All this happened in only one half of the coliseum. In the other half, divided by a waist-high temporary barricade, the dairy-cattle exhibitors went through the same routine.
The process seemed to take an unbearably long time but in reality was performed at a surprisingly fast pace. The judge was careful and respectful of each of the exhibitors and his or her time invested, but he was also efficient. There were a lot of steers to judge and rank, and it had to be done in one long morning. The championship event happened the same day, late in the afternoon.
The exhibitors knew that their opportunity to catch the judge’s eye was short. The girls often wore sparkles—belts, necklaces, barrettes. The boys stuck to neatness—shirts fitted and tucked. No one took their eyes off the judge, watching for any signal or word, ready to react instantly and hoping for the chance to.
As the judge ranked steers, he talked the crowd through what he liked and why he placed certain steers over others. The speaker system was better than inside the cattle barn, but the cavernous ceiling of the coliseum bounced his words back and forth so much, it required some concentration to understand what he said.
Diggy had Joker mostly ready to go hours before he needed to. To blow off some tension, he snuck away—from July, since no one else would have minded. The bleachers that circled the show ring were less than half-filled with spectators, though a bunch of Vogls had staked out prime territory front and center and had saved spots for … Diggy’s grandparents!
Diggy threaded through the seats as fast as he could, throwing his arms around his grandma first. “What are you guys doing here?” he laughed.
Grandpa mussed Diggy’s hair. “We missed you, kid. Mark said this was shaping up to be a big year for you. We wanted to be here.”
It was always weird to hear someone call Pop “Mark,” but Diggy couldn’t keep himself from laughing again. He knew it was nervous energy, but he was just so glad to see them. He hugged his grandfather tightly. “Thanks.”
When he stepped back, he looked at their audience. “And you guys know the Vogls?”
“Of course we do,” his grandma said as she adjusted his shirt.
Mrs. Vogl took a turn and fixed his hair. “You are a good boy. A good friend to our Wayne.”
Diggy was so shocked by that, he let them fuss over him without protest. Grandpa was the one who stopped them. “You’ve got work to do, Douglas. We’ll see you after.”
“I was going down to the ring,” Diggy said.
“Go, go!” Grandma and Mrs. Vogl both said.
Diggy let himself be shooed away in a cloud of good-luck wishes from everyone there. It was strange walking down to join the crowd on the coliseum floor, mostly parents and other competitors, knowing so many people were watching him, but he figured it was better to get used to it now. Once he brought out Joker, he couldn’t let his attention be divided.
He stood near the ropes that separated the competition and viewing areas, letting bits of conversation float around him. “I told him to smile. We’re not here for a red.” “I was shocked. Heifers got five reds.” “Ooh, he’s going to show well.” “They’re giving whites at State!” Diggy paid more attention to that one until he realized the kid had come from the swine barn. One woman was on the phone the entire time, keeping a list of the placements by class and relaying the info back to whomever she was talking to. Diggy figured she had a kid showing in the crossbreds.
It didn’t take long for the familiar commotion to calm him.
He decided to head back, made a small wave to his grandparents and the Vogls, then spotted Wayne examining faces in the seats that ringed the coliseum, slowly turning in a circle. Diggy almost walked by him; he couldn’t miss the large mass of his family, and chances were high the kid would shake the calm Diggy had found. But Wayne looked so … lost. Passing by him without saying anything seemed cruel.
“It’s going to be all right,” Diggy said.
Wayne didn’t look at him. “When you left, I thought you’d seen her.”
“Who?”
Wayne completed his circle, then pressed his palms to his eye sockets. When he dropped his hands, he seemed like a blind person, eyes open but not seeing anything. “Maybe she’s waiting, to see how we do. Maybe she doesn’t want to distract us.”
Diggy closed his eyes, wishing he had kept walking. He didn’t want to, but he asked again, “Who?”
“I never got her. I had to leave messages. But I told her about the steers and the fair and that we’d look for her here.”
Diggy couldn’t ask again. He was too sure he knew the answer.
Wayne’s eyes refocused, on Diggy. They looked bruised and hopeful and despairing and too bright. “She was still at The Flamingo.”
Diggy punched Wayne in the face.
THE ARENA FLOOR WAS COVERED WITH LOOSE DIRT. WAYNE FELL BACK FLAT IN a poof of dark brown particles.
Diggy started walking away before anyone noticed. The hardest thing he ever did was not peer up at the stadium seats. He kept his eyes exactly straight ahead at the staging area he could see through the entrance.
Until someone caught his arm and twirled him around. His eyes streamed over the audience, too fast to see anything but a blur, but he closed them anyway. He would not look up there.
People said stuff—he didn’t try to pay attention—and pulled him away.
Wayne was somewhere too close.
Diggy concentrated on keeping his eyes closed, even though that meant he was almost literally dragged out of the coliseum. Once he sensed the change in the air and knew he was out of there, he permitted himself to open his eyes to the barest slits. He watched his boots stumble over sawdust, dirt, concrete, more sawdust.
4-H administrators were there, saying things. Pop, Graf, and July were there, saying other things. German words popped in as Mrs. Vogl asked Diggy’s grandparents what was going on. Diggy couldn’t hear over the buzzing in his head.
Until Wayne spoke. Wayne, Diggy heard perfectly. “It was me. I did it.”
“Punched yourself in the mouth?” a stranger in a green 4-H shirt said. “This is not the kind of behavior we permit among our exhibitors.”
He said some more stuff, and both Pop and July argued. Diggy began to realize they were talking about whether or not to let him compete.
A year. A whole year! He glared at Wayne, but as quickly as the rage built, one good look at Wayne poked holes all through it.
“It was me,” Wayne said again. “I did it.” No one listened to him. He looked like a ghost. Maybe no one could hear him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Diggy felt like a flock of flamingos was pecking him all over with their black-tipped beaks.
The 4-H administrator suggested that Diggy could compete but not be eligible for a ribbon.
Wayne made a sound like a groan and a yell combined, like he was physically in pain. Everybody quieted, then Wayne shouted, “We’re brothers! Brothers fight. I did something really, really …” He choked, then shouted again. “If you don’t let him compete, it’ll be like I cheated. It will be a cheat! He only hit me because I …” He swallowed. “It wouldn’t be fair. You’ll have let me steal the show from him. I should be the one who can’t compete. That’s the only thing that would be fair.”
The 4-H administrator frowned at Diggy. “Is that true? Did he intentionally provoke you?”
Diggy opened his mouth, but he couldn’t say that. He had hit Wayne. He could have not.
“He won’t say so,” Wayne said. “We’re brothers, remember? But it’s still true.”
The administrator, Pop, and July talked together while Graf led Wayne aside. Someone had popped one of those ice packs from a first-aid kit. Wayne dabbed it at his mouth but not with any real attention.
Graf held Wayne’s shoulders and asked him something. Wayne ducked his head and looked sideways at Diggy. He answered. Graf took a turn at being a ghost; then he jerked Wayne to him in a too-tight hug. Graf’s shoulders shook for a few seconds. Wayne hugged
him back, then they pulled apart, turning their backs away from everyone while they scrubbed their arms over their faces.
Graf turned back first and spoke too loudly. “You’ve got to let Diggy show.”
Wayne came up to Diggy. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
Diggy didn’t have room to hear him. All he could think about was that his mom wasn’t there. She couldn’t be. If she were, she would have seen what had happened and come to check on him. Wouldn’t she? Isn’t that what moms did? So she wasn’t there. Wayne had called her, and she hadn’t come.
It didn’t matter that Diggy hadn’t asked her to come, hadn’t wanted her to come, hadn’t even considered that a possibility. She hadn’t come.
If all the show steers walked over him on their way into the ring, he might feel better than he did right now.
The 4-H administrator conceded that there may have been extenuating circumstances but noted that solutions required thought, not physical violence. 4-H required more from its youth and would seem to condone Diggy’s behavior if they didn’t penalize him. Actions had consequences. Diggy and Wayne would be permitted to show, but they would not be eligible for a purple or even a blue ribbon.
July started crying.
Pop shook the administrator’s hand, thanked him, then grabbed both boys and dragged them toward the barn. “They’re starting to call the lightweights.”
“What’s the point?” Wayne moaned. “I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined it for everyone.”
Pop stopped them, his face fierce. “You will compete. You will compete to win, even if you can’t. Your steers deserve it. That’s what commitment is. Following through no matter what.”
“You don’t know what I did,” Wayne mumbled.
“I don’t care what you did,” Pop said. “What matters is what you do now.” He took Diggy’s shoulders. “You’ve never been one to hold a grudge. Now’s not the time to start. It’ll wear at you all year if you don’t do what you need to. You can hash out everything else later. For Joker’s sake, focus on what you came here to do.”
Diggy knew Pop was trying to tell him something important. He even tried to listen.
July came up to them with a fake but determined smile on her face. “We’ve got to get moving. They’ll be looking for you in the staging area soon. If you’re not lined up, you’re out.”
“What do you want to do, Diggy?” Wayne asked. “Whatever you want to do, that’s what I’ll do.”
Wayne’s mom used to say that people fight instead of think. Wayne had told him that, too, and Diggy had asked what was so great about thinking. That seemed truer than ever.
When Pop nudged them, Diggy moved on.
Diggy was called with the first set of middleweights. He led Joker out to the staging area while July used the blower on Wayne, getting the dirt off his back and jeans from his fall.
The staging area was a strange mix of loud and quiet. As in the show ring, one side of the staging area was for steers, the other for dairy. A herd of people walked through in steady numbers, many of them general public talking to be heard over the rumble of crowd, animals, and fair business as they made their way to the exhibits in the cattle barn. The kids waiting to enter the coliseum, however, were quiet.
In front of the entrance, a family of five worked up a steer one last time. While the exhibitor held his steer’s head, the dad sprayed it, using one of the various styling products stuffed in his pockets. A sister made repeated paper-towel swipes. A brother had his Scotch comb out at all times. The mom held the steer’s tail away from its rump, protecting the perfectly teased end from bodily functions.
Other kids stood quietly, waiting. Maybe a few whispered to their steers. Every once in a while, they would brush or spray something. Diggy watched a boy spray shine at a steer, only to have the wind catch it and cover the girl showing the steer instead. She gave him such a dirty look, the boy intentionally squirted her again.
Diggy leaned against the temporary steel barricade. The swirlies in his stomach confused him. He didn’t have any reason to fuss or worry.
His group was called into the coliseum, but getting inside only meant more waiting, this time in a line roped off next to the wall beneath the seats.
The seats were still only half-filled with people, but those people made plenty of noise, calling out greetings and good lucks to kids they recognized. Joker stepped sideways a few steps at the first onslaught, and Diggy gave him a good belly scratch with the show stick.
Then Diggy looked up into the stands.
He was so close, he made accidental eye contact with people who automatically smiled at him and wished him luck. A part of his brain tried to order his eyes to Joker, the show ring, the dirt—anything else. Instead, Diggy scanned the crowd, face by face. With each new face that wasn’t hers, his heart flipped a little harder.
He hardly noticed when his group was called again, this time for the real thing. Joker followed the line into the show ring, seeming to lead Diggy, but when the steer saw open space, he broke from the line and rodeoed.
How many times had Diggy reminded Wayne to keep calm, that Fang only acted out because Wayne’s nerves drove him to it? Joker was such a mellow steer. This display was all Diggy.
The other exhibitors kept their cool and their steers’ leads tightly gripped. The danger of one steer rodeoing was that others might be spooked and do the same.
Diggy knew he should get out there and get a grip on Joker, but he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd. He probably looked the way Wayne had earlier, turning in a slow circle, searching and hoping, though he wouldn’t name what he hoped for.
He saw his grandparents. The throng of Vogls.
Turning more, he saw Crystal and Jason.
Then, at the entrance to the arena, Diggy’s gaze landed on Pop.
Pop held himself like something in his chest ached, and Diggy knew it was for his sake. Pop loved him and wanted to make everything okay but couldn’t. Diggy was beginning to appreciate how hard it was to live with that.
But then Pop quirked his eyebrows and nodded toward Joker, clearly saying, “Focus, kid.”
Behind him, Diggy saw July and Graf leading Fang in from the staging area.
He turned and saw Wayne heading in to make a grab at Joker.
Diggy let go of all the other faces around him. He had found the ones that mattered.
He rushed into the ring, then couldn’t keep himself from stopping again. Joker rodeoed his heart out and had a blast doing it. He looked like a fresh calf only just weaned from his mama, bouncing around like he had springs for hooves.
Diggy burst out laughing.
Wayne must have heard him. He stopped trying to flag Joker down.
Joker, for his part, was courteous about his display. He kept to the open ground, away from where the other steers lined up at the curtained rail.
Wayne walked over, chewing his cheek. “You know, he’s just doing what you’re feeling.”
Diggy peered at him. “I’m mad at you.”
Wayne nodded.
Diggy shouted, “Joker!”
The steer trotted over to him, set up in a perfect staggered position, and raised its head to show height. The purple-ribbon steer wouldn’t look half so good in its prize photo.
DIGGY AND WAYNE TOOK THEIR RIBBONS IN STRIDE, EVEN DISPLAYED THEM prominently back at Joker and Fang’s stalls.
The boys combed, scratched, and otherwise lavished attention on the steers, both of whom stood with the air of expecting no less.
Wayne cleared his throat. “I’m not sure it was her number,” he said softly. “The message was one of those computerized voices that just says the phone number you’ve reached.”
Diggy’s body tingled. He waited until the sparks had passed through his fingers. “Once I find her, she can’t ever come back.”
Wayne frowned. “She can move back anytime.”
“No. I mean, if I find her first, she can’t ever decide on her own that she wants
to come back for me. I’ll have made her come back, by finding her.”
Wayne paused long enough that Fang mooed at him. Finally, he said, “You’re fourteen.”
Diggy flinched. That was the sticking point. Fourteen years meant she likely wasn’t ever coming back. But that wasn’t the point. After his talk with Pop, Diggy had decided he was okay with the decision his mom had made for him. He was happy with Pop and hoped his mom was happy somewhere, too. He said as carefully as he could, “Finding my mom won’t bring your mom back.”
Wayne breathed deeply. When he looked at Diggy, he had tears on his cheeks. “I wish it could.”
Diggy sighed. “I know.”
They scratched the steers’ rumps a good, long time. Wayne looked up at their red ribbons tucked into the signs with their names on them. “Purple’s a girly color anyway.”
Diggy laughed. Right up until one of the fair people found him to confirm details about the next day’s auction.
The packer’s truck was parked at the cattle barn, ramp in place and several steers already loaded.
Diggy and Wayne had made a spot for themselves off to the side so Joker and Fang could stand right next to each other.
Diggy whispered to Joker all the thanks and praise he could think of for being such a fine, good-natured steer and for having worked so hard and done such a good job. He tried not to cry in front of the steer, but the more he worked at not showing how sad he was, the calmer Joker got, as if he knew Diggy needed soothing. By the time Diggy pulled off Joker’s halter, he couldn’t help the tears.
To Joker, the halter coming off meant time to go home. He easily walked the ramp into the truck, Fang right behind, neither of them with the least hint of anxiety.
Diggy went ahead and found a corner of the barn to bawl in.
After a while, he wiped his face with his sleeve. His breathing was still choppy, and if he let himself think of Joker too much, the tears welled again, but he wiped his face and told himself the worst was past.
Wayne sat next to him. He didn’t look any better than Diggy.
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