Come Fall

by A. C. E. Bauer

Mr. Ho took attendance, read off the announcements, then the class stood for the Pledge of Allegiance. The class bell rang. Mr. Ho printed the topic of their latest unit, MICROBES, in large letters on the blackboard. Blos clicked his pen to blue and copied it down. Mr. Ho launched into a short speech about amoebas and single-celled organisms. Blos took down every word.

  “We have a short lab today,” Mr. Ho said. “I want you to study five slides and provide me with a full report on at least two of your choice.”

  There was a general rustle and hubbub as kids went to the front of the class to collect microscopes and the small boxes that held the slides. Mr. Ho continued talking.

  “I would like you to cooperate with your lab partner so that each of you is doing a report on a different set of slides.”

  Bethany positioned the microscope and slides in front of her.

  “I pick,” she told Blos.

  He nodded. Bethany made him feel queasy inside.

  She examined all five slides first, without giving Blos a chance.

  “I pick these two,” she said.

  She took notes and drew pictures without letting him peek at either of them.

  “You get to choose from these three,” she said.

  She pushed the microscope and slides away from her and began working on the questions. Blos had fifteen minutes to choose and take notes. He was not good at drawing, and only getting a few minutes to sketch made it more difficult. The fifteen minutes went quickly.

  The bell rang.

  “Since you’re still working, you can put them away,” Bethany said.

  Blos nodded. He glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes. Ten minutes to clean up, to put everything away, to pack up his bag, and to run down two flights of stairs, across three hallways, and make it to his seat in Ms. R’s class.

  Rob passed him on his way out and tapped the watch.

  “Maybe Crow can teach you how to fly to classes.”

  “Crow?”

  Rob laughed.

  “Your friend at lunch yesterday.”

  Friend at lunch. Who did Rob mean? Lu Zimmer? Salman Page? When Blos refocused, he and Mr. Ho were alone in the classroom.

  Blos fumbled with the slides. He wedged one at an angle in the slots, and it stuck, a corner sticking out. He tried pulling, pushing, took his pencil to lever it out. Sweat beaded his forehead. His hands were slippery and wet.

  A hand touched his shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Blos,” Mr. Ho said. “Put away the microscope. I’ll take care of the slides.”

  Blos let gratitude pour out.

  “Thanks!”

  He cradled the microscope in his hands and placed it next to the others on the cabinet shelf. Mr. Ho took out a pair of needle-nose pliers from a drawer and picked up the box with the wedged slide. Blos paused, surprised at the pliers. Mr. Ho gave Blos a rare smile.

  “It happens almost every time. That’s why I keep these on hand.”

  Kids from the next class were arriving, exchanging glances when they saw Blos. He ignored them. Mr. Ho had begun to unwedge the slide. Blos was fascinated by the accuracy of the pliers, the tiny motions of Mr. Ho, the slow but deliberate release of the slide. Mr. Ho looked up.

  “Don’t you have another class?”

  Blos checked his watch. Oh no. He was going to be late. He ran all the way to Language Arts. He made it through the door just as the bell rang. He felt queasier than he had felt all morning.

  “There’s a seat in front,” Ms. R said.

  Blos crumpled into it. He heard Bethany’s giggle behind him.

  Blos straightened his back. He took out his notebook. Placed A Midsummer Night’s Dream to its left. Placed his four-color pen, his pencil, his eraser, and his ruler in a line above.

  “Please turn to act three, scene two,” Ms. R said.

  Blos turned to the page.

  “Bethany, I’d like you to start at line one thirty-seven and read to us what Demetrius says when he sees Helena.”

  Blos heard the scramble as Bethany tried to find the lines. Then, with hesitation, she began.

  “O, Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!”

  As she read, Blos picked up his pen, clicked it to black, turned his notebook to today’s date, and wrote: A M.N.D., act 3, sc. 2. He listened.

  “… with the eastern wind, turns to a crow,” Bethany read.

  Crow? The word distracted him. Crow. It could not be Lu. She did not look anything like a crow. Maybe Salman Page? He was very dark-skinned.

  “So explain: what happened to Demetrius when he saw Helena?” Ms. R asked.

  Bethany had finished reading. Blos snapped back to the present. He gripped his pen tighter. He waited. Soon Ms. R was going to tell him what was meant. Soon he would write it down, word for word.

  His queasiness did not return, not that whole class period.

  7—Lu-Ellen Zimmer

  Birds

  Just before World History, Bethany Addams approached Lu. Bethany! She never spoke to Lu unless she absolutely had to.

  “Crow carries worms, right? That’s why birds like him.”

  Ruthie Ross, who sat behind Lu, piped up.

  “Maybe it’s ’cause his hair is shiny. Crows do go for shine.”

  Rob Puckett, two seats away, leaned over. “Got any birdseed for Crow?”

  Bethany laughed. Lu didn’t. They were talking about Salman. She shrugged.

  “He’s my assigned student.”

  This was a matter of fact. She was just a d.b. No one chose to whom they were assigned. Everyone knew that.

  “Too bad you didn’t get someone normal,” Ruthie said.

  Lu supposed that Salman didn’t quite fit whatever normal was around here. But as his d.b., that didn’t matter. She knew that, too. Last year, Elaine Egger had been Blos’s d.b. No one called Blos normal. But Elaine was the most popular girl in school. And being Blos’s d.b. had only made her popularity grow.

  Lu figured she could use a little extra status, especially since Frances had moved last spring.

  Frances Drummond and Lu Zimmer had been best friends since kindergarten: they had survived mean teachers together, goofed off in gym, worn each other’s clothes. But last May, Frances’s father’s company relocated, and Memorial Day weekend, the whole family moved to Pennsylvania.

  Frances had always been a little more popular than Lu—she was prettier, had blond hair, and started developing earlier. Not that Lu was ugly. But Frances was a lot more outgoing. She liked to take charge. And where Frances went, Lu followed. She was swept in whenever they did things with other kids. When Frances moved, Lu was left alone more. No one acted mean. But Lu realized too late that she had depended on Frances too much, and she wasn’t really close to anyone else. She didn’t have all that much in common with Frances’s old crowd, except maybe for Ruthie, who played in the band with her.

  Lu made up for it by calling Frances almost every day—and Frances called her back. They e-mailed and text messaged, too, but mostly they phoned. It slowed down, though. They began talking every other day, then every third or fourth. They stopped sending messages after Frances’s mother joined a pool club in July and Frances made new friends. By the end of August, if they spoke once a week it was a lot. Frances’s conversations were filled with “Josie this” and “Martha that.” She didn’t listen much to what Lu had to say.

  When Lu called her last night, Frances was cold.

  “Lu. What’s up?”

  Lu was so excited, she didn’t notice the impatience in Frances’s voice, not right away.

  “I’ve become a designated buddy,” Lu said. “Ms. R asked me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Silence dragged for a few seconds.

  “Well, it’s just that …,” Lu said.

  “Hold on.”

  Lu heard someone in the background: “Hurry up. It’s about to start.”

  “You have friends over.” Lu faked sounding happy.

  “Send me an e-mail,” Frances said.
“Bye.”

  The phone clicked in Lu’s ear before she’d finished saying goodbye.

  She didn’t belong in Frances’s life anymore. And Lu really needed someone to replace her. That’s what she’d been thinking, anyway.

  She put the thought aside. She was meeting Salman Page in the cafeteria. She was looking forward to that, she realized.

  The first thing she noticed was his face, with every muscle clenched. He must have heard his new tag.

  “There’s room in the back,” she said.

  She didn’t need to add that they wouldn’t be bothered there.

  Salman nodded—with effort, it seemed to her.

  She found a table while Salman loaded his tray. She was trying to come up with some advice to give him, but she didn’t have any. She’d never been given a tag. She watched the food line. Salman reached the cashier and handed her a pink reduced-payment slip. He paused, then walked the edge of the room, missing every group of kids that might taunt him, which Lu expected him to do. But he did it without being obvious, which was pretty awesome.

  She gave him a “you go” smile. But just before he got to the table, Blos Pease showed up. Lu wondered afterward why she hadn’t noticed him approach.

  “May I join you?” Blos said as he sat down.

  “Well …,” Lu said.

  It’s not that she disliked Blos. But Salman looked as though he needed some calm right now, and Blos would be loud and attract attention.

  Salman eyed Blos before placing his tray next to Lu’s bag.

  “Hello, Blos,” he said.

  He seemed okay about Blos joining them. Okay. She could deal.

  As Salman sat, Blos lined up his food, as he usually did. And when he finished lining it up, he stopped, as if something prevented him from going any further, just as he had done yesterday. He bit his lip.

  “Why do they call you Crow?” he asked.

  Lu tensed. Couldn’t Blos, just this once, be a little tactful? She watched Salman out of the corner of her eye. She wasn’t able to read his expression. He took a sip of water, set the cup down, then looked straight at Blos.

  “It’s because I have a crow for a friend,” he said.

  Blos nodded.

  “I once had a pigeon for a friend,” he said. “Crows are more interesting.”

  Blos launched himself into his lunch. Salman took another sip of water. Lu thought his eyes were smiling. She was surprised.

  Blos quickly finished, crumpled up the leftovers, and crammed them into his bag. He pushed his seat back.

  “Goodbye,” he said.

  “Do you have to be somewhere?” Salman asked.

  Blos stopped.

  “Uh. No. Not right away.”

  “Then why don’t you stay with us?” Salman said.

  What was he up to? Salman should have wanted him to leave. Blos was weird and tactless and had just pried into stuff Salman obviously thought was private.

  Ever since Lu could remember, Blos had been apart. He attended special classes to help him socialize or something. He was smart and did well academically, but he never learned how to fit in. He took everything too literally, and he never could figure out when people were being sarcastic or were making fun of him. Lu felt sorry for him. Not that she sought him out. But she didn’t avoid him the way other kids did.

  Rob Puckett called him a “retard.” Maybe Salman thought so, too, and planned on teasing him.

  But when Salman leaned forward, she saw his face. There was no meanness there, just curiosity. Salman wanted to get to know Blos. And in a flash of insight, she saw Blos as Salman did. Blos was a boy without guile, who said what he meant and asked questions because he was curious. Lu sat back, breathing easier.

  “I’d like to hear about your pigeon,” Salman said, “if you don’t mind.”

  Blos’s face lit up.

  “I called her Gray, because that was her color.”

  Salman nodded.

  “How did you know that Gray was a girl?” Lu asked.

  Blos grinned.

  “Female pigeons are smaller than males, and their plumage is different. Besides, her eyes were so pretty, I wanted her to be a girl.”

  “Is she still around?” Salman asked.

  Blos looked troubled.

  “I have not seen her in a while. My mom says she was probably raising chicks in a quiet place.”

  “She was your friend, though,” Salman said.

  Blos nodded vigorously.

  “I fed her and talked to her, and when it froze last winter, I opened the storm window and set up a box against the inside window, with rags and paper, so she would not be so cold.”

  “Did she use it?” Lu asked.

  “Oh yes. Until the spring—when it warmed up.”

  “She’ll come back,” Salman said.

  “You really think so?” Blos said.

  Salman nodded again. “You have a warm roost.”

  “And I will not roast her,” Blos said.

  It was a bad pun, poorly executed. But Salman laughed a quiet laugh that made his eyes crinkle. Pleased, Blos guffawed in his too-loud way. Lu had to smile, too.

  Blos checked his watch.

  “I have to go.”

  He rushed off.

  Salman frowned. “We have at least ten more minutes.”

  “He likes to be early,” Lu said.

  Blos had a thing about schedules. He constantly worried about being late, consulting his oversized watch at every occasion. He was first in line for everything.

  Salman took a bite out of his pizza. Lu nibbled on her egg salad sandwich. She didn’t have much appetite.

  “Why’d you tell him about your crow?” she asked.

  “I call him Bird.”

  He almost sounded like Blos.

  “Okay. So how come you told him about Bird?”

  “Because he’ll keep it to himself.”

  “How do you know?”

  Salman grinned. “He never told you about Gray, did he?”

  She shook her head. Salman was right. Blos never had.

  “He’ll keep it to himself,” Salman said.

  She sipped her milk. She had known Blos since first grade. And here Salman had understood him better than she did. Impressive.

  “Do you like Blos?” she asked.

  Salman nodded. “I’ve met kids like him before.”

  “Really?”

  Salman hesitated. “In other schools. Other kids are like him. I’ve sat with them, sometimes.” He paused, then added, “Blos is real. What you see is what you get.”

  No hidden agendas. No plans to hurt you. Salman didn’t say those words, but Lu knew that’s what he meant.

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s him.”

  Salman was getting ready to leave. She didn’t want to let him go. Not yet. She wondered what else he might see that she didn’t.

  “What do you have this afternoon?”

  “A lab with Mr. Ho.”

  “Your first?” she asked.

  Salman nodded.

  “Writing his reports is a real pain,” Lu said.

  Salman stared, questioning.

  “He makes you rewrite them until he thinks you’ve done it right.”

  Salman frowned. An eyebrow furrowed down. She could tell he didn’t like that idea.

  “I can show you how he expects them to be done,” she said. “If you want.”

  “Okay,” Salman said.

  He appeared relieved.

  “We can work at my house,” she said.

  The eyebrow began to furrow again.

  “It’s only a few blocks away, and Mom can drive you home.”

  Salman glanced out the windows. Rain pelted against them. He seemed to be calculating something in his head.

  “Okay. But I’ll need to be back at my place for dinner.”

  “No problem,” she said.

  She watched him walk away. With his right hand he slipped his tray onto the rollers by the kitchen window, w
hile with the left he lifted the cutlery and dropped it into the plastic tub. In the next stride he swooped up his backpack by the entrance and was gone.

  Graceful. He reminded her of a shortstop making a play during one of the many baseball games she had watched with her dad. A good shortstop.

  She dumped her bag into the trash and was retrieving her pack when she noticed Rob Puckett talking to one of his crew. They had been watching Salman, and Rob said something to make the other boy giggle.

  Her stomach turned cold all of a sudden.

  8

  Dreams

  Salman Page

  September___

  Language Arts

  TOPIC: Write about a dream and what it told you.

  I dreamed I became a bird.

  I was sitting in the crook of a tree, and my mind was busy—full of what was happening to me every day where I live now. Then, somehow, I became a crow that had just taken off. I saw myself, Salman the boy, small, nestled in the tree, and I saw trees all around, other birds flying, and people far below, and I caught a glint out of the corner of my eye. I dove for the glint—a bottle cap shining in a parking lot—scooped it up, and flew away to the tallest tree, not too far from that tiny boy on the branch. And I dropped my treasure into a little hollow, heard it clink as it joined my other treasures, and I cawed with pleasure. How did I become this bird?

  Dreams are so thin that they evaporate in daylight. Yet after I woke from my dream, it stayed with me. I felt it, inside me. And the next time a crow flew by, swooped, and cawed, I once again saw myself, small and straight, hand on my forehead to shield the bright sun, a speck compared to the world that the bird soared around in. How did I see this?

  Some say dreams are the product of a person’s mind when it has nothing else to do. Maybe. But maybe dreams are a bit of magic, allowing us to be something else, somewhere else, for a while, so you can see and hear what others feel. That’s what my dream told me.

  9—Salman Page

  Mr. Ho likes graph paper

  At the top of Salman’s essay, Ms. R had written very good in red ink. Salman might have been pleased except for the words added in blue ink: Please see me at the end of class.

  What did Ms. R want? He had let himself slip again: he had revealed too much of himself, writing this essay.