“Mum.” Anneth hesitated. “What about our allowance? We haven’t gotten one since we moved here. I’m not sure I have enough money saved for a machine.”
Though she hardly stirred, anxiety crept around Mum’s eyes. Sure Mum and Dad had savings — that’s what allowed the shop to get up and running. But they had counted on the shop getting off to a good start. The opening days of a restaurant are supposed to be the busiest, but she had had no customers other than the other Dollar Families and Dylan.
“It’s OK, Mum. I can wait for my birthday money. Or I could get a job,” Anneth said.
“Me too,” Clem said.
“Me three,” Lowen said.
“You kids make me proud,” Mum said. “But we’ll figure something out. I was counting on small-town curiosity to get the eatery off the ground, but perhaps I need a marketing plan.” Her smile was reassuring.
After Clem had excused himself to hang out with his buds, and after Anneth had excused herself to Skype with Megan (who hadn’t shown up for their last scheduled call), Lowen announced that he was going to practice his soccer skills.
“Where will you practice?” Mum asked.
“In the parking lot out back.”
“Be careful.” She never used to say that pre-shooting.
Lowen retrieved Clem’s soccer ball from the crowded garage. He hoped that Clem wouldn’t be mad at him for using it without permission.
In the empty parking lot, he placed the ball down and practiced dribbling. He had watched enough videos to know that he had to concentrate on far more than his feet. His arms needed to be pumping, his back needed to be straight (though leaning forward slightly), and his knees were to come up in the air. He found that it was much harder than it looked. The first time he tried it, he felt like an uncoordinated marching-band leader. And he hardly moved the ball any distance at all. In fact, he tripped over it twice. He looked around to make sure no one had seen him. There was no one on the streets, but he didn’t doubt that people were looking out their windows wondering what in the world he was trying to do. It seemed as if Millvillians were always investigating.
He decided to concentrate on the feet alone for a few minutes, focusing on moving the ball with his laces (as advised) except when turning. This took a little bit of coordination, and the laces on his skate shoes were long. It occurred to him that he would need cleats if he were to play properly, and he wondered how to broach the subject with his mother.
Surprisingly, when he took his thoughts off his feet for a moment, he actually did a little better, gained a little momentum. He dribbled, dribbled, tried a turn (that didn’t work so well), dribbled, and kicked!
Yes! The contact was good. The ball flew into the air, bounced on the edge of the parking lot, and popped into the open garage of Field’s Funeral Home . . . where a large black car, the hearse, was parked.
Lowen waited a moment, hoping that Mr. Field was in the garage, that he was just about to shut the door when the ball came bouncing inside. Perhaps he would be angry with Lowen, telling him to be more careful, to have some respect for the dead. But Lowen wouldn’t care. He’d say that he was sorry, thank Mr. Field for handing him back his ball, and hightail it out of there.
But no one came out. No one but Lowen appeared to know that the ball was inside.
Clem’s ball.
The snake’s mouth was open. If snakes could laugh, that’s what the one inside was doing right now, rising up with its beady eyes to emit an evil cackle, as if Lowen didn’t stand a chance.
Lowen edged closer. In the front of the garage was an enormous, gleaming box that appeared to be a refrigerator. It probably was a refrigerator. It had to be the place where the bodies were stored.
Lowen crouched and then got down on his belly to see if he could spot the ball inside the garage. There it was! Under the hearse, up against the left front tire. Lowen was going to have to get awfully close to the car. He worried about the door of the refrigerator (freezer?) suddenly opening, or the garage door suddenly closing. He didn’t know which would be worse.
What he did know was that if he didn’t get Clem’s ball, his family would be looking at his dead body at Field’s. Just pretend it’s any old garage, he told himself. Just pretend it’s any old car with any old tire.
He walked forward, leaned over, picked up the ball, and turned to run out. But his feet felt frozen to the ground.
Unable to stop himself, he peeked into the curtained window of the hearse.
Withholding a scream, he raced out, back through the parking lot, and into his own backyard.
He’d looked into the hearse, all right.
And his own reflection had stared back at him.
Lowen was too upset to go back into the house. He tucked Clem’s ball back into the garage and headed up the street. He walked past Millville Central School to the town pool, where the lifeguard had just blown his whistle: end of family swim. Lowen could see Sami, her sisters, and Rena getting out of the water at the deep end. Sami must have looked up the hours online after all.
He walked farther down the road to the soccer field. Clem was just arriving with some buds for a pickup game.
“Do you want to play?” asked the kid carrying the soccer ball, who seemed about Clem’s age.
Lowen glanced at Clem.
Clem’s thought bubble: NO. Absolutely not.
Lowen shook his head and said he just wanted to watch, and it was true. He knew he wasn’t ready.
“He hasn’t played much,” said Clem, confirming Lowen’s decision.
“Well, let us know if you change your mind,” the boy said, and ran onto the field with the others.
Lowen imagined himself running up and down the field, pumping his arms in quick spurts the way the video had demonstrated. He wasn’t a bad runner. He and Abe often raced home from school. He liked the feeling of movement, the feeling of eating up the sidewalk. He liked how racing allowed him a chance to be with Abe, but not be with Abe. Running allowed him time in his own world.
Abe was smaller, and younger, but he was fast. Every day he came closer and closer to legitimately beating Lowen.
Now he never would.
“Pick up your feet!” a man yelled.
A group of adults had congregated on the side of the field, diagonally across from him. They were hanging out in their sunglasses. Some had dogs at their feet. Some were holding drinks in cans.
“Looking good!” a woman called.
“Turn it. Now! Turn it!” yelled a familiar voice. Mr. Avery’s. Dylan was in the game. He had control of the ball and was moving down the field. He paused, looked around, searched for a teammate.
“Fire! Don’t pass again. Fire!” shouted Mr. Avery, but Dylan turned the ball — with a lot more finesse than Lowen had come close to achieving — and backed it up a bit.
“What are you doing, Firebrand? Get up there!” shouted Mr. Avery.
Dylan stopped searching. He turned away from the goal and kicked the ball as hard as he could out of bounds. Then he jogged away. Just like that.
Mr. Avery shook his head. Lowen couldn’t be sure what he said, but it was loud and sounded like “just like his mother.”
A woman in the crowd gave Dylan’s grandfather a sympathetic pat on the back.
Lowen didn’t know what to feel. Just like the river, this town had unseen currents. A lot was happening beneath its still surface. Lowen walked off in the opposite direction from Dylan.
The sun was setting when he passed the school on his way home. And there it was: the sound of Luna’s cello. There was no doubt in his mind that it was her playing.
The windows were too high to peek in, but he had to get a glimpse. He climbed the wall behind the school, hoping it would give him a view into the lit classroom. It did.
Luna.
There she was, with her teacher, both of them playing, no doubt lost in the passion of the music. Lowen was too far away to see her face, but he could imagine it: eyes closed, chin jutted. In
tensely focused, while at the same time lost in a rippling stream of feeling.
Lowen came back down from the wall and sat under the lit window, his back against the building. The music rose and fell, capturing everything he’d felt that day: the empty space at the restaurant, the cool river flowing over his toes, the punch of Mr. Avery’s anger, Ms. Duffey’s buried regrets, the lack of interest from the other boys in his class, losing Clem’s ball, fleeting thoughts of Abe . . . He thought of a snake charmer playing music to hypnotize a snake. But Luna’s music didn’t just mesmerize the snake inside him; it lulled it to sleep. He breathed deeply.
The piece ended. Lowen pulled himself up and headed for home.
Before the month was over, Mrs. Grey dropped by the Albatross to ask if Anneth and Lowen would be willing to babysit. Dr. Grey had scheduled a visit to another rural vet clinic, and she was going to drive her father to the airport. (Apparently he had been staying with them only temporarily, to help out as they settled in.) The day would be long, which is why she thought it might be better if the two of them did it together. Anneth wanted the sewing machine, and if Coach was really serious about Lowen needing to be on the soccer team, then Lowen needed cleats. Both said yes.
The first few hours went quickly. The day was sunny but pleasantly cool, and there was no end to the games that Lagi, Lily, and Wanda wanted to play in the park across the street: Hide-and-Go-Seek; Mother, May I?; Freeze Tag; Duck, Duck, Goose (Lagi’s favorite); and Red Light, Green Light. By noon, the three Greys were still raring to go, but Lowen was worn out. He collapsed onto the newly cut grass, where Lagi proceeded to turn him into a pillow.
“What do you see in the clouds?” Lowen asked.
“A cheeseburger,” Lagi said. “And French fries.”
Lowen laughed. Clearly, it was time for lunch.
He dutifully pulled himself up and held Lagi’s hand as they crossed Maple Street, Anneth and the girls behind them. As they entered the living room, Lily ran over and turned on the TV. She and Lagi plunked themselves down on the rug on the newly varnished wooden floor. “This room looks great,” Anneth said to Wanda, who was following them into the kitchen.
Lowen agreed. He remembered the filthy green carpet that had been there the day of the lottery. Recalling other unpleasant aspects of this house, he held his breath as they entered the kitchen.
“Whoa,” Anneth said as she turned the corner. “You have a new kitchen, Wanda!” The once pink cabinets were now gleaming white. The countertops, appliances, faucet, and flooring were all brand-new.
“Yeah. What a pain!” Wanda said. “The workers have been banging like crazy! My grandfather couldn’t wait to go back to Honolulu for the peace and quiet.”
Lowen ran his hand along the smooth, stony kitchen counter. There wasn’t a trace of the pink lady and her cupcakes. It was as if she had never existed.
After helping Anneth and Lowen find the peanut butter and jelly, Wanda drifted back into the living room.
“Do you think the Greys are rich?” Lowen asked in a low voice.
“Richer than we are,” said Anneth. “But maybe they had to repair their kitchen to meet the requirements.”
Lowen sighed. “It makes me feel way behind on our house.”
Anneth agreed. “But we’ll do work on the house when Mum and Dad aren’t so busy with Mum’s shop.”
After Lagi’s nap, they decided to head to the playground. But they weren’t the only ones who had decided to hang out there. Clem and his buds were goofing around on the rec equipment. Mason and a group of boys and girls were camped out on the merry-go-round. (And Lowen had thought he was too old.) They were seated between the animals and using their feet to twirl themselves around, though their movement was more of a jolt, jolt, jolt than a whirl.
“Don’t get too dirty,” Anneth said to the Grey kids in a too-loud voice that annoyed Lowen. He knew she was trying to make it clear that she wasn’t just hanging out with little kids — that she was working. But at the same time, it sounded as though she were babysitting him, too. He tried to think of some order he could give the Greys, but since they were just standing there, watching the older kids, he had nothing.
Clem stood at the base of the slide with two Millville kids — a guy and a girl. All three kids held cans of soda.
“Catch me, Clem!”
Lowen looked up. There, at the top of the slide, sat Luna. She was wearing shorts and some sort of top that looked floaty. He imagined himself at the base of the slide with outstretched arms.
“Aren’t you worried about hurting your bow hand?” the other boy asked.
“What? And never do anything?” she snapped back.
Clem smiled. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. He ran up the ladder and sat down behind Luna. “Ready?” he asked.
They pushed forward — but didn’t go very far. The slide had lost all its luster. Instead of providing a slick surface, the weathered sheet of tin offered only friction.
They laughed as they inched their way down.
Anneth laughed, too.
That’s when Clem glanced up and saw them. With a small, almost undetectable look he suggested to his buds that they move on.
Lowen went from feeling totally self-conscious to feeling shunned. He could tell that Anneth was feeling disappointed, too. Ever since she was a little kid she’d wanted to tag along with Clem and his friends.
With Luna at his side, Clem walked right by Lowen and didn’t say a word. Not one.
But he did slip him his can of soda.
Cool!
Lowen hid the can behind his thigh, then walked toward the picnic table. The Grey kids raced toward the equipment and called out for Lowen to join them.
“In a minute!” he shouted. He snuck sips of soda. What was it about the bubbles, the caramel-y sweetness, that made it taste so welcome on a hot day?
The kids came running over, begging him to join in their swing game.
Knowing he was caught, he tilted the can to his lips and gulped the final drops.
“Where did you get that?” Lily asked.
There had been something in the can, something solid. Now it was in his mouth. Something vibrating. Something alive.
Lowen jumped up and spat, projecting whatever it was onto the picnic table.
“A bee!” cried Wanda. “You almost swallowed a bee.”
“Did it sting you?” Lily cried.
Lowen opened and closed his mouth a few times as if to try it out. He hadn’t been stung. He’d had a bee inside his mouth and he hadn’t been stung.
He looked down at the wet insect on the table.
Lagi leaned over, too.
“Stay away from it, Lagi!” cried Wanda. “It will hurt you.”
The bee was pinned on its back, its wet wings stuck to the surface of the table. Tiny, spindly legs pedaled the air, trying to gain traction.
“Kill it!” Lily said. “Quick, kill it!”
“No, don’t!” Lowen cried. The legs started to slow down, but still the bee hadn’t turned over. Feeling a rising panic, Lowen looked for some scrap of paper, a bit of foil. His eyes landed on a twig. A twig would do it.
He hovered the stick just above the bee’s legs. The bee grabbed on to it and Lowen slowly lifted it off the table.
The kids screamed and backed away.
The bee flew.
As Mrs. Grey had warned, the day had been long. By the time she returned, both Anneth and Lowen had run out of ideas for entertaining the kids. But she paid them in cash, and when Anneth suggested they go to Dollar Mart before heading back to the Albatross, Lowen agreed. It would be fun to buy a small treat with the money. He chose Doritos.
He was already munching on them when they turned the corner to head up Maple. Three older boys that Lowen didn’t recognize called out loudly:
“Hey, got a dollar?”
“Yeah, I could really use a dollar.”
Lowen’s heart beat faster. He put his hand in his pocket and wrapped it around
the bills Mrs. Grey had just given him.
“If I had a dollar, I could buy a house.”
He exhaled. The boys weren’t out to mug him.
“Then I could spend the rest of my money on Doritos,” said one of the kids, cracking them all up.
“Dipheads,” Anneth mumbled as they climbed the hill, pretending to be deaf.
Lowen didn’t know what else to say. They’d just been ambushed. Back in Flintlock, when they told other kids they were buying a house for a dollar, everyone thought that was so cool — that Lowen had been so smart to see the announcement in the magazine. But here in Millville, lots of folks seemed to think that the Dollar Families were so poor that they could only afford to pay one dollar for a house. Even though Lowen’s family had never been super well-off — Mum had always encouraged them to economize and be smart with money — they’d been comfortable enough, and it felt weird to be treated like a moocher.
When they passed the garbage can at the park, he dropped the rest of the Doritos bag in.
School hardly felt like school. It felt more like the arts day camp Lowen attended at the Flintlock elementary school the summer he was nine. Like then, the Millville Central School halls were mostly empty and echoey. All of the old wooden desks had been washed over the summer, and since most were not in use, the school never lost that wet-wood and disinfectant smell. There was only one classroom for each grade, but since the teachers could pick the classroom they wanted, kids were spread out all over the building. Lowen’s classroom was the farthest from the entry to the middle-school wing — his teacher, Mrs. Kachanowski, explained that she wanted a room that received sunlight in the early morning only.
Ms. Duffey had been correct: there were eight kids in his class — four boys and four girls — whose desks formed a semicircle at the front of the room. He and Sami were the only newcomers. And here was the weird thing: whenever one of their teachers told them to choose a partner, or to pair-share, he ended up with Sami.
“Again?” Lowen said when they buddied up for a brain break on the second day of school. They stood side by side, waiting for instructions. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly. “I just figured I’d be paired with Dylan.”
The Dollar Kids Page 9