So Delly kept quiet, while the three of them sat.
At first it was almost as bad as counting, sitting there like that.
But Delly could hear the creatures all around them. She watched Ferris Boyd’s back rise and fall with her breaths. She felt the breeze on her face.
The cat stretched out and put its front feet against her.
Bawlgram cat, she thought, but she didn’t move.
Then it wasn’t so bad, just sitting. It felt good not being alone.
The whistle blew. “Shikes,” Delly whispered, “I got to go.” She stood up.
She sat down again.
“Ferris Boyd,” she said, eyeing the cat’s claws, “I just got to know—how come you didn’t take the ball and shoot?”
The girl stayed still.
This time, Delly didn’t push it. “Okay,” she said softly.
As she got up to leave, though, Ferris Boyd pulled a pad and pen from her pocket. She wrote something, set the paper on the stoop, and walked into the house.
Delly snatched the note quick, before the cat could claw her.
She sprinted all the way home. Sitting beside her bed, she opened it.
You didn’t ask, it told her.
She was silent for a second.
Then her mouth exploded. With laughter. “Ask,” she whooped. “Ferris Boyd, I don’t ask to do anything.”
She held the note in front of her, chuckling at it. “You don’t ask to do stuff. You just do it and then . . . and then . . .”
She wasn’t laughing anymore. “Then there’s trouble,” she mumbled.
Delly lay down on her bed. She thought about every time she’d gotten in trouble: the chickens, the canoe, the holiDelly days. They were all different, but they ended the same—with her deep in it. “Started the same, too,” she rasped. “I didn’t ask.
“But I hate asking,” she grumbled. “If you ask, they say no. They never let you do anything.”
She put the note in her left pants pocket. It was just paper, but she could feel it pressing on her. “Huh,” she said.
“Huh,” she kept saying, through dinner and while she did her homework. “Huh.”
Sometimes, when Delly couldn’t sleep, she’d go to Clarice.
About midnight she showed up at Clarice’s side of the bed. The woman was deep asleep.
Delly crouched so her mouth was near her mother’s ear. “Ma,” she rasped.
Clarice’s eyes flipped open. “Delly,” she groaned.
“If I asked Ms. Silcox for brownies, you think she’d give me some?” Delly asked.
Clarice, still groggy, murmured, “Probably so.”
“If I asked Clayton Fitch to borrow his canoe, you think he’d let me?”
“No,” she told her truly.
“If I asked you if I could take a boat down the river, would you say yes?”
Suddenly Clarice was wide awake. “Absolutely not,” she shouted.
“What if I asked you to take me?”
That calmed her. “Probably so,” she said.
“And I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble.”
“Nope.”
It was quiet. Then Clarice had a question. “Delly?”
“Ma.”
“Can I go back to sleep?”
“Probably so,” Delly answered.
“’Night, Ma,” she whispered at the door.
“Nnnn . . .” Clarice replied.
Chapter 29
Friday morning Delly jerked awake. “Bawlgrammit,” she gasped, “I didn’t ask her not to tell.”
“One, please don’t tell, two, please don’t tell . . .” She counted as she pulled on her pants. Then she stopped. “She won’t tell.” She gulped. “She’ll write it.
“Three, please don’t write, four, please don’t write . . .” She dashed down the stairs.
She was ricocheting around the kitchen, grabbing her bag and throwing things in her mouth. She had to get to school early and talk to Ferris Boyd, before Ms. McDougal did.
“What’s going on in there?” Clarice called.
Any other day, Delly would have hollered, “I’m out of here!” and run at the door. And Clarice would have arrested her. “Hold it! You go back to your room and begin again.” It would have been ten minutes of starting over, leaving the bad taste of trouble in both their mouths.
But this day something in Delly’s left pocket pinched her. “Ouch,” she yelped. She pulled the paper out. You didn’t ask, it reminded her.
Delly chewed the mess in her mouth. Then she asked, “Ma, can I go to school early? I got something to take care of.”
The question cast a spell on Clarice; she couldn’t say no to it. “All right,” she agreed.
“I’m coming, too,” RB announced.
“I’m running,” she warned him.
“I know.”
They sprinted all the way, burping up their breakfasts. Delly slowed to drop RB at his door, but he didn’t stop. So she did.
“What?” she said.
“What what?” he replied.
“Get in there,” she ordered.
“I’m coming with you.”
The worry was making her wild. She grabbed RB to hurl him into his room. But there it was again, pinching her.
She took a breath. “RB,” she asked, “will you let me do this on my own?”
She wasn’t yelling or nocussing him. She was being nice. “What’s wrong with you?” he wondered.
“Please?” she said.
The questions charmed RB, too. “Okay,” he told her.
And she was gone.
Delly stood by the back exit. The first bell rang, but no pale, skinny girl showed up. The second bell rang.
I’ll wait, she decided.
Ms. Niederbaum disagreed. “You don’t want to be late.” She grabbed Delly’s shoulder and guided her to class.
“She must be out today,” Delly murmured as they got to the room.
But Ferris Boyd was already there, slouched over her desk.
“Shikes,” Delly exclaimed, and started toward her.
“Ms. Pattison.” Lionel Terwilliger stopped her. “We are ready to commence. Assume your seat.
“Ms. Boyd,” he said, “please approach my desk.” Lionel Terwilliger whispered to her, and Ferris Boyd slumped out the door.
She was gone for 1,768 seconds, because Delly counted.
When she came back, she set a note on Lionel Terwilliger’s desk.
“Ms. Pattison,” he called out, “Ms. McDougal requests your presence.”
“Chizzle, chizzle, chizzle,” Delly muttered as she trudged down the hall.
They made her sit outside the office through recess, because that was the cruelest thing to do.
When she finally got in, Ms. McDougal took a deep breath. “Delaware,” she said, “you know about Ferris Boyd’s disappearance yesterday.”
A gurgle came out of Delly, like she was drowning. Her head dropped.
“I’ve spent time with Ferris this morning, trying to understand what happened.” The principal went on. “I asked her why she ran away, but she won’t communicate with me about it.”
Delly’s head popped up.
“As you know, it’s unacceptable for a student to leave school. But Delly, Ferris is special, and I’ve decided to let it go this time. I hope you understand why she’s being treated differently from the way you were.”
Delly couldn’t believe it—Ms. McDougal was asking if it was okay to let Ferris Boyd off the hook. She nodded and got up to go.
“There’s more,” the principal told her.
She slid down again.
“I’m worried about Ferris, that she’s always alone. I asked her if she had a friend she could share with. This was her reply.” Ms. McDougal pushed a small piece of paper across her desk.
Delly picked it up. A big, dark No was written in the middle of it. But there was a line through that. In tiny letters at the bottom of the page was Delly.
Sud
denly there was a warm spot in the middle of Delly’s chest.
“Delly, I am . . .” Ms. McDougal’s voice cracked, like she was choking on it. “Proud of you.”
Delly choked up, too. “Can I keep it?” she rasped.
“I think that would be all right,” Ms. McDougal answered.
Delly put the paper in her right pants pocket. As she walked to her room, the warm spread out to her fingers and down to her toes.
“I got a friend,” she whispered to the world, and her mouth couldn’t keep from smiling.
Chapter 30
After school, Delly had to run to catch up with her friend. “Ferris Boyd!” she hollered, too happy.
The girl flinched.
“Oops.” Delly tried again. “Hey, Ferris Boyd,” she breathed, and fell in beside her.
The question paper was pinching her, but Delly wouldn’t ask, Mind if I come along? Instead, she said, “Since I don’t got too much going on, I guess I’ll go with you.”
Side by side, they walked across the playground, over the bridge, and out the River Road. When they got to the old Hennepin place, Delly headed down the drive.
Till she noticed no Ferris Boyd beside her. “Hey, where’d you . . . ?” She turned.
The girl was back by the road.
“Ferris Boyd?” Delly called to her.
The girl wouldn’t glance at her.
Delly knew what somebody not wanting her around anymore looked like. Her friend was sick of her already. “All right then,” she mumbled, and clumped up the drive. As she passed Ferris Boyd, she felt the pinching.
“I won’t ask,” she muttered.
But the paper pinched so hard her leg went limp. “Fine, bawlgrammit,” she grumbled.
Her throat tightened up so she could hardly speak. “Ferris Boyd,” she whispered, “do you want me to go home?”
She couldn’t watch for an answer; a nod would hurt too much. She hung her head, and the two of them stood there.
And it was like Delly was one of those birds, and Ferris Boyd was telling her something without a sound. “Oh,” she exclaimed.
She gazed at the girl. Then she said softly, “Ferris Boyd, I don’t need to come in your house. And I don’t want to play ball with you, because I hate that game. I’ll just sit on the stoop. How’s that?”
The girl stayed still.
Delly let her. It was as if she asked, Will you give me a minute? and Delly told her, Sure, without a word.
Finally, Ferris Boyd tipped her head toward the house. She trudged up the drive.
It was the best “yes” Delly’d never heard. “All right then.” She grinned. She followed her to the steps and sat down.
When Ferris Boyd came out with her ball and the bowl, the black cat leaped onto the stoop. It smelled the air around Delly. “Trrrrrrrp,” it trilled, and Delly didn’t know if that meant, She’s okay or Let me tear her up.
Ferris Boyd put her hand on the cat’s back. It flicked its tail twice, then went to the bowl. When it was done, it lay down beside Delly.
“Bawlgram cat,” she breathed, but she didn’t pull away.
It was all right watching Ferris Boyd play basketball. For about a minute.
Maybe Delly did it to pass the time. Or maybe she knew you’re not really friends till you know all of somebody, including their trouble.
“Ferris Boyd, want to hear a story?” she asked.
The girl kept playing.
“All right then. Troubletale Number One: the first time Officer Tibbetts tells me I’m BAD.”
The cat turned its head to her. The birds quit chattering.
“We went to the fair.” Delly began. She told about the Poultry Pavilion and how sad those cooped-up chickens looked. “They were squawking at me, ‘Please, please, set us free.’ So I did. After, they were prancing around, like they were at a party.” She grinned, remembering that.
Suddenly her face darkened. “Next thing I know, Verena’s holding me up, hollering, ‘Bad, bad, bad.’ And I was so dumb, I thought she was joking.” She glanced over at her friend.
Ferris Boyd wasn’t playing; she was watching Delly. Her eyes were blue sadness. But now the sad was for somebody else.
Delly didn’t want it. “It’s just a story.” She smirked.
Ferris Boyd understood. She started dribbling again.
Delly was quiet for a bit. She’d always hated hearing that story. Somebody’d tell it, and it was all about her trouble, not her trying to help. Telling Ferris Boyd was different, though. Delly didn’t feel bad; she felt better.
“Want to hear another one?” she asked.
Ferris Boyd took a shot and swished it.
“Troubletale Number Two,” she declared, “I’m a brownie burglar.”
The whole time Delly talked, the girl played ball. She didn’t shake her head or tsk-tsk like everybody else. It was as if, for Ferris Boyd, Delly weren’t horribadible at all.
“You ready? ’Cause here comes Troubletale Number Three.” Delly started another one.
And the girl kept playing.
Chapter 31
As long as Ferris Boyd didn’t quit, neither did Delly. She got all the way through Troubletale Number Five and was about to begin Number Six.
Suddenly the ball stopped bouncing. Ferris Boyd was standing on the steps with her backpack.
“Oh,” Delly said. “Hey.”
The girl stared off at the woods.
Then Delly realized what she’d done. In less than an hour, she’d told her brand-new friend some of the worst things about her. Now Ferris Boyd knew about the tiny ton-of-trouble sitting on her stoop.
But Delly wouldn’t ask, You change your mind about me? Instead, she said, “I’m pretty bad, huh,” and snickered.
Ferris Boyd didn’t look at her. She walked away, to the woods.
And Delly had her answer.
Just like that, the feeling bad was back, beating her up. “You’re too much trouble for anybody,” it told her. “You can’t even keep a friend for a day.”
Delly’s eyes started stinging. She got up to go.
“Rowwwwwr,” the cat yowled at her.
Delly spun around. Teeth bared, she snarled, “You laughing at me?”
Ferris Boyd and the cat were at the edge of the woods. They weren’t laughing, though. They were waiting.
“You . . .”—the rasp cracked—“you waiting for me?”
The cat’s tail flicked twice, and the feeling bad vanished.
“All right then.” Delly grinned and trotted to them. Together they walked into the woods.
In the dark Delly remembered: soon Ferris Boyd and the cat would disappear. Maybe they’ll sublimate me, too, she thought, so she stayed close.
They came to the big tree and stopped. Delly got ready for some smoke, maybe a small explosion.
The cat went to the other side of the tree and was gone.
Ferris Boyd went next and didn’t come back.
“Hey,” Delly called, and followed. She walked all the way around the tree.
But there was nothing left of those two, not even a tiny puff of smoke.
“What the glub?” she muttered.
“Mowr.” The cat laughed.
“Where are you?” she shouted.
“MAOH,” it yowled.
Delly looked up. They were staring down at her through the leaves. They weren’t ghosts or gas.
“How’d you get up there?”
A pale, skinny hand pointed to the trunk.
Finally, Delly saw it. Chunks of wood were nailed to the side of the tree. They looked like big hunks of bark. “It’s a bawlgram ladder,” she exclaimed.
She started up it. Step by step, she entered the green till it surrounded her. Birds called from close by; squirrels ran along limbs as if they were roads.
Way up, boards were nailed to the branches so they made a floor. Delly pulled herself onto it.
And she was in a room, with leaf walls and a leaf ceiling. A railing ran around t
he outside of it. Ferris Boyd crouched in a corner, with a book against her chest. The cat sat beside her.
The other world was gone. The tree held them, like a giant green cocoon.
“Oh, Ferris Boyd,” Delly whispered, “you got a hideawaysis.”
The girl’s eyes were wondering.
“It’s your special secret place,” she explained.
Ferris Boyd nodded. She knew.
The sun shone through the leaves, making them glow like jewels. The breeze shook them, so they danced.
Delly stood and turned slowly. There was plenty of room to spread out. “You could eat here,” she announced.
There was shade and shelter. “You could sleep here,” she said.
She saw all that space far from everything bad and hard. “You could live here,” she breathed.
She kept turning and talking. “You’d never be in trouble, because it’s your place. Nobody could make fun of you, because you’re in charge.”
She had to stop. Something about the hideawaysis made her heart ache, like she’d been missing it forever. “Chizzle,” she sighed, and sat down.
Then Delly was quiet, because there weren’t words for what she was feeling. She’d just got a whole new world, because Ferris Boyd had shared it.
At five o’clock she heard the whistle from the other world. “I got to go,” she said sadly.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” she yelped as she climbed down the ladder. The question paper wouldn’t let her leave.
She climbed back again. “Ferris Boyd . . .” She started, but she couldn’t finish. It was the hardest question yet, because she wanted it more than anything.
The paper pinched it out of her, though. “Can I please come back?”
Ferris Boyd glanced at the cat.
The cat stared at Delly.
It’s over, Delly figured, if the bawlgram cat decides. She waited for one thump, No!, from its tail.
Instead, the cat flicked it twice, Okay, and closed its eyes.
“All right then,” Delly rasped, holding the happiness in.
She scampered down the tree. She waited till she was at the bridge to shout, “Happy Hallelujah!” She smiled so big her cheeks hurt.
Back at the hideawaysis, the corners of the cat’s mouth curved, just a little.
True (. . . Sort Of) Page 7