True (. . . Sort Of)

by Katherine Hannigan

Delly ducked, waiting for it to tattle.

  But the only sounds were birds singing, then the thump, thump of a basketball bouncing.

  Delly’s head popped up. Just like yesterday, that girl was making the ball do things she’d never seen before. “More bawlgram basketball.” She sighed.

  Ferris Boyd played till Delly’s legs were cramping. Finally, she put the ball down and walked into the woods with the cat.

  “Happy Hallelujah,” Delly mumbled, and took off. She ran across the grass and into the darkness. “There you are,” she murmured.

  Up ahead, Ferris Boyd’s pale skin glowed, like a ghost. Delly followed the glowing.

  The girl and the cat went behind the biggest tree Delly’d ever seen. She waited for them to come out the other side.

  They didn’t.

  Delly snuck up to the tree. She peeked to see if they were hiding behind it. She tippy-toed around it, twice.

  Those two had disappeared again.

  “Shikes,” she whispered.

  Lionel Terwilliger had taught about sublimation, how a solid could turn into a gas in an instant. “They sublimated themselves,” she breathed.

  Delly got nervous. “Maybe they’re both ghosts. Or maybe they’re super-smelly gas. Maybe they’ll suffocate me with their stink and—”

  “Rowwwwr,” it howled from above. Right where a gas cat would be, before it swooped down and stink-bombed her.

  Delly’s legs turned faster than a windmill in a tornado. She was all the way to the bridge before she checked to see if something was chasing her.

  But there was no gas cat to be seen.

  “What the glub?” she rasped. Then she grinned. “Ferris Boyd, you are a mysturiosity.”

  The whistle blew.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said to the gas, or ghosts, or whatever Ferris Boyd and that cat had become.

  Chapter 26

  Back at school, Delly was getting a reputation. A good one.

  Tuesday, Lionel Terwilliger stopped at her desk. “Ms. Pattison,” he said softly, “your progress is appreciated,” and he smiled at her.

  On Wednesday, Ms. McDougal came to the classroom. “Delaware Pattison, please stand,” she boomed.

  “Bawlgrammit,” Delly muttered, because nothing good ever came from her being the only kid standing.

  Somehow, she’d done something bad. Now they were going to get rid of her in front of everybody. She could hear Novello snickering.

  The principal handed her a piece of paper. Delly didn’t need to look to know what it was: a one-way ticket to the reDellyformatory.

  “Read it out loud,” Ms. McDougal commanded.

  It was cruel genius, like making a criminal read the guilty verdict at her trial. But Delly did it.

  “‘Awarded to Delaware Pattison, for Excellent Conduct,’” she rasped. There was the date and a big gold star. “Huh?”

  “Delly,” Ms. McDougal declared, “your conduct has been exemplary.”

  “Smelly?” Novello snorted. “That’s a stinking mistake.”

  Delly was too confused to count. Her hands folded into fists.

  Till she heard the principal shout, “Mr. Novello, to my office. Now!”

  Delly watched him clump out of the classroom. “That’s better than a gold star.” She grinned.

  By Thursday, Delly’s reputation had gotten to gym class.

  “We’re going to play basketball,” Ms. Gerwitz announced. “Now, for captains . . . ”

  All the kids raised their hands. “Ooh, ooh,” they begged.

  All except Delly. And Ferris Boyd.

  Because Delly could ooh, ooh till the world ended, and no grown-up was going to put her in charge of other kids. Plus she hated that game. She counted, instead.

  “I already know who I want,” Ms. Gerwitz told them. “Put your hands down.

  “Gwennie, you have team number one. Tater, team two.” Novello got number three. “Our fourth captain is . . .” Ms. Gerwitz smiled right at her. “Delly Pattison.”

  “Bawldoublegrammit,” Delly groaned. She knew Ms. Gerwitz meant something good, but making her captain was bad. Now she’d have to play the game, instead of sitting it out. She’d stink up the place with her tiny basketball terribleness.

  “Captains, come here and choose your teams,” Ms. Gerwitz said. “Teams one and two play first, then three and four.”

  “Chizzle,” Delly grimaced. Now she was playing Novello, too.

  She scanned the crowd for potential players. They were all watching the other three, pleading, “Pick me, pick me.”

  There was one kid, though, not looking at anybody. It was Ferris Boyd.

  The idea blew up in her brain like a genius bomb. “Holy shikes,” Delly squeaked, it was so smart.

  The other captains picked first. All the while kids were yelling, “Ooh, ooh, me, me.”

  Till it was Delly’s turn. The gym went silent.

  It didn’t matter. In a few minutes everything would change.

  “Ferris Boyd,” Delly called out.

  There were gasps, then giggles, as Ferris Boyd shuffled toward her.

  It didn’t matter.

  “We’re going to be winners,” Delly whispered.

  With Ferris Boyd on her team, Delly didn’t need anybody else. She was about to tell Ms. Gerwitz, “I’m done,” when she got another blast of brilliance.

  I’ll pick the kids nobody else wants, she decided. Sibyl Salisbury, Chicky Plunkett, Eldon Stank, Melbert Fouts—Delly got every one of them. They slunk up and stood behind her. None of them said, “Thanks.”

  It didn’t matter.

  “We’ll all be winners,” she breathed.

  They sat together for the first game. Melbert was gnawing his nails, asking Delly over and over, “What are we going to do?”

  “I got it,” she assured him.

  They huddled before the tip-off. “Here’s the plan,” she told them. “Ferris Boyd, you stand by our basket. Everybody else, pass it to her.”

  Ferris Boyd’s head jerked up, her eyes popping with panic.

  “That’s it?” Melbert shrieked. “That’s the plan?”

  “Bawlgrammit, Melbert,” Delly barked, “just get the ball to her. It’ll be all right.”

  “We’re dead,” Chicky cried. The others nodded.

  It didn’t matter. In a minute Ferris Boyd would transform into a swish-shooting machine. Then they’d be shouting, “Hooray for Delly! She made us winners.”

  Ferris Boyd slumped to her spot.

  “Perfexcellent.” Delly grinned.

  Ms. Gerwitz blew the whistle, and the two teams came to center court. “No touching Ferris,” she reminded them.

  Melbert jumped for the tip-off. He hopped on one foot while his arms flailed around his head.

  Novello grabbed it and took it down the court for an easy layup. “Your team stinks, just like you,” he sneered as he passed Delly.

  It didn’t matter. Now she had the ball.

  Delly Pattison might be too tiny to shoot, but she could dribble. She was so low to the ground other kids couldn’t reach her. As she sped down the court, she snickered. “You’re going down, Nobraino.”

  “Here, Ferris Boyd. Do your business!” Delly yelled as she threw the ball to her. Then she turned to the hoop and waited for the swish.

  She heard shouts. She felt the wind of people whizzing by. She swung around just in time to see Novello put the ball in his basket.

  “Delly!” Melbert wailed.

  She looked at Ferris Boyd, still slouching. “What the glub happened?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Sibyl sighed. “The ball bounced off her.”

  Eldon was wheezing. “What are we going to do?”

  “Do it again,” she told them.

  “What?” they screamed.

  “I said, ‘Do it again!’”

  Delly got the ball down the court. This time she stopped a foot away from Ferris Boyd. “Here it is. Take it and shoot,” she said, and lobbed it.
<
br />   The ball hit the girl’s hand, then fell to the floor. Delly picked it up. “Ferris Boyd, shoot!” she hollered, and tossed it at her.

  But the girl was a human backboard. The ball thumped off her belly.

  And into Novello’s hands. He took it to his basket for two more points.

  “Time out!” Delly shouted.

  The whistle blew.

  Delly stood two inches from her. “Ferris Boyd,” she whispered, “I’m getting the ball to you. All you got to do is shoot. Just shoot the ball.”

  Then Ferris Boyd looked at her, with the same sad eyes she’d seen that day in the green Impala. And Delly knew it wasn’t going to happen.

  The others gathered around, like frightened fawns. “Delly,” Chicky gasped, “what do we do?”

  Delly didn’t know. “Shoot some bawlgram baskets,” she told them.

  Melbert started sobbing.

  “Just try,” she said softly.

  So they did.

  Ms. Gerwitz cut the game short from mercy. Still, it was a massacre.

  “The stink bombs lose,” Novello cheered.

  “All right,” Ms. Gerwitz ordered. “Clean up and get to your class.”

  Chapter 27

  Delly’s team left her as soon as the whistle blew. They walked wide around her, like she was a stinking dead skunk in the road.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered; but it did.

  She stayed on the court, slumped over. “It was all supposed to change,” she mumbled.

  The feeling bad that filled her said, “It did. It’s worse.”

  “At least I’m not in trouble,” she rasped.

  “No, you’re not trouble,” the bad feeling told her. “You’re a loser. And so are those other kids, because of you.”

  Delly didn’t go to the locker room. She didn’t want to see the smirks or hear the giggles. “I’ll just go to class,” she grumbled, “I’ll sit there, stinking in my sweat, till three o’clock.”

  That wouldn’t fix it, though. Because tomorrow and every day after, kids would be calling her names and laughing at her. That’s what they did to losers. Counting couldn’t keep her out of that many fights.

  “What are you going to do about it, loser?” the feeling bad asked her.

  Delly didn’t know.

  Till she heard his footsteps. Her whole body tightened, knowing he was near.

  “I can’t fight,” she told herself, but she couldn’t hear it with him howling, “This place stinks, like loser!”

  That did it. She grabbed a jump rope off the wall as she stomped toward him. “I’m going to hogtie you,” she snarled. “I’m going to throw you in Clayton Fitch’s canoe and send you down the river.”

  “Try it,” Novello taunted her.

  She knotted the rope like a lasso and swung it over her head. “Hope you like Hickory Corners,” she sneered.

  And Ms.Gerwitz shut down the rodeo. From her office, she hollered, “Delly Pattison, come over here. Novello, get to class.”

  Neither of them moved.

  “Now,” she commanded.

  Novello squinted and stamped away.

  Delly growled all the way to Ms. Gerwitz’s door.

  “Delly, look at me,” the teacher ordered.

  So she did.

  “I’m proud of what you did today.” Ms. Gerwitz smiled.

  “Huh?” Delly grunted.

  “Choosing the kids nobody else picks. That was really good. You didn’t win, but you did. Know what I mean?”

  Delly didn’t. “We got killed,” she said.

  “You lost the game. So what? In my book, you win.”

  Delly stared at her, to see if she was kidding. “Me?”

  “You. You did good.”

  Being Ms. Gerwitz’s good was like being Clarice’s pride. Right away Delly felt better.

  “You should get to class,” the teacher told her.

  Delly turned toward the gym. She wasn’t slumping anymore.

  “I won,” she told the wall as she put the rope back.

  “I’m a winner,” she said to the ceiling.

  She turned to the exit. “I’m goo—”

  And surprise shot her in the air, like a copper-curled basketball. Because there was Ferris Boyd, drooped beside the gym door.

  “What the glub?” Delly rasped when she landed.

  Ferris Boyd stayed hunched over, like the saddest loser ever.

  Delly knew how that felt. Full of Ms. Gerwitz’s goodness, she walked over to her. “Hey, Ferris Boyd,” she said, “Ms. Gerwitz says we won even if we didn’t. Know what I mean?”

  The girl didn’t glance at her.

  Now, as fine as Delly was feeling, that felt bad. Because she was trying to give Ferris Boyd something good, and the girl wasn’t taking it. Again.

  So she said, “Ferris Boyd, how come you just keep standing there doing nothing?”

  The girl didn’t move.

  The good feeling was fading fast. And now Delly was remembering how they could have been winners, but for real, if Ferris Boyd had done something besides slouch there.

  “Hey,” she hollered, “I’m talking to you. How come you didn’t take the ball and shoot it? Do you want to be a loser?”

  Delly didn’t do it to be mean; she did it because she forgot. While she shouted, “Because I know you can do it. I saw you play,” she grabbed the girl’s arm.

  Ferris Boyd’s head jerked up, and her eyes were wild. Her arms flailed around her head.

  “Shikes.” Delly pulled her hand away.

  It was too late. Ferris Boyd was running, like wild dogs were after her, down the hall and out the back door.

  “Double shikes.” Delly followed her. But the girl was already sprinting across the playground.

  “Ferris Boyd!” Delly cried, and headed out the door.

  Till Ms. Niederbaum snagged her. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s Ferris Boyd,” she rasped. “She . . . she’s gone!”

  “Where?”

  Delly pointed.

  “Why are you here and not in your room?”

  “I . . . I was with Ms. Gerwitz,” Delly answered, which was sort of the truth.

  “Go to your class.” Ms. Niederbaum directed her.

  So she did.

  Delly spent the afternoon worrying that they wouldn’t find Ferris Boyd, and worrying that they would.

  “She might be hurt.” She fretted. “But if they find her, she’ll tell. I’ll be out of here before Ms. McDougal can say ‘You’re expelled.’”

  Just before three o’clock Ms. Niederbaum came to the classroom. She and Lionel Terwilliger whispered.

  Delly prepared for her banishment to Badkidville, as Lionel Terwilliger walked toward her.

  At her desk he leaned over. “Ms. Boyd has been located,” he said softly. “She is at her home and will return tomorrow.” Then he put his hand on her shoulder. “Delaware, your awareness and concern are valued.” He was thanking her.

  Delly wanted to shout, “Happy Hallelujah!” because Ferris Boyd was safe and she wasn’t in trouble. Yet. But the way Lionel Terwilliger said it, like she was decent, made her hang her head.

  “Hunh,” she mumbled, and he left her.

  Chapter 28

  At three o’clock, Delly raced across the playground, over the bridge, and out the River Road. At the end of the drive she checked: there was no car, no cat. And no basketball-playing girl. She ran to the front door of the old Hennepin place and banged on it. “Hey, Ferris Boyd,” she hollered, “I got to talk to you.”

  Nobody came.

  “Ferris Boyd, this is a Dellymergency,” she shouted.

  That didn’t do it.

  She stood back and looked at the house. The curtains in the upstairs window fell together.

  “I got to know if tomorrow’s my last day at that school,” she muttered to herself.

  Breaking in would probably be trouble. Throwing rocks could go wrong, too.

  There was one more thin
g Delly could try: tell the truth. “Bawlgrammit,” she grumbled, and sat down facing the house.

  “Okay, Ferris Boyd,” she told the window, “here’s the truth. I’m trouble. I’ve been bad for a long time.” That was hard to say; Delly sat with it for a second.

  “I’ve been better, though, so they made me captain.” She went on. “I didn’t want to do it. Till I got this idea: you, me, all those kids that got no friends— we could be a team. We could help each other.”

  The curtains pulled back, just a little. Delly’d have to tell more truths.

  “Okay, here’s the real truth. I saw you at school with those animals, and it was something. Then I followed you here and watched you play, and you were awesome. So when Ms. Gerwitz picked me, I picked you—because I knew, with you on the team, all us losers could be winners for once.

  “But then you just stood there. I didn’t mean to touch you; I just wanted to know what happened.”

  The curtain pulled back some more.

  “Okay, here’s the real, real truth,” Delly rasped. “If I do one more bad thing, they’ll kick me out of school. I don’t care what happens to me”—the rasp cracked—“but I can’t make my ma cry again. That’s why I need to talk to you.”

  The curtains closed.

  Delly’s chin fell to her chest. “Chizzle,” she mumbled.

  The mail slot in the door creaked open. A small piece of paper slipped through it and fluttered to Delly’s feet.

  She picked it up. Big, dark letters told her, No Yelling. No Touch.

  Delly got too excited. “Okay, Ferris Boyd!” she shouted, “I won’t—” and stopped herself. “I won’t yell,” she whispered.

  The door opened a crack.

  “And I won’t touch you,” she murmured.

  It opened some more.

  “Hey, Ferris Boyd.” Delly just breathed it.

  The girl stepped onto the stoop. She sat down, facing the trees.

  Then there was one more truth Delly had to tell. “Ferris Boyd,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

  The girl just stared ahead.

  Now, Delly Pattison didn’t like apologizing. She had a hard time doing it and getting nothing back. She was about to ask, loudly, Hey, did you hear me? I said, Sorry.

  And that black cat ran across the yard. It set itself between them. “Mowr,” it growled, with all its claws sticking out.