Why hadn’t he reached it? He had lost the path early on, but he thought he had headed in the right direction. He looked ahead, to either side, and off to his right he saw a large boulder. That was where he needed to go. But when he reached the boulder, he didn’t see the stream. Instead, the land rose. The forest floor became rockier. Perhaps if he climbed higher, he’d catch a view of the stream. He plodded ahead. Still no stream.
As the late-afternoon light began to fade, the woods became quieter. A bird whistled. A squirrel chattered. And then Salman heard whirs and thu-wunks, faintly, and then more constant and sometimes overlapping, getting louder as he climbed higher. The sounds were familiar, but he couldn’t place them.
He went through a row of trees to overgrown bushes and weeds. The sky opened up. Light flowed in. The sounds became more distinct. He pushed through the tall grasses and stepped onto crumbling pavement. A boy on a skateboard headed straight for him.
“Hey!”
The skateboarder maneuvered to one side, avoiding Salman but unbalancing himself in the process. The skateboard skidded off, and the boy landed on his butt.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the boy said.
Three other boys came running.
“Rob, what happened?”
Rob Puckett dusted himself off.
“This jerk came out of the bushes, just as—”
“It’s Crow!” a beefy boy said.
Salman recognized them. All but the smallest were from the junior high school. The beefy one, almost Salman’s height, was called Sean. Most kids were afraid of him. But Sean listened to Rob Puckett, who was now approaching Salman with hard eyes and a mean smile.
“Crow,” he said. “Need to be careful where you land.”
The smallest kid, no older than nine or ten—a mini Rob—tugged at Rob’s sleeve.
“Are you going to hit him?”
Rob pulled his arm away and glowered. The kid backed off.
“Naw,” Rob said. “I want to see how well he flies.”
The tallest boy of the bunch, a few inches taller than Salman, shuffled.
“Rob, he hasn’t done nothing—”
“Shut up, Walt.”
Without taking his eyes off Salman, Rob addressed all three boys.
“Someone lend Crow your board.”
The little kid stepped forward.
“Want to use mine?”
“Okay, Jimmy,” Rob said.
He took Jimmy’s skateboard and jammed it into Salman’s arms.
“Ever ride?” Rob said.
Salman shook his head. Rob smiled.
“Good.”
The boys marched Salman down the parking lot to where they had set up makeshift ramps and obstacles using plywood boards and bricks.
“Walt, show him how to ride,” Rob said.
The tall, curly-haired boy put his skateboard down and showed Salman how to push and the rudiments of maneuvering.
“You lean this way to turn,” Walt said.
Salman tried. It wasn’t so hard. He had a good sense of balance, and the skateboard was fairly stable. He tried a couple of turns and managed them well enough. He followed Walt around the perimeter of the obstacle course, then stepped on the back lip to push the front of the skateboard up. He jumped off, just as Walt had. Salman caught the skateboard with his hand.
Rob scowled. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Never,” Salman said.
Rob’s expression was clear: he didn’t believe him.
Salman knew he had a gift—being coordinated and graceful. Everyone commented on it, every place he stayed. Even Tina told Ozzy, “Only show him somethin’ once, and he gets it. Like he can read the motions.”
But he wasn’t about to explain that to Rob Puckett.
“Follow me,” Rob said.
He set off around the ramps and piles of bricks. Salman hesitated. The beefy boy, Sean, moved closer. Salman was taller, but Sean was heavier and looked as if he had practice hitting people.
Salman stepped onto Jimmy’s board and pushed off in Rob’s direction.
They circled the obstacle course twice before Rob veered in. Salman followed. Rob snaked in and out of a line of little brick pyramids. Slower, Salman followed. Rob waited. When Salman rounded the last pyramid, Rob hopped back onto his board and aimed for one of the ramps.
“This way!” he yelled.
Rob picked up speed, crouched low, then swomp, he flew off the end and landed back on his board.
Salman stopped. He couldn’t do that. He knew he couldn’t. He had neither the speed nor the practice. Rob circled around.
“C’mon, Crow. Let’s see you fly.”
Salman shook his head.
“You’re too chicken,” Rob said.
“I can’t do it,” Salman said.
“He’s chicken!” Rob yelled. He stopped, inches from Salman. “He isn’t a crow. He’s a skinny black chicken!”
Rob began making clucking noises. Soon the other boys were, too. They surrounded Salman, clucking and laughing.
“Chic-ken!” “Cluck, cluck, cluck.” “Pwah! Pwah!”
Jimmy, the littlest, grabbed his board back.
“Don’t want chicken mess on this!”
The others laughed.
“Get out of here, Chicken,” Rob said. He pushed Salman hard, and Salman fell over. The boys’ laughter redoubled.
“Maybe he wants to lay an egg,” the beefy one said.
“You’ve got it, Sean,” Rob said. “But he’ll need to lose his pants first.”
Sean glanced at Rob, and the two began converging on Salman.
Salman scrambled. He saw an opening next to Walt and dove through. He ran as fast as he could, straight for the nearest bushes.
“He’s getting away,” Jimmy said.
Salman heard the thunk of several skateboards hitting the pavement. He didn’t look back. He kept on running.
“Let him go,” Rob said. “Chicken’s going home to roost.”
18—Puck
Make him stumble
“Tell me more about my namesake’s mate,” my queen commanded.
“He is an angry man,” I replied. “He is jealous of the foster mother’s affection for the boy.”
The crow had perceived an imbalance in the man but could not explain it.
“Does he put the boy in danger?”
“I am not sure, milady. Your namesake is a strong woman. But I fear that should the man come to rage, he may be stronger.”
My queen frowned. “I want the boy safe.”
She stood very still. I waited, as I knew I must.
“Remove the man,” she said at last.
I blanched. I could feel it.
“How, milady?”
“Make him stumble. Addle his mind. Follow him, Puck, and pounce at the first opportunity.”
And so I was ordered to interfere. Again. First with one. Then with the other.
“I expect alacrity, Puck.”
I bowed. “I do as you command.”
She folded her hands before her.
“And when you are done, you may report to the king.”
I froze, head bowed.
“I am no fool, Puck. Let him know that though he commands you, I commanded you first.”
I did not see her leave. But the smell of her brimstone lingered.
Ah, Puck. What was I to do? The queen’s anger festered. And once again, I was stuck in the middle.
19—Salman Page
Bruised, scratched, muddied
The last Salman heard of the boys was their laughter as he crashed through the tall weeds and scraped himself against branches. He ran hard, past trees, around boulders, down a hill. He had no idea where he was, but he kept running, over dead tree trunks, past hanging vines. He ran until he tripped and fell forward on some rocks. He had knocked all the wind out of himself and he gasped for air, unable to sit up.
His breath came ragged and painful. Eve
ry intake brought the smell of rotting leaves and earth. Carefully, he pushed himself up and touched the side of his face. His fingers came away wet and red—he must have cut himself. A high whistle startled him.
Salman saw no one. Twilight had set in. Woods surrounded him. He was bruised, scratched, muddied, and his shirt was torn at the sleeve. Tina was going to be furious.
That was, if he ever saw her again.
A loud rustle descended from the branches above him. Salman jumped to the side. A pain shot up from his ankle where it had hit a rock.
“Caw!”
Bird landed on a stone a few feet away from him. Someone he knew! Salman had never been so happy to see his friend.
“Bird!”
The crow hopped a few feet farther away.
“Caw!”
“I’m lost,” Salman said. “Don’t run away.”
Bird hopped farther.
“Caw!”
Why was Bird behaving this way?
“Where are you going?”
Bird flapped his wings and hopped farther still, cawing yet again.
“You want me to follow?”
“Caw!”
Salman could have sworn that the bird nodded. He followed. In the dim light, and with a painful foot, he hobbled toward Bird. As soon as he came within a yard or two, the crow flapped his wings again and hopped away. Salman followed. The forest grew darker, but Salman never lost the black form with the shiny eyes.
“Caw!”
Bird flew ahead, up onto a hulking shape. As Salman walked toward the crow, he heard the gurgle of water. His foot splashed into the stream. Bird was perched atop the boulder that Salman and Lu had sat upon not so long ago. Relief swept over Salman so quickly, he almost cried.
“I’m near the trailer.”
Bird flew down next to Salman. The boy crouched, and just as Lu had earlier that day, he stroked Bird’s chest. The crow let him, half shutting his eyes.
“Thank you,” Salman said. “I know where to go from here.”
Bird bobbed his head once and flew off.
There was precious little light. Salman had to hurry now. He kept to the stream, which was easy to see and hear even as night fell in earnest. The moon shone a crescent. When he found the gap to the Royals’ garden, he waded across the stream, not worrying whether he wet his sneakers.
He stopped for a second to wash his face. Maybe he’d get past Tina before she noticed the mess he was in.
But the trailer was dark when he reached it. The TV was off. Salman opened the door.
“Tina?”
No one answered. This was creepy. He groped for the light switch.
“Ozzy?”
He flipped the switch. The lights came on. Smelly beer cans littered the coffee table. No one was there—no one but Salman. The trailer seemed to grow all of a sudden.
He wasn’t sure what to do. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and decided to take a shower. Once clean, he dug some food out of the refrigerator, ate a late dinner, and tidied up the mess Ozzy had left behind.
Still, no one showed up.
He didn’t turn on the TV. The silence came as a relief after the nonstop noise they had been living in these last weeks. He completed his homework and went to bed early, puzzling where Tina and Ozzy might have gone.
The next morning, he woke up stiff and sore. His ankle had swelled, but he could walk on it. Ozzy and Tina had not returned. As he made his own breakfast, he started to worry. He didn’t like his foster home, but it was the only place he had. What was he supposed to do if they didn’t show up?
He opened the top drawer of his dresser. Under his socks, he kept the papers his social worker had given him, including her number if he needed to call—long-distance, he realized. The Royals were probably just visiting somewhere. They’d be back. And if he phoned his social worker, the number’d show up on the Royals’ bill and he’d have to explain to Ozzy why he’d called.
He shut the drawer. If no one was home this afternoon when he got back from school, he’d phone then. Right now, he had a meeting to get to.
The thought gave him energy. Lu would be there.
20—Lu-Ellen Zimmer
The school paper
Mom was tired last night and didn’t eat much of her dinner. Dad had insisted on serving the meal.
“You need rest, Marianne.”
Everyone had pitched in. Even usually oblivious Ricky had helped clean up. Mom went to bed early.
In the morning, Mom had more energy, but Lu noted that Dad was fixing breakfast.
“I’ll eat a banana,” Lu said. “I have an early meeting.”
Ricky looked up from his bowl of cereal. “With your boy-oy-friend?”
“Mom!”
“That’s enough, Ricky.”
Much to Lu’s annoyance, Ron and Jack were grinning.
“I have a meeting for the school paper,” Lu said, “if you have to know.”
“You were picked,” Jack said. “That’s pretty cool.”
Jack was okay, sometimes. Lu unhooked a banana from the bunch on the counter and peeled it. She watched Dad wash dishes, then dry his hands on a towel. He eyed the banana.
“That’s all you’re having?” he said.
“The meeting’s in ten minutes,” she said.
“I’ll drive you,” Dad said. “You’ll be there in five.”
“I want a ride,” said Ricky.
“The bus will take you,” Mom said.
“There’s a piece of toast,” Dad told Lu.
Lu sighed. She took the toast. Just ’cause Mom ate like a horse, why did she have to?
She sulked during the short ride to school.
“You know, Lu …,” Dad said.
“I know, I know. You’re only doing what’s best.”
That’s what he always said when he ordered them around—like making her eat the stupid toast. Dad grinned.
“Well, yes. But that wasn’t what I was going to say.”
They had arrived, and Lu put her hand on the door handle, ready to jump out.
“Your mom needs your help,” Dad said. “Now especially.”
Lu nodded. She knew that.
“Try not to fight with Ricky too much. Okay?”
She huffed. He’s the one who always started it.
“Why don’t you tell him?”
Dad lowered his chin and stared at her over his glasses. “I will.”
Lu felt an annoying blush wash over her cheeks. “Okay.”
She remembered to say “bye” before shutting the car door. Dad meant well, she knew, but sometimes he was just clueless. Ricky never listened.
The meeting took place in the school paper’s office—not that it was much of an office. Two computers, a printer, two tables, and a bunch of chairs were jammed together in a small, windowless room. It must have once been a storage closet of some kind. A dozen kids perched themselves on available surfaces. Ms. R stood by one of the computers.
“Thank you for coming,” she began.
She went over the rules for computer use, timetables, what could and couldn’t be printed. Lu watched the other kids. Blos stood in the front. He had arrived early, she was sure. He was busy taking notes. Most of the other kids were either nodding at what Ms. R was saying or beginning to space. Lu tried to catch Ruthie’s attention, but she wasn’t looking in Lu’s direction. Salman arrived a few minutes late.
“Ah, Salman,” Ms. R said. “I’m glad you came.”
Salman nodded. What had happened to him? Lu wondered. He was limping and a nasty lump rose out from one side of his face. He looked down when Lu raised an eyebrow.
“Future meetings will be in my homeroom,” Ms. R said. “That way we’ll be able to spread out.”
She handed them forms to fill in and a schedule. She also gave assignments.
“I’d like each of you to write one short column by our next meeting,” she said.
“I have some pictures,” Blos said.
&nbs
p; “Thank you, Blos. You’ve just reminded me. This year, we are in luck. We have our very own staff photographer.”
“Do you want to see them?” Blos said.
“Certainly,” said Ms. R, “once we’re done with the meeting.”
“One shows a new student and his d.b.”
You had to admire Ms. R’s patience.
“That sounds like an excellent topic. Who will team up with Blos to write the copy?”
No one volunteered. Lu felt sorry for Blos. She raised her hand.
“I’ll try.”
Ms. R brightened.
“Thank you, Lu. I’ll see you all next week in my classroom.”
Students jammed the door as they exited. Blos headed straight for Ms. R.
“I took it last night,” he said. “It is pretty good.”
Ms. R craned her neck.
“This is a very nice picture. But you’ll have to get the permission of the people in it before we can print it.”
“Okay,” said Blos.
Blos turned to Lu.
“Will you give permission?”
She took the print from Blos’s hands. Lu and Salman stood in front of a large tree, wearing put-on smiles. Blos must have been farther back than she remembered because he had also captured a great deal of the trunk and some of the lower branches. On the very lowest branch, almost exactly between them, Bird sat preening his feathers. For some reason, Bird’s presence didn’t surprise her. Salman and Bird belonged together. And Salman … Well, he looked almost regal in his bedraggled clothes. He stood straight, a head taller than her, and his eyes were particularly large, or hers were particularly small behind her glasses. The contrast was startling.
Did she want the photo in the paper? Everyone knew she was Salman’s d.b., but she wasn’t sure she wanted to advertise it.
Almost all the students had left the office by now. Blos kept glancing at his watch while panic crept across his face.
“Homeroom is in three minutes,” he said.
She handed the photo back to him.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Let’s talk to Salman.”
Blos nodded and ran off, almost knocking Ms. R over in the doorway.
“That boy’s always in a hurry,” Ms. R said.
When they were both gone, Lu approached Salman.
Come Fall Page 8