by Jack Gantos
Dad was right about the bee theme, I thought. It’s everywhere.
“Haven’t we waited long enough?” I asked a minute after we sat down. “We can come back tomorrow.”
“Settle down,” Mom said, and her glowing, posed expression sagged. “We just got here.”
There was a Pittsburgh Steelers paperweight on the principal’s desk and I reached out for it. The moment I touched it Mom slapped my hand. “Hands to yourself,” she hissed. “You know better.”
“Joey does, but Freddy doesn’t,” I sang, reaching for it again.
“Don’t mess with me,” she said brusquely. “Now get with the program.”
Suddenly we both heard footsteps marching down the hallway.
“Here she comes,” Mom whispered as she regained her pose. “Let me do the talking, and if you behave yourself I’ll tell you a secret.” She arched her eyebrow which meant it was a good one. But I couldn’t ask her more about it, because at that moment the principal breezed in and smiled warmly at both of us.
“I’m Mrs. Ginger,” she said.
“Maria Heinz,” Mom replied. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you must be our new student,” Mrs. Ginger said, smiling broadly as she reached toward my hand, which I had already stuck out. She seemed very nice except that when our fingers touched she gave me a static electric shock.
“Yipes,” I yelped, and examined my palm as if I had been stung by a bee.
Mom tugged on my shoulder and whispered, “You can sit down now.” Then in an extra small whisper she said, “Stay focused.”
I plopped down and noticed that Mrs. Ginger’s lips were pressed together as she began to examine me in a very thoughtful way.
“I’m puzzled,” she said, and rapidly typed some information into the computer on her desk. “Over the phone you said you moved here from Philadelphia, but their system doesn’t show any school records for a Freddy Heinz. Are you sure you gave me the correct information?”
“Let me think,” Mom said, and she reached for my hand and squeezed it, which was our signal for me to keep my mouth shut. “Of course,” she chirped as if suddenly remembering an important detail. “He was homeschooled some of last year and that must have thrown the paperwork off.”
“Not likely,” Mrs. Ginger replied. “The paperwork on a student stays in the system for many years before it gets archived.”
There was an awkward silence as Mrs. Ginger stared directly at Mom while Mom stared back. Neither one of them spoke, but after a while Mrs. Ginger’s magnetic gaze was too strong for Mom and it began to pull the words right out of her mouth.
“Well,” Mom said hesitantly, “we really didn’t get any paperwork on the homeschooling, which didn’t work out too well, so I think it might be better if Freddy repeats a grade.”
“Without records we’ll have to test him to find what level he falls into,” she explained..
“But I’m at least sixth grade!” I blurted out.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m small for my age,” I said, then turned to Mom. “How old is Freddy?”
“You know your age,” she said, and glowered.
“Well,” Mrs. Ginger said before Mom and I could get into an argument in front of her. “It doesn’t really matter what age you are. What matters are your skill levels, and the test will determine that.”
“Do me a favor,” I said to her. “Check for a kid named Joey Pigza in Lancaster.” I reached toward her computer to turn the screen so I could see the list of student names and point mine out to her.
Mrs. Ginger softly clamped down on my hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, and switched her computer to a blank screen. “We are not allowed to share the confidential records of other people.”
“But I am that other person,” I argued a little too loudly.
She then looked at Mom as if expecting an explanation, but Mom only gave her a “Beats me” shrug as she put her hand on my shoulder.
“Freddy,” Mom said calmly, “we can talk about this later.”
Then she turned her poised gaze toward the principal. “Freddy can begin tomorrow if you are ready for him.”
“That will be fine,” Mrs. Ginger replied. “I’ll have the curriculum coordinator arrange the tests.” She passed Mom a folder. “Just fill out these enrollment forms and return them with Freddy.”
Just then the secretary knocked on the door and without waiting stuck her head into the office. “I’m sorry,” she said to Mom, then turned to the principal. “Mrs. Ginger, we need you out here for a minute.”
In the background I could hear a kid arguing and he was saying just what I was thinking.
“You can’t do this to me! NO! No! No!”
“Just for fifteen minutes,” someone said. Maybe it was his teacher.
Mrs. Ginger stood up quickly. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said firmly. “There is always a fire to put out with this job.”
The moment she left Mom uncrossed her legs and hopped up. “I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room for a moment,” she whispered.
“You made me look weird,” I said.
“You did that to yourself,” she replied, and tapped me on the helmet. “You can’t go around being Freddy for one moment, and then being Joey the next.”
“Well, I’m not Freddy,” I said.
“You are, and you better get used to it,” she said. “Now behave yourself.” She took her purse and was out the door in two steps.
I gave her a head start, then slipped out the door and walked toward where I heard the kid yelling. I wanted to see what they did to a bad kid at Keystone Elementary because already I felt out of place. I stood by the door and pressed my ear to it. I heard a lot of people talking at once. Then the door opened a bit and I saw a kid sitting in a big chair and he was kicking his legs back and forth and his face kept switching from sad to angry then sad to angry. It was like someone was flicking a light switch on and off real fast, then suddenly a hand gripped me on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Ginger said sharply. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Ah, yes,” I shot back. I didn’t really have a question to ask so I just said the first thing that came to my mind. “There is something you can help me with. Are people angry because they don’t get what they want? Or don’t get who they are?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, I’m upset because I used to be one kid then overnight became another, so I can no longer be the kid I used to be and yet I don’t know who I am.”
“That is very interesting,” she replied. “Can you tell me about this other person you think you are?” She looked at me in the same magnetic way she had looked at Mom, and I could feel my brain was wearing itself out with trying to figure how I could prove who I was. But I was just a regular kid and I didn’t have a wallet or a license or a Social Security card or a passport or a birth certificate. All I had was the truth, but that wasn’t good enough.
When I didn’t say anything her expression relaxed and she looked at me with that kind, sympathetic look, which right away told me she thought I was slow or confused in some invisible way. In that split second I understood that if she knew I had been in special ed she would always think there was something wrong with me. Even after I had changed, other people’s opinions of me wouldn’t change.
“How did you get that helmet?” she asked, touching it with the tip of her finger.
“When I was Joey Pigza I dove out the top floor window,” I replied. “But Freddy is okay now. The dent is getting better.”
She leaned forward and asked very softly, “Where is your mother?”
Just then Mom spotted us and dashed up the hall with a nervous look on her face.
“Freddy was just telling me a little more about being someone else named Joey Pigza,” Mrs. Ginger said as she reached for Mom’s hand.
“Oh,” Mom said, smiling awkwardly. “That’s just his imaginary friend.”
“I see,” Mrs. Ginger said. “We have a wide range of programs here, Mrs. Heinz, so I don’t want you to worry about Freddy’s special needs.” Then she turned to me and patted my shoulder and I caught her eyes pulling toward the clock over a drinking fountain.
“Come on, Freddy,” Mom said in a voice that did not want to be questioned. “We’ve got some change-of-school shopping to do.”
Neither of us said a word until we climbed into the car, but we must have been thinking in our silence. As soon as she closed her door she said, “Don’t you get it? A new name at a new school will mean no one will know about your special-ed past. Won’t that be a relief?”
“I guess,” I said. “Though my past doesn’t bother me as much as it seems to bother other people. And from the way you treated me just now I bet this principal thinks I’m a nut.”
“Well, you can’t go around telling her that you are two different people. That usually attracts the wrong kind of attention,” she advised. “You should just stick with the program and be Freddy Heinz.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll try. Now, what is the secret?”
She smiled and I could tell she was just as happy as I was to find a new topic. “Well, here’s a surprise that can’t be changed,” Mom said. “It’s pretty amazing.”
“Well?” I asked. “I’m waiting.”
She reached for my hand and held it palm down against her belly and rubbed it back and forth.
“If you are going to be sick again, please open the window,” I said in a bit of a panic.
“You don’t understand,” she said calmly, looking intently into my eyes. “There is going to be another little Heinz in the family.”
“Huh?” I said. I was a little confused because I was waiting for her to throw up in my direction.
“A baby,” she said, smiling widely. “I’m pregnant.”
“You mean another Pigza?”
“No,” she said, “this one is a Heinz.”
“You mean I’m going to have a brother?” I asked. “Or a sister?”
“In about five or six months,” she said. “Your dad and I have been seeing each other for a while, you know, and I guess—”
“Do you know what it will be?” I interrupted, not wanting to hear the details.
“Not yet,” she replied. “I don’t want to know till I see it.”
“That’ll be a surprise,” I said, wide-eyed.
“The best kind of surprise,” she agreed.
I smiled and the happiness was like turning your face toward the glowing sun on the first day of spring. The warmth spread all the way through me from my nose to my toes.
“I’ll be a brother,” I whispered. “I love that idea.”
“Oh, one more thing,” she said, holding up a finger. “Let’s keep this secret between ourselves. Charles is really eager to tell you first.”
“It’ll be our secret,” I said, and reached over and again put my hand flat against her belly.
“I bet it’s a boy,” I predicted. “I bet it’s the perfecto boy you always wanted.”
“I already have the perfect boy I’ve always wanted,” she said, smiling and scratching the top of my helmet as if it were my head. “If it’s a boy, I’ll just be getting a second helping of what I love best.”
She started the car.
“Be careful,” I warned her, and tapped on her belly as she put the car in reverse. “That’s a lot more than an imaginary friend in there.”
6
IN THE BAG
The next morning I got up early and dressed in the nice new school clothes Mom and I had picked out while shopping. I wanted to make a better “Freddy” impression at school. But at home I could still be me, so I put on a Halloween “Bloody Head” Chef hat I had found on a clearance table because Halloween was long gone. It was really a great-looking hat because there was a bloody plastic meat cleaver stuck in it. When I showed it to Mom, she smiled and said, “It reminds me of you.”
As soon as I put it on the next morning I wanted to chop up food and start cooking. I hustled over to the diner and began to make pancakes, eggs, and sausages. I needed lots of energy for school, plus it was up to me to make sure Mom was eating well because now I knew she was eating for two. I arranged the food on a tray along with her orange juice and vitamins. I decorated it with a plastic red rose in a little vase and carried it to the house.
“Room service from the brain-dead chef,” I called out as I knocked on her bedroom door. “One special bee-sting breakfast for one special queen bee!”
“Please leave it on the floor, honey, and I’ll get it in a second,” she replied. “I just stepped out of the shower.”
“Yes, ma‘am,” I snappily replied, and I set the tray down. The dogs smelled the food and came running, but before they could even touch the tray with their little pink tongues I tackled them. “No dog germs for my brother or sister,” I whispered into their twitching ears. “I don’t want the kid coming out behaving like you two gremlins.”
I carried them back into the diner and set them down on a little bed I had made out of old flour sacks I had found in the pantry.
Dad was up and still wearing his blue-and-white-striped silk pajamas, but he was not goofing off. He already had a wet tootbrush and a box of baking soda and was going from booth to booth as he cleaned all the clogged holes in the tops of the salt and pepper shakers.
“Can I help?” I asked. “You can teach me how to be a clean freak.”
He glanced up at me and shook his head back and forth when he saw my costume. “Not now,” he grunted as he worked on a stubborn speck of dirt. “Cleaning relaxes me so my mind can think of other things, like more winning lottery numbers.”
I knew what he meant because whenever I gave the dogs a bath I was always thinking of other things—like not giving the dogs a bath.
As I stood there he suddenly dropped the toothbrush and pulled a pencil from behind his ear and scratched some numbers down on a piece of paper. He must have liked what he wrote because he whistled after he read them out loud. “Hello, you beautiful money magnets!” he sang. Then he put the pencil back behind his ear, slipped the paper into his pajama pocket, and went back to scrubbing.
I watched him do this a bunch of times in a row while I hovered over the grill flipping the lard-clotted Brillo pad I had used to scrub down the griddle. As I practiced double and triple flips I perfected my new grill-master signature saying.
“Do you want fries with that?” I yelled at my blurry reflection in the chrome panel over the grill.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked myself in a deep voice.
“I said,” waving the spatula over my bloody hat, “Do you want fries with that?”
“What’d you say?” Dad asked.
“Do you want fries with that?” I hollered back.
“Could you pipe down? I’m trying to tune in some lucky lottery numbers,” he said, sounding exasperated. “If we’re ever to own a major theme park, I’ve got to hit the mega lottery big-time.”
“Sorry,” I replied, then stooped down and whispered to Pablita, “Do you want fries with that?”
Just then I heard a loud yelp followed by Pablo running from around the corner with a mouse glue trap stuck on his nose. He must have poked his pointy snout right on it. While I tried to remove it without peeling his nose off, Pablita stared at him like what he did was really stupid. If she were suddenly human I expect she would stand up on her hind legs, prop her front paws on her hips just like Mom does, and say, “You only have yourself to blame!”
Just when I got the trap off his nose Mom arrived with her tray. “From now on I could have pancakes every morning,” she said as she lifted my gruesome hat and kissed me on the head. “But let’s hold off on the sausage and eggs, okay?”
“Room service is open twenty-four hours a day,” I said, beaming. “You can count on me.”
“I won’t forget that,” she replied, then picked up the coffee pot and two cup
s. I followed her to where Dad was slowly writing out a list of numbers. She poured a cup for him and one for herself.
“A little caffeine will light up those winning numbers in your head,” she said, briskly massaging his scalp with her freshly sculpted fingernails. They looked like ten black-and-yellow bees.
“Maybe if you just beat the side of your head really hard on the edge of the table,” I suggested, “a winning number will drop out of your ear.”
“Or maybe if you start juggling real meat cleavers you’ll look like that for the rest of your life,” Dad snapped back as he glared at me.
“Sorry,” I replied in a small voice. “I think this hat has left me with half a brain.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said, and took a deep breath. “I’m just tense from thinking so hard.” He blew on his hot coffee before he took a little sip. “It was after I changed my name and got my new outlook on life that I got some karma points and won the lottery. But lately I’ve been on a losing streak, and now I’m thinking all that karma was used up and I have to get some fresh karma.”
Mom rolled her eyes.
“How?” I asked, trying to be more helpful.
“Like give away free turkey dinners to people who don’t have food of their own,” he continued.
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Mom commented. “Besides, can we really afford to give our money away?”
“It won’t cost much,” he reasoned. “And with all the good karma, we could make a fortune.”
“Should we hire staff?” Mom suggested. “That’s a big job.”
“Freddy will help me,” Dad said, and smiled at me. “Won’t you, son?”
“You mean Joey?” I said right back in his face.
“You know very well that Freddy is the new Joey,” he replied. “So stop acting so stubborn.”
“But what about school?” I asked, looking toward Mom. “We were supposed to go back today.”
She glanced at Dad and I followed her eyes, which were full of concern.