Lemons

by Melissa Savage

  The man carrying the camera on his shoulder turns the large round lens in my direction, and I start to feel hot.

  “I—I…ah,” I start. “We, um, we just want to prove the species exists.” I look at Tobin out of the corner of my eye, and he nods. “And, um, and to allow them to be protected so, ah, that they can live safely, just as any other creature on earth should…even if they are different.” Tobin nods again. “Because sometimes it’s the differences that are exactly what make us special.”

  I turn to Tobin and he turns to me and then he grins real big. And so does the news lady.

  “Wonderfully put, Lemonade Liberty Witt,” she says.

  The camera guy makes a circular gesture with his hand, and the lady nods to him.

  “Thank you very much, Tobin, Lemonade, Charlie, and Professor Malcolm, for your time today. This is Jessica Samish with Channel Four News and Bigfoot Detectives Inc. in Willow Creek, California. Back to you in the Redding studio, Tom.”

  That Sunday, Charlie decides to knock number three off my list of things he didn’t used to know about me. The most embarrassing one.

  3. I never learned to ride a bike.

  “There you go, Lemonade! You got it! You got it!”

  That’s Charlie hollering behind me while I’m pedaling down the street in front of the house. He has his hand on the silver bar on the back of my green-and-pink-striped banana seat.

  He promised me he wouldn’t let me go.

  And I believe him now more than ever.

  I also know for sure, because I can hear him breathing real hard behind me as he tries to keep up with my pedaling. Tobin and Debbie are sitting in the cheering section located on the yellow porch swing.

  “Look at you go, Lemonade!” Debbie cheers.

  “You’re leaning too much to the right!” Tobin hollers.

  I pedal until I reach the stop sign, and turn the silver handlebars to the left, make a shaky U-turn, and begin pedaling back toward the cheering crowd. Lucky for me, Charlie is still there to keep me vertical.

  “Can I let go now?” Charlie asks, huffing and puffing.

  “Only if you want Lemonade splatter all over the pavement!” I holler back at him.

  “You can do this on your own. I know you can!” he shouts.

  I take a deep breath.

  “You promise?” I ask.

  “I promise!”

  “Okay, now!” I throw over my shoulder. “Do it now!”

  I don’t feel him let go, even though I know he does. At first I wiggle a little, trying to find a new balance without him.

  And then I’m pedaling.

  And I’m steering.

  And I’m doing it all by myself.

  Me!

  I can hear Charlie yelling from behind me.

  “I told you! I told you! Look at you go!”

  I make it all the way back up the street and turn into the driveway, stopping next to Jake and moving the kickstand out with my tennis shoe. Charlie is jogging to catch up.

  “You did it! Didn’t I tell you?” He smiles big. “Not a scratch on you, and no Lemonade splatter on the pavement either!”

  “I can ride a bike,” I tell him, holding my arms up in victory.

  He wraps his big arms around me, picks me up, and bear-hugs me. I bury my face in his checkered shirt. He smells like Irish Spring soap and coffee beans and Old Spice cologne.

  I know it’s a smell I’ll never forget, just like Mama and her strawberry Suave.

  “Thanks, Charlie…I mean…Grandfather,” I whisper into his shoulder.

  He doesn’t say anything. But I know he hears it, because he squeezes me even tighter.

  That night in celebration of my great accomplishment, Charlie takes me, Tobin, and Debbie to dinner at the Arthur Treacher’s Fish & Chips all the way in Redding. We toast my achievement with root beer floats for dessert. Debbie probably would have ordered strawberry ice cream for her float if they had it, but they don’t.

  When we all have our floats, Charlie pushes his chair out and stands up.

  “To Lemonade.” Charlie holds his Arthur Treacher’s cup high in the air.

  Tobin, Debbie, and I all raise our cups high in the air too.

  “To Lemonade!” Debbie cheers.

  “To Lemonade,” Tobin repeats.

  “And to those who should be here with us celebrating on this fine evening,” Charlie goes on. “To Elizabeth, Rebecca, and Scotty. Wherever you may be, we know you are all here with us tonight and in our hearts forever.”

  “Hear, hear!” Debbie exclaims.

  “Where?” Tobin asks, looking around.

  “No, Tobin. It just means I agree,” Debbie explains.

  “Oh. Here, here, then.” He shrugs.

  I laugh.

  “Let’s all share one thing we miss about them.” I look at Debbie and then at Charlie.

  They both nod in agreement, and Charlie sits back down.

  I point to Tobin. “You start.”

  He’s in the middle of taking a big gulp of his float, and when he comes up for air, he has a foamy mustache.

  “I miss my dad reading to me before bed. He always read me something about cryptozoology. He knew everything about it. Even more than me, if you can believe it.” He takes another big gulp.

  “Debbie,” I say. “Your turn.”

  “Okay, um, I miss his kindness. He always practiced the Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

  “Charlie?” I point in his direction.

  “Oh, boy, let’s see…I miss everything about your grandmother. One thing, uh…well, I guess I could pick her gardening. She used to have the most beautiful garden in town.”

  “Yes, she did.” Debbie smiles.

  “It was filled with flowers. Every color you can imagine. There wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t have a vase of flowers on our kitchen table. Except for the winter, of course.”

  I think about Mama and her daisies on our kitchen counter, and I wish I could have met my grandmother.

  I bet Mama was the spitting image of her.

  “Okay, Lemonade. Your turn,” Charlie says to me.

  I think real hard about which thing to share about Mama.

  “I know she is here right now and I know she’s happy we have each other to share our memories.”

  “Here, here!” Tobin hollers, raising his float again.

  “Hear, hear!” we all say.

  There are exactly fourteen days left of summer. Tobin and I are at the Bigfoot Headquarters on Sunday. Tobin is shuffling through his yellow legal pad, and I’m reading another book that Charlie brought home for me. This one is called Philip Hall Likes Me. I Reckon Maybe. I’ve read it twice already.

  The green phone rings, making us both jump.

  Tobin nods at me. I grab the carefully written index card that’s lined up next to the message pad and pick up the receiver.

  “Good afternoon…,” I read. “And thank you for calling Bigfoot Detectives Inc., serving Willow Creek since 1974. This is Lemonade Liberty Witt, Assistant Bigfoot Detective. How may we help you with your Bigfoot needs today?”

  “Um…is this Lemonade?”

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “It’s Mei Cunningham.”

  “Oh, hi, Mei,” I tell her. “I mean, ni hao.”

  “Wow, you remembered!” She laughs. “That’s really good!”

  “Thanks!” I say.

  “We were wondering if you wanted to come and play Kick the Can today. We’re all getting together at Nick French’s house again. Me, Eliza Rose, J-Man, Joe Kelly, and Beau.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking over at Tobin.

  He’s eyeing me suspiciously over his yellow legal pad.

  “Um…I’m not really sure…b-but I don’t think I can,” I stutter.

  “Oh.” She sounds disappointed. “Well, if you change your mind, meet us there after lunch. Around one or so.”

  “Okay,” I say. “And thanks.”

&
nbsp; “See you.”

  “Bye,” I tell her, and slip the receiver back into its cradle.

  I pick up my book.

  “Who was that?” Tobin asks.

  “What?” I say without looking up, even though I heard him just fine.

  “Who was that?”

  “Mei Cunningham,” I say. “They’re playing Kick the Can at Nick French’s house and invited us to come.”

  That’s not exactly a lie. I mean, technically I was invited. Mei just didn’t mention anything about Tobin. He’s too smart for me, though.

  “Clarification—they invited you.” He points in my direction and goes back to shuffling his yellow papers.

  “Well, you could go too. If you wanted to, you could.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who says?”

  “I say.”

  “Why would I want to play with those guys, anyway?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” he says.

  “ ‘Because’ isn’t a reason. Is it just because of the prank calls?”

  “No, it’s not just the prank calls.”

  “The girlfriend cracks?”

  “No, not just the girlfriend cracks either.”

  “Well, it seems to me that nothing is that big of a deal that you can’t try and make friends with them. You go to the same school and all.”

  “That’s not my choice,” he says. “I don’t do anything to them.”

  “Yeah, but you can still try to change it.”

  “Yeah, well, if you were the one who had dodgeballs whipped at your head every day at recess since kindergarten, you might not feel that way,” he mumbles.

  “What?”

  He doesn’t look at me.

  “They whip balls at your head?”

  “Only every day,” he says.

  “What else?”

  “They call me names.”

  “Names?”

  “Mean ones, too.”

  The more he tells me, the more it makes my volcano bubble up, not for me…but for him.

  “Every day since kindergarten?” I ask.

  “Minus weekends and major holidays,” he says.

  “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

  “And then there was the time they locked me in the girls’ room.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask. “That’s it.” I slam my book closed. “We’re going.”

  “But, Lemonade—”

  I hold up my hand.

  “Remember when I told you I was going to teach you a thing or two about standing up to those guys?”

  He nods.

  “Well, school’s in session.”

  He looks at me, confused.

  “School doesn’t start for another fourteen days,” he tells me.

  “What? No…never mind. Let’s just go.”

  “Go where?” he asks.

  “You’ll see.”

  In Tobin’s bedroom that afternoon, it’s an all-out wrestling brawl.

  “You can wear it when we get back!” I yank on his safari hat, still strapped tight under his chin.

  He sits in the middle of his bedroom floor, clutching the brim with both hands, gripping as tight as his fingers will hold it.

  “I’m not taking it off, and you can’t make me!” he screams, like he’s two years old instead of ten and a half.

  He doesn’t know it yet, but he doesn’t stand a chance, since I’m two whole inches taller and way stronger. And soon it comes loose and it’s mine.

  “Fine!” He rubs at the rug burns on his knees. “You’ll see how it is, and then you’ll be sorry you ever made me go.”

  “I’m just asking you to give it a chance. That’s all I’m asking,” I say.

  “Uh-huh,” he grumbles.

  Tobin and I ride to Nick French’s that afternoon. Me on my pink-and-green bike, and Tobin safari hat–free. Which is nothing short of a miracle. Well, mostly miracle, and only a little bit of force.

  Joe Kelly is the first one to spot us riding up the street.

  “Hey, it’s Tobin Sky and his girlfriend!” he hollers at us with a big, stupid grin.

  The other kids come out of their hiding spots underneath bushes and behind trees, where they were perched to try to steal the can from the person who’s It in back of the house. The can again being the dirty orange Nerf football.

  Beau laughs at the girlfriend comment and so does J-Man.

  “Leave him alone, you guys!” Eliza Rose says, peeking out from under a tall green bush. “Hi, Lemonade! The kitties are almost ready to go! You ask your grandfather yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “Not yet,” I call back.

  Mei Cunningham must have lost at Inka Binka Bottle of Ink and must be out back guarding the coveted orange foam trophy.

  “Tobin and his girlfriend want to play Kick the Can,” Beau chimes in. “How romantic!”

  “If you need any tips, just let me know,” Tobin says like a pro while he puts his kickstand down in the driveway.

  J-Man and Nick French burst out laughing.

  “Dude, burn! He got you good.” J-Man points at Beau and laughs harder.

  Joe Kelly and Beau don’t laugh.

  “What did you say to me?” Beau demands, puffing up his chest and looking down his nose at Tobin.

  Tobin sneaks a look at me, and I nod at him.

  “I said, if you need any tips, just let me know,” Tobin says again, looking Beau straight in the eye.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe Kelly asks.

  “It means…ah…that I have a, ah…it means if you can’t…me and Lemonade…um—”

  So close.

  “Look.” I step in, pointing my finger at Beau’s chest. “Here’s the deal: If I hear another thing about dodgeballs or the girls’ bathroom, or if I pick up the receiver and hear your stupid voice screeching over the phone, you’re going to have me to deal with. Do we understand each other? And his name is Tobin, get it?” I poke Beau. “I don’t want to hear about you calling him anything else.”

  “Yeah.” Tobin mimics me, putting his hands on his hips and looking fierce. As fierce as you can look with beads of sweat on your upper lip.

  “And just so you know, we’re both playing, so get over it.”

  Joe Kelly is staring at me with a smile.

  “Fine,” he says. “You want Tobin to play, he can play. I don’t have a problem with that. He’s with you, he’s okay in my book.”

  “Well, good,” I say. “It’s settled, then.”

  Beau crosses his arms, swings the bangs out of his face, and glares at Tobin, while Tobin suddenly finds his feet extremely fascinating.

  “Hey.” Mei comes around the side of the house from the back. “Where did everyone go?”

  Nick French’s face turns Maraschino Red.

  “Lemonade is here!” Eliza Rose announces.

  “Oh, hey, Lemonade! I’m glad you decided to come. Hi, Tobin.” Mei smiles and waves. “So, what’s the holdup? I don’t want to be It forever, you know. Let’s play.”

  Everyone darts in different directions to hide.

  “You okay?” I whisper to Tobin.

  He wipes the sweat beads off his face.

  “I think they still hate me.”

  “Give them a chance to change,” I say. “To see what I see.”

  “I’m telling you, the war isn’t over just ’cause you brought me here.”

  “Well, maybe it’s not the end of the war, but we won a small battle, and sometimes it’s the small battles that lead you to victory.”

  “You know what?” he says.

  “What?”

  “That actually sounds very lemonade-ish.”

  I smile.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe you’re starting to remember what you think you forgot.”

  “Maybe I am,” I say.

  “But, Mrs. Dickerson…,” Tobin starts. “Yes, but…yes, Mrs. Dickerson…I…what? You made the peanut butter ones?”
>
  He looks at me.

  Come on, I mouth, pointing to the hands on his Bigfoot watch. We’re…going…to…be…late.

  He puts his hand over the green receiver.

  “She had another sighting and made the peanut butter ones.”

  “Polaroid?” I ask.

  “Mrs. Dickerson?” Tobin says. “Uh-huh…Mrs. Dickerson? Did you…did you get a picture?”

  He looks at me and shakes his head, then listens some more.

  “You found a what?” he asks. “Really? Roofed or unroofed?”

  His eyes find mine again and they’re wider than I’ve ever seen them.

  He covers the receiver again. “She found a nest,” he whispers.

  After Tobin finally hangs up, we lock up shop and race our bikes through town to Mr. Harold’s ranch. Tobin set up a daytime expedition and some of the kids agreed to come along.

  Yesterday wasn’t perfect, but anything’s better than a dodgeball to the head. And that’s a good place to start.

  “So, what do the nests look like?” I shout over to him.

  He’s pedaling fast on his fire-engine-red bike, with the black leather case and yellow legal pad strapped over the rear wheel.

  “They’re very intricate,” he hollers back. “And there’s no way an animal without opposable thumbs could create one. Branches are intertwined, and some have roofs and others don’t. She says this one has a roof.”

  “Where did she see it?”

  “Just past the tree line back by her garden. She thinks a Bigfoot has been stealing the vegetables from her garden and stashing them in the nest.”

  “But no Polaroid?”

  “Nope,” he says. “But she’s positive she can see the structure through the branches.”

  “Do the Bigfoot eat vegetables?” I ask.

  “Of course, what do you think they eat?”

  “Actually, I worried that it might be ten-year-old girls.”

  Tobin snorts.

  “None that I’ve ever heard of. They’re omnivores, so they eat food of both plant and animal origin.”

  “Animal origin?”

  “In addition to vegetation and berries, animal meat. Deer. Squirrel. Stuff like that.”

  “What else?” I ask.