delia.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

  Delia stared into the phone for a moment, feeling empty and lost.

  twenty-five

  THE NEXT MORNING, AS RANDY CLIMBED INTO BOMANI’S van, he asked, “Hey, Bomani? Do you mind if we make one stop before we head to Columbus? I gotta see a friend. It will only take a minute.”

  “Sure, Randy. No proble
m,” Bomani replied easily. Randy gave directions, and as soon as the van stopped, Randy bounded out of the door and into the pawn shop.

  “Hey, Mr. Clifford! Remember me?” Randy called out as he entered the dimly lit store.

  Mr. Clifford, who Randy was sure had on the same gray sweater he’d had on when he had first met him, ambled slowly from the back of the store. It’s probably the same cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth, Randy thought, chuckling. Mr. Clifford, purple-rimmed glasses on his nose, smiled broadly when he saw Randy. “Ah, Mr. Youngblood,” he said. “You have more valuables to offer me?”

  “No, man. I, uh, I just wanted to let you know my dad is gonna be okay. And I wanted to, you know, uh, thank you. You kept me from drowning. If you want me to help you out around here after school or something, I can do that now—at least when my dad is back to work.” Randy looked at the floor.

  “Stop by anytime, Youngblood.”

  Randy grinned, yelled his thanks once more, and bounded out of the door and back to Bomani’s van, thanking him for stopping.

  “What was that all about?” Bomani asked.

  “Just an old friend,” Randy said quietly. “He helped me when I was down.” He said nothing more, but sank into the seat and gazed out the window.

  “What about your other friends—like Delia?” Bomani asked as they drove through the Sunday morning traffic on I-71.

  “What about her?” Randy replied gruffly.

  “I heard you hang up on her yesterday,” Bomani told him. “I bet she’s feeling pretty bad about all this.”

  “Tough!” Randy felt his anger returning.

  Bomani said nothing else for several miles.

  “If I hadn’t found that piece of paper, Delia might have thrown it away. I might have been alone forever!”

  “But you did, and she didn’t, and you won’t. So give the kid a break,” Bomani suggested.

  This time, Randy was silent for several miles. He thought about Delia as he watched the rural countryside whiz by. And he thought about his father.