by A W Hartoin
Luke and Caleb nearly made a clean sweep of the junior awards. They won everything in academics, tied for leadership, and Luke won for junior athlete of the year. I almost swallowed my tongue when I won the leadership award for the freshmen.
I snuck a peek at Miss Pritchett when I went on stage to accept. She stood at the back of the stage, but she wasn’t looking at me. She glared at Mom and Aunt Calla, who were yelling like demented cheerleaders among the other more sedate parents.
I waved at Mom and she blew me kisses. Normally, that would’ve been totally embarrassing, but I knew it would irritate the crap out of Miss Pritchett, so I took a deep bow and Mom rewarded me with more kisses, probably juicy and loud. I couldn’t hear them over the applause. My classmates were going apeshit and the year almost seemed worthwhile. Miss Pritchett hadn’t beat me. She hadn’t beat us.
Then I sat down and was forced to listen to all the academic awards that weren’t going to me, thanks to Miss Pritchett. I’d won for math and English in the eighth grade. I never cared about awards before, but that year I worked hard. Miss Pritchett took points off for everything from blotchy ink to raising my hand too high. I deserved those awards. As each name was announced, I began thinking revenge was in order. The whole year long I’d hated Miss Pritchett for everything she’d done to me, but this time she’d gone too far.
After the board superintendent made her speech and the heads of each academic department had their say, everyone was free for the summer. I slipped through the crowd towards Miss Pritchett.
Frank chased after me and grabbed my arm. “Don’t do it. You beat her. It’s over.”
“It’s not over.” I’d just about made up my mind to tell her what a piece of crap she was when I caught sight of her face. Miss Pritchett was smiling.
Her smile stopped me in my tracks. Miss Pritchett never smiled unless she was punishing me. I had a queasy feeling the shit was about to hit the fan. I mean, how bad did something have to be to make that woman smile? I followed her eye line to discover she was still looking at Mom and it wasn’t hard to figure out why she was smiling.
Violet Gladwell MacClarity was dressed like Violet Gladwell MacClarity, and there was no one on earth like my mom. She’d spiked out her short blond hair like she’d been electrocuted. Her black eyeliner and mascara gave her a distinct punched-in-the-eye look and she’d put on lip gloss so thick it looked ready to drip off.
Frank turned me away from Miss Pritchett and we walked to Mom. As I got closer, I realized the makeup was an afterthought. She’d been working. Her favorite black tank was the evidence. It’d been washed into threadbare grayness and I could see, along with everyone else, the red bra she chose to wear underneath it. Why she had to do that, I couldn’t guess. Maybe she liked humiliating me because she had on the vintage hippie jeans my sisters tried to hide in the basement. They hung low on her bony hips and when she turned they showed off the tattoo at the base of her spine. The hem of the jeans dragged on the ground, ragged and dirty, six inches behind her heels. She claimed it was the style in the sixties.
“Hi, Mom.”
She spun around and smiled. Her face beamed under all that heinous makeup. “Oh, Puppy,” she said. “I’m so proud, after the year you’ve had. Give me a kiss.”
Swell. Blowing kisses was one thing, actually kissing me was another. I dodged her, but her long arm snatched me back and folded me into her bony chest. It was like being hugged by a bag of hangers.
When she was done slobbering all over me, she stepped back and I saw the coup de grace. She’d dropped her enormous leather work apron on the floor. At least she wasn’t wearing it. The apron would’ve covered her from chest to knees and was scarred with years of dirt and effort. The thing stunk like a giant armpit. I could never figure out why. Dad bought her a new one, but she said the old one was lucky. Lucky I didn’t burn it.
“Mom, why’d you bring your apron?”
She looked down, surprised. “Oh. I did, didn’t I? I was working, sweetie. Totally lost track of time. You know how it is. I almost didn’t have time to put my makeup on.”
Miss Pritchett caught my eye. She headed toward us with arms crossed and nose in the air.
“Let’s go.” I picked up the apron, trying not to smell it, and tugged on Mom’s arm.
“No, no,” she said. “I have to speak to Mr. Hubbert.”
“No, you don’t. Let’s go.”
I felt someone behind me and knew it was over. Miss Pritchett would attack and Mom wasn’t above smacking the crap out of her if it came down to it. People would still be talking about it next September. I grabbed both Mom’s arms and steered her backwards to the door.
“Violet. Calla. I’m so glad to see you.”
I turned around to see Mrs. Hubbert and Mr. Wuerth, my seventh grade teacher, smiling at us. Mrs. Hubbert’s tiny, emaciated frame wavered, but Mr. Wuerth steadied her with an arm around her waist. Mrs. Hubbert held out her blue-lined hand. Mom took it and pressed it to her cheek. When Miss Pritchett saw Mrs. Hubbert, she grimaced, and then retreated. I smiled and resisted the urge to taunt her cowardice.
Frank watched a look of satisfaction flicker over Puppy’s face and let out a tense breath. The last day was over and nothing terrible had happened and it could’ve. It really could’ve. When Puppy’s family was around, you just never knew what to expect. People seemed to think blowing up the chem lab was bad, but they didn’t know the half of it.
Mrs. MacClarity hugged Mrs. Hubbert, supporting her for a few seconds. “How are you feeling, Lorraine?”
“It’s a good day and I only have one more month of chemo left.” Mrs. Hubbert smiled. Her face was pinched and colorless with a new network of lines etched around her eyes. Her eyes were their same soft hazel, unchanged by the ravages of cancer and its treatment.
“Jesus. Those doctors make the Marquis de Sade look kindhearted,” said Mrs. MacClarity.
“There’s nothing to be done,” said Mrs. Hubbert.
“Nothing except food.” Mrs. MacClarity handed Mrs. Hubbert a baggie filled with cookies.
“You’re so sweet.”
“Have one right now. It’ll give you a lift.”
Frank froze. He watched Mrs. Hubbert take out a cookie and nibble it. An instant flush went over Mrs. Hubbert’s face, starting at her lips and continuing to her fingertips. Frank glanced around. Nobody was paying any attention. Nobody saw. Mrs. Hubbert took a big bite and she puffed up like a sponge filling with water. Mr. Wuerth’s arm fell away and she stood without support.
“Ah, delicious,” she said. “What did you put in these?”
“Just a little eye of newt and toe of frog. Maybe a little wool of bat and tongue of dog.”
“Mom,” said Puppy. “You are so weird.”
“Darling, you have no idea.”
Mrs. Hubbert and Mr. Wuerth laughed. Frank frowned. He doubted that Mrs. MacClarity was joking, and it baffled him that no one else realized the possibility. Mrs. MacClarity caught his expression and winked at him.
An icy shiver went down his spine. He wished she would stop doing that. It reminded him that friendship with Puppy could be a dangerous proposition. Of course nobody else thought that, because nobody else saw. Not even Puppy and she was his own mother.
Puppy punched Frank’s shoulder. “What’s up with you? You look even paler than usual.”
“Nothing.”
Cole ran over and high-fived them. They recounted the triumph over Miss Pritchett to Mrs. Hubbert and Mr. Wuerth. The adults both shook their heads and tried to look disapproving.
Behind Puppy’s back his mom slipped Frank his own baggie with four cookies.
“Emergency supplies,” Mrs. MacClarity said with a warm smile and another wink.
Frank waited for the icy shiver to pass, whispered his thanks, and then stuck the baggie in his backpack. Mrs. MacClarity’s gifts had gotten him through his parent’s divorce, appendicitis, and the year with Miss Pritchett. Even if toe of frog and tongue of dog
were in the recipe, he’d eat them with gratitude.
Mrs. Hubbert laughed at my description of Miss Pritchett’s face and then looked over my shoulder. “What do you think, Frank? Is Puppy’s description accurate?
“Yes, madam,” said Frank.
I slung my arm over Frank’s shoulders. He was shaking a little. The guy was no hero that was for sure. Poor sick Mrs. Hubbert even scared him. It was pathetic really.
“Come on, Frank,” I said. “Tell them how she went all bat crap crazy.”
“Leave him alone, Puppy,” said Mom. “We all know you won. Frank doesn’t have to confirm it. Now Lorraine, what else can I make for you? I found a fabulous recipe for a ginger chicken salad.”
“You don’t have to do that, Violet. We’re still working on that delicious ginger cake.”
“Are you kidding? This gives me an excuse to try out new recipes. Joe can bring dishes in when he comes back to town.”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind. Your food. I don’t know what it is about it. I feel so much better after I’ve eaten it.”
Aunt Calla walked up behind Mrs. Hubbert and put her arm around her shoulders. “I’ve got new designs for you.”
Aunt Calla pulled a swatch of silk fabric out of her enormous crocheted bag. It was a greenish-brown with an intricate gold pattern throughout.
“It’s lovely, Calla,” said Mrs. Hubbert. “Do you think you could do another headscarf for me? I get so many compliments when I wear your work.”
“Absolutely.” Aunt Calla’s voice faded as I spotted Miss Pritchett haranguing Mr. Hubbert. It was about me, for sure, but I wasn’t worried. All I had to do was get Mom out the door and Mr. Hubbert would be happy to forget all about my mutiny.
Mr. Wuerth waved his pudgy hand in front of my face. “No looking back, just forward.”
“What?” I asked.
“Forget about Miss Pritchett. Forgive and forget. It’s the best policy, Puppy.”
Mr. Wuerth would say that. He was the most forgiving teacher I’d ever had. I was a huge pain in the ass back then. Plus, he and Mom had a disastrous conference about putting me on ADD medication. The conference ended with Mom saying, “There’s nothing wrong with my Puppy and you can blow it out your big butt. Maybe you can get some medication for that.”
I didn’t go on medication and somehow Mr. Wuerth never held the big butt comment against either of us. He even seemed to like us and my seventh grade year went pretty well. Miss Pritchett should’ve taken some lessons from Mr. Wuerth. Miss Pritchett never forgave or forgot anything.
I spotted her over Mr. Wuerth’s shoulder, circling the room predator-like. She gave me a smug look and glanced at Aunt Calla. I looked over and was surprised that she looked fine, fine for Aunt Calla, anyway. She wore a loose peasant blouse that hung off one thin shoulder and a homemade ankle-length skirt that partially concealed her Birkenstocks. At least she wasn’t wearing the heavy wool socks she wore in the winter. Her waist-length blond hair might have been tangled as the roses and honeysuckle climbing the trellis in front of her house, but she didn’t have any dead flowers in her hair. Aunt Calla patted me on the shoulder with an arm stained with a rainbow of dyes and I smiled at the magnolia scent that wafted off her.
Mom and Aunt Calla said goodbye to Mrs. Hubbert. Then they gathered The Pack and they steered us towards the parking lot.
I waved to Frank and shouted, “See ya later!”
Then I looked for Cole and finally found him hiding under the bleachers, picking at a large wad of gum stuck to the underside of a seat.
“What are you doing under here, man?” I asked.
“Is she still out there?” Cole stood in a pool of old half-dried soda and his shoes made sucking noises as he shuffled his feet.
“Who?”
“Parker.” Cole said. “Carolyn Elbert told me she’s going to smack me.”
I stepped back and looked around the gym. I didn’t see Parker, but Tiffany Salz waved and showed me every one of her rather large teeth.
I ducked back under the bleachers again. “I don’t see her, but you better get out of here. Go hang in the music room until your Mom shows up.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” said Cole. “Wait. I can I bring my cell phone this summer?”
“No way,” I said. “Mom says the noise destroys her creativity. There’s only one phone at Camp for emergencies. We’re lucky we get to take the laptops.”
“I can put it on vibrate.”
“She’ll still hear it. She’s like a bat. Just leave it at home.”
I looked back and saw Tiffany heading toward the bleachers. Her smile was gone and she whispered something to a girl next to her.
“Go, now.” I gestured for Cole to go out the other way, far from the girls. Cole picked his way through the metal latticework supporting the bleachers and then turned to wave to me.
As I went out the auditorium door, I felt Miss Pritchett’s eyes on my back, but I didn’t turn to look for her. I had two Pritchett-free months ahead of me and I couldn’t wait for them to start.
Chapter Five
FORLORN YOWLS ASSAULTED my ears before I even saw our van parked under a rosebud tree far from all the other vehicles. Good thing. The fierce noise vibrated the van and pink petals from the tree danced across the hood.
“Holy crap. What’s that?” asked Caleb.
“Slick and Sydney. They are not pleased,” said Aunt Calla.
“I call shotgun!” I yelled as I ran to the passenger side, yanked open the door, and saw two cat carriers on the seat. “Never mind.”
Ella stuck out her tongue at me. “Too late, stupid.”
My sisters and cousins piled into the van. I waited until the last minute, put the carriers onto the floor, climbed in, and propped my feet up on the dash.
Aunt Calla got in the driver’s side. “Christ, I hate this van. It’s an insult to individuality.”
“Where’s Mom?” asked April.
“Your mom,” Aunt Calla said over her shoulder, “has to go back home and pack up her work, leaving me to drive this monstrosity. She’ll be along later.” Then she started the van and drove us out of the city, leaving its smells and constraints behind.
The cats kept yowling even though I put a blanket over their carriers. Their voices rose and fell like overweight opera singers. Aunt Calla started singing The Dixie Chicks, matching the cat’s tone and pitch.
“Wide open spaces. Room to make the big mistakes,” she sang.
I stuck my head out the window. The wind rushed past my ears and blocked out the cats and my aunt.
After my ears started getting windburned, I pulled my head in. The cats eventually calmed down and only mewed occasionally. Aunt Calla changed to The Black Crows, but she still sang at the top of her lungs. Luke and Caleb fought over which iPod was whose and my sisters griped about losing out on the math award, but I could hardly hear them over Aunt Calla. I stripped off my tie, school shoes, and socks. I considered tying the tie over my ears.
“I can give you what you want. But you gotta come home with me,” Aunt Calla screeched.
Actually, she was pretty good, but nobody wants to hear their aunt sing that song. Seriously. It was pretty gross and she wasn’t even a dude, so it didn’t make sense.
I decided to block Aunt Calla out by concentrating on Ella and April running down every test grade they’d received in algebra while Luke whacked Caleb on the head.
“I’m gonna prove everything I say.” Aunt Calla’s voice wavered as she drew out the last note to unnatural lengths.
Nothing could block out Aunt Calla or my mom for that matter. They always found a way in, so I stopped fighting it and rested my head against the door frame. Her words bounced around in my head and at some point became less fun party song and more threatening. Something about the line “I’m gonna prove everything I say.” I drifted off to sleep with that thought resting deep in my subconscious. For the first time in months, I slept without ni
ghtmares of Miss Pritchett. I dreamt about something else. I never could quite pinpoint it. Something to do with that song. Something dark and fearful.
An hour later, Aunt Calla pulled onto the dirt road leading to Camp. The jolt of going from pavement to the rutted old country road brought me painfully awake. My head whacked against the door frame and I sat up, rubbing the long welt it left on my temple.
“Ouch,” I complained. “You could’ve warned me.”
“And you could’ve stayed awake,” Aunt Calla said. “Don’t be a whiner. We’re here.”
I stopped rubbing my head and looked down the road ahead of us. A canopy of green overhead darkened the road and gave the feeling of driving through a tunnel. We bounced over ruts and through small streams toward Camp and, in my mind, the best, safest place on earth.
Chapter Six
I LEANED FORWARD, straining against my seatbelt to catch the first glimpse of Camp. The van rounded the last turn and the house revealed itself. It looked just the way it did in my daydreams: large, low, with wide screened-in porches on all four sides with a silver-painted tin roof that glittered and winked in afternoon sun. The original Ernest built his house on the crest of a hill to catch the breeze from the creek, a hundred yards away. It wasn’t a pretty house, but everybody fit and that was important because there were a lot of us. Besides me, my sisters, cousins, aunt and Mom, my dad and uncle would visit on weekends, bringing our friends to stay for weeks at a time.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, preparing to leap from the van when I saw a truck parked at the side of the house. It was an old Ford with peeling paint and bald tires. Long ago someone painted Klaas Family Farms on the side in curly black letters that over time had faded to grey. High metal gates framed in the truck bed, which held a motley bunch of animals, none too happy with their imprisonment.
“They’re early. The animals are already here,” I shouted.
“Puppy, stop yelling,” said Aunt Calla. “Of course they’re here. Adrian had an accident and Marion needed them dropped off today. I wonder who brought them.”