The Perfect Score

by Rob Buyea

  “The state championships are at the end of the school year,” I said. “And if that goes well, then there’s the regional championships.”

  “Wow, state and regional. Good luck.”

  I looked up and she gave me a soft smile. It was one of those looks that said sorry, like she knew things with gymnastics were anything but fine. For the second time I had the feeling Natalie could see through me. “I can’t believe Gav’s still out there looking at books,” I said, changing the subject.

  “Maybe Mrs. Magenta’s prepping him to do the read-aloud. He seems to like that.”

  “No, Gav’s never wanted anything to do with books, and he definitely isn’t going to read aloud.”

  “A distaste for reading is typical with boys,” Natalie said, “Scott being the exception. But that boy’s the exception for most things.”

  “No, it’s different for Gavin. He doesn’t hate books just because he’s a boy. He wishes he could read better, but for some reason the letters run around on the page when he looks at them. Reading and books just make him feel dumb. He plays it off like it’s no big deal, but it bothers him. Please don’t tell him I told you all this. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Don’t worry. Something tells me Mrs. Woods is on top of Gavin, but even so, I think you know I won’t be talking to him,” Natalie said.

  I tried not to laugh, but she was right about that.

  “And by the way,” she continued, “I never got to tell you, but great kick at recess. You made poor Trevor a farmer.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  She chuckled. “You gave him two ache-ers.”

  I burst out laughing. It was such a cheesy joke, but to hear it coming out of Natalie’s mouth was surprising and funny.

  “That kick was definitely a slam dunk,” she said.

  I started laughing even harder. I had to admit, I liked Natalie. I laughed and laughed, and when I finally calmed down enough to wipe my tears, I looked up and saw Gavin standing outside the doorway—but he wasn’t laughing.

  All the wind was knocked out of me the second I saw Randi laughing her butt off with snobby Natalie Kurtsman. It was worse than taking a helmet in the gut. I felt like I’d been yanked from the game and thrown on the bench.

  “You know what, Mrs. Magenta? I’m gonna use the bathroom first. I’ll join you in a bit.” That was the best lie I could come up with to get me out of there.

  “If you think you want any cookies, you better hurry up. Scott doesn’t tend to leave things like that sitting around for very long.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though I knew I wasn’t coming back. I wasn’t in the mood to be around anybody. I would tell Magenta I wasn’t feeling good—and that was the truth.

  There was something I had to do. I waited until Randi and Natalie were busy, and then I slipped out of the building and walked around the side.

  “Smoky,” I called. “Smoky.”

  Nothing.

  “Smoky. Here, kitty, kitty.”

  I held my breath and stood so still Mrs. Woods would’ve been proud of me. The only moving I did was shivering, because it was starting to get colder. I looked and listened and waited. Then I waited some more.

  “Mew,” came his cry. “Mew.”

  I found Smoky hiding behind the book bin, near the trash barrel. I got down on my knees. I didn’t want to scare him. Slowly I slid my backpack off my shoulders. I unzipped it and pulled out the hot dog I had sitting on the bottom. I broke off a little tiny piece and tossed it closer to him.

  “It’s for you,” I said. “Take it.”

  Smoky looked at me, trying to decide if he should trust me or not. Carefully he crept from his hiding place, curious about what I’d just given him. With his ears pricked high and every single one of his ribs showing, he walked out and nibbled the hot dog. I broke off several more tiny pieces and sprinkled them on the ground. With his tail swishing, Smoky started scarfing them down faster than I did my cookies.

  “Slow down,” I said. “You don’t have to eat so fast. I’m not going to take the goodies away.”

  I broke up the rest of the hot dog and dropped the pieces inside my backpack. I had Smoky thinking with his stomach and not his brain now. He came over and stuck his head all the way inside, searching for his yummy treats. I shoved his butt in and zipped him up.

  “Scott, what’re you doing out here?”

  I jumped. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry,” Natalie said. “But what’re you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You need to come in. This party was your idea, and besides, it’s cold outside.”

  My backpack moved.

  “Scott, do you have that cat in there?!”

  “No.”

  Smoky wasn’t cooperating. He started freaking out and sent my backpack skipping and rolling across the ground.

  “Scott!”

  “Shh! Please don’t tell,” I begged. “I’m going to give him a home. I’m helping him, I promise.”

  “You need to unzip the top. Give the poor cat some air and light. He must be petrified.”

  “No, he likes it in there,” I said. “He likes the warmth.” I opened it a sliver to make Natalie happy. “See.”

  We peeked inside. Smoky yowled and hissed. He appreciated the hot dog, but he wasn’t so happy about being in my backpack.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’m going to give you a nice home.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t let Trevor and Mark find out you’ve got that cat in there,” Natalie said. She stuck her face over my backpack. “You hear that, Smoky?” she warned him. “Be quiet.”

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #15

  November: Smoky

  I tried to get Scott to stash his backpack under the bushes or behind the book bin, but he refused to leave Smoky unattended. This left only one option, which was to smuggle the cat inside with us.

  We rejoined Randi in the Community Room. Mrs. Magenta had just finished reading a few Thanksgiving stories to the kids and was ushering them in for their craft and snack. Gavin was nowhere to be found, but I didn’t ask.

  Scott slid his backpack under the table and got started helping. He was as excited as the little kids about making paper-plate turkeys. It didn’t take long before he had paste all over his hands, but that was because all the kids liked him best—probably because he was a bigger version of themselves. They thought it was great when he showed them how he could lick the paste off his fingers. It was our good fortune that the littles were a noisy bunch, because that seemed to persuade Smoky to lie low.

  All in all, it was a most successful afternoon. The children had a great time, and so did we.

  “The library felt like a new place today,” Mrs. Magenta commented after we had things cleaned up. “Happy and alive. This was a great idea, Scott.”

  His smile was so big after she said that, it spread to my face.

  “This was fun,” Randi said. “And, Mrs. Magenta, you are amazing at reading aloud. The kids loved A Turkey for Thanksgiving.”

  “Thank you, Randi. It’s because I had the best teacher.”

  “Who?” we asked.

  “My mother.”

  Scott’s bag jerked under the table, and I knew that was our cue to get moving. Thankfully, Mrs. Magenta left so she could round up the other groups. I shooed Scott out the door before Smoky decided he had something to say. Randi and I finished picking up, and then we went and waited outside with Scott.

  The moment Trevor and Mark exited the library, they began searching high and low. They checked under the bushes, behind the book bin, and around the corner. Now I was glad Scott had insisted on keeping Smoky imprisoned in his backpack. Trevor and Mark were determined, but they weren’t going to find what they were looking for, not as long as Scott kept walking and Smoky stayed quiet.

  When we were a good distance down the sidewalk, I glan
ced back and saw those two bozos still standing outside the library, scratching their heads. Then they shoved each other and came running, apparently calling it quits on their kitty search. They ran past Randi and me and stopped next to Gavin and Scott. Little did they know, they were closer to Smoky now than they’d ever been.

  “Whoa, Gavin! What’s with the old-lady bag, dude?” Mark said.

  “You checked out books!” Trevor cried. “What a loser.”

  “You can’t even read!” Mark said.

  “They must be alphabet books,” Trevor joked.

  Those two idiots thought they were so funny. When Gavin didn’t respond, Trevor shoved him. “What’s wrong, bro? You’re supposed to say something back. You know we’re just messing with ya.”

  “Yeah, you’re no fun anymore,” Mark said.

  I was picking up on Gavin’s cues, even if they weren’t. He wasn’t playing. They’d hit a sensitive spot, and then they took it too far. They got what they were asking for. Maybe Gavin didn’t say anything back, but he certainly shoved back. He sent Trevor flying sideways.

  It’s a basic reflex to grab on to something, anything, when you’re falling. Trevor latched on to the nearest thing he could find, which was Scott—his backpack, to be exact.

  I was so mad I lost my head and shoved Trevor. On the football field every official’s yellow penalty flag woulda been flying, moving my team back fifteen yards for unsportsmanlike conduct, but here on the sidewalk the result was something different.

  Trevor went flying into Scott, and the next thing you know, he had ahold of Scott’s backpack.

  “Let go!” Scott cried.

  “Hey, Mark! I think we’ve found old Smoky!”

  Trevor wasn’t letting go. He unzipped the top of Scott’s bag and stuck his arm in like he was gonna pull that cat out. Trevor tried a lot of dumb things, but this was at the top of the list. Old Smoky came to life when he saw that hand reaching inside. He yowled like a tiger, not an innocent little kitty. Trevor jumped and shrieked louder than a prissy schoolgirl wearing a skirt. He was lucky that cat didn’t tear his hand off. He was left bloodied, with bite and scratch marks all up and down his arm.

  Scott spun around. “I told you to let go. I always have my backpack booby-trapped.”

  Mark couldn’t stop laughing at Trevor. “You wimp!”

  “I dare you to stick your hand in his bag,” Trevor said. “Or better yet, how about I stuff your face in there?”

  I pulled Scott along. We kept walking and left those morons arguing by themselves. When we got a little ways down the road, I reached out and we slapped five.

  I climbed in our car and put my backpack on the floor in front of me, in between my knees. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, kiddo. All set?”

  “Yup.”

  We got going but didn’t make it very far before Smoky started growing restless. I’d had him trapped long enough. I shifted in my seat to make it look like it was me moving my backpack, but then my kitty had another one of his freak-outs. My bag yanked and jerked every which way, and then it began making noise.

  “What was that?” Mom said.

  “What got?” Mickey yelled from the back. “See! See!”

  All of a sudden Smoky let out a wild yowl.

  “Scott, do you have a cat in there?!” Mom yelled.

  “See! See!” Mickey cried.

  I unzipped the top of my backpack, and Smoky stuck his head out.

  “Where did you get that thing?!” Mom shrieked. Our car swerved and a horn blasted. Mom snapped back to attention and gripped the steering wheel.

  “This is Smoky,” I said. “I found him outside the library. He needs a home, so I’m going to give him to Grandpa.”

  “See!” Mickey shouted.

  “You’ll see him when we get to Grandpa’s,” I said. “I can’t take him out right now.”

  “No, you most certainly won’t take him out right now,” Mom said. “That thing could have fleas and diseases and who knows what.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said. “I checked him. He’s going to be great company for Grandpa and make him less lonely.”

  “That cat is going to give me something else I need to take care of. I’ve got half a mind to pull over and make you let him out right now.”

  “No!” Mickey yelled.

  Smoky meowed and Mom huffed.

  “I’ll help you take care of him,” I said. “A cat isn’t as much work as a dog. You’ll see.” I scratched Smoky’s ears, and soon our car filled with the music of his purring. Mom glanced over at us and shook her head.

  As soon as we pulled into Grandpa’s driveway and parked, my little brother weaseled out of his car seat and climbed into the front. “Hi, Smoky,” he said. He touched Smoky’s whiskers and squealed.

  “Listen, you two,” Mom said. “I don’t know what your grandfather is going to say about this cat. He might not want it in his house. If that’s the case, then Smoky will have to go. Understand?”

  “Yes,” we said.

  We climbed out of the car and, as usual, Mickey took off running inside. I thought he was rushing to get to his TV shows, but instead he was all excited to tell Grandpa we had a surprise for him. “Gampa present! Present!”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t tell him, Mickey!” I yelled from the kitchen. “It’s my surprise!”

  I hurried into the living room and kneeled down. Mom was right behind me. “I brought you a present today, Grandpa.”

  “A present? It’s not Christmas yet, and I told you I don’t want any presents.”

  I unzipped my backpack, and Smoky stepped out and stretched.

  “A cat?” Grandpa said, sitting up straight. He wasn’t yelling. That was a good sign. “Where in the devil did you get that creature?”

  “His name is Smoky,” I said. “I got him at the library.”

  “Did you say Smoky?”

  “Yup, him is Smoky,” Mickey said.

  “Well, how about that. Your grandmother had a cat when we first met, and it had the same name. Looked a lot like this one, too. We never got another one, because she didn’t think Smoky could ever be replaced. She loved that darn cat. And now here I am with Smoky again.”

  Mom sighed. I looked up at her and smiled.

  “Good kitty,” Mickey said, petting his back. Smoky rubbed against Mickey, and then he jumped into Grandpa’s lap. He was much friendlier out of my backpack than in it.

  “Well, hello, fella,” Grandpa said, scratching him behind the ears.

  “He likes you,” I said. Grandpa ran his hand along Smoky’s back, and then the kitty curled up in his lap and started purring.

  “If he wants, he can stay,” Grandpa said. “I’ll need to get a litter box and some food.”

  “I’ll take care of all that,” Mom said. “You’re sure you want him to stay?”

  “Why not?” Grandpa said. “We’ll enjoy each other’s company.”

  I couldn’t hide my smile. My idea worked!

  “Don’t say it,” Mom said, pointing her finger at me.

  “Told you so.” I couldn’t resist.

  “I said don’t say it.”

  “Him told you so,” Mickey repeated.

  “Ugh!” Mom groaned. “That’s it. I’m going to start dinner.” She pretended to be fed up with us, but I heard her chuckling as she walked away.

  I slid the chessboard between Grandpa (and Smoky) and me, and we settled in for our daily match. I was so happy, Grandpa could’ve checkmated me on his first move and I wouldn’t have cared.

  Before leaving that afternoon, I made a trip to the bathroom, but I took the scenic route and stopped by Grandpa’s bedroom first. I found an old ring and necklace that had been Grandma’s and stuffed those in my pockets. Grandpa’s memory string was coming along. I still didn’t know how or when I was going to give it to him, but I’d eventually figure that out. I was on a roll with ideas. By bringing Smoky here, I’d just saved Grandpa’s life and didn’t even know it.r />
  I got up this morning ready to even the score with Gavin. That crap he pulled when he shoved me, that wasn’t cool. Talk about mistakes. Library Boy had made a big one. He’s just lucky I got sidetracked when I grabbed on to Scott’s backpack. I swear, if I could’ve wrestled that cat free from his bag, I would’ve ripped all the whiskers out of its face. Gavin and Scott didn’t stick around after that, and that was smart, but I wasn’t done with them. I was taking care of business today. That was my plan, until I found out school was canceled because of a broken water main. That meant I was home for the day with my brother.

  Brian was “in charge.” That’s how it was every day after school until Mom and Dad got home from work. That’s how it had been all summer, and I hated it. Can you believe my parents actually paid my brother for this crap? I didn’t need babysitting. I could take care of myself. But this was Mom and Dad’s way of helping my stupid brother get enough money together so he could finally move out of the house. I couldn’t wait for that day to come.

  “Yo, Trevor!”

  That was idiot Chris yelling my name. He and Garrett were playing video games in Brian’s room. They were my brother’s best goons. They hung out at our house all the time, mooching off us.

  “Yo, Trevor!”

  What did he want now?

  “Yo, Trevor! Don’t make me come and find you.”

  I wanted to keep ignoring him, but Chris was a jerk—and he could be mean.

  “What?” I said, stepping into the doorway.

  “What, sir?” he corrected me. That’s what he thought I should say. Fat chance.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, pushing his buttons.

  “I’m thirsty. Get me a soda.”

  “Me too,” my stupid brother added. “And grab one for Garrett.”

  Chris flashed me his wicked smile, and I went to fetch their order. It was a lose-lose situation. I didn’t want to wait on them, but not getting it would’ve been a bad idea. Not getting it would’ve hurt.

  “Here are your stupid sodas,” I said, putting the drinks on my brother’s dresser.