Invisible Lines

by Mary Amato

“He looks like me,” I say.

  She nods. “I was always worried that you would see yourself in him and—I don’t know—take it on or feel ashamed. And I never wanted you to feel ashamed because none of that was your fault, so I figured I just wouldn’t talk about him. But I know it kills you to have a dad in jail. I know that.”

  I don’t think I’m even breathing.

  She goes on. “He had some good qualities and the truth is you got those, Trev. He was funny. So are you. He could always make me laugh. He’s artistic. I never told you that. He could draw, but he never did anything with it. You got your good looks from him, too.”

  “Was he mean—is he mean?”

  She shakes her head. “He got mixed up with drugs and then started stealing to buy them. He was never mean, just messed up.”

  “Is he … do you ever talk to him?”

  “I brought you with me when I visited him in the beginning. You were too little to remember. He would always light up when he saw you. But then I got worried because I didn’t want you to get attached to him. I didn’t want you to think you had some daddy who was going to get out and come back and make everything okay. And I had to move on, too. The truth is that he is messed up, Trev. He was a good person. He really was. But he was so young and he got messed up with drugs and it ruined him. Maybe he’ll change. I don’t know. Maybe when you’re older you can meet him and make up your own mind about him, but right now it’s just us. It’s just you and me and Michael and Tish. I’m sorry.”

  She stares at the hole in the wall, trying not to cry. “I feel terrible about the soccer thing, Trev. But I can’t say yes, even though I know how much you want to play. Even if we could afford it, there’s no way I could get you to all those games and practices.” Her eyes are filled to the brim. “There’s lots of things you want, and you’re mad at me because I’m not the kind of mom you wish you had. I don’t have a high school diploma. I don’t have a decent job. I don’t have a car or a nice apartment. I can’t give you anything you want. I’m so sorry, Trevor.” Her voice chokes up. “I’m not a very good mom.”

  Now I’m the one turning into a statue.

  She sniffs and blinks and a few tears come out. “I’m going to tell you the truth, Trevor. Sometimes I get so tired and I just want to lay down and die. I’m trying so hard, but I don’t know how to get out of this hole. The minute I make a little money, it’s gone.” The tears start rolling down. “And then you make a superhero for Michael …” She smiles, even though she’s crying. “And all this love just fills me up. And I feel so lucky.” She shakes her head and smiles again.

  I can’t look at her because if I do I’ll start crying.

  “Look.…” She goes through the photos until she finds the one she wants and then she hands it to me. I know this one. It’s from the hospital. I was just born and my mom is holding me in her arms. In the picture she is looking down at me and smiling and she looks happy and really scared at the same time.

  “You look like you’re holding a bomb in your arms,” I say.

  She laughs and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I was scared. But it was like a bomb of something good. Like flowers or something. Look at you. You were this tiny thing and I had to figure out how to take care of you.”

  My face is all scrunched and wise-looking and my eyes are closed. I am wrapped up snug in a soft blue blanket, like Charlie should have had.

  “Okay, I’m gonna tell you something weird.” She sits back down and scoots in closer so we can both look at the picture. “When you were inside me, I swear I could hear your thoughts. Not thoughts. I mean, you didn’t know how to talk, so it wasn’t thoughts in words. It was more like thoughts in feelings. And I swear you could feel my thoughts. I’d talk to you all the time. Not out loud. I’d just think things to you, like ‘Hey, baby, don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be all right.’ ”

  She laughs. “And then after you were born, I still felt that connection. You could be in the next room crying, let’s say because you were scared because I went to get something and you couldn’t see me, and I could just think my thoughts to you. ‘It’s okay, baby, Momma’s right here.’ And if I was doing it right … really concentrating … you’d feel those thoughts and you’d stop crying.” She smiles at me. “And you know what? I still do it. I think it’s harder now because there are so many more noises. But sometimes when you’re at school or whatever, I send a thought to you.” She closes her eyes. “ ‘Hey, Trevor. Rise above it.’ ” She wiggles her fingers at me like she’s sending me a message on an invisible line through the air.

  I jolt like the message just zapped into my brain and we both laugh.

  “Is it crazy?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  She takes my face in her hands and looks into my eyes. “You broke my heart when you said I probably wished I had thrown you in a Dumpster. Don’t ever say that again. You keep me going. Don’t you know that?”

  She pulls me in for a hug and I can’t help it anymore. I start to cry.

  She gets the same toilet paper roll Michael was using and gives us each a piece. We blow our noses. “I’m working in the Fry Factory and living in the Cry Factory,” she says, which makes me laugh.

  “Good one, Mom.”

  She laughs and blows her nose.

  I blow my nose.

  “You sound like a goose,” she says.

  “You, too.”

  We blow our noses at the same time and crack up.

  “Mom—”

  She looks up.

  “You know when I said I wished I was born to someone else?”

  Her eyes fill up again.

  “I didn’t mean it,” I say.

  That makes her start to cry again. “Yeah, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “Shut up. I didn’t.”

  “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

  “What I mean is you’re the only mom I’ve got.”

  She laughs through her tears. “Better than nothing, huh?”

  “No. I mean …” How can I explain what I mean? I look at the photo. I’m in a blanket and my mom is holding me and she’s smiling, and I can almost see all the invisible lines that run from her to me. Even though she’s scared, she’s sending good thoughts my way and promising to take care of me and even after I was born she kept holding me and sending good thoughts my way and feeding me and worrying about me and making sure I didn’t put broken glass in my mouth and yelling at me when I did something wrong so I wouldn’t do it again. And if I was crying and thinking something like Help! I need water! she was listening and saying, “Here’s some water, baby. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  I look up. Her face is a mess and her hair is half pulled in a ponytail and half falling down. “What I mean … you know how you said that it’s just you and me and Michael and Tish?”

  “Yeah.”

  I think about Michael’s worried Little Man face and Tish’s fierce Little Cavewoman face. “It’s okay if it’s just us. Us is good.”

  She smiles at me through her tears.

  “Us is good.” She kisses me and sniffs.

  My stomach growls and she laughs.

  “You didn’t eat, did you?” She wipes her face with the palm of her hand. “Enough of this crying. Let’s have a midnight snack. I’m hungry, too.”

  We make peanut butter sandwiches.

  “You remember the shelter?” she says between bites.

  I nod. I remember sleeping on a cot next to my mom, and I remember being scared and she reached across and held my hand and we fell asleep holding hands.

  “I don’t want us to ever have to go back there,” she says. “That’s my goal right now, Trev.”

  “Well, there was one advantage to that place,” I say. “It came with free mushrooms.”

  She laughs, and then she puts her head down on her arms. “What a night. I’m so tired. I could fall asleep right here.”
/>   “Hey, Mom,” I say.

  “I’m afraid to say what.”

  “Can we adopt that baby that was found in the Dumpster?”

  She lifts her head. “Trevor Musgrove. You knock me out.”

  “Can we?”

  She laughs. “Another baby. That would be something.”

  “Don’t say no.”

  She groans. “Oh, my bighearted boy. Turn off that brain of yours and go to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”

  We say good night and I curl up on the mattress facing the window.

  I look out at the sky. Maybe my dad is out there, thinking about how he messed up his life. Maybe he’s missing me. Maybe he’s not. I’m not going to let it drag me down. I imagine writing his name on a balloon and opening the window and letting it go. He’s out there, but I’m not tied to him anymore.

  I get up. There’s still a stub of blue chalk left in the windowsill.

  Our names are still there. I rewrite them. Make ’em fresh. MOM. MICHAEL. TISH. TREVOR.

  CHARLIE, too.

  I close my eyes and send a thought his way. Hang in there, Charlie. I’m thinking about you. I hope you can feel it.

  The sky opens up and it finally starts to rain.

  37.

  THE MEETING

  Ideas probably don’t just pop up out of nowhere. They probably have roots, like mycelia, that connect one thought to another to another until an idea pops out like a mushroom. I wake up with one. It may work and it may not. But it’s worth a try.

  I get my backpack and markers.

  Michael comes in, sleepy-eyed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m drawing on my backpack. Don’t bump the table, okay? I’ve got to get this just perfect.”

  “Is it gonna be a superhero?”

  “A superhero would be cool, but I need a logo. Just a little logo right here. You ready for school, Little Man? Let’s see your power stare.”

  Michael leans in and stares like a pint-size Terminator.

  I laugh. “You got it!”

  Mom hustles in with Tish and Rex.

  She reminds me about the meeting and explains that she can’t leave until Michael’s bus picks him up, but as soon as she can, she’ll catch the Ride-On with Tish and Rex. “If I’m late … well, I can only do what I can do.”

  She tells me I should play for the school team. “That’s doable,” she says. “And then you can make a billion touchdowns and blow those rich guys out of the water.”

  “That’s a really nice thought, Mom. But you don’t make touchdowns in soccer. You make goals.”

  She laughs. “I knew that.”

  Outside, the air smells clean. There’s a cool little breeze dancing around. Maybe it’s carrying some microscopic mushroom spores looking for a nice place to land. Just picturing that helps put me in the right mood.

  By the time I walk into the conference room, Xander and both his parents are already there. They are talking with Mr. Gonzalez about some problem with the traffic light in front of the school. “I’ll bring my camera and document it!” Mr. Pierce laughs. “That should take care of it.”

  They stop when I walk in.

  I explain that my mom is coming as soon as she can.

  Xander’s dad doesn’t say anything. He just smiles. Then he turns to Mr. Gonzalez. “And what about this girl who was supposedly involved?” His voice is nice and calm, but you can just feel the pod rot creeping out of this guy’s smile in all directions.

  I don’t know what Mr. Gonzalez knows about Diamond, but as he explains that “circumstances of a personal nature are preventing Diamond and her mother from attending,” something in his eyes tells me that he knows a lot and that maybe he sees through Mr. Pierce’s smile. Maybe the Pierces are even getting under his skin.

  I want to scream at Xander’s parents that they don’t have a clue, and I want to split Xander wide open and show the whole world what he did. But I know that getting all heated up will make the situation worse. If you turn bad to get the bad guy, then the bad guy ends up winning anyway. My mom is right. When you’re dealing with people like this, you have to rise above it.

  “Diamond didn’t do it.” I keep my voice as calm as Mr. Pierce’s. “I made a mistake about that.” Everybody looks at me like I’m going to confess. “And I didn’t do it, either. Actually—”

  “Please,” Xander’s father says to Mr. Gonzalez. Now he’s getting a little huffy. “Let’s not waste time here. We have the proof after all.”

  “It was in his backpack,” Mrs. Pierce adds.

  I give Xander my most powerful stare. I know you did it, I say with my eyes. I have no proof, but I can see in his eyes that it’s true. He shifts. I think he’s realizing he might have crossed the line this time.

  Mr. Gonzalez clears his throat and smiles back at the Pierces. “The purpose of the meeting is to hear both sides of the story. Trevor, if you didn’t do it, how did the phone get in your backpack?”

  Now it’s my turn to smile. “I think it was an accident.”

  “Accident?” Mrs. Pierce barks.

  “Our backpacks are both red. Both Nike. I think Xander probably put his phone in my backpack by accident.”

  Xander looks at me, surprised. He wasn’t expecting this.

  I set my backpack on the table with my new Nike logo on it. Xander’s looks cleaner than mine, but they do look alike.

  Xander’s dad starts in again, saying that Xander would know which backpack was his.

  Then Mr. Gonzalez says, “Let’s hear from Xander. Is it possible that you may have made a mistake?”

  All eyes on Xander.

  He looks at the logo I drew on my backpack. He knows the logo isn’t real. He knows I’m giving him a way out, but I don’t know if he’s going to take it. It’s like one of those game shows where a million bucks is resting on the answer to the final question and a big clock is ticking. He’s weighing his options. Maybe he’s picturing them in his head. What if he fries me for this, and word gets out? What if I tell my side of the story and people like Langley believe me? It’s one thing for Xander to put me down when nobody is looking, but to deliberately frame me and get Mommy and Daddy to back him up … that can’t make him look like anybody’s hero. The clock ticks. His face is red. Come on, Xander. I’m giving you a lifeline. This is your chance to evolve. Take it.

  “It’s possible,” he finally says.

  I wish I had a camera with a zoom lens because Xander’s dad looks like he swallowed a toad.

  Mr. Gonzalez talks for a while about why this is one of the reasons they don’t like kids to have cell phones in school—blah blah blah—and I’m not really listening because my brain is full of the sounds of cheering and the image of confetti falling down from the ceiling.

  Then there’s nothing more to talk about, and he dismisses Xander and me for class.

  Just as we’re leaving, Mom walks in. She’s got Tish by the hand and Rex in her arms. She’s out of breath. I can tell she ran all the way from the bus stop. Rex is crying, and she’s bouncing him to try and make him happy. “I’m sorry I’m late. I got here as fast as I could,” she says. She looks like she’d rather jump into a tank with sharks than be here, but she’s here.

  Mr. Pierce gives my mom a look as they walk out, and I want to kick him right in the butt.

  Rise above it.

  Mr. Gonzalez explains the “accident” to my mom. He turns out to be not such a bad guy. My mom works up the courage to ask a bunch of questions about how she can help me do better in school.

  On the way out, she hoists Rex higher on one hip and asks Mr. Gonzalez if he knows which bus will take her over to Eighth Street.

  He tells her and then says, “I appreciate the effort it took you to come in this morning, Ms. Musgrove. I know it isn’t easy.”

  My mom smiles.

  38.

  RESULTS

  On Friday, I head to Mr. Ferguson’s room to drop off my Identification Notebook and application for Summit Science and A
rt. Based on the fact that my notebook is just a sad-looking thing with a cardboard cover, I know I shouldn’t expect him to be impressed.

  “Ah, Mr. Musgrove,” he says when I poke my head in the door. He’s wearing a chef hat and an apron and he’s cooking something that smells delicious in a frying pan over a burner. “Guess what I’m sautéing in garlic and olive oil?”

  “Mushrooms?”

  He salutes me with his spatula. “Every year, I am surprised how many students have never tried mushrooms or say they do not like them when they have only eaten button mushrooms in salads.”

  His first-period students are trickling in. “If we don’t want to try one, will we get a bad grade?” one of his students asks.

  “Live life large!” he says. “Your taste buds will thank you.”

  He dishes me up a mushroom on a paper towel. “High in protein. Low in fat,” he says. “They contain amino acids, antioxidants, B vitamins, fiber, selenium, and potassium.…”

  It’s warm and juicy and meatier than I imagined.

  “What do you think?”

  “Surprisingly delicious,” I say.

  He shrugs as if to say he knew it all along. “As for this”—he points to my notebook and application with his spatula—“I’ll get back to you as soon as we have the chance to review it.”

  I know they’re not going to let me in unless they think I’m worthy. I just really hope I’m worthy.

  I hustle to Computer Applications.

  “Did you see it?” Juan asks.

  “See what?”

  “Stevins posted the team list.” He grins. “I’m on it!”

  “What about me?” I whisper.

  “You and Javier and Langley and me. All on the team.”

  “Xander?”

  “Didn’t make it.” Juan grins and shrugs.

  Well, well, well. Looks like Coach Stevins wasn’t snowed by Xander. Never underestimate a refrigerator.

  Langley catches me in between classes. He says that Xander is telling everybody that the only reason his name isn’t on the team roster is because his dad told Stevins he couldn’t be on the team. “He told me I should quit, but I said no way back. We’re part of the sewer system, right?” He grins and does the official Toilet Swish and a bunch of girls follow him down the hall.