Boy on Hold

by J D Spero

  His heart picked up its pace as he made a list of all the things he’d seen transform. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about a school thing. But this was—holy shit—relevant.

  “Nice work, Tyler.” It was Mrs. Finley. How long had she been standing there, hovering like a raptor? Did she read his list?

  He slid his notebook beneath Bullfinch’s. “Shape-shifters.”

  “A decent choice. Actually, I have a book you might like.” She retrieved a paperback from her desk. “It’s not mythology, but it’s probably the most realistic depiction of shape-shifting.”

  Ty read the cover, “The Metamorphosis. Franz Kafka. What’s it about?”

  “About a man who changes into a bug.”

  Ty’s hands went hot as he stared at the cover image: a giant insect climbing out of a man’s head, which was hinged open like a Fabergé egg. His tongue swelled. It was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen. And familiar.

  “You can borrow that copy, if you’d like.” Mrs. Finley left before he could answer.

  Ty couldn’t shake the thought. A man who changed into a bug. He slipped the book into the kangaroo pocket of his drug rug, not wanting Roxanne or Marla to see it.

  It would be mortifying if they saw a resemblance in him too.

  101 Facts About Nocturnal Animals lay open on Hen’s lap, the jerky rocking of the bus making it slide around. Miss Sally had let him borrow it and he liked it so much she told him he could keep it. He loved that book. He looked at it all the time. But not now. He wasn’t in the mood. Hedgehogs weren’t in his thoughts. Not today.

  He closed the book and got a whiff of Miss Sally. Her Juicyfruit house, her plaid chair, her snickerdoodles. He opened the book, shut the book, and smelled the air that came from it. It was like dessert. Open, shut, breathe in. Maybe he should save it. He didn’t want to use up the smell. He closed it up in his backpack.

  The bus put him to sleep sometimes. The bouncy rocking, snuggled in his big puffy coat. Hen didn’t try to fight it this afternoon. It had been a long day at school. He’d spent the whole time trying not to think about what he’d seen from his play tent last night. Through Miss Sally’s big window.

  And he needed lots of energy for trick-or-treating too. He let his eyes close and gave in, not thinking in a zillion years he would dream…

  A scream. Shrill and high-pitched. From Miss Sally’s house! Light from her window. Ants on channel three. Slow motion on the VCR. An ugly, jagged shadow like a monster from Scooby-Doo. Another shadow: Miss Sally. Muffled, angry voices. Shadows splashed together. Darkness trapped in a net. “Put it down!” Miss Sally’s clear voice. “Get out of my house this instant!” Thump. Like something heavy dropped. The shadow blob flung apart like an explosion. Leaving only one shadow standing—the Monster…

  “Hey!”

  Hen felt an elbow poke his arm. It was his pal, Murphy.

  “Hello? Hen? Earth to Hen? Are you really asleep?”

  Hen shook away the dream. “No. Not sleeping.”

  Murphy laughed. “Yes, you were. I heard you snoring.” He snorted. “You were crying for your momma! Must’ve been a nightmare.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping.” Hen’s voice was sharp.

  “Okay. You kept yawning at school today. Whatever. Your stop’s coming up, is all.”

  Hen looked out the window. Almost home.

  “Let’s meet up for trick-or-treating later,” said Murphy.

  “Okay.”

  “Your brother’s taking you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Murphy hopped in his seat. “Did you end up giving him that bracelet?”

  That made Hen stop. “What?”

  “Yesterday we made those bracelets in class. With the beads? And you kept bragging about giving it to your brother. I’m keeping mine. But you kept saying, ‘I’m gonna give it to my brother.’ You said it, like, a hundred times. You were loony about it.”

  “Was not.”

  “Was to.” Murphy’s smile was jokey and friendly. “So, did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  Murphy threw his hands up. “Did you give your brother the dang bracelet?”

  Hen didn’t want to answer. He had been excited to give it to Tyler. And Tyler had put it right on his wrist. He said thank you and gave him that proud smile he did sometimes. And then Tyler lost it after only a few hours. Just…lost it. Like it was a piece of trash.

  If Tyler didn’t care about the bracelet, neither did Hen.

  “Did you keep yours?” he asked Murphy.

  Murphy answered by showing it on his wrist. “It’s my good luck charm.”

  “Cool.” Hen checked out the window again. “My stop is next.”

  “Dude! Did you give it to him or not? ‘Cause if you didn’t we could match. Like, it could be our secret super power thing. We could be partners. It could be part of our costumes tonight.”

  The bus gurgled to a stop. Hen sidestepped to the aisle. “I didn’t give it to Tyler. But I don’t have it anymore, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Lost it, I guess.” Hen remembered what Tyler had told him this morning. Why lie to Murphy, though? He turned away from Murphy’s sad face, telling himself he didn’t care.

  Off the bus, he saw Tyler in their front yard pumping air into his bicycle tires. When he spotted Hen, he waved with a big smile. Hen picked up his pace, smiling too, not caring about the stupid bracelet anymore.

  It had turned into one of those cool autumn days warmed by a thick blanket of sunshine. Perfect conditions for what Ty had planned. He pumped air in the tires and wiped off cobwebs, fighting that pesky pang of shame that hadn’t quit all day at school. Also guilt. Hen had his bike for over a year and hadn’t yet learned to ride. Honestly, Ty was a crappy brother.

  “What’s that?” Hen asked, out of breath from running off the bus.

  “What do you think it is? It’s your bike.”

  “I know that. What are you doing with it?”

  “Today, little dude, you’re going to learn how to ride it.”

  “Aren’t we going trick-or-treating?”

  “That’s not ‘til later. Right now you’re gonna ride.”

  Hen frowned at the bike. “There aren’t training wheels.”

  “S’okay. I’m gonna be right there to catch you if you fall.” Ty grinned so hard he felt it in his ears, but Hen didn’t seem convinced. “Come on. Put down your backpack and hop on.”

  Hen did exactly what Ty asked, which gave him pause. Hen’s unwavering trust in him was off-putting. He scarcely deserved it.

  “Aw’right. Let’s go.”

  One hand on the seat, one on the handlebar, Ty pushed and ran alongside.

  Hen worked the pedals, his face wide with awe.

  “Great job. You got this.” Ty chanted, at a loss for how to actually instruct pedaling a bike. Hen’s instincts were spot on, thank goodness. He’d get a few good strokes before tipping. Each time Ty was there to right the bike, he felt fortified. All that sourness dissipating.

  “Good! Now, pedal faster and get some speed. That’ll help your balance.”

  This. This was the best high. The best drug. Out in the open air with his little bro. So wholesome and honest—as American as apple pie. Hen squealed, giddy. Ty laughed into the wind.

  From the tall oaks, stray leaves fell in the sunlight like golden snow. Leaf piles lined the street like molehills.

  Hen’s bike headed right toward one of them.

  “No!”

  Hen yanked on the handlebars. The bike slid into the leaf pile like it was third base.

  “They’re just leaves,” Ty said. “They don’t bite.”

  Hen hovered over the mound, fists clenched. “Tyler, hedgehogs hibernate in there. Miss Sally read it in a book. It said sometimes they get scooped up with the pile. Like, with the street cleaners.”

  Miss Sally.

  A dark aura came over Ty. He stared at the leaves, tryin
g to think. Impossible images swirled, like a nightmare he couldn’t shake. He shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortably hot.

  Hen stared at the leaf pile too. “There could be a hedgehog in there.”

  “Nah.” Ty tried keeping it light. And fun. “Nothin’ there, but—”

  Ty trembled. The fluffy mound spoke to him. Impossible images. His brain folded in on itself. Stirring around, trying to find something. And then—zing!—a sharp whistling sounded from the base of his neck, ringing through to his eye sockets. He pulled at his hair, trying to pinpoint the sound. “Wait—”

  A gasp escaped him. Hen was right! There was a creature inside. It was screeching.

  “Oh, my gah—you’re right!” Ty wailed, kneeling at the mound. He knew what he had to do. His pulse quickened as he slapped the dry leaves off the top. “I can hear it. Holy shit. I can hear it screeching.”

  Under that top layer, leaves were moist. Smelled like mulch and soil. He scooped that layer away, his breath hard and fast. The screeching got louder. It was working. Wasn’t it? He must be getting closer.

  “Can you hear it?” It was deafening. Almost unbearable. Ty wanted to cover his ears but had to find the thing. Save it. It was hurt, maybe.

  “Tyler?” Hen’s voice was far away.

  Bottom layer—wet leaves. Sodden. Ty peeled them from the pavement singly, his heart thudding. They kept falling apart. One piece after another—odd shapes that didn’t look like leaves anymore. Tedious work. Eventually, his breathing normalized. The sharp whistling noise faded away, like a balloon deflating.

  Then, the screeching stopped altogether.

  Nothing was there.

  Ty glanced at his brother. Hen had watched the whole thing, a stunned look on his face.

  Leaves of all colors sprinkled the street, like giant confetti. Ty sat in the middle of it all, wet leaves clinging to his jacket like papier-mâché.

  “It’s okay.” Hen touched his shoulder. “It was empty. You were right. There wasn’t a hedgehog there. It’s okay.”

  Ty studied the mess, trying to find the right category for it in his mind.

  “Come on,” Hen said. “It’s okay. Let’s go home.”

  “You think?”

  Hen walked his bike back to the house without another word. Ty trailed behind, studying the ground. He hadn’t realized how many leaves were loose. Funny. People thought they were pretty, but they were dead. Death everywhere. Not just in neat piles, either. It was chaos. Multi-colored chaos. He couldn’t wait to get inside. Outside was overwhelming sometimes.

  Hen secretly called it Tyler’s B mood. It often surprised him, but never scared him. Tyler just needed quiet time. Hen walked his bike home, checking back every few steps. Tyler moved slowly, but he was coming. They’d be home soon.

  Hen propped the bike against the shed and waited for Tyler at the stoop. He ruffled Hen’s hair as he passed. “Hey, little dude, how was school?” He grinned as if they hadn’t been together on a bike adventure. As if Hen had just now gotten home. This, Hen knew, was also part of the B mood. Tyler forgot stuff.

  Hen followed him in and got another surprise. Not a happy one.

  Derek was there, sprawled on the couch as if he owned the place. Hen froze in the doorway.

  “There’s my Chicken. Bawk-bawk-bawk!” Derek flapped his elbows, laughing.

  The hair on Hen’s neck stiffened, like a porcupine when danger’s nearby.

  “Dude. Shut up.” Tyler snapped at Derek. “Leave him alone.”

  Hen was okay to go all the way in, then, if Tyler was okay to stand up to Derek. But then they high-fived and Tyler fell onto the couch next to him.

  That was always confusing. Of all the possible friends in the world, why would Tyler choose Derek?

  With the front door shut, Hen coughed against the thick smoky smell inside. Not burny smoke. Perfumey smoke. No one was supposed to smoke in here. Hen shucked off his shoes and narrowed his eyes at Derek.

  Derek slapped the couch. “Si’down, Chicken. Rugrats is on.”

  Hen hated Rugrats. Angelica Pickles was always up to no good. Wait until Tommy Pickles grew up. He’d let Angelica have it. She deserved whatever she got.

  Derek had his arms over his head—pale dolphin bellies. His spicy deodorant mixed with the perfumey smoke, making Hen feel sick. Sitting in the middle, Hen felt split in two. Hot and cold, sitting between Tyler and Derek. Like a bad fever.

  Hen kept tabs on the good guy. Tyler’s B mood was not over. Hen could tell by the way he bit his nails, his knee fidgeting, wiggling the whole couch.

  “I’ll make you a new beaded bracelet at school.” Hen wanted to make it better. “Just like the old one.”

  Tyler turned to him with a blank expression. Like he forgot who Hen was. Tyler wasn’t snapping out of it. He needed quiet time. If only Derek would leave—

  Bad guy knocked his knee into Hen’s. “You gonna be a chicken for Halloween tonight? Come on, you gotta do it.”

  Hen ignored him.

  “Yo, Chicken. Got yourself a girlfriend yet?”

  Hen would rather sit next to Angelica Pickles.

  “Chicken?” Derek sang. “I’m talking to you. HEY!”

  Hen had to look at him then. His baseball cap was on backwards, and his stringy bangs came through the half-moon adjuster. His eyes reminded Hen of a wild dog’s. Red and rimmed with black. Derek even looked like a meanie. He used to be burly and square and now he looked pulpy and soft. Fat, like his dad. Nothing like Tyler, who was long and lanky and all angles. Even though he ate like a Tyrannosaurus.

  “Do. You. Have. A. GIRLFRIEND?” Derek shouted and faked sign language as if Hen were dumb.

  “No.”

  Derek slapped his knee. “Well, shit, Chicken. We gotta get you some CHICKS!” A squeaky, girly giggle.

  “How ‘bout Roxanne Russo, Derek?” Tyler’s laugh was bitter.

  Derek tongued that weird patch of hair—like a square of Velcro—under his lip. He narrowed his eyes at Tyler. “How about Geraldine Greenbladt?”

  “Ee-ee-hew!” Tyler snorted, kind of laughing. But his eyes were blank. Like someone had shut him off inside.

  Then there was a knock on the door and Bernie Hubbard was inside the house, filling the foyer in his clumpy work boots. Hen could’ve squealed with joy. But something was missing. Bernie always had a smile on his face. Not today, though.

  Hen’s heart sank, realizing why. Something bad really did happen last night. To Miss Sally, Bernie’s ma.

  Bernie dropped his toolbox in the entryway, his face twisting like he smelled moldy cheese. “Thought I’d fix that window frame today.” He pinned Derek with his gaze. “Check in on Hen.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said Tyler. “To watch Hen. Mom’s orders.”

  “We?” Bernie asked. “Didn’t know it was a joint effort. Don’t you have school, Derek?”

  Derek sucked air through his teeth. “Nah. Ty gets out of school, so don’t I.”

  “Is that the way it works?”

  “Yup. We’re a package deal.”

  Bernie looked from Derek to Tyler, who shrunk into the couch.

  “Hen’s doing good,” Tyler said meekly. “Right, buddy?”

  Hen scooted to the edge. “We’re watching Rugrats.”

  Bernie got a hammer from his toolbox. “I’ll be in the kitchen fixing the frame.” And then, “Hen, I could use a hand.”

  Hen leapt from the couch, even though he had no clue about how to fix a window frame. Turned out, all Bernie wanted Hen to do was hold the nails, hand them to him when he was ready.

  “Don’t know if you heard.” Bernie started.

  Hen tensed. Please don’t say it.

  “Ma’s in the hospital. Miss Sally, to you, I guess.”

  In the hospital? The nail was cold and rough in his hand. Hen pressed his finger on the tip, hard. He was surprised it didn’t make him bleed.

  “Ah, a draft. Need some sealant.” Bernie felt around the edges
. He went back to his toolbox in the front room. Tyler and Derek now watched The Jerry Springer Show.

  “You boys out last night?” he asked them. “Cabbage Night?”

  Pause.

  “Yeah.” Derek sounded like he was stretching. “At my pop’s place for a Reuben. Got the best Reubens, I swear.”

  Hen heard rustling from Bernie’s toolbox.

  “Yeah, they’re some tasty sandwiches.” Tyler did that snorting thing again.

  Bernie’s voice got loud. “Hey, you know my mother’s in the hospital right now? Some punks broke in, robbed the place, and gave her a bruising. Pretty bad one.”

  Tyler’s laughter dropped like a hot potato. Hen squeezed the nail into his fist, his insides squeezing together, too.

  “So you can imagine I’m not in the mood for funny right now.” Bernie shook his head. “Not that that was even funny.”

  Back on the step stool, Bernie squeezed the tube of sealant with shaky hands. That never happened with Bernie. His hands were always steady. Hen rolled the nail between his fingers. Felt the sharp tip with his thumb.

  “She’ll be okay, though. Right?” Hen asked quietly.

  Bernie didn’t answer. “Nail.”

  Hen handed it over.

  Bernie hammered the nail in place, his jaw clenched tight. “I don’t know, Hen.”

  Wait—what? The room swirled. Hen’s head got dizzy but fear rooted him to the floor. Bernie didn’t know? But…she had to be okay. They’d fix her in the hospital. She just needed to get better. And come home. They were in the middle of a chess game. It was Hen’s turn. She’d get better. She had to. It was Miss Sally!

  Hen stared at the linoleum tiles, tracing back in his mind what he’d seen last night. All those shadow blobs. It was worse than he’d thought. Not just a weird thing with scary noises. It was real. And it wasn’t over.

  Another knock at the door made Hen jump.

  Bernie called to the front room. “You boys expectin’ someone?”

  What Hen saw through the window shook him to the core. It was too early for trick-or-treating, Tyler had said. It wasn’t someone in a police costume. It was a real-life policeman.