by Barbara Dee
“But you said he could dehydrate!” I reminded Ms. Molina. “Don’t you remember? And we don’t know how long he’s been out of the tank, right? So if we don’t find him in time, his gills will dry out!”
My voice had a weird, strangled sound. Now everyone was staring at me.
“Zinny,” Ms. Molina said, making eye contact. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
“But how can you be? Not everything ends up ‘okay’!”
“Yes, that’s true.” Ms. Molina lightly touched my shoulder. “But you’re a scientist, Zinny, so think like one: We know how fast Clawed moves, because we have data from your experiment, right? And I know I saw him approximately ten minutes ago. So how far could he have traveled?”
Hot tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them away.
She was asking me to turn this into a science experiment—be logical, do the math—when for all we knew, Clawed was in trouble somewhere: a hidden corner we’d never find with math or science.
And the worst part was, deep down I’d always known this would happen. That was why I’d been against the track experiment in the first place! But nobody had listened to me! Not even Ms. Molina.
I dropped to the floor again, peering under tables, garbage cans, chairs. Immediately other people started searching too, and soon the whole class was on their hands and knees.
But I knew we were looking in only the obvious places—and Clawed was sure to be somewhere Not Obvious. Somewhere we wouldn’t think to look. Inside a radiator. Between the covers of an observation journal. Or maybe on one of the shelves where Ms. Molina kept her other creatures—the praying mantis, the hissing cockroach. Also all those cacti—
“Clawed,” James Ramos called in a singsongy voice. “Claa-aawed, where are you?”
“Don’t sing,” Darius scolded him. “You’ll scare him, dude.”
“Maybe we should put out some hot dogs?” Aspen said. “We know he loves the smell.”
“Good idea,” I blurted. Because it was.
Ms. Molina nodded. “Let me check the mini fridge to see if we have any left over from your experiment.”
Suddenly I heard—or thought I heard—a faint scuffling sound behind the Echeveria elegans. Before I could think, I reached out and grabbed Clawed off the silvery green succulent—directly behind his claws so he couldn’t pinch me—and raced across the room to plop him in his tank.
“Hey, guys, Zinny just found him!” James Ramos yelled.
Ms. Molina beamed at me. “Nice work, Zinny! Now let’s all have a look at the tank cover to make sure it’s on the right way. We don’t want any more escapes!”
“Hey, what’s the name of that guy who could escape from anything?” Darius asked.
“You mean Houdini,” Li-Mei said.
“Yeah. We should change Clawed’s name to that. Houdini.”
“No way,” Aspen said. “That’s like predicting he’ll just do it again!”
I burst into tears and ran out of the room.
A Few Minutes Later
The funny thing was how I ended up in room 107B. I don’t remember ever thinking, Oh, hey, here’s an idea—why not see if Mr. Patrick’s around? I mean, I was still planning to quit Lunch Club, and running into Kailani coming out of his office yesterday had definitely freaked me out.
But after the whole Clawed thing, something made me go straight to his office. It could have been knowing he had two boxes of tissues, because I was desperate to wipe my nose.
Anyway, his door was open. He was sitting at his desk typing into his phone, but as soon as I walked in, he looked up.
“Zinny?” he said.
I started crying again.
He shut the door and handed me a whole box of tissues.
“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to his lumpy red couch.
I sat.
He sat.
He waited for me to finish crying.
Finally I blew my nose and told him what happened with Clawed. How I’d tried to warn everyone that Clawed would escape, but my group wouldn’t listen to me.
“Okay,” Mr. Patrick said, “but how would things have been different if your group had listened?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Clawed wouldn’t have escaped!” I said, still sniffling.
“Are you sure about that, Zinny? Because from what you’re telling me, it sounds as if the escape had nothing to do with your track experiment. It sounds as if it was more about the tank itself, and Clawed just being a crayfish, doing standard crayfish things.”
I blinked.
“You did nothing wrong,” Mr. Patrick said quietly. “This wasn’t your fault.”
I shrugged.
“There’s stuff we can control and stuff we can’t. I’d say crayfish behavior belongs in the second category. And you know what, Zinny? Most human behavior does too.”
It felt dangerous in the room, like we were teetering on the edge of talking about Gabriel. So before he could say anything else, I told Mr. Patrick I hated Lunch Club.
He didn’t seem surprised. “Is this about the game we played?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But not only that.”
He rubbed his semi-bald head. “Well, I should tell you I’ve spoken to Keira. She feels terrible, and wants to apologize.”
“I don’t want her apology. Or her pizza.”
“Excuse me?”
“She sent a pizza afterward. To my house.”
Mr. Patrick scratched his nose. “Are you sure about that?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, the delivery was from Thom’s Pizza—”
“What I’m asking is, are you sure it was Keira?” Now he was smiling.
“Well, who else would it be?” I stared at him. “Was it from you?”
“Actually, no. Not from me.”
“Then who?”
“Ah,” Mr. Patrick said. “Lunch Club rules forbid me to say.”
A Minute after That
So then it was… Asher?
I mean, it had to be, by the process of elimination. Because it wasn’t Mr. Patrick, Luz, Keira, or Jayden.
But why would Asher do a thing like that? He’d never even talked to me. And he barely talked to anyone else, even Luz.
I tried to imagine what had happened—how he’d probably gotten my address from Mr. Patrick, and then called Thom’s Pizza to place the order, and told them to write that note: To Zinny. Because you missed lunch. See you next week, Alfredo.
Or maybe he wrote the note himself, and handed it to Thom’s Pizza.
Either way, it was hard to connect the sulky boy who wouldn’t talk to anyone with the person who’d done this really sweet thing.
I couldn’t stop my spinning brain. And when I was back upstairs, back in science class, I realized I’d forgotten to quit Lunch Club.
After School on Friday
When the bell rang for dismissal, everyone flew out of school the way they always did on Fridays, headed for sports practice or the Lakeland Diner or their friends’ houses or wherever. I spotted Luz and Jayden laughing with all their friends in front of the building, and Kailani talking with Aspen and Li-Mei, and Darius tossing one of those Nerf ball things with James Ramos. And all by himself, walking into town, Asher Hyland.
Crap, I thought.
Because, obviously, I needed to go thank him.
I ran over to him, my heart banging. What if he just grunted or scowled at me? His scowls were fierce.
“Hey,” I said.
He kept walking.
“Hey,” I called again, louder this time. I mean, so loud you’d hear even if you had earbuds in, which he did.
He glanced over his shoulder. When he realized it was me who’d called him, he yanked out the earbuds. “Oh,” he said, and waited for me to join him.
“I just wanted to thank you—” I began.
“You don’t have to,” he interrupted.
“Well, but it was really nice of you, Asher. Sending that pizza, I mean. To my house.”
I waited f
or him to deny the whole thing, the way everyone else had. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t say anything. Which was definitely weird, but not in a bad way.
The two of us started walking together, past the drugstore and the barbershop and the nail salon. The whole time his hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, but he didn’t stick his earbuds back in his ears. And he stayed quiet.
All of a sudden he stopped walking. “Can I ask you a question? Do you hate Lunch Club as much as I do?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was going to quit it today. But then I didn’t.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. I sort of just didn’t.”
“Yeah, well, I almost quit it like five times. No, six.” A tiny smile flickered across his face, the first one I’d ever seen. “But I guess I keep forgetting.”
“It’s not at the top of the list,” I said carefully. “With everything else going on.”
“Right. For me, too.” He looked down at his beat-up sneakers. “Anyway, I guess going to Lunch Club is better than not going to Lunch Club.”
“That’s probably true,” I admitted.
“They’re the only ones at school who have a clue what it’s like. Even if they’re annoying.”
“You think they’re annoying? For me it’s just Keira.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I don’t mind her.”
“You don’t?”
“Nah, she’s definitely obnoxious and everything, but at least she’s honest. Luz and Jayden both act as if the whole thing is about them. Just because they’re so popular, and everyone likes them so much, I guess.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded like Asher was saying he didn’t like Luz and Jayden because they had friends. Which made me wonder if he had any. Not that I did at the moment, to be honest.
“And what do you think about Mr. Patrick?” I asked.
“Mr. Patrick is great.”
From what I could tell, Asher wasn’t a huge complimenter, so I wasn’t sure I’d heard that right. “You mean you actually like…?”
“He’s the only reason I go to school some days. If I couldn’t talk to him about my stepfather, I’d go crazy. Oh,” he added, realizing he’d said the word “crazy.” “I didn’t mean—”
“No, that’s okay,” I said.
By then we were at Larch Street, where I always turned left. “Asher?” I said. “You want to come over?”
“You mean… to your house?”
“Yeah. We could play Minecraft. Or something else—”
“Sure,” he said, his face lighting up.
He stuck his hands back in his pockets, not saying another word the rest of the walk home, but I didn’t mind.
Ten Minutes Later
As soon as we arrived home, Mom greeted us at the door. She’d just come back from a run, and was still flushed and sweaty, but she chatted with Asher in a very cheerful, normal-mom sort of way. And before we could even take off our jackets, Aiden practically attached himself to Asher’s leg, begging to join us while we played Minecraft.
“Yeah, cool,” Asher said, as if he really didn’t mind.
The three of us sat side by side on the old couch in the TV room, just like we used to do when we watched My Dog, Drools. After about an hour Asher admitted he was hungry. I panicked—did we even have any normal snack food in the house? But when I opened the door of the pantry closet, bags of chips, nuts, and pretzels were lined up on the bottom shelf. Which meant that Mom had gone shopping that afternoon—and not just for basic stuff like microwave dinners and milk.
So then we—Aiden, Asher, and I—sat around munching chips at the dining room table. By this point Asher and I had run out of conversation, so I asked Aiden if he’d had any ideas for his how-to.
Aiden’s face fell. “No. And Ms. Felsenstein keeps threatening me.”
“Threatening you?” Asher asked, frowning.
“He just means his teacher says if he doesn’t do a presentation by next week, no more recess,” I explained.
“Oh,” Asher said, crunching on a chip.
“I keep telling him to keep it simple, but—”
“I wanted to do something cool,” Aiden interrupted.
“Like what?” Asher asked.
“Like anything! How to Escape If You’re Attacked by Leeches! How to Survive Quicksand.”
“He needs to demonstrate it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s the problem.”
“Got it,” Asher said. He took out his phone and typed something. Then he handed the phone to Aiden. I peeked over my brother’s shoulder and read:
How to Make Quicksand:
1. Measure 1 cup of water in a measuring cup. Add to a mixing bowl.
2. Add a couple of drops of food coloring to the water.
3. Add 3 cups of cornstarch to the mixing bowl.
4. Mix with your finger until combined. Then stick your finger in the middle. It’s a liquid, right?
5. Give it a punch. Now it feels solid. That’s because it’s a non-Newtonian fluid—changing its liquidness depending on the force applied to it.
Aiden’s eyes popped. “Is this real quicksand? That you can make?”
“Why don’t you try it?” Asher said, actually grinning at my little brother.
That Night
SCARLETT: Sooooo. I hear a boy came over after school today?
ME: Yep.
SCARLETT: Annnd? Do you like him?
ME: He’s just my friend, Scar, okay? Not a crush or anything. So can you please not tease me about it?
SCARLETT: Sure.
ME: Because you know, there’s such a thing as a boy friend.
SCARLETT: Of course there is.
ME: Thank you.
SCARLETT: You’re welcome. And you don’t need to get so huffy about it, Zinnia.
That Weekend
Aiden made five different batches of quicksand: green, red, blue, brown, yellow. Green was best, he decided, and I didn’t bother to challenge him.
He wrote out Asher’s directions in his best handwriting, and practiced saying the steps out loud, over and over. Sticking his finger in the middle of the quicksand, then punching it. Saying the word “non-Newtonian.”
“This is so cool,” he kept saying. “Wait till Rudy sees!”
“Who cares about Rudy,” I told my brother.
“Me,” Aiden said. “I do.”
But he was bouncing, and his eyes were shining.
Monday Morning
With all the stuff he had to carry for his How to Make Quicksand demonstration, Mom drove Aiden to school, the first time she hadn’t made him take the bus since late November. So I was feeling pretty happy as I walked to school—happy that Mom was returning to Mom behavior. Happy that Aiden finally had a cool project. Happy that I’d made friends with Asher Hyland, of all people. Even happy that I hadn’t let Scarlett tease me about it.
Also, for the first time in weeks, not even caring that I was walking alone.
But half a block from school, someone shouted my name. And then Keira was at my side, panting.
“You walk too fast,” she complained.
“Sorry,” I said.
Her face puckered. “Can we talk, Zinny? I’m really sorry—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” It was funny, but I meant it. The whole Mad-Sad-Glad game suddenly seemed like months ago. Abnormal Standard Time, I thought.
Keira shook her head. “Okay, Zinny, but I want to apologize. I know I have a stupid big mouth, all right? But after my sister told me about your brother, I just thought everyone knew—”
I froze. “Your sister?”
“Yeah, my big sister Jocelyn. She goes to school with your sister. Scarlett,” she added, as if I didn’t know the name of my own sister.
“Wait,” I said slowly. “You heard about my brother from your sister? Because Scarlett told her…?”
“Well, no. Scarlett didn’t tell my sister, specifically. She’s just been talking about
it a lot at their school. To everyone. You know, like ‘Don’t give me any crap today, because my brother went crazy and smashed up a car.’ ”
“Keira, stop,” I begged. “Please.”
“I’m just incredibly sorry,” Keira said quickly. “For everything I said to you, Zinny, okay? About being mad at your brother. And him doing it on purpose. And I’m also really sorry he’s so sick—”
“You don’t need to be. He’s doing great,” I said, running away from her, into the building.
Right after That
My brain was spinning:
Scarlett is telling everyone about
Gabriel!
Even though Mom and Dad said we
shouldn’t!
Why would she do that?
What right did she have?
Because it’s my secret too!
Unless… unless it isn’t even a secret
anymore.
And what I did just now—
telling Keira he’s “doing great”—
how is that different from lying?
It isn’t.
Not knowing where else to go, I went straight to room 107B.
“So does the whole school know?” I asked the second I was inside the door.
Mr. Patrick looked up at me from his desk chair. “About what, Zinny?” he asked.
“My brother Gabriel. That he’s bipolar. That he’s in a residential treatment center.” My heart was banging, and my voice was hoarse. “That he went crazy and smashed up somebody’s car. And hurt himself. Maybe on purpose.”
Mr. Patrick motioned for me to sit on the lumpy red sofa. I hadn’t meant to have a whole long conversation about this, but right at that moment, Asher’s words (“Mr. Patrick is great”) were echoing in my head.
Also, my legs were shaking.
So I sat.
Mr. Patrick closed his office door.
“I don’t know, Zinny, is the answer to your question,” he said, taking his seat again. “I know Keira heard about it through her big sister, because she mentioned it to me. But I haven’t heard anything like that from other kids here at school. May I ask why you’re wondering?”