Last Meeting of the Gorilla Club

by Sara Nickerson

  Lucas grinned. The run over had cleared his head of all the weird stuff from earlier in the day, like the mysterious shadow and Maxie Moon. Plus, even though the sky was still gray, bits of blue were beginning to break through the clouds. He felt okay. He felt good even. He imagined he was the person on the poster hanging in the locker room. It was a poster of a runner, winning the race and breaking the finish-line string. Maybe that could be him next year.

  Coach Wolfberg stood at the starting line while the class gathered around. She explained how the distance-running unit would work.

  “Four laps around is a mile—” She had to stop there, to hold up her hand against the groans and complaints. “Hey, listen. You can do this! All of you! Four laps is a mile. Some of you may be able to run the whole way, and some of you won’t. But you’ll all get better, each time you try. I’ll have a stopwatch going, so raise your hand when you’re finished with your last lap and I’ll call out your time. Then I’d like you to write your time next to your name. Eventually, your times will go down—”

  “Coach Wolfberg, what if they don’t?”

  “What do I always ask of you kids?”

  “That we do our best.”

  “Exactly. Any more questions?”

  There were more questions, about having to go to the bathroom and dehydrating, what if they couldn’t finish and what if the high school kids came out?

  Lucas heard Coach say something about not starting out too fast. Something about pacing. But he wasn’t worried like the other kids were. He had other things on his mind. Maybe, he thought, maybe things would be okay. Like they were before fifth grade. Maybe she would get tired of whatever she was doing. Maybe it would be like last time, when she finally just went away and left him alone. Lucas was so deep in his own thoughts that when Coach Wolfberg blew the whistle, he jumped. The run had started and his classmates had already surged ahead, like one giant rolling wave.

  Lucas stumbled over his feet, but he righted himself quickly and found his way into the wave. It was a giddy happy moment for all of them, out there on the springy track. Full of energy and moving together, any one of them could be a track star.

  But halfway around the first lap, the wave started to break up, and the kids who hadn’t listened to Coach’s advice about pacing themselves were already breathing hard. That’s when Lucas saw his opening and took it. He began to weave around bodies—to the right and to the left. While his arms pumped a strong and steady rhythm, his feet were like feathers.

  “Go, Lucas!” his friends called out as, one by one, he zoomed past them. “Go, Lucas! Go!”

  He leaned into the final curve of the first lap. His arms and his legs worked together like a perfect machine. He flew by Coach, who called out, “Looking great, Lucas!”

  He heard her call out other names and knew that meant other runners were right behind, maybe even gaining on him. He picked up his speed. Running was giving him something he’d forgotten: a magical feeling of power and freedom. And that magical feeling helped push all the other thoughts away. He was unstoppable. Running could take him anywhere!

  He flew around the second lap, and was turning the last curve on the third. When he glanced behind him, to see how close the next runner was, something in the stadium caught his eye. He looked again at the empty bleachers and saw the sparkle of her shirt.

  Maxie Moon was there. At the very top of the stands. Watching him.

  Lucas stumbled. This time when he righted himself his feet felt like cement blocks. All he wanted to do was get out of there, get off the track, run away to—somewhere—anywhere Maxie Moon couldn’t find him.

  “Pick it up, Hernandez!” Coach called out. “You got this!”

  But Lucas knew he didn’t “got this,” not with those watching eyes. Still, he managed to make it down the length of the track, where Coach called out, “Just one more lap, Lucas. Finish strong.”

  One more lap? With Maxie Moon cheering from the stands?

  Running didn’t feel like power anymore. Lucas saw it for what it was: a never-ending circle that went nowhere. Like those sad mice with the pink eyes in Ms. Elmer’s room, the teacher he was glad he didn’t have because those mice freaked him out so much. He was like one of those mice, running on a wheel, believing if they just kept going and ran faster, maybe it would take them to a new place, a place they could be free.

  He dropped out of the race.

  BIG BROTHER

  “Look before you leap” was another useful quote. Standing at the edge of the forest and chewing on Dots, Josh wished he’d remembered that particular poster before embarking on the whole running-away-from-school thing.

  “Yeah, but ‘No use crying over spilled milk,’” the voice buzzed in his ear. Also a poster quote and good advice. But the problem was the voice.

  “And,” the voice went on, “‘Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.’”

  Josh shoved the rest of the Dots in his mouth and started walking. What else could he do? That voice!

  The mushed-up, rubbery Dots seemed to expand as he chewed, and his stiff jeans rubbed against his thighs. He tried to swallow, but the Dots glob kept growing. And his jeans—they were doing that thing again. Run, Josh, they whispered. Run.

  “You know,” the voice said, “if you wash those jeans like a hundred times, they’ll loosen up. You can also buy jeans that are already worn in. I don’t know where Mom got those, but, Little Brother, you need some new clothes. Let’s go shopping.”

  That was it. Josh started to run.

  The dirt path along the side of the road was uneven and bumpy, with a narrow edge that sloped down to a deep ditch. Evergreen trees crowded the road on either side, so tall they blocked most of the daylight. When the wind caught their pointy tops, they swayed back and forth, like they were laughing. Josh reminded himself that trees were trees. They didn’t laugh at people. They weren’t about to reach down and snatch him up. Still, he watched them warily until his foot hit a large rock. He stumbled and teetered on the edge of the ditch.

  “Whoa, careful,” the voice said.

  Josh regained his balance and continued on, but by then his breath was wheezy. When he tried to suck in air, the gob of fruit-flavored goo got caught in his throat.

  “Gah!” he coughed. “Gah!”

  He bent over and heaved up the mess, right into the ditch. Some of his breakfast came up, too: bits of chewed-up cornflakes. He stared at his shoes with their colorful splatter of Dots and cornflakes. Another set of shoes was next to his, also with bits of chewed-up mess. And those shoes—those bigger shoes standing there patiently even with puke on them, well—they were comforting. Like everything about Big Brother had always been.

  The heaving ended, but Josh still struggled to catch his breath. He reached around and grabbed his inhaler from the easy-access pocket of his new backpack. When he felt steady, he straightened up and glanced over. Big Brother smiled sympathetically. “You okay?”

  Josh wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He started to walk, and Big Brother fell in step beside him. “Would you like me to go away?”

  “Yes,” Josh said.

  But they both knew what that meant. Because yes was a word and with that word he had let him in. He had let him rise from the dirt grave of his old backyard and travel halfway across the country, to this new and unfamiliar place.

  Shoulder to shoulder, they continued their walk along the dark forest road. Josh stared at his feet, counting breaths. Finally, when he couldn’t stand staring at the half-digested cornflakes anymore, he stopped and rubbed his shoes across a thick patch of grass. Big Brother did the same. “Sorry,” Josh said.

  Big Brother said, “Who taught you to chew your food?” Which seemed like the funniest thing Josh had ever heard. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt again. “Easy,” Big Brother said.

  Josh took a deep breath and felt
better. He had so much to say. So much to ask. “Well,” he said finally.

  “Well,” said Big Brother. And they smiled, right into each other’s eyes.

  “Do you still like Lego?” Josh pictured the elaborate colorful cities they used to build together. How they once covered the entire basement floor with a fantastic Lego world. He wanted to be back there again.

  “Sure,” Big Brother said. “I still like Legos.”

  “Remember?” Josh asked.

  “What?”

  “Everything?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  The pine trees were still tall and dark and waving, but Josh didn’t feel afraid. He glanced over, waiting for Big Brother to disappear. But he didn’t. He seemed as real and solid as anything on the planet. And Josh thought they sort of looked alike, except for the actual muscles and better hair. He was cool, Josh realized, like a Big Brother should be. And seeing him, all grown up like that, made Josh feel something else. Maybe he could be like that, too, someday. Except for the hair.

  Big Brother said, “You’re pretty fast now.”

  “Really?” Josh shook his arms, like runners do before a big race. “I’ve been trying to bend my knees more.” He did a little warm-up jog, feeling good. Loose. Hopeful.

  “I can tell. You’re a superstar.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Josh thought about asking him to race, like they used to on the far edge of the playground. But that made him remember the awful years of him being gone.

  He thought back to the burial ceremony in the backyard. How he’d painted a smooth rock with his name. How they made him dig a hole and put the rock in it. How he was sobbing because he felt they were all burying him alive. But they made him do it anyway, like how other kids did, only with security blankets and binkies.

  Josh tried to explain. “They all said I was too old to be playing with an imaginary brother. I mean, that’s what they called you—”

  “I know.”

  “Plus the kids at school—”

  Big Brother held up his hand. “I know. I was there. I never blamed you.”

  Josh nodded. “You were gone so long,” he said finally. “And now you’re all grown up.”

  “So are you.”

  “Yeah,” Josh said, “except maybe this is all a dream.” He pointed to a strange mushroom-like thing growing on the side of a thick pine tree. “Maybe we’re a dream of that thing.”

  “Do you want it to be? A dream of a fungus?” When Josh didn’t answer he said, “Do you want me to go away?”

  Josh said, “No.”

  The road was quiet, so quiet that, even from a long way off, Josh heard a car coming. Without thinking, he hopped down into the gulch to hide. Big Brother hopped down too and crouched beside him. It was like one of the games they used to play all the time: Army Patrol, Catch the Robber, Supersecret Spy. It felt, well, pretty great.

  “Nice place,” Big Brother said, after the car had passed and they’d scrambled back onto the side of the road. He motioned to the trees all around. “You’re like a pioneer now. A woodsman.”

  Josh snorted. “Right.”

  “Seriously, is there anything you like about this place?”

  Josh gave it some thought. “Banana slugs,” he said finally. “I saw a picture of one before we moved. It looked exactly like a banana. I thought they’d be everywhere, but I haven’t seen one yet.”

  “Keep looking,” Big Brother said.

  As they neared the beginning of the string of housing developments, the thick forest gave way to the elaborately manicured entrances. They passed Hidden Peaks and Silver Pines. Cougar Ridge would be next, and then Josh’s development. His parents had picked it because they liked how kids were riding their bikes when the real estate lady took them around.

  “Why do they all have names like this?” Big Brother asked. “They chop a big hole in the forest and then build all these houses and then give them names to make you think you’re still in the chunk of forest that’s been cut down.”

  “I know,” Josh said, even though he’d never thought of it like that before. “There’s even one called Wilderness, just down the road.” Real life was closing in on him. Real life meant confessing to his mother and not just about skipping school.

  “Here it is.” Josh pointed to the sign for Bear Creek, next to a life-size wooden bear. The bear stood upright, front paws in the air. It looked like it had been carved with a chain saw. “Turn right at the bear.”

  “Is the bear supposed to be greeting us or scaring us away?”

  Josh laughed. “Exactly!” He kept laughing and was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop and maybe he’d puke again and maybe Big Brother would go away, which he was supposed to do. But it all made him afraid.

  Big Brother stood and waited. Josh couldn’t stop laughing. He made a sound that was some sort of cross between a burp and a hiccup. Big Brother said, “You know what? It’s going to be okay.”

  Josh gulped in air and then hiccup-burped again. “No, it’s not. Mom is going to kill me.”

  “She’s not.”

  “Yeah? Well, Dad’s going to find more posters. To fix me.”

  Big Brother laughed. “Listen, you want some brotherly advice? Get Mom to wash your jeans so they don’t make that noise.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  Another car was coming. Josh ducked behind the bear. He decided to ask it, the question they’d both been waiting for. “Why are you here? Why did you come back?”

  Big Brother shrugged. “You tell me.”

  “Seeing you—” Josh fought to find the words. “Seeing you, is pretty much the greatest thing I could hope for. But it makes me wonder. Is there something wrong with me?”

  “Nah,” Big Brother said easily. “You just have a certain way of seeing the world. You always have.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not bad,” he said slowly. “But it’s not easy, either.” And then he smiled, right into Josh’s eyes again. And then he was gone.

  Josh spent the rest of the afternoon hiding out in the leftover forest next to Bear Creek. He found a stream with tiny fish and discovered an anthill, swarming with red ants. He searched around trees and poked under leaves looking for banana slugs, but didn’t find one. He ate the rest of his candy.

  It could have been a bad afternoon, a sad afternoon, a lonely afternoon, but it wasn’t. Because Big Brother had found him. From the packed-down dirt in his old backyard to a brand-new school, two time zones away—a school where Josh was supposed to have a fresh start at not being the weird kid—Big Brother had found him.

  THE SECOND FIRST DAY

  On that Friday tour with Ms. Yoshida, Josh had seen a poster in the locker room. It was a poster of a track star with his arms raised high. The inspirational words, written across the middle, made up the finish-line string he was about to break: Be the hero of your own story. Josh thought of his dad when he saw it.

  Josh’s dad, he loved posters. For birthdays and holidays and just-because days, he would present them to Josh like he was handing off the keys to the kingdom or the secret for getting out of quicksand someday. Back when Josh first learned about the move and had started to cry, his dad said, “Son, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And the next day, like magic (only the bad kind), a poster with those exact words appeared in Josh’s room.

  As Josh got dressed for the second first day of his new school he thought about it, the kill-versus-stronger thing. How could a person ever know which it was going to be? Kill or make stronger? The poster didn’t explain that, and neither did his dad.

  Even though they were sort of stupid looking, Josh put on his old school uniform khaki pants. Then he grabbed the jeans from the day before, along with all the brand-new jeans folded neatly i
n his drawer. He took them downstairs where his mom was standing in the kitchen, surrounded by boxes, waiting for Mr. Coffee to stop sputtering.

  “Hey, Mom.” Josh piled the jeans on top of a box labeled POTS & PANS. “Could you maybe wash these for me?”

  “Did you get them all dirty already?”

  “No. They’re just hard to walk in. They make a noise.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Sure, honey.” She handed him a bowl of cornflakes. Josh tried not to think about how they had looked the day before, halfway digested and splattered across his shoes.

  “So about yesterday. I feel like I didn’t do enough to prepare you for success.”

  He knew she was trying to make him feel better about running away from his first day of school, but it made him feel worse. He avoided her eyes by studying the yellow flakes swimming in milk. “It wasn’t that, Mom. I just didn’t want to walk in late.”

  “That’s what I mean. Today is a new start, Josh, and we don’t want you to get into some of those old patterns. Ms. Yoshida is going to meet you at drop-off and get you to class—”

  “Mom, no!”

  She held up her hand. “And if you need help, you know what to do.”

  Like the morning before, Josh’s mother dropped him off in the parking lot. Only this time there was no rash scratching or long goodbye because Ms. Yoshida was waiting on the curb. He opened his mouth to tell her the truth about the day before—that Big Brother had returned—and then he closed it. He couldn’t tell her, not until he had successfully completed a real first day. He would wait until after school, when he could share the bad news with good.

  “Don’t forget this.” She handed him the red raincoat.

  “Mom—”

  “It’s supposed to rain later. Unless you want me to pick you up after school?”

  Josh shook his head. He grabbed the coat and stepped out of the car. Ms. Yoshida’s smile was extra bright. She waved to Josh’s mom and then led Josh to his classroom in building C, where the teacher, Mr. K, made a big deal of introducing him to the class. Mr. K talked about community and being new to a school. He asked Josh all the standard questions about Chicago. Josh said, “It’s colder in winter. And hotter in summer.” Some of the kids laughed.