"Hey, Kirsten." She smiles.
"How come you didn't email?"
"Oh. Yeah. I had to do something," she mumbles.
"When's the talent show audition?"
"Next week."
"What are you going to sing?"
" 'Do You Believe in Magic,'" she says.
"Really? I thought you hated that kind of little-kid stuff."
"I kinda do and I kinda don't," she says as if this explains everything. Her eyes search the drop-off.
"Don't they, like, play that on Radio Disney?" I ask. "Rory! You little stinker." Brianna bursts into the drop-off from the school door. "I've been looking all over for you."
"You little stinker?" I whisper to Rory. Rory and I save lines like this so we can crack up about them when we're alone.
"Brianna!" Rory's whole face glows. She hurries away from me.
My mouth hangs open.
"I'm so glad you're here," Rory tells Brianna, heading inside without even a glance in my direction.
Rory and Brianna? They aren't friends. That couldn't be right.
Rory must have felt uncomfortable because she knows I don't like Brianna. Poor Rory. She's trying to make the best of a bad situation. I should be super-friendly like it's no big deal? I head down the hall to Balderis's. Everyone else has started working except for Rory and Brianna, who are sitting in the back. "Hey." I giggle. "What are you guys doing?" I try to sound cool, like I don't really care.
Rory doesn't turn her head toward me.
"You must be joking," Brianna tells Rory. "That is like way over the top."
"Hello?" I say.
Rory's head is set permanently in Brianna's direction. She ignores me and keeps talking.
I look down at the jean skirt I'm wearing. I thought it looked good at home, but now I see it makes me look like a semi—a mobile home made entirely of denim. All I need is a sign that says WIDE LOAD.
I take a wobbly breath and walk away.
The bathroom. Thank god for the bathroom.
I go in a stall and sit down. Rory must not have heard me.
But Rory did hear me. Rory is friends with Brianna Hanna-Hines. When did that happen?
I bite my tongue so I won't cry. It would be better to walk down the hall in nothing but a training bra and Little Mermaid underpants than bawl at school.
But I can't stay in here. Eventually someone will come looking for me. How embarrassing would that be?
I walk to the sink, splash water on my face, take a deep breath, and I go out.
Ten
Walk
Walk and Sylvia are on the freeway going to school. No traffic—it's Saturday—but Sylvia is going eleven miles an hour.
Sylvia punches the CD button, taps the steering wheel, fiddles with her earrings, load, eject, load, eject, won't even leave Aretha on for one whole song. She's always like this on the way to a funeral.
Sylvia is an ICU nurse at Children's Hospital. When one of the kids she takes care of dies, Sylvia goes to the funeral. If she were a sniffler, it wouldn't be so bad, but she has double-amp lungs. She shakes, she sobs, she moans, and Walk bolts for the parking lot, goes to visit the body, holds the body's hand—any-thing but sit with her when she's like that. Okay, so she loves her patients, but man, couldn't she switch to something where they don't all die?
Walk usually goes with her to keep her company, except today he has to help Balderis. "You okay without me?"
"Course. Do a good job, now."
"I'm helping him move; it's not a test."
She bites her bottom lip, carves lipstick off with her teeth. "Brothers can't—"
"Make it in this world unless we work twice as hard as everyone else," Walk finishes for her.
She taps the steering wheel with her nails.
Walk makes his hand into a mic and his voice high and scratchy like hers. "Keep your nose clean, mind your own business."
She rolls her eyes.
"I'm gonna be lifting books and carrying them. What do you want? 'Lifting, A. Carrying, A. Walking While Carrying, A plus.' "
She laughs. "Love you, now scat," she says as the car pulls up in front of school.
Walk hits the pavement, cuts through the main building, sees Matteo up ahead. "Matteo? What you doin' here, man? You weren't late."
"In case I am, though," Matteo says.
"Balderis givin' get-out-of-jail-free cards?"
A smile snakes across Matteo's lips. "Gotta be careful. You never know," he mutters.
They're almost to room 222 when the custodian sticks his head out of the library and looks Walk up and down.
"They should take me to jail; save us all a lot of time," Walk whispers. "Do they have a prison track at Mountain School?"
"Shut up!" Matteo whispers.
Walk snorts. "Whatever you say, Matteo Riadosa. What's your middle name, anyway?"
"Like I'm going to tell you."
"You got one worse than Wilburt? The 'Will' isn't so bad, but 'Burt'? No one named Burt but that puppet on Sesame Street. He's the paranoid one, too."
"A paranoid Muppet?" Matteo laughs.
Balderis is in the hall with a bandanna tied around his head. He's wearing an army jacket, too. Someone should tell him he's old. Let him down gently.
"Hi, Mr. Balderis," Walk says, checking out who else is here today. Kirsten, looking kinda lost, like she forgot her security blanket. Rory, the girl Kirsten is always talking to. And Brianna, the girl Matteo's all weird about.
It's not like Walk's supposed to get up close with white girls, anyway. Race doesn't matter, according to Sylvia Roodelman Jones, except for every hour of every day. She should give him a little cheat sheet. Are Chinese girls okay? How about Latin American? Half Jewish? A quarter Japanese? What about two shakes of Hindu? You need a calculator to figure it out.
It's not just girlfriends, either. All his bros got to be squeaky clean, get all As, and sing in a boys' choir—real high-pitched, too. She's terrified Walk'll turn into Neek, her best friend's kid, who's in the system again. Juvi. Juvi. Juvi. Walk keeps telling her, "Don't have to worry, Momma. Before I go bad I'll let you know, send a Hallmark card ready-made for the occasion...'On the Eve Your Son Messes Up.'"
Sylvia does not laugh.
Walk tosses his backpack in a pile and looks around to see what he can do. Kirsten is carrying one end of a projector screen; Matteo grabs the other.
Walk gets a stack of books and takes them out in the hall. He and Matteo haul one big ol' load after another. Balderis is the only teacher who has a whole library in his class and a couple of couches to boot.
Brianna comes in singing like she's got a film crew trailing her. Her cell rings; she's out again. Balderis doesn't say anything to her. Cells aren't allowed in class, not that she'd care, but you'd think Balderis would've been all over her for that. Maybe he's on Saturday behavior. Or maybe he thinks she's hot, too.
It's almost lunch by the time Balderis busts her. "Brianna, either get serious about this or go home. You have two tardies. I'm not excusing two tardies unless you put in some effort here."
"I've been here since nine o'clock this morning. I have been working so hard. I had to go tinkle and that's all. Ask anyone." Brianna looks around the room. "Right, Matteo?"
Matteo's eyes hit the floor; he nods his head.
"Liar," Walk whispers.
Matteo's brown cheeks flame up red.
"Hey, not that I blame you. Brianna says she's Mother Teresa, I'll back her right up." Walk laughs.
Matteo looks away.
Kirsten appears suddenly with a whiteboard. "Think this is going to take the whole day?"
"Seems like we're done," Walk tells her, "unless Balderis finds us something else to do ... collate pages, erase pencil marks, wash his underwear."
Kirsten gets all giggly.
Walk sets his end down. "What, you don't want to wash his underwear?"
"Walk! Kirsten! Matteo! Back in room 222 right now," Balderis shouts, his face all red
.
"Uh-oh...," Walk tells Matteo.
"Yeah, what's up with him?"
Walk shakes his head. "Who knows, man? Who knows?"
Room 222 is empty. They spent all morning ripping the guts out. Brianna and Rory are sitting on the carpet in the back messing with each other's hair.
"All right," Balderis barks, his teeth clenched. He closes the door. "No one is leaving here until we find out who did this."
"Did what?" Rory asks.
"My wallet is missing. I put it in the back of the file cabinet drawer like I always do, but apparently I forgot to lock it."
Balderis's eyes move slowly across Rory, Brianna, Kirsten, Matteo. But when he comes to Walk they shoot across his face.
Walk's chest gets tight like a hand is pressing on it. Balderis suspects him now?
He does.
Eleven
Kirsten
Mr. Balderis." Brianna waves her hand back and forth. "Excuse me, Mr. Balderis." Wavey-poo, wavey-poo. "I know who did it. It was that girl, Kirsten. Rory and I saw her."
I choke on my own spit. "Wh-What?" Rory opens her mouth to answer. She looks at me for a second. My best friend, Rory Dunkel. The girl who knows all the words to "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing," the girl who I taught how to use tampons and hook her bra in the back so she didn't have to hook it in front and shimmy it around like old ladies do.
Rory nods her head ever so slightly. Her eyes are glued to Brianna's face.
"Rory!" I can't stop looking at her. "Mr. Bal-deris ... she's ... it's a lie."
"You're calling Rory a liar?" Brianna asks.
"No, but I ... I didn't take anyone's wallet."
"All right," Balderis roars, his hand in the air.
"Rory, stand by the files. Brianna, over there. Walker, center of the room. Matteo, side wall. Kirsten, front row. Bring your backpack, roller bag, camelback, whatever the heck you have. I want everything spread out on the rug in front of you. Now!"
In my backpack are two bags of potato chips, a Snickers, and a bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies. I spent my allowance at 7-Eleven.
Brianna weighs maybe eighty pounds on a fat day. Rory isn't fat, either, and she totally believes I have a glandular disorder. I can't let them see I eat this way.
I walk up to Balderis. "Mr. Balderis, I can't ... No, it's, uh, private," I whisper.
Balderis's face gets small and tight like a fist.
"I—I have pr-private stuff in there."
He grabs my backpack and starts digging through.
"Just don't show everyone," I plead.
He pulls a brown square from my backpack. The Snickers. I'm going to die now. I'm never coming back to this stupid school ever again.
It takes a while for me to understand. He doesn't have a candy bar in his hand. He has a wallet.
Twelve
Walk
I—I didn't—I didn't take your wallet...," Kirsten stutters, her head flat out on the desk like she's roadkill.
Walk catches Matteo's eye and nods toward Kirsten.
Matteo shrugs like nothing he can do. Not his problem.
"You're all excused. Except you, Kirsten." Balderis hammers her name.
No one moves—not even Matteo's out the door, but he's pointed that way.
"What's going to happen to her?" Brianna whispers all kittenish, fingering her hair.
Rory pushes for the door. Brianna waits a beat, but when Balderis doesn't answer she's gone, too. Matteo's out the door now. Walk's going to follow, but his shoes don't cooperate. They're stuck to the floor.
This is none of your concern, Walker W. Jones. Walk gives his mouth a little talking-to so it will keep itself shut.
Balderis looks at Walk.
"She didn't do it, Mr. Balderis," Walk blurts out.
"How do you know?"
"She was with us most of the time."
"You know who did?"
"Nope."
Balderis's eyes are trying hard to read him. Makes Walk feel itchy all over. Balderis doesn't say anything. Not a word. Walk gets his feet moving, buzzes on down the hall.
"What happened?" Matteo asks.
"I stuck my fool neck out."
Matteo's lips roll up into a big fat smirk.
"Not one word about it, O Perfect One," Walk tells him.
Matteo seals his lips, but his laugh bursts like a sneeze out his nose.
"What are you laughin' at?"
"You. Got your finger in everything."
"Me?"
"Yeah. You been here what? A week? And you're already on the student council, the debate team, and the girls are into you big time."
"Sure, yeah. Well, of course."
"I'm not kidding, man. But you act like you don't even notice, like you're everybody's friend. Even Kirsten's."
"She's not my friend."
"Why you stick your neck out for her, then?"
"I just don't think she did it, okay?"
Matteo nods. "Me either ... You think she's cute?"
"Not my type ... you?"
Matteo's face blazes red. "Nope."
"You do, don't you?"
"No, I don't."
Walk puts his hands up. "Whatever you say, man. Whatever you say."
At dinner, Sylvia and Walk eat at one end of the table. The other end is piled up with schoolwork. Sylvia teaches two nursing classes, so she always brings home big stacks of papers and marks them with her purple pen. "Purple kinder than red," she says. "Yeah, right," Walk tells her.
Walk takes a gulp of milk. "Some girl got accused of stealing Balderis's wallet today."
"Really?"
"I told Balderis I didn't think she did it."
Sylvia winds spaghetti around her fork. "You know who did?"
"Nope."
"But you think you do." She nods her head, answering for Walk.
"I just don't think it was her."
"You got a thing for her?"
"No."
One of her eyebrows raises up.
"No!"
She nods. Her face relaxes. "So this isn't any of your business, but you're in the middle of it any-hoo. That's my Walk." She slides the last piece of garlic bread onto his plate. "But hey, I sure rather have a big-hearted son than one with a shriveled old thing in there." She thumps his back. "Girl got a name?"
"Kirsten."
"Kirsten. What's her last name?"
"McKenna."
Sylvia's mouth drops open. She clamps it shut.
"What?" Walk asks.
"I haven't heard about her before."
"Remember Monday? We were late because you were driving the 350 like it has training wheels, then Kirsten's mom's minivan—that silver one—almost creamed the man in the drop-off, remember?"
"Vaguely."
"Kirsten was late, too. That's why we ended up helping Balderis today."
Sylvia nods her head, but she's biting her lip the way she does when Aunt Shandra wants to borrow money.
"You know something about her?" Walk asks.
Sylvia grabs the remote, flicks on the TV, and stares at it. "Nope," she says.
"Nothin'?"
She keeps staring at the screen.
"What?"
She sighs. "I met Kirsten's mom at that new-parent party. Didn't much care for her."
"Why?"
"Just didn't," she says, punching the volume up too loud.
Thirteen
Kirsten
Every time I look up at Balderis he looks so angry, I put my head back in my hands. I just want to get out of here. I don't care how. I'm going to start my life over again. Do they have witness protection when you're in the seventh grade?
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks.
"I don't know how your wallet got in there, Mr.
Balderis."
"Why didn't you want to open your backpack?"
"Because I had all that food," I whisper.
My hand shakes as I unzip the second pocket of my backpa
ck. I can't bear to take it all out, so I give him a quick look, then zip it up fast. I feel like I've let him inspect my underwear drawer.
My face burns. "The cookies, the chips ... they're for my sister," I mutter.
"Oh." He nods, stroking a sideburn. "Do you think someone planted the wallet in your backpack?"
"Brianna, not Rory. Rory is my friend." My voice cracks when I say this. I can hardly get the sentence out.
"Oh." He sighs.
"Are you going to call the police?" I whisper.
"No, I'm not going to call the police. Frankly I have no idea what to make of this, Kirsten. I'm going to write it up. Then I'll turn it over to Mr. Fishhouse."
Mr. Fishhouse ... the principal. This is good news. All he can do is expel me. He can't lock me up for the rest of my life.
"Let him deal with it on Monday."
Monday ... no problem. I won't be at school on Monday. I won't be at school ever again. "Can I go?" I ask.
He nods. "I'd like to believe you, Kirsten. I really would."
I stand up. "Yes, sir," I say. I've never called anyone sir in my whole life.
When I leave the door crashes closed behind me. It's one of those heavy spring-loaded doors that sound like the end of the world when they shut.
Fourteen
Walk
At church the next day Walk sees his cousin, Jamal, slumped down in a pew. "Hey, what you doin' here, Jamal?"
"Man got to go to church."
"Oh yeah. Since when?" Jamal shrugs.
Walk looks down at Jamal's new Nikes. "Where you get those? How much they cost you?"
"Two hundred. But I sell 'em to you for one forty-nine."
"We're not the same size."
"One forty-nine. You can wear two pairs of socks, man," Jamal says.
"Gotta wear five pair. You got bigger feet than God."
"God have big feet?" Jamal asks.
"Yeah, bro, don't you know anything?" Walk tells him. "The guy means well, but his feet are too big and they step all over people, squash them flat."
If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period Page 3