Come Fall

by A. C. E. Bauer

  The queen seemed surprised but not angered.

  “Does Oberon know this?” she asked.

  “Yes. He has seen him.”

  She leaned back and pursed her lips.

  “The king is calling my bluff.”

  It appeared so. I kept quiet, hoping I could be left out of it, for once.

  That was not my luck.

  “Perhaps it is time I settled this.” She removed the circlet and handed it to me. I swallowed. I did not want the bracelet back.

  “You shall deliver a message, Puck.”

  I would have swallowed again, but my mouth had run dry.

  “Bring the circlet to the king. Tell him that he may bestow it on the boy when he delivers him to Faery.”

  She leaned back, and her smile was cold and cruel. “If he delivers him to Faery.”

  27—Blos Pease

  Where is Salman?

  Blos had always divided the kids at school between those he must avoid and those who avoided him. Until last year.

  Last year, he had been assigned a d.b., the same d.b. as Lu Zimmer—Elaine Egger, one of the most popular girls in school.

  Popular kids made Blos feel queasy. They never wanted to be near him. They made fun of him. Most avoided him.

  But Elaine Egger decided to be a great d.b.—the best d.b. that ever was. That is what she told him. The first day of school she gave Blos and Lu a tour. She ate lunch with them the entire first week. She met with Blos once a month, for the entire school year, to see how he was doing, she said. She gave him a Halloween card, a Christmas card, and a Valentine’s Day card. And best of all, she kept all the eighth-grade popular kids from bothering him.

  Seventh grade had been the best.

  And Lu had become his friend. Or, at least, she did not avoid him. Especially after Frances Drummond left.

  This year, Salman Page had entered his life. Salman smiled when he saw Blos. Salman asked him to stay. He had laughed at Blos’s joke! Not only did Salman not avoid Blos, Salman welcomed him.

  So when Salman did not show up on Monday, Blos noticed.

  “Where is Salman?” he asked.

  Lu, who had taken out a sandwich from her lunch bag, glanced at the lunch line.

  “I think his class let out late.”

  “No,” Blos said. “I saw other kids in line.”

  Lu’s eyes darted around the cafeteria as she bit into her sandwich. Her eyebrows furrowed. She put her sandwich down and swallowed.

  “After lunch we’ll look for him, okay?” she said.

  Blos nodded. Lunch. He concentrated on that. His mom had told him once that certain foods came in a certain order. Like a pyramid. The base had grains. Then fruits, vegetables, protein, and then dessert. Dessert was always last. Blos lined it up: a roll with peanut butter, apple slices, cut carrots, hard-boiled egg whites, and a cookie. Peanut butter was a legume, but Mom had told him it was almost like a grain. They could be eaten together.

  What he really wanted was the cookie. But that came last. He had better eat fast.

  Lu was still chewing her sandwich when Blos finished.

  “I will go check the classrooms,” Blos said.

  “You can’t check all the classrooms,” Lu said.

  Blos paused and glanced at his watch. He had fifteen minutes. Lu was right. He could not check all the classrooms and make it to World History on time.

  “Either he’s called in sick,” Lu continued, “he’s in detention, or he’s in the nurse’s office.”

  Why had he not thought of that? Lu crammed the rest of her food into her bag.

  “I’ll check with the nurse and at detention. Why don’t you go to the office and ask if he’s been called in absent?”

  Blos nodded. He watched Lu pitch her bag right into the center of the nearest garbage can. He got up slowly. He really, truly did not want to speak with Ms. Esterschultz, the school secretary. If anyone made him queasy, she did.

  Lu was already out the door, and Blos plodded in her wake.

  The office was just around the corner from the cafeteria. A big glass window surrounded it. Behind Ms. Esterschultz’s desk was the principal’s office. Blos gulped.

  Lu had asked him, though. And he had nodded. Nodding was the same as saying “yes.” And Salman was not in school—at least, not at lunch. Blos pushed the door open with sweaty palms.

  Ms. Esterschultz was not at her desk. Blos breathed a sigh of relief.

  He spun around, ready to run, and crashed into Ms. Esterschultz as she entered from a side door that led to the teachers’ lounge.

  “Mr. Pease,” she said, “please be careful!”

  “Sorry,” Blos mumbled.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Blos looked at his shoes.

  “Well?”

  “Um …” Blos cleared his throat. He kept his eyes on his sneakers. “Is Salman Page absent?”

  Ms. Esterschultz huffed.

  “No one called to say he’d be. But you can check with his homeroom teacher.”

  Blos’s mind went blank. Who was Salman’s homeroom teacher? He concentrated on his shoelaces. Had Salman ever told him?

  Ms. Esterschultz sighed.

  “Ms. Rabinowitz,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Blos mumbled.

  He ran. He ran all the way to Mr. Loengredl’s classroom. Blos positioned himself in the front of the room. He turned his notebook to today’s page. He placed his history book to the left, his four-color pen, his pencil, his eraser, and his ruler in a line above. He glanced at his watch. Six minutes.

  Ms. R’s class was two flights down. He could not make it there and back. But he had her after Mr. Loengredl. He would ask her then.

  An out-of-breath Lu popped her head in the door, holding her side.

  “I thought you might be here,” she said.

  Where else would he be? Blos wondered. Lu exhaled and shook her head.

  “Salman’s not in detention, or at the nurse’s office. What’d Ms. Esterschultz say?”

  “She did not know,” Blos said. “She said Ms. R should.”

  “I have her now,” Lu said. “I’ll ask her.”

  Blos nodded.

  “Next time,” Lu continued, “come tell me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She ran off. Blos was puzzled. Next time? He clicked his pen to green. The bell rang. He spent the rest of the afternoon taking down what his teachers said, word for word.

  At the end of the day, Lu was waiting at the bus line. She did not take the bus. Why was she in line?

  “Blos,” Lu said, “he wasn’t in. He never showed.”

  Blos stared at Lu. What was she talking about?

  “How about we go see how he’s doing?” she continued.

  “See how who is doing?”

  “Salman,” Lu said. “Maybe he can use some cheering up.”

  Blos did not know how to cheer people up. He had never been asked to.

  “Well …”

  “We can meet at the stream by the garden. Okay?”

  Blos felt more and more bewildered.

  “When?” he asked.

  “As soon as you make it home.”

  Blos stared at her. Other kids were staring, too. Lu had asked him to meet her. He could not recall anyone ever asking him to meet outside of school.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Blos felt queasy the entire ride home. But there was an excitement there, too. And this kind of excitement did not feel bad—just new.

  28—Lu-Ellen Zimmer

  Canning

  Lu reached the foot of the Royals’ garden, arguing with herself. So Salman had been home sick. Kids missed school all the time. Yet she wanted to see him. Why, then, had she asked Blos to be there, too? Maybe because she wanted to see Salman too much and she needed Blos as an excuse? Lame, Lu told herself, she was being lame.

  She shook away that uncomfortable thought and watched the Royals’ trailer from across the stream. A parked pickup truck stuck ou
t behind the trailer. Salman’s foster parents must be home. Somehow, she hadn’t thought of that. She didn’t want to meet them.

  Blos ran up, his hair wilder than ever.

  “I came right over,” he said. “I did not eat a snack.”

  A screen door slammed.

  “Shhh,” Lu said.

  Blos jerked his head toward the trailer. The truck shifted, as if something had been dropped into it, then started up with a cough. It rolled away.

  “Do you think Salman has left?” Blos asked.

  Smoke billowed out of a small chimney.

  “I don’t know,” Lu said.

  The screen door slammed again. A few seconds later, Salman appeared carrying a heaping bucket, which he dumped at the side of the garden.

  “Salman!” Blos yelled.

  Salman looked up. Lu stood next to Blos, making herself visible.

  “Blos! Lu! Come on over.”

  They crossed the stream and met Salman at the top of the garden.

  “You were not at school,” Blos said.

  “Is that why you’re here?” Salman asked.

  Blos nodded. Lu reddened.

  “We were wondering if you were sick or something,” she said.

  “Tina needed help with canning,” Salman said. “There was too much for one person.”

  He headed back to the trailer.

  “Come in. Tina’s gone to see Ozzy. She won’t be back for a few hours.”

  Lu almost keeled over when she walked in, with all that heat and steam and the overwhelming smell of cooked vegetables. Her glasses fogged up. After she wiped them on her shirt, she noticed the jars.

  They filled the trailer. Crowded every flat surface.

  “You can roast in this roost,” Blos said.

  Salman grinned. Blos did, too, proud.

  “It does get hot in here,” Salman said. “I still have a batch of tomatoes to can.”

  Lu had trouble hearing Salman over the noise. The stove fan whirred full blast, sucking up steam that was percolating from pots at every burner.

  “Can I watch?” Blos asked.

  Salman washed and quartered tomatoes while answering Blos’s questions about the workings of the pressure cookers. Lu stared at the jars—dozens of oversized jewels in oranges and reds and greens. She stepped closer to the yellow ones on the table, admiring the shiny, translucent seeds, when Salman startled her.

  “Blos is watching the pressure gauges,” he said.

  She hadn’t heard him approach. She caught her breath.

  “The jars,” she said, “they’re …”

  She stopped.

  “Beautiful,” Salman said, completing her thought. “I think so, too.”

  “They have all reached ten pounds!” Blos cried.

  “Turn down the heat,” Salman said. “Be right there.”

  Salman glanced at her before he checked the flame under each pot—gave her a little happy shiver.

  “Good job,” he told Blos. “Now we leave them cooking for forty-five minutes.”

  “Oh.”

  Blos deflated like a balloon.

  “You can help me tighten yesterday’s jars,” Salman said.

  That perked Blos back up. Salman returned to the table with a sheet of white stickers. Someone had printed Yellow Squash and the date on them. When they finished tightening and labeling, Salman checked the pressure cookers again.

  “Can you help me carry these to the root cellar?” Salman said. “It’ll be quicker.”

  Lu’s heart raced. The root cellar. She had visions of chains and evil hooded dungeon masters. Salman must have read her thoughts.

  “It’s okay in the daylight,” he said.

  Lu wondered whether he saw her embarrassment as well. She hurriedly picked up two jars. Salman took three, then led them ’round the chicken coop to where the land dropped. A door had been built in the hollow, under the small hill. He unlatched it and they entered a dark, cool cave filled with shelves.

  “We put them here,” Salman said.

  He placed the jars on one of the few empty shelves near the bottom. Lu marveled at the row upon row of preserves, all the shades of a rainbow.

  “How do you keep track of what’s in here?”

  “I don’t,” Salman said. “But Tina can tell you what these shelves hold, down to the date each jar was sealed.”

  Lu whistled.

  After returning from their third trip to the root cellar, Blos pointed to the remaining jars on the table.

  “We move these, too?”

  “Nope,” Salman said. “Not till tomorrow. They have to cool and settle first.”

  Although they had emptied half of the table, the trailer still seemed to be filled with jars. How did Salman plan to fit them all into the cellar?

  Blos checked his watch.

  “Forty-five minutes are up.”

  “Great,” Salman said.

  He turned off the burners and showed Blos how to remove the gauges.

  “We let the steam escape,” he said, “and wait awhile.”

  “Why don’t you take the jars out?” Lu asked.

  “The glass might crack,” Blos said.

  How did Blos know that?

  Out the window, the afternoon light was beginning to fade. Lu realized, with some disappointment, that she needed to go.

  “I have to head home soon,” she said.

  Blos glanced at his watch. “Me too.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Salman said.

  He held the door open and Blos stepped out. As Lu exited, she looked up at Salman. He was smiling down at her. She hesitated, ready to take a step closer, close enough to touch, but at that moment, the pickup that had left earlier pulled into the dirt driveway. Lu hurried down the steps. The screen door banged behind her.

  A large woman slid out of the truck and scowled at them.

  “Who’s you got here?” she demanded.

  “Some friends,” Salman said.

  “We just came to help,” Lu said. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. She saw Blos’s eyes dart from side to side.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”

  “They were leaving,” Salman said.

  “Well then, go,” the woman said.

  Blos bolted. Lu followed more slowly, taking a second to wave. The woman didn’t move.

  When Lu reached the woods on the other side of the stream, Blos wasn’t there. He must have run home. She sniffed. All that steam had made her nose runny.

  She trudged back the way she had come. Why had Tina been so mean? she wondered. They hadn’t done anything wrong. Lu shivered. How did Salman manage, living with such a woman?

  She sniffed again.

  29—Salman Page

  Rejects

  Tina didn’t move from her spot until Lu was completely out of sight.

  “Who said you could have visitors?” she said.

  “They’re friends,” Salman said.

  “I saw you looking at that girl. It’s more than friendship you want.”

  What business was it of Tina’s? Salman thought. What business? He tightened his lips, afraid of what he might say.

  “I don’t want no rejects poking around,” she continued.

  “They’re not rejects!”

  She gave a hollow laugh.

  “Says a body who’s one himself.”

  Salman flinched but he didn’t back down.

  “You can’t tell me who my friends are.”

  Tina straightened. Her eyes narrowed. Salman had never spoken to her like that before. But then, Tina had never treated him this way before, either.

  “I can tell you who is and isn’t allowed on my property,” she said. “They isn’t.”

  She lumbered into the house, pushing Salman aside.

  Something was eating at her, and it was more than a couple of kids visiting the trailer, Salman knew. But he was too angry to care.

  He stomped away.

  He went down the hollow, past the
chicken coop, to his maple tree. He climbed up and sat rigid against the trunk. His mind raced. She was the reject, not him. She and Ozzy. They had set themselves up in a part of town cut off from the rest, where no one went, as if they were afraid that someone might see what they were up to. Harvesting vegetables and raising chickens—in the most unbelievable jungle of a garden—but who cared?

  Just ’cause they didn’t want to be seen in public didn’t mean Salman didn’t have the right to have friends.

  A cool breeze blew around him. He slipped his hands into his pants pockets to warm them and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded the photo of himself, Lu, and Bird that Blos had given him. Where was Bird? he wondered.

  As if attuned to Salman’s thoughts, the crow flew past and landed on top of the chicken coop, where he began to preen himself. A few chickens, unhappy with his presence, started making a fuss. Bird flew up next to Salman onto the branch. Salman patted his shirt pocket.

  “’Fraid I don’t have anything for you today,” he said.

  Bird stretched his neck as if to check the photo.

  “Want to see it? It’s pretty good.”

  Bird hopped closer, tilting his head from side to side.

  “Blos wants to print it in the paper,” Salman said. “What do you think?”

  The crow tilted his head one more time, then hopped back. To Salman it looked exactly like a shrug. He laughed.

  “Doesn’t matter, huh?”

  Bird cawed and flew down to peck at some chicken feed that had rolled to the foot of the tree.

  Salman stared at the photo. The creases where he had folded it just missed Bird in the middle and the tops of Lu’s and Salman’s heads. He refolded it carefully, pain creeping in where he had vowed it never would.

  He returned to the trailer after nightfall. Tina stood at the sink, washing the pots that had been used to cook vegetables and steam the filled mason jars. She spoke without turning.

  “Ozzy’ll be released on Friday.”

  Something cold ran down Salman’s spine. Tina kept scrubbing the pots, well beyond the need. She rinsed and scrubbed some more.

  “He still wants you out.”

  “I want to stay,” Salman said.

  He meant it.

  Sitting in that tree, he had realized that he didn’t want to go somewhere else. He didn’t mind Tina, not too much, even if she had been mean. And though he hated Ozzy, he had no idea what was waiting for him at his next placement. But more important, despite everything, he had found friends. Real friends. People who cared about him and whom he cared about. He wasn’t going to leave that. Never.