Come Fall

by A. C. E. Bauer

  Lu leaned forward as Blos began rummaging through his pack. He pulled out a small business card—wrinkled and slightly torn—and handed it to her. The social worker’s card!

  “How did you get it?” she asked.

  Blos stared at her for a moment, looking confused.

  “You gave it to me. In the van. You said to keep it and not to lose it. I kept it.”

  She gripped the card. It was her key to find Salman. As soon as she was strong enough, she’d call. Maybe she’d even get to speak to him!

  “What is … what is the card for?” Blos asked.

  Lu stared at Blos, uncertain about what to say. Blos was Salman’s friend, too. If she told Blos what the card was for, then he’d call. She wouldn’t be first. And Salman had to know how much she cared for him.

  She briefly shut her eyes.

  “My mother … my mother said I should not ask you too many questions,” Blos said. “Is that too many questions?”

  He did not hide his disappointment—Lu wondered if he even knew how.

  What had Salman said once? Yes. Blos was real. And Blos’s friendship with her was real—that was why he was here. That was why he’d gone looking for her in the storm. That was why she was glad to see him.

  “No, Blos. Not too many questions. The card has Salman’s social worker’s phone number.”

  “Does she know where he is?”

  Lu nodded.

  “Will you call her?” he said.

  Lu extended the card.

  “Why don’t you?”

  He stared at her hand, stricken.

  “I … I do not … I do not know what to say.”

  “Tell her who you are. Tell her you’d like to be able to get in touch with him.”

  Blos still seemed uncertain. Lu felt weaker. Whatever energy she’d had was seeping away. She pulled herself together and sat forward, thrusting the card into his hand.

  “Tell her, Blos. Tell her you’re Salman’s friend. One of the best he could ever hope for.”

  She wasn’t sure whether he was frightened or pleased. But he sat straight in the chair, taller than ever. She sank back onto her pillows. That last outburst had exhausted her.

  “You can do it, Blos. I’m counting on it.”

  35—Salman Page

  Get well soon

  Dear Lu,

  My social worker, Paula Lloyd, told me that you and Blos were trying to reach me. I sent a note to the school for you, the day after I left—but Paula says I didn’t have the right address. My new address is at the bottom of this note. The group home is pretty good about mail, and close to Springfalls. They also have a computer we’re allowed to use. The house supervisor told me he can create an e-mail address for me, so send me yours.

  Tina Royal also called Paula and told her what had happened. Tina said that she had spoken to your parents, and they said you’re getting better.

  I’m sorry, Lu. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I’m sorry that you came looking for me, and I wasn’t there. I’m sorry my first note never got to you. But when Paula told me Blos had called—I was so happy. I do want to stay in touch.

  Get well soon, Lu. Write when you are able. I promise to write back.

  Salman

  P.S. Look out for Bird. He likes shiny things.

  36

  D.B.’S AT SPRINGFALLS JUNIOR HIGH

  by Lu-Ellen Zimmer

  photo by Blos Pease

  This fall I became a designated buddy. I had had a d.b. in seventh grade. I thought I knew everything there was to know: a d.b. shows new students around the school; a d.b. teaches new kids the rules. I didn’t know a d.b. could really be a friend.

  “The d.b. program is what distinguishes Springfalls from the other junior high schools in the area,” Vice Principal Frank Phillip claims. Springfalls Junior High is the only school in Farmington County where older students are paired up with new students to help them through the changes they face moving from elementary school to junior high.

  “We’re a model for the state,” Superintendent Eleanor Theseus says.

  Other towns, notably Watersquare, have approached Springfalls to duplicate its program.

  “What counts, though, is the quality of the students mentoring,” Ms. Angela Rabinowitz, adviser for the d.b. program, says.

  When I was a new student last year, my d.b. walked me around, ate lunches with me, and told me how to complete assignments. She made me feel important and gave the school a friendly face. And so when I became a d.b., I did the same. I showed my assigned student how to outline a science lab report. I sat with him in the cafeteria at lunch. And I took him around the school grounds.

  I didn’t expect to learn from him, too.

  “Every student is different,” Ms. Rabinowitz explains. “A d.b. can help a new student get through the confusion of the first few days of school. In return, the d.b. meets a new and interesting person. And, with luck, both students grow.”

  Salman Page, my assigned student, taught me things. He demonstrated how to can vegetables. He showed me how to approach a wild crow without frightening it. He also taught me that finding a genuine friend is tricky, but worth it in the end.

  “We hope each new student and designated buddy pairing works,” Ms. Rabinowitz says. “At the very least we expect each new student to start the school year with more confidence than he or she might have without a d.b.”

  And sometimes it is the d.b. who gains confidence from the new student.

  37—Puck

  A boon

  Fate had been kind. Our king and queen reconciled. And I was dismissed! I had not expected this turn of events.

  When I had delivered the queen’s message, the king paled.

  “Where did you get this circlet?”

  I opted for the simplest answer.

  “The queen gave it to me to give to you.”

  He stared at it for a second. I feared my part in all of this, but his next question saved me.

  “How was the circlet found?”

  I would have smiled if I could!

  “A crow retrieved it on Nimue’s island.”

  He buried his head in his hands. Some truths are more powerful than others. When he looked up, he almost appeared haggard.

  “Where is the queen, Puck? I need to find her.”

  And so I led him to her. She remained impassive at his approach, but I could see the hint of pleasure in her eyes. I was told to wait, at a distance, and could not make out their words. But the king bent to his knees, and the queen’s shoulders softened. I waited for a long time, hoping the king had not forgotten that he had instructed me to stay.

  I was nodding, almost asleep, when I was summoned anew. The king and queen held hands. The circlet lay on the king’s wrist.

  “It is a new day, Puck,” the queen announced, “and we start afresh.”

  I bowed with naught to say.

  “You have served me faithfully.” She glanced at the king. “Both of us faithfully. And if I recall, you have lost a pie tin in the bargain.”

  The king’s smile was mischievous. I dared not look him in the eye.

  “So I shall grant you a boon.”

  “A boon, milady?”

  The queen smiled at that. “A boon worth the value of a pie tin.”

  It should have been a boon worth the value of the circlet, but I did not protest. The king and queen were in a generous mood. It wasn’t my place to try them.

  “I ask to be relieved from spying on the boy.”

  King Oberon laughed. “You cannot ask for that.”

  I looked at him, dismayed.

  “You have already been relieved,” he continued. “We both have decided that the boy is now a man. The queen has fulfilled the promise to his mother. And he is no longer of any interest to Faery.”

  I could ask for something else! A boon. Anything I desired. I thought for a moment.

  “I request …,” I hesitated. But the king’s amusement made me bold. “I request p
eace between Faery and the crow.”

  The queen raised an eyebrow.

  “Peace?”

  Oberon’s puzzled face emboldened me further.

  “As an honored ally.”

  The queen considered this. An alliance was a kind of friendship that carried liabilities of its own—as well she knew. But she had offered me a boon. Anything I desired. She knew that, too. And she was in a generous mood.

  “To this crow, Puck, it shall be granted. Though I wonder at the wisdom of this bargain.”

  She paused, letting her smile tell me that for today she would indulge me, even if she thought this a flawed boon. “You are dismissed.”

  And so I was bound for the pleasures of mischief. Without the king and queen.

  38—Salman Page

  Good news

  Salman sat in the classroom, making sure his face betrayed none of his nervousness. His adviser had signed him up for the Creative Writing Club.

  “Your Language Arts teacher at your old school recommended you,” the man said. “It’ll be a good way to meet people.”

  Salman hadn’t been given a choice.

  Kids were trickling in, saying hello to each other. A few gave Salman a nod—friendly, Salman thought. They sat on desks around the room. The leader, a boy named Colin, perched himself in front.

  “Welcome, all. I am pleased to announce that we have a new member—Salman Page.”

  Salman waved. A smattering of hi’s and welcome’s greeted him.

  “We usually begin each meeting by sharing one item of good news. Want to start us off, Tanika?”

  A small girl with her hair in braids stood.

  “My sister didn’t snore last night.”

  Giggles.

  “I found my missing key,” a boy said.

  “The Celtics won yesterday,” a girl said.

  One after another, kids sat or stood and shared small snippets of news. Some were silly. Some were funny. Some were nice.

  “What about you, Salman?” Colin said.

  Salman thought for a moment.

  “I got a letter from a friend.”

  “Sweet!” Tanika said.

  Lu had sent him news of her recovery. And Blos had sent him a photo of a frog.

  “Now that we’ve shared news, who has something to read for us?” Colin asked.

  Salman sat back. Another girl stepped forward, poem in hand. This might not be so bad. And as kids began offering advice on how to improve her work, he began composing a new letter to Lu and Blos in his head.

  “Dear Lu and Blos,” it’d begin. “There’s a bus that goes to Springfalls….”

  39—Lu-Ellen Zimmer

  Beauty and grace

  Lu waved to Ruthie after band.

  “Call me tonight,” Ruthie said.

  Lu grinned.

  “Will do.”

  But first, she had an appointment to keep. Blos waited for her at the bleachers. They climbed about one-third of the way up. Not at the top, where kids might think they were out to prove something. Nor at the bottom, where kids might think they were timid. But in the middle, where they weren’t obvious.

  Lu checked the fields, the metal whistle cupped in her hands.

  A murder of crows wheeled around tall trees at the edge of the baseball field.

  She blew the whistle once and then allowed the sun to flicker off its shiny surface. When one of the birds, larger than the rest, broke off from the murder, she pocketed the toy.

  “Keep the bottle cap in the sunshine,” she said.

  Blos grinned.

  Bird was flying to them.

  Acknowledgments

  I fell in love with William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream when I was a teenager and saw a magical production of the play in Montreal. Watching fairies frolic in gossamer costumes, while the king and queen of the fairies schemed and the humans played buffoons, enchanted me. Over the years I have seen many more productions of the play, read a children’s version by John Updike, and studied the play’s text.

  Despite my continued love for the play, something bothered me. The reason for Queen Titania and King Oberon’s dispute was jealousy over a changeling, a young boy referred to as a page. But the child spoke no lines. He did not show up in any of the stage directions. And in the productions I have seen, he never appeared onstage. So I wondered, what happened to this boy? A few years ago, I began writing about Salman Page.

  I have received a lot of help since that first inspiration. I want to thank: the Eppler-Epsteins, who reassured me that this was a story worth telling; Sanna Stanley, Meg Greene, Paula Feder, and Nada Fuleihan, who gave generous input in early drafts; Lisa Findlay, who convinced me that magic was key to making the story come to life; Jane Brown, who took time to review the manuscript and give me valuable insights about Asperger’s; the Shoreline Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, whose members over the years have provided feedback and encouragement; and all of my friends and family, who have continued to support me in so many ways.

  Special thanks go to my agent, Rachel Orr, for her strong faith in the value of the text. And I give an extra thank-you to my editor, R. Schuyler Hooke, who struggled harder than anyone else to help me make the story come out just right.

  Last but never least, I thank my children, who put up with a distracted mother when I worked on the manuscript, and my husband, Jon, who, in addition to convincing me it was all possible, helped me solve thorny plot points by lending an endlessly patient ear.

  A. C. E. Bauer has been telling and writing stories since childhood. Her first middle-grade novel, No Castles Here, was chosen for the American Library Association Rainbow List and was named “one of the strongest titles of the year” in a starred notice in Kirkus Reviews. Born and raised in Montreal, she spends most of the year in New England, and much of the summer on a lake in Quebec. To learn more about A. C. E. Bauer and her writing, visit her Web site at www.acebauer.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2010 by A. C. E. Bauer

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Bauer, A. C. E.

  Come fall / A. C. E. Bauer.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Drawn together by a mentoring program and an unusual crow, middle school misfits Salman, Lu, and Blos form a strong friendship, despite teasing by fellow students and the maneuverings of fairies Oberon, Titania, and Puck.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-85827-7

  [1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. Foster home care—Fiction. 3. Junior high school—Fiction.

  4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Fairies—Fiction. 6. Crows—Fiction.] I. Shakespeare, William,

  1564–1616. Midsummer night’s dream. II. Title.

  PZ7.B3257Com 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2009032419

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

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