"Who is this?"
"Kippy."
"Kippy?"
"I called to see if you have any pets?"
"Pets? Why do you want to know?"
"It's important," she says.
"I have a Venus flytrap," Walk tells her.
"Really?" She sounds all excited. "Can I see?"
"Sure, yeah. Kirsten on the line?"
"No," Kippy says.
"No? How'd you get my number?"
"I looked it up in the blue Mountain School book. I have another question," Kippy says. "Do you like bunk beds?"
"I guess."
"Do you like the bottom bunk or the top bunk?"
"The top."
"Oh." She sighs. "Well, at least you like them. Kirsten likes them too. My mother won't let us get any, though."
"Glad we got that straightened out. Anything else you want to know? Do I sleep standing up? Do I wear shoes to bed?"
"I'm sorry," she whispers, "but this is new."
"What is new?"
"Having a brother. I never had one before."
"I'm a brother, Kippy, not your brother."
Kippy doesn't say anything, so Walk fills her in. "Black guys, we call each other brothers. Doesn't mean we really are related."
"African Americans?"
"Yeah, African Americans."
"Oh," she says. "Well, Kirsten said you are my half brother, so maybe the American is my half and the African is another girl's half. Do you have another sister?"
"Kirsten said what?"
"She said you are my half brother, but it's a secret and I shouldn't tell my mom."
"Kirsten is out of her mind."
"Is not."
"I'm not your half brother."
"Okay, okay," she says in a small voice. "But could I still see your Venus flytrap?"
Kip's a little kid. Little kids get their facts all mixed up. Kirsten said a brother ... Kip thought she said my brother ... It's a joke, right?
In Sylvia's bedroom Walk yanks on the file drawer. It's locked. Walk didn't know she kept it locked. The lock is tiny. Where would she keep a tiny key? Now he remembers there is a little key on the chain with the extra house key Sylvia has hidden under the palm tree pot.
At the front door he tilts the big palm forward. Big key, little key. Sylvia can't hide anything from him.
Walk pulls open the heavy broken, sagging drawer. Sylvia's writing is on the files. AUTO INSURANCE, AUTO LOANS, BIRTH CERTIFICATES. Birth Certificates.
There it is. WALKER WILBURT JONES with a tiny baby footprint on the back. The front says: MOTHER: SYLVIA ROODELMAN, FATHER: CLIMPTON JONES.
Of course it does. Stupid fool. What'd he think?
Walk pokes around to see what else is in here. A climpton file. Empty. He shoves the drawer closed and pulls out the bottom one. LEASE, MUTUAL FUNDS, NURSING BOOK LISTS, NURSING CLASSES, RECIPES, REPORT CARDS. Report cards: Walk flips through all of them. Almost all As. A couple of Bs and one C in third grade.
His last report card at City had all As and one A plus. He puts it back and takes it out again. He gets a little buzz looking at it. Gotta have one last peek. That's when he sees the pencil scratching on the inside back of the file: MWM, Mount Tamalpais Hospital, 1350 South Sycamore Drive, Greenbrae, CA 94904.
That must be where he was born. Only he wasn't born there. He was born at Oakland Children's, where Sylvia works.
MWM?
In the kitchen, Walk looks for the blue book with names and addresses of the kids at Mountain. His fingers sweat on the blue cover. M for McKenna. Kirsten McKenna. Parents: Rachel and Mac W. McKenna.
MWM.
Walk looks up Mount Tamalpais Hospital in the phone book, dials the number. Just hang up now, fool, he tells himself. "May I speak to Dr. Mac McKenna?"
"One moment and I'll connect you."
Walk kills the call with his thumb.
Sylvia used the folder as scratch paper. It doesn't mean anything. Walk erases so hard he burns white streaks in the manila. The name is gone. All gone.
Walk gets his swim gear and heads for the Y. He doesn't care that he already swam today. In the water he knows this is all one big fool mix-up. Every lap he knows it....Thirty laps, thirty more, thirty after that.
The water is heavy, like wet sand. His shoulders are sore, his legs ache, but he keeps going, keeps on going until he sees Sylvia's white nurse shoes at the edge of the pool.
"What the heck you doing, scaring me half to death? You couldn't call and tell me where you're gonna be? Your hand fall off? Your mouth froze shut? You better hope it did, boy. You better pray it did." She's ranting, but he knows from her sound, she's more relieved than mad.
"What's the matter with you?" She tosses Walk a towel.
"Sorry," Walk mutters.
"Don't you sorry me." Sylvia shakes her finger at him.
They walk to the car, parked one wheel over the yellow curb. She grunts. "You look pale. You're coming down with something."
"No."
"You better say yes if you're hoping for dinner tonight or any other night the rest of your life."
"Yes," Walk says.
When they get home, she makes a sick-at-home meal, bagels and chicken soup. They're quiet at dinner. Just the TV noise and the spoons clack-clacking the bowls.
When the dishes are done, Sylvia cracks her big gray nursing manual to prepare her lecture. She glances up at Walk. "No homework tonight?"
Walk shrugs.
"Momma," he says.
"Um-huh."
"My middle name ... where did it come from?" Her body gets still like it's her funeral now. Only her eyes move. "It was just a name I thought of."
" Wilburt was a name you thought of?" She grabs the remote control.
"Momma, do you send my report cards to MWM?" Her head swivels so fast she doesn't need to answer.
"Why, Momma?"
Sylvia rests her head on her thumb. "What makes you think I do that?"
"Kippy told me, Momma. Know who Kippy is?"
Sylvia sucks her cheek in; her eyes go tiny in her head. She knows who Kippy is.
Forty-Five
Kirsten
What do you mean you called him up?"
She shrugs a tiny shrug like she's going to get in trouble for just moving her shoulders. "I called him up. His number's in the book."
"Kippy!"
"You told me not to tell Mom. You didn't tell me not to tell Walk," she whispers.
"I didn't think you'd call him up."
"You didn't know if he had any pets, Kirsten. He's my brother," she whispers. "I have to know that."
"And you told him we were his sisters?"
She nods.
"Did it sound like he already knew that?"
Kippy shakes her head.
"Are you sure he understood? This is important, Kip. Try to remember exactly what he said."
She sticks her tongue out of her mouth and screws her face up. "He said all guys call each other brother. That doesn't mean they're really brothers."
"Ahhh. So he didn't believe you."
"He said you were crazy. He said if we get bunk beds he wants the top bunk."
"You asked him about bunk beds?"
She scrunches up her face like she knows she's going to tell me the wrong answer. "I was thinking maybe now Mom would let us get one. We could get a triple-decker."
Forty-Six
Walk
When he opens the door, there's Aunt Shandra on the stoop looking way orangey, like she was tagged orange all over.
"What are you doing here?" Walk asks.
"What are you doing here?" Shan answers.
This is Walk's second day home from school and he doesn't plan to go back.
"Okay, so I wanted to have a little talk. What's your excuse?" Shan asks.
Walk shrugs.
"Jamal doesn't give me enough trouble, you start acting up on me." She puts her hands on her hips. "C'mon, let's go."
"I'm not dressed."
"Don't need a tux where we're going."
"These are my pajamas."
She stares at his shorts and T-shirt. "How's a person supposed to know that? Go on then, get yourself dressed."
Walk throws some clothes on, heads outside.
Shan unlocks the car door. "Ice cream? Candy? CDs? Johnny Walker? What you think we need first here, guy?"
"You can buy me a BMW all tricked out, it's not gonna help, Shan."
"Well, that's what's wrong with you, nephew. A BMW would be mighty fine. I'd do a lot for a BMW."
She waits for Walk's answer. When he doesn't say anything, she turns the ignition on. "Run over to Burger King, I guess," she mutters. "Sylvia is right about one thing. You one mad dog..."
Burger King is practically in Walk's backyard, it's that close. But Shan would drive from her bedroom to her living room if she could.
"Look Walk, I want you to hear this from me."
"Little late for that."
"Now you listen to me." She points her long nail at Walk. "Your momma loved Climpton. Sun rose when he came in, set when he left. He was that handsome. And charm, that man had it big time."
"He isn't my father. I don't care."
Shan stamps her foot on the brake and stares at Walk. "Let's get this straight. I'm doin' the talking, you're doin' the listening."
Walk hunkers down in his seat.
"Sylvia fell hard for Climpton, but Climpton wasn't ready to get tied down. He didn't want any part of nothing permanent. And then one day at work she met Mac. Mac was working at Oakland Children's then, too."
Walk cracks the door. "We gettin' out or what?" She drums her nails on the dashboard. "Yeah, all right," she says, opening up. "What are you gonna have?"
"Two cheeseburgers, fries, and a Coke." He might as well get a free meal out of this.
At the table, Sylvia pokes her straw into her cup cover, making shrieky little noises like plastic people are dying in there. She unwraps her burger and starts up again. "And then Sylvia gets pregnant, which she was real happy about."
"Was she still with McKenna when she found out?"
"Nope."
"She's alone, she's pregnant. Oh, I bet she's happy." Walk jams three fries down his throat.
"I said she was happy," she snaps at Walk. "Course, I thought she was out of her fool mind. But she wanted a family and if she couldn't have Climpton and a baby, she wanted the baby. So don't you tell me you weren't wanted because that's a load of crud. You hear me? That woman would give her life for you and you know it."
Walk stuffs his cheeseburger practically whole in his mouth and chokes it down.
"One day she's big as a house, and she stops in at one of them baby stores and there was Mac with Rachel, who had a belly on her, too. You know who that was?"
"Kirsten," Walk snorts.
"Ya-huh. Well, Mac, he called Sylvia and Sylvia told him, 'Um-huh, it's yours.' So he started sending money. She didn't ask for it, he just sent it. I liked him better after that."
"How's she know my dad's McKenna?"
"How's she know?" Shan's voice screeches so high the people in the next booth stop talking. "Look, mister, I am sorry you don't like this. But you say something like that again, I'm going to make it so you never sit down the rest of your life. You getting married, you standin' up, you die standin' up, too, you understand me, boy?"
Walk grinds a french fry into the ketchup.
"McKenna checked in every few months. He's proud about you, about how smart you are, wants to know this and that. When Sylvia decides to pull you out of public school, he says he'll pay for Mountain."
"I got a scholarship to Mountain," Walk tells her
She makes a funny blowing noise with her orange-lipstick lips. "Scholarship covered fifteen hundred dollars. So, McKenna, he only had to pay eighteen big ones. Pediatric ICU nurses don't have eighteen thousand dollars sittin' around, Walk."
Walk puts his hands over his ears. She waits until he brings them down again.
"Look." She takes hold of Walk's chin between her fingers, her nails clicking against themselves. "Who your parents are don't make a difference. Nobody has any choice in the matter. You aren't any different than anyone else in that. You are what you make of yourself and don't you ever forget it."
"Yeah, sure, but now I'm half white."
"What you talking about, boy?" She grabs his arm. "That ain't half white. That's black as the night is long. This doesn't mean anything except you got your school paid for. Do you hear me?" She squeezes tighter.
"I got a white dad and all it means is I got my school paid for? You're wrong about that." He pulls his arm back. "So, so, so wrong."
Forty-Seven
Kirsten
Matteo has this tiny chess set in his notebook. At lunch he teaches me how to play. This is kind of okay-fun, but the table is lonely without Walk. Even Jade and Hair Boy are subdued without him.
On the way to the library we run into Rory.
"I need to talk to you, Kirsten," she snaps.
Oh great.
Matteo zips and unzips his binder. He rolls his lips in and pulls his eyelids down low over his eyes. Matteo's expressions are pretty subtle, but I'm beginning to be able to read them. He hates Rory. That much is clear.
"What?" I ask when Matteo leaves.
"It's only because you can't sing." Rory spits the words at me.
"What's only because I can't sing?"
"You had to mess it up, didn't you?"
"Had to mess what up?"
"The talent show. Brianna told me you and your new boyfriends or whatever they are set her up so she'd get caught stealing Matteo's organizer. And now she's mad at me about it."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do. I know when you're lying. You do that flutter thing with your hand. You forget I've known you for five years. I know everything about you."
"Brianna was forcing Matteo to do her homework and give her test answers. If he wouldn't do what she said, she'd tell her mom that Matteo's mom was breaking things."
"Matteo's mom's her maid. You're going to worry about somebody's maid?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just what I said. Besides, Brianna wouldn't do that. That's just crazy."
"You know she would. You used to know that, anyway. I don't know what you know now."
"It was you and that black guy who did this. Does your mom even know about him?"
I can't help snickering at this. If Rory only knew.
"Why are you laughing? What's the matter with you?"
I shrug.
"She doesn't know, does she?"
"Yes she does," I tell her.
"You never used to be petty like that just because you couldn't be in the talent show. Spoil it for everyone. You know they canceled the whole thing, don't you?"
"Why?"
"Like I know why they're canceling. Probably because Brianna can't be in it so her mom isn't paying."
"They did it last year without all that extra money."
"Yeah, but Brianna was in it last year. If Jacqueline Hanna-Hines doesn't want it to happen, I guess it doesn't happen," she whispers. "And Brianna is blaming me because I'm the one who told her about Matteo's test. Me? I am so innocent here."
"Choose better friends, Rory. I mean, Brianna? You call her your friend?"
"Hello? She's, like, really popular. You could be popular, too. But you don't even try. You just want to feel sorry for yourself."
"I don't feel sorry for myself."
"My mom says I'm supposed to be nice because your parents are getting a divorce, but I'm so sick—"
"Shut up!" I cover my ears with my hands. "Just shut up!"
I'm not sure how I get to the library, but that's where I find myself, with my head facedown on the table. And then the next thing I know, Matteo is tapping my shoulder. "You okay?" he asks. "You look like you're going to pass out or something."
A few minutes later he s
coots a Dixie cup full of water in my direction. "Here. Dorarian says to drink this."
Forty-Eight
Walk
No way Walk's sitting locked in the car with Sylvia clear to church and back. Walk was hoping she'd stay at Aunt Tanesha's all afternoon, all week ... forever'd be good. But Sylvia's back again, in his face, digging in his closet, pulling out his old suit.
"Too small," he mumbles. She makes a face. "Try it on."
"Why? Somebody die?"
"Just put it on."
Walk jams his arm in. Shoulders so tight he's a humpback. Guess it's been a while since he's been to a funeral.
She clucks like she does when the phone bill's too high. "Wear what you wear to church," she decides.
"Where we going?"
"We're meeting mkmakana," she says like her mouth is full of biscuits.
"What?"
"We're meeting Mac McKenna," she repeats.
Walk wads up the jacket and tosses it at her. "You outta your mind?" He brushes by Sylvia, pockets her keys on the way out the door. This isn't his plan, he just sees them there and suddenly he has them in his hand. Sylvia's still standing in his room. She can't see what he's doing out here.
He slams the front door—he knows that bugs her—and goes straight for her car. He heads for the driver's seat, jams the keys in the ignition. The motor turns over then catches.
Walk slips the transmission to R and steps on the gas pedal. The car shoots backward. His head yanks back. His toe finds the brake, pushes down, and the car jerks to a stop. Sweat drops off his face. He forgot to check what was back there. Luckily, nothing.
He moves the transmission to D and hits the gas again. The car jumps forward. He pushes down harder. It goes faster. Harder. Faster. His apartment disappears. His neighbors. The apartments all down the street.
In the car he sees Sylvia's cell hanging from the cigarette lighter. Out the window is the mailbox he once crashed into on his bike. The neighbor kid in her Girl Scout uniform.
But how fast can the car really go? He gives the car some gas. It leaps out of his hands, swerves right, then left. He slams the brakes, wipes the sweat off his hands.
If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period Page 10