True (. . . Sort Of)

by Katherine Hannigan

“Well, where’d you go?” she wondered.

  Delly told her all the places she’d searched for the surpresent.

  “There’s your problem,” Clarice said. “That sur-present couldn’t catch you, moving around like that.”

  Clarice’s words sent little sparks of hope to Delly’s heart. She turned toward her mom. “You think?”

  “Yep. You got to stay in one place. Which is good, because tomorrow you’re grounded.”

  But Delly needed more than that to get her hope back. “Ma, are you sure?”

  And Clarice, remembering Delly’s smile that morning, said, “Sure.”

  That did it. Hope flickered in Delly’s heart; then it went to full flame. She lay there in the warmth of Clarice’s “Sure.”

  “Good night, Delly,” Clarice said as she got up off the bed.

  “Good night, Ma,” the rasp replied, because now it was.

  Chapter 10

  Brud Kinney lived out the River Road, about a half mile past the old Hennepin place. He was in the fifth grade at St. Stanislaus, the boys’ school two towns away.

  Brud Kinney loved basketball. He played before the bus picked him up; he played at night with the porch light shining. He played all day, in his head, while his teachers talked.

  And on Sundays he was at the park, playing with the other River Bluffs kids. He played till his arms ached and his fingertips rubbed raw.

  Because what Brud Kinney wanted most was to play basketball like nothing nobody’d ever seen, only better.

  Brud’s two front teeth were fake. They glowed white in the light. He got those teeth making a basket, so they were like tooth-shaped trophies.

  They’d been playing at the park: Brud, Gwennie, Tater, the Dettbarns, and Novello. It was a close game, and it was getting mean.

  Tater got the ball in to Gwennie. “Brud,” she hollered, and hurled it down the court.

  With Novello breathing down his back, Brud grabbed it. He took a step and jumped high in the air. His hands sent the ball soaring into the sky.

  As he came back to earth, Brud’s eyes watched and his ears listened for the swish of the score.

  So he didn’t see Novello’s elbow coming at him. He didn’t hear Gwennie shout, “Watch out!” He hardly felt the bone hammer his mouth.

  Brud’s body hit the ground with a thud. His mouth started shooting blood, like a crimson geyser.

  Danny Novello was dancing around the court, screaming, “There are teeth in my arm! His teeth are in my elbow!”

  Tater and Gwennie leaned over Brud.

  “Wow,” was all Tater could say.

  “You all right?” Gwennie asked him.

  But Brud only wanted to know, “Did I m-m-make the sh-sh-sh-shot?”

  “Yep,” she told him.

  Then Brud passed out, smiling.

  Chapter 11

  Sunday morning, early, Brud was heading into town to practice.

  In real life, he had his basketball under one arm, and he was riding his bike down the River Road.

  But in his head, Brud wasn’t on a bike at all. In his head, he was already at the park, playing ball. He was shooting from the inside, the outside, and every shot was a swish. In his head, Brud was playing like nothing nobody’d ever seen, only better.

  And today, Brud didn’t just see it in his head; he was hearing it, too. There was the thump, thump, thump of a ball bouncing, the clang of it against the rim. For the first time ever, Brud’s vision had a sound track.

  By the time he got to the bridge, though, the thumps and clangs had almost disappeared. “H-h-hey,” he said, like somebody’d messed with his movie. He stopped his bike.

  But the thumps and clangs kept coming. From behind him.

  So Brud rode back out the River Road. The sounds got louder as he came to the old Hennepin place. He set his bike and ball in the ditch.

  And between trees he saw it.

  At the end of the drive was a boy, a pale, skinny one. He had short hair like Brud’s. He wore a Lakers shirt, like the one Brud had at home. And he was running, dribbling a ball between his legs and behind his back like it was nothing. Then he jumped and sent the ball to the hoop. Swish, it made the sound of perfection.

  It was Brud’s vision. Without Brud.

  Now some people, seeing somebody steal their vision, might get mad. Not Brud Kinney. Maybe if I watch this boy, he thought, I could learn to play like that, too. That got him so excited his mouth whistled, whewwwweee.

  The whistle stopped the boy.

  Brud slapped his hands over his mouth. “Sh-sh-shoot,” he mumbled, and ducked behind the brush.

  The boy held the ball tight to him. His scared eyes searched along the bushes.

  Now some people, after almost getting caught, might hightail it out of there. Or they might say, “Hey, I was watching you. Want to play?”

  Not Brud. He loved basketball too much to leave. And he didn’t want to ruin it with trying to talk. “Don’t s-s-s-stop,” he whispered.

  Finally, the boy got back to playing.

  “Yes,” he breathed.

  But that wasn’t enough for Brud. I need to get closer, he decided.

  So he snuck, behind trees and bushes, till he was across from the boy. He peeked between branches. Don’t mess me up again, his head told his mouth, and he watched.

  Up close, the boy was even better. He could dribble backward, forward, and zigzagging. He could shoot from inside, outside, and everywhere in between.

  Brud was taking it in. In his head, he talked to himself like a teacher: Look how he holds the ball. Look how low he goes before he jumps. His head was so busy teaching, it didn’t notice what the rest of him was up to.

  Because Brud’s body was already trying it out. When the boy dribbled down the drive, Brud’s hands pushed an invisible ball. When the boy crouched with the ball over his head, Brud’s knees bent. And when the boy sprang into the air, Brud did, too.

  He came crashing through the bushes with his arms over his head. He landed in front of the boy.

  They stared at each other for a second. The boy’s eyes were filled with fear. He turned, ready to run.

  Brud knew what to do. He had to tell the boy, fast, Hey, I’m Brud. I was just watching you play. You’re good.

  As the boy sprinted to the stoop, Brud took a deep breath. “H-Hey,” he hollered, “I’m B-B-B-”

  Now the boy was at the door.

  Please work, just this once, Brud begged his mouth.

  His jaw jerked. His lips opened wide. Then he yelled, “Hey, I’m B-B-B-B-!”

  The door slammed. The boy was gone.

  Now, some people, after scaring somebody like that, might go to the door and explain things. But at the door, Brud’d still be saying, “B-B-B-”

  And some people, Brud’s head said, after seeing a stranger jump out of the bushes, might CALL THE POLICE.

  “Sh-shoot,” he stammered, and sped down the drive.

  As Brud rode into River Bluffs, his head cussed his mouth: You’re always messing me up. You wrecked it, and there’s nothing to show for it.

  But he was wrong about that.

  Because when Brud got to the park and started playing, he was better. He could feel it in the way he dribbled the ball. He could see it, the way the ball went to the basket.

  “You’re playing real good today, Brud,” Gwennie told him.

  He didn’t try to say “Th-Th-Thanks.”

  Danny Novello watched him, squinty-eyed suspicious. “Think you’re going pro or something?” he sneered.

  Brud just shrugged.

  That night, Brud Kinney lay in bed with the moon shining in his window. He thought about the boy, dribbling and jumping and shooting like that. He thought about playing at the park, and how sweet the swish of the net sounded.

  Then Brud Kinney smiled. The two teeth twinkled in the moonlight, like stars.

  Chapter 12

  Delly spent Sunday on the front porch, staying in one spot like Clarice had suggested.


  She sat on the steps, spinning her head so she wouldn’t miss anything. All the while her mouth was mumbling, “Come on, come on, come on . . . ,” even when she ate her meals.

  After lunch, RB sat down beside her. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting . . . come on . . . for my surpresent . . . come on,” she answered.

  RB thought for a minute. “Are you grounded for fighting with Gal?”

  With her head twirling like that, it was hard to tell if she was nodding. “Del?”

  She stopped for a second. “We moved around too much yesterday,” she explained. “I’m staying here so the surpresent can find me.”

  “Oh.” RB watched her head whirl for a while, but it wasn’t any fun. “I’m going,” he told her.

  Without Delly, though, there wasn’t much to do. He threw rocks at the side of the house till Clarice yelled, “Who’s hitting my house?” He was picking up worms with a stick when the idea came to him. “I’ll bring it to her,” he breathed.

  “Delly, is this your surpresent?” he said as he stuck a half-eaten candy bar in her face.

  Delly waited for the tingle to tell. “Nope,” she told him, and went back to mumbling.

  After a while he returned. “Is this it?” It was Tallahassee’s trick quarter.

  “No,” she sighed.

  He found it under the back porch. He covered it with a cloth and carried it to her. “Delly, Delly, Delly!” He was bouncing on the step and singing.

  Her head quit swinging.

  “What about this?” He pulled the cloth away, and there it was: a squirrel carcass. There was no fur on it, just dark skin stretched over bones, with the tail still sticking out.

  Delly sucked in air so she whistled. “A bawlgram squirrel mummy,” she whispered. She touched the skin with her finger.

  “Well, is it? Is it? Is it?” RB grinned.

  Delly closed her eyes and wished for the tingle, because that squirrel was as good as any sur-present she ever got. She waited and waited, but nothing happened. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t say anything.

  RB covered it up again. “I’ll save it for you,” he said.

  “You go play with Cletis,” she rasped. Because it hurt, watching him lose his hope, too.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  Her head twirled.

  All the way to Cletis’s, RB chanted, “Come on, come on, come on.”

  It was dark when Clarice came to get her. “Delly, time for bed,” she called.

  “Come on . . . Can’t . . . come on,” she replied. If she got up, the hope would go for good.

  Clarice sat beside her. “Delly,” she said softly, “I know you want a surpresent. But you don’t need one. You got good all around you.” She put her hands out like she was holding it for her.

  Delly shook her head hard, because she knew about the good all around her. She needed to know there was good in her. She needed something in the world to say, “Delly Pattison, you’re not just trouble. Here’s a surpresent to prove it.”

  “Ma, I’m . . . ” She tried to tell her, but there wasn’t a word for feeling so sad and close to hopeless. “Tired,” she sighed, and got up off the step.

  “Good night, Delly,” Clarice told her.

  “Night,” she said, because that’s all it was.

  Chapter 13

  That night Delly didn’t get a surpresent. Sleep brought her something, though, because in the morning she came downstairs with a smirk.

  Walking to school, RB asked her, “You okay?”

  “Oh yeah,” she sneered, “because I got good all around me.

  “Who needs a surpresent with all this good around me?” She went on, kicking the sidewalk. “No more waiting and hoping for me, RB. I’m going to grab the good around me.” She swiped the air.

  RB just watched her.

  At the school entrance, Delly held the door. “Go on,” she told him.

  So he did.

  When he got to his classroom, RB turned to tell his sister, “See ya.”

  But there was no sister to be seen. “No,” he gasped, and headed for the door.

  Till Ms. Niederbaum nabbed him. “Your room’s this way,” she said, and steered him back.

  From his desk, RB stared out the window. “Oh, Delly,” he whispered.

  Weekday mornings, Norma at the IGA made doughnuts. She made vanilla-glazed with nuts, maple-glazed with coconut, chocolate with chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles. Those days the air around the IGA smelled so good, you’d want to eat it.

  Delly peeked to make sure Norma wasn’t at the checkout, then headed straight for the doughnut case. “Mm-mmm,” she greeted them. She grabbed a sack and filled it with a dozen Dellylicious delights.

  Vern Teeter rang her up at the register. “You having a party?”

  “Something like that.” Delly smirked.

  “Better hurry,” he warned her, “or you’ll be late for school.”

  “Oh, I will,” she promised.

  She ran out of the IGA and raced to the river. It wasn’t two minutes till she was sitting under the River Road bridge, deciding which doughnut to devour first. “Triple chocolate,” she declared.

  “Ma’s right,” she said as she snatched it out of the sack. “I don’t need a surpresent. I got a Delly-present.” With Dellypresents, there’d be no more waiting, no worrying if she was good enough. “Perfecterrific,” she proclaimed.

  With the river rolling by and the sun shining on her, she raised the doughnut in the air. “Good all around me.” She grinned, and took a bite. “Good in me, too,” she said, spitting chocolate chunks.

  Clayton Fitch was on his way to the IGA when Delly dashed by him. It wasn’t a minute till he was on the phone to Officer Tibbetts.

  “Verena,” he squawked, “that Pattison’s running to the riv—”

  Officer Tibbetts hung up before he could finish. Delly wouldn’t be celebrating alone.

  It wasn’t three minutes till the policewoman had parked the cruiser by the bridge. There was half a doughnut hanging out of Delly’s mouth when she ordered, “Drop it, Delaware.”

  “What the glub?” Delly muttered, and the doughnut plopped to the ground.

  Officer Tibbetts seized the bag. “You won’t need these where you’re going.” She grabbed the girl’s arm.

  Delly was too stunned to struggle.

  The policewoman led her to the cruiser. She put her in back, behind the bars.

  “But it was perfecterrific,” Delly mumbled, as they drove to school with the siren screaming.

  Chapter 14

  Lionel Terwilliger taught the fifth grade, including Delly. He liked big words, and he called everybody Ms. or Mr.

  What Delly liked about Lionel Terwilliger, though, was he never shamed her. When she was in trouble, he’d bend down beside her and whisper, “Ms. Pattison, there is an issue we need to discuss.” Then he’d tell her what she’d done wrong. Delly always listened; somehow, she always messed up again. Still, she was never just trouble to Lionel Terwilliger.

  So when Ms. Niederbaum brought Delly to the classroom and told him, “Delaware’s joining us after all,” he said, “Ms. Pattison, your presence is always appreciated.”

  Delly was still in shock. She stared at the floor, seeing river and rocks instead.

  “We have a new student,” he told her. “Since you missed introductions, I will present you now.”

  Lionel Terwilliger put his hand on Delly’s shoulder, and that made her look up. He raised his arm, and Delly’s eyes followed it.

  To a boy. The bawlgram no-surpresent boy.

  “Ms. Delaware Pattison,” he announced, “this is Ms. Ferris Boyd.”

  Delly didn’t say it to be mean. She said it because after being wrong about everything else, she was right about this. “That’s no Ms.,” she announced. “That’s a boy.”

  Right away, there were giggles. Danny Novello laughed out loud. Bright red ran up the boy’s neck and covered his face.

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nbsp; “This is Ms. Boyd,” Lionel Terwilliger insisted.

  “But he—”

  “Ms. Pattison,” he boomed, “that is enough!”

  And Delly heard it in his voice. Now she was just trouble to Lionel Terwilliger, too.

  “Please be seated,” he said sternly.

  Delly shuffled to her seat and slumped into it. The feeling bad was back, full blast. It pounded her with bad, wrong, trouble all morning long.

  When the recess bell rang, Delly didn’t hurry. As she slouched past his desk, Lionel Terwilliger called to her, “Ms. Pattison.”

  She trudged over.

  “There is information I shared with the class, before Ms. Boyd arrived, which you need to know,” he said, no warmth in his words. “First, Ms. Boyd does not speak.”

  “What the—?” she mumbled.

  His hand went up. “She can hear, but she does not speak. In addition, she must not be touched.”

  Delly dropped her head. Now he thought she was so bad she’d hit a no-talking girl. “I wouldn’t fight her,” she muttered.

  “I was not suggesting you would strike Ms. Boyd,” he replied. “She must not be touched, by anyone. Is that understood?”

  Delly nodded.

  “You may go.” He dismissed her.

  But she had to tell Lionel Terwilliger, who hadn’t given up on her till today, “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Delaware.” He stopped her. Then he said, softly, “I know.”

  Delly looked up.

  “Despite your intentions, however, you injure others. You must learn to . . . ”

  Delly watched his mouth, waiting for the words. How could she stop the trouble? How could she be good?

  Instead, he sighed. He couldn’t help her.

  She slunk outside to recess.

  Chapter 15

  Danny Novello was good-looking. He was good at school, good at sports, and there was good in him somewhere.

  But his mouth was mean. He’d ask Delilah Dingham, who was smart in science, “Do you have a mom and dad, or did they make you in a test tube?” He told the Dettbarn twins, who had problems with personal hygiene, “I heard skunks won’t get near you.” He oinked at Melbert Fouts, who was fat, and Melbert cried.