Just Like Jackie

by Lindsey Stoddard

  “I just don’t want to think about family right now,” Alex says, and pushes his notebook away from him across the table. Then his face gets sad and his voice gets shaky again. “But my dad always feels proud of me when I do my schoolwork.”

  I’m trying not to but I can’t help picturing his dad and all the pills and the downstairs bed.

  “We just have to do it, then,” I tell him. And I push his notebook back across the table.

  Alex looks up at me. “OK.” Then he reaches out his hand and says, “It’s a pact. We’ll make our projects. Even if they stink.”

  “They’re going to be so crappy,” I laugh. And that makes him giggle a little again too.

  I reach out and we shake hands, like it’s the end of a long game that went into extra innings and we finally just called the game off because it got too dark.

  “Thursday,” I say.

  “Thursday,” he repeats.

  Even though it’s bad, I’ll go home and copy my big lie family tree onto a piece of colored paper and be done with it. I didn’t say it was going to be good. Just done.

  Then the bell’s ringing and it’s time for recess and all I want is third base and Derek backing me up.

  Alex slaps me on the back. “Come on, I’ll let you bat first.”

  And I’m feeling the best I can until I hear my name being called over the loudspeaker. “Robinson Hart, please report to the office. Robinson Hart to the office, please.”

  chapter 21

  Ms. Gloria says she’ll walk me to Principal Wheeler’s. I bet because she knows if I go by myself I’d skip the office and run outside to recess anyway. And she’s right. I would. Because Mr. Danny’s probably unloading the bats and baseballs from the gym bags right now and I’m supposed to bat first.

  We’re walking side by side down the hallway and I’m thinking this is bull crap that I have to go to the office during recess and I didn’t even do anything bad.

  When I get close enough to look through the big glass window of the office I see Grandpa sitting there with Harold and I take off running. “What the—”

  I burst through the door and I look right at Grandpa and yell, “I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

  Harold stands up fast and puts his arms around my shoulders and says, “I know you didn’t, Robbie.”

  And now I’m wishing I didn’t say one stupid thing to Harold under the hood of that 2011 Jeep Grand Cherokee because I’m afraid he told some other adult and now we could be in real trouble. He’s supposed to be on my team.

  There’s a woman there I’ve never seen, wearing fancy black pants and a jacket and carrying a briefcase. I look at Ms. Gloria to give me an answer.

  Then Principal Wheeler walks out of her office and says, “Hi, Robinson. Thank you for joining us.” She’s acting nice. Too nice. And it’s making me more nervous because I don’t want any meeting or anyone’s help and I don’t know who this fancy-black-pants woman is and why she has to be here.

  “Why did you call my grandpa?” I ask Principal Wheeler. “Why is Harold here? I didn’t do anything! They have to go back to work.”

  I shake out from under Harold’s arms and put my hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. “You can go,” I tell him. “Nothing is wrong.” And I’m thinking maybe if he leaves before anyone asks him a question, then we’ll be OK and no one will think he can’t take care of me anymore. Because he can.

  Grandpa’s telling me to calm down, but I can’t, and I don’t even want to try.

  “Hi, Robinson,” the fancy lady says. “My name is Grace and I’m a counselor at the Department for Children and Families in Vermont.” She reaches out to shake my hand.

  “I don’t care who you are!” I yell because the Department for Children and Families sounds serious and scary, and I want to get us out of here fast before she says anything else. “I have to walk my grandpa back to the garage now, where he belongs because he can fix everyone in this town’s cars.”

  But that Grace lady just keeps on. “I’m here because I wanted to meet you and to talk—”

  “No one asked you to come!” I shout.

  I grab my grandpa’s bandaged hand from his lap, but Harold squeezes my shoulder and says, “Actually, Robinson, I did. I asked Grace to come here.”

  It feels like a fastball in the gut because Harold really did quit my team and before I know it we’re all shuffling into Principal Wheeler’s private office. Grace, Ms. Gloria, Harold, Grandpa, and me.

  We’re sitting in a circle, but it doesn’t feel like the circle in Group Guidance, and there’s no talking wand. If there were, I’d take it first and tell everyone to eff off, and then I’d never pass it on because I don’t want to hear what anyone else has to say. But grown-ups never let kids have the talking wand when they’ve made up their minds.

  “Robbie,” Harold says. “I called Grace because I care about you so much, and I care about your grandpa. He’s my best friend.” Harold’s eyes are getting all leaky and his voice is catching. He brushes his hand through his sticking-up brown hair. “I want to help you and your grandpa make a plan.”

  “We don’t need a plan!”

  Then Grandpa sits up in his chair and clears his throat into his fist. “Robbie. My memory’s not so good. And it’s not getting better. You dessert—”

  And I know he means deserve but everyone staring at him is making him nervous and stressed. I look up to see if Principal Wheeler or Ms. Gloria or that lady Grace noticed, and I’m pretty sure they did because their eyes look sad, and we don’t need anyone feeling bad for us because we’re fine.

  “You dessert—” Grandpa tries again.

  And I know he wants to say I deserve more.

  “No, Grandpa,” I interrupt. “That’s not true. You’re fine.” It’s not fair that everyone’s making him feel lousy. This isn’t his fault. I’m the one who made his memory so tired all these years, but I’m good at helping him now.

  “I spent the morning with your grandpa,” Grace says. “And he told me all about you.”

  “I don’t give a crap what you talked about,” I tell her. “My grandpa and I are fine. I know what people like you do. You take kids away from the only effing family they have!”

  “Robinson!” Principal Wheeler’s eyes are wide. “Watch your language, please. We are all here because we care about you and your grandpa Charlie.”

  I know that’s the biggest load of bull crap yet because if they really cared they wouldn’t want some counselor around whose job it is to take me away. They’d know that I’m the only one who can find him when he wanders and make him feel OK when he can’t open a can of tuna fish. They’d know that I’m really good at finding his flannel and the ends of his sentences.

  “I know you’re feeling upset, Robinson. This isn’t easy,” Grace starts again. “But I’d like you to try to listen to what your grandpa and Harold are thinking. You might find that the plan sounds OK.”

  Before I know it I’m standing up and my hands are tightening into fists because I’m not listening to anyone’s plan.

  “Robinson,” Grace says. “I’m not here to take you away from your grandpa.”

  I bite down hard on my back teeth. Ms. Gloria catches my eye and I’m counting down from ten and taking a deep breath for each number.

  “Your grandpa told me you are a special kid,” Grace says. “He told me how good you are at fixing cars and tapping maple trees. He says you are his biggest helper for a lot of things.”

  “I’m his right hand,” I spout through clenched teeth. “Harold’s his left.”

  Grace smiles when I say that. Then she keeps telling me that she’s not here to take me away from my grandpa, but I know she is. That’s their big plan. That’s what people like her do. They want to take me away because they don’t think he’s a good grandpa and they don’t think I can take good enough care of him. But I can. My heart’s beating loud in my ears and I just want to get out.

  “Maybe we should talk about this another time,” Grace
offers. “I could come visit you and your grandpa when you’re feeling a little better.”

  “How about never?”

  Then Grandpa says, “No need to be rude to this nice lady, Robbie.”

  Harold nods and pushes himself up from his chair. “Maybe another time is best,” he adds. “I can be there anytime.”

  “I could come by the house tomorrow morning,” Grace says. “I’ll bring doughnuts and we can talk before you go to school?”

  I’m about to say no way, not even the crispiest-on-the-outside-softest-on-the-inside doughnuts could make me want to ever see this woman again, but Harold jumps in fast and says, “That sounds great. I’ll be there.”

  Grandpa nods and pushes down hard on his thighs to get up from his chair.

  “Can I go home with my grandpa now?” I ask Principal Wheeler. I’m thinking there’s no way I can go back to class. Not even recess. I don’t trust anyone around Grandpa without me there.

  I can tell Principal Wheeler is about to say no and that I have to spend the rest of the day in school. So I stare at her hard and say, “I don’t feel good. I can’t go back to class.” I fake a nasty cough and everyone kind of laughs and rolls their eyes and nods.

  Ms. Gloria turns to Grandpa. “Mr. Hart, you should be very proud of Robinson’s progress. She’s been managing her anger and empathizing with others. I know this is tough on her, but I’m confident she’ll do a great job listening tomorrow morning.” She’s looking right at me when she says that last part.

  “Thank you,” he says. “I know she’ll lips . . .” He looks up toward the ceiling as if his words got caught up in his brain somewhere, but he squints his eyes, shakes his head, and gives up.

  Ms. Gloria takes his hand in hers and smiles. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Hart.”

  Then I hold his hand and he walks side to side, side to side, to the office door.

  I know he meant to say listen. Not lips. Listen. He meant to say that I’ll listen to him and listen to Harold and Grace, and I wonder what they did to make him so brainwashed. Grandpa can’t really think that someone from the Department for Children and Families is going to help us. He just needs to go back to the garage with me. His wires are all crossed because he gets confused in the afternoon, but in the morning he’ll be clear and good as new and there’s no way he’ll want some lady to take me away.

  “Let’s go to the garage, Grandpa,” I say. “I’ll help you with the cars.”

  But as we walk away from the school, my stomach feels all tied up in knots because I know I can’t wait around for anyone else’s plan.

  On the way to the garage Harold keeps trying to explain why he called that lady and finally I blurt, “I don’t want to talk about this right now!” which is something that Ms. Gloria taught me to say when I’m annoyed and don’t want to listen, and I’m surprised how well it works because Harold just pats my shoulder and doesn’t say another thing the whole walk.

  I don’t want him patting my shoulder, though. Not today. So I shrug away and start walking a little faster.

  Grandpa’s quiet too, and even though I don’t want to talk about anything, the silence is making me feel antsy, so I’m glad when we get to the garage because I can pull on my gloves and get to work.

  She Roll is parked outside the garage, and Paul is leaning on the truck with May in a backward-book-bag-looking thing on his chest. He’s holding a white bag from Dean and Walt’s. I can smell the hamburgers from here because they’re that good.

  “I thought there might be some hungry workers needing lunch,” he calls, holding up the bag. And the fact that he’s here makes me feel suspicious. Like he might be in on this plan too.

  Grandpa reaches out and touches May’s head softly with his big hands. “Still a tiny thing,” he says.

  “You’d be surprised how fierce she is. She’s little but fierce.” Paul smiles and May yawns and dribbles a big string of spit on his shoulder.

  I go to touch May’s head too, like Grandpa did, because I kind of feel like I have to because she didn’t do anything wrong. But before I can get to her tiny curls she reaches out her little hand and grabs my finger way harder than I thought a baby could grab and she squeezes tight.

  “I told you. She’s fierce,” Paul says.

  May is clutching hard and it’s making me laugh a little because I don’t actually know how to get my finger out of her grip.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with her,” Harold says.

  Then Paul kisses her little fist and starts peeling her fingers off mine one by one. She cries a little when I get free but then pushes her face back into Paul’s chest.

  He hands the hamburger bag over to me. I take one and pass it to Grandpa and I’m still wondering if Paul is in on the Department for Children and Families bull crap plan too. So I don’t ask him how she’s rolling and point to the back of his falling-apart old Chevrolet like I always do.

  I just eat my lunch in four big bites and say, “Thanks for the burger.” Then I ask Grandpa what I can work on even though I kind of wish I could see if May would grasp her fist around my finger again because it felt pretty OK. But I’m mad at Harold and maybe even Paul too.

  “Honda Civic needs new brake pads.” Grandpa points to the first bay.

  Harold pulls on his gloves too. “Robbie and I can tackle that together.”

  “I can do it by myself,” I snap, even though I’ve only changed brake pads one other time. I know I can remember all the steps if I go slow.

  And I don’t want Harold’s help.

  Harold holds his hands up like don’t shoot, gives Paul and May a kiss good-bye, and starts toward the next bay, where he has to take the winter tires off a Subaru Forester. “I’ll be right here if you need—”

  “I got it.”

  Paul starts putting May in her car seat and toots the horn on the way out. “Good to see you, Robbie! Let’s hope she rolls all the way home!” he calls out the open window.

  I give him a weak smile and start loosening the lug nuts on the front tires of the Civic. And because I’m not asking for help I get a jack. I have to hoist up the car and I can’t do that without Harold helping me position the wheels over the lifts. But I’m good with a jack, so before I know it I’ve got the front wheels up off the ground all by myself and I’m squatting down and removing the lug nuts and pulling the wheels off nice and easy like they’re supposed to go.

  I spray the caliper bolts with WD-40 and I remember Grandpa telling me about checking the pressure on calipers. If the car is cool and at rest, they should move back and forth easy, but if they’re under pressure they’ll fly off when you remove the bolts. So I’m careful to stand to the side and check behind me before I fit the socket over the bolts.

  I can’t get them to move at first try, so I spray more WD-40 and give them another hard crank. I can feel the heat rise up in me, all the way from my belly through my clamped tight teeth and into my cheeks. I’m putting all my weight in and they won’t budge and if I can’t get these calipers off I can’t replace the worn-out brake pads with new ones that stop on a dime. And before I know it I’m punching the stupid things. Punching them hard, and my knuckles are burning through my work gloves and my legs are cramping from squatting because I had to use a jack instead of the lifts but I don’t care because bolts are supposed to loosen and they’re stuck and stubborn and stupid and I can’t get them free.

  Then I feel a glove on my shoulder. Harold is squatting behind me like an umpire behind the catcher and trying to pull me away from the wheel.

  “I almost got it!” I scream. “Leave me alone!”

  “Robbie,” he whispers. “Let’s take a breath for a minute.” He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me back. We both kind of topple on the smooth cement of the garage floor, but I fall mostly on him. My fist is throbbing, and there are tears on my cheeks that I don’t even know how they got there.

  I can tell Harold wants to laugh because he’s biting his lip and smiling and because we’re a
ll sprawled out on the floor like a couple of idiots, but I’m not in the mood for laughing. Not with him. Not today. So I roll off him and stand up fast.

  “Try this.” He holds out a red-and-yellow can. “It’s better than the WD-40. I swear by it.”

  I grab it and give it three hard shakes before squatting back down at the wheel and spraying it on the caliper bolts and giving them a good hard crank with the socket. My knuckles burn when I tighten my fist. The bolts still aren’t moving. I’m biting down hard on my back teeth and holding my breath and I want to punch the stupid things again. Then Harold’s glove reaches over my shoulder and pushes down on my sore knuckles.

  “One. Two. Three,” he counts and we give it a good strong turn together and finally, they come free.

  We don’t say anything after that, and I do the rest by myself, but I know Harold is watching from the next bay.

  And the whole time I’m putting on the new brake pads and checking the brake fluid, I’m thinking about the Department for Children and Families and how I’m not waiting around for Grace to come with doughnuts and take me away from Grandpa.

  No way.

  chapter 22

  I need my hair braided up tight before I go to bed, and I try to do it myself, but every time I do my hair falls all loose and out of the braid. It has to be tight for what I’m going to do.

  I tap lightly on Grandpa’s bedroom door with my hair down long over my shoulders “Grandpa?” I ask. “Will you braid my hair?”

  I’m waiting for him to ask why I need it done now so late at night and not before school in the morning like I always do, but he just waves me in and tells me to stand in front of the mirror.

  My heart’s beating fast and I don’t know if it’s because at any moment I’m expecting Grandpa to see right through me, right into my whole plan, or if it’s because he doesn’t even notice anything out of the ordinary.