“What?” he said. He’d already prepared himself. A lecture. And then a fight.
She gathered herself and then slowly let her hands slide down her hips. She waited until Danny eventually removed one earphone. “I love you, David. The school counselor’s going to meet with you next week,” she said simply. “It’s Thanksgiving, and I’m going to give thanks for the wonderful things I have in my life – you and Julia.” She paused. “Don’t give up on me now. And don’t give up on yourself.”
Chapter 13
Danny threw off his headphones and couldn’t get out of the house fast enough, but he and Buddy had hardly made it to the sidewalk when he heard Papa Joe.
“David! Buddy!” he called, his smile like a crease across his face. Buddy tugged at the leash to see the old man.
Papa Joe seemed surer on his feet and leaned less heavily on his canes as he reached to pet the border collie.
“I thought you two’d be gone by now. I thought ya were moving.”
“Didn’t work out,” Danny mumbled.
“I was kinda thinkin’ that, when I saw your momma planting them tulips. I said to myself, maybe they’re gonna stick around.”
“Yeah.”
Papa Joe straightened. “Well, if you and Buddy here ever wanna come by ’n’ visit, you know an old man’d like company.”
“Sure,” replied Danny. “See ya around.”
“Bye, David,” Papa Joe said, straightening his cap.
When they returned, his mom and Julia were on the floor beside the coffee table, playing cards. His mom’s voice had softened. “Join us for some gin rummy?” she asked.
“Nah. I’m gonna watch TV.”
“Okay. Maybe we’ll come down later with pop and chips.”
“Sure,” he said. He paused to take in the scene. They looked at ease in the peaceful living room. He was tempted to stay, but it felt too awkward to change his mind now. Buddy padded downstairs with him. Danny sat on the couch, and the dog dropped his head in the boy’s lap. Danny stroked Buddy’s head and said, “Hey Buddy-boy, I’m gonna be nicer to Mom and Jewel. It’s not their fault we’re stuck here.” But he didn’t know how to start.
Bargain hunters packed Value Mart. The signs advertised Thanksgiving Holiday Sale! Everything Reduced!
“We all need clothes,” Mom said. “David, your size is over there – see what you can find.”
He moved along racks jammed past capacity. Stray garments and hangers littered the floor. He knew he’d grown – his old clothes were short in the sleeves and legs now – but he hadn’t a clue what size to look for. While rummaging around, Danny spotted a familiar face. It was a girl from his art class – the very pretty girl whom he’d noticed, even though most of the time he was busy being invisible.
To his surprise, he liked art because he could keep his mind and his hands busy at the same time. Sometimes he forgot to be angry. The teacher, Mr. Thompson, was a reservoir of energy and ideas and praised students when the results were good and even when the results weren’t so good.
And Danny had heard him encouraging this girl. “You have talent – talent and inspiration,” he’d said. Danny had tried to peek at her work, but she sat three rows over.
Now here she was, her long hair, sleek and black, hanging loose over her shoulders. Her skin was the color of coffee, unmarred except for a scar running diagonally across the corner of her left eyebrow.
She stopped flipping hangers and caught his eye.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he replied.
She smiled, her eyes as deep as dark chocolate. “Art class, right?”
“Yeah. Art class.” He blushed, suddenly embarrassed at being in a thrift store, looking at other people’s abandoned clothes.
“Great store, huh? I come here all the time,” she said. “You?”
“Ah…my first time,” he replied, his tongue thick.
“You’re new here.”
“Yeah.”
“Where ya from?”
“Saskatoon.”
“Really? I have loads of relatives there.” She paused. “But you probably never went to the Flying Dust First Nation Reserve,” she said.
“No,” replied Danny. He rubbed his damp palms against his thighs.
Silence hung between them, and the girl started searching through the racks again. Danny noticed his mom approaching. He started to move away.
The girl looked up and smiled. “See ya.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
By the next day’s art class, Danny had decided he didn’t want to avoid her anymore. He watched out of the corner of his eye, and paid special attention when Mr. Thompson bent to look at her work.
“Nixxie, blending colors with oil pastels just creates mud. You have to layer your image – like this.” Mr. Thompson picked out some pastels and made a few marks on some scrap paper. “It just takes a little practice.”
“It looks so easy when you do it,” she replied.
“It’s just practice, Nixxie.” Mr. Thompson moved on.
Her name is Nixxie, thought Danny.
For the rest of the class, his eyes were on her almost as much as they were on his project. He copied her hand movements, but all he got was a brown smear.
“David, try layering the color. Don’t stir it around like a pot of soup,” the teacher suggested.
Across the room, Nixxie was listening.
Danny brought home two pieces of paper. One confirmed the appointment with Mr. Ishii – Wednesday, after lunch. The same time as art class.
The other was his report card.
Mom looked at it and then went upstairs to take a shower.
Danny’s mouth turned down as he entered the counselor’s office. He slouched, his baseball cap adjusted to shield his eyes.
“Cap off, please,” Mr. Ishii said mildly from behind the desk. “Please be on time in the future.”
Danny hesitated, then removed his cap, but didn’t look at the counselor.
“A few people have asked me to see you, but it looks like you don’t want to be here.”
“Damn right.”
Silence.
Mr. Ishii said, “You are entitled to your opinions, and in this room you are entitled to express those opinions freely, but not in objectionable language.” The counselor’s calm, even tone didn’t falter. Danny counted off the seconds in his head.
“You don’t seem happy here. Would you like to tell me about it?”
“No.”
“All right.” Mr. Ishii stood. “You can go now.”
Danny blinked and looked up.
“I’ll book another appointment in two weeks, but I’d prefer you come only if you want to. Otherwise, we’re both wasting our time.”
Danny left, still surprised at the meeting. He’s actually going to give me a choice? he wondered, as he walked to art class.
At supper, his mom said she’d been thinking a lot about a job. “So here’s what I came up with,” she said. “I’m going to start volunteering at Julia’s school. They always need volunteers – in the library, as teachers’ aides, organizing activities.” Her tone became more confident. “I am skilled and good at my work.”
“But how will that earn any money?” Julia asked.
“I noticed the school secretary is pregnant. She’ll start maternity leave at Christmas, and they’ll need a new secretary in January. I’m going to work, and smile, and be polite and reliable, and prove myself – and I’m going to get them to offer me the position without needing references.”
“And we’ll get off social assistance?”
“Yes. The pay will be reasonable, and we’d have benefits. Better than social assistance.”
Danny’s thoughts shot to all the things that could go wrong. “What if they don’t hire you? What if they’ve already got somebody?”
Mom looked hard at Danny. “So, what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for a job to land in my lap?” Her voice had an edge to it. “Do not
hing? Just coast through the rest of my life?”
She didn’t need to add the words, “Like you?”
Danny slapped down his uneaten burger. His cutlery clattered to the floor, but he didn’t stop to pick it up. He stomped up each stair and slammed the door behind him. He dropped onto the bed, flung his forearm across his closed eyes, and willed the tears away. After some minutes, he lifted his arm and looked at his watch.
Wednesday, October ninth. They hadn’t even been here two months, and it felt like two lifetimes.
October ninth. His dad’s forty-first birthday.
Susan had found some nicer clothes at the thrift shop, and now she looked good in slacks and a sweater that weren’t too big. While Danny was making toast, she said, “I’ll be taking the bus with Julia to and from the school every day now. Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”
Like we have anything to steal. He shrugged and said, “Okay.”
Julia flipped her hair into a ponytail and tugged playfully on her mother’s sleeve as they left.
Danny made sure there was food and water for the dog. “Sorry I can’t be home at lunch to let you out, Bud, but I’ll be as quick as I can after school. See ya later, Buddy-boy.”
He stepped outside into icy wind and rain. Autumn had passed, and the first sting of winter was in the air. Leaves lay in scattered piles and decayed in the gutters. By the time he got home from school, the weather had shifted to freezing rain. He took Buddy for a quick run around the condos, but they were both drenched and shivering by the time they got back. His wet second-hand jacket smelled of its last owner. Danny used it to towel off Buddy before abandoning it. Just then, his mom and Julia burst in, laughing as they shrugged off their dripping coats and fingered back their wet hair.
Danny was startled to see how much Julia looked like their mom. She was growing tall and willowy and had Mom’s hazel eyes.
“Hi,” Mom said cheerfully. “How was school?”
Danny glowered. “Cold and wet.”
Susan walked up to her son and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were shining, and her voice was strong. “Davey-boy, it feels so good to be back working. Doing things for – and with – other people. Getting ahead. Come along with us, David. Let’s be a family again.”
Danny’s eyes narrowed. “Family! Family! What kind of family are we?! Families have a past – and a future – what do we have? We’ve got nothing. Nothing but lies! We’re all just frauds, right, Susan?”
“David! I am your mother. You have a sister,” she said, pointing at Julia. “It doesn’t matter what the rest of the world calls us. We’re not frauds. We’re your family!”
He glared. “Yeah, and so is my dad!” He whirled away and took the stairs two at a time.
He shut himself in the bathroom. His bedroom door wouldn’t lock, and he needed privacy. He needed to know the world would stay out and leave him alone. He looked in the mirror. Over the past couple of months his shoulders had widened. There was more hair growing on his body and shadowing his upper lip. He examined his reflection. He had his mother’s hair color – but that was it. The shape of his face, his jaw line, the slant of his eyebrows – those were all his dad’s.
He was his father’s son.
He’d be his father’s son.
Chapter 14
The spider was back. Grandma stood beside Danny, calmly explaining that spiders were fascinating, no need to be afraid, almost all of them were harmless, in fact they were good to have around the house because they trapped flies. The spider swelled step by step, but Grandma didn’t seem to notice. She was chatting on about the uses for spider silk. As she talked, it advanced. He tried to yell but his mouth was spun shut with spider silk. He watched, wide-eyed and paralyzed, as the spider crept up behind her, lifted two of its legs, and started drawing silk threads out of its spinets. The spider began spinning the silk around and around her, starting at her feet, circling her legs, and pinning her arms at her sides. Grandma was still talking. “Spiders just have to do what nature programs them to do, no point in getting upset about it.” The spider lifted its spinets higher and higher, now encasing her shoulders, her neck, crushing her voice box. Danny shot up in the bed, clawing at his mouth, tearing his lips apart, trying to rip out the spider silk so he could warn her – “Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!”
The door flew open and his mom dashed into the room. She grabbed Danny and hugged him fiercely, cradling his sweaty head against her shoulder, absorbing his sobs, stroking his matted hair, rocking him back and forth, back and forth. And he squeezed her back as if holding on for his life.
Now that his mother was working, more of the household chores fell to Danny. He resented each bag of groceries he carried home. Every trudge through the wind and pelting snow made him angry. He refused to use the laundry basket to carry clothes to the laundry room, and stray socks stayed where they dropped in the common area.
He didn’t notice when the worry stone slipped out of his pocket and rolled under the washing machine.
Mr. Ishii tilted his head and gave Danny a courteous smile. “How are things today?” he asked, as he motioned Danny to sit.
“Fine.”
Mr. Ishii opened a file folder and placed a pad of paper and a pen in front of him.
“You still don’t seem very happy. Perhaps it would help if I asked you some questions.”
“So ask.”
“You did quite well at your old school, at least until Christmas, but your marks went down after that. You also stopped participating in sports. Did something happen at Christmas that you’d like to tell me about?”
Danny looked the counselor in the eye. “I can’t.”
Mr. Ishii met his gaze. “Is it the reason you’ve moved here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“All right then. I’ll assume something disrupted your life and it wasn’t pleasant. Let’s move forward. What about this school? Do you like it?”
“It sucks.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Everything’s too small,” he said, waving his arm. “The gym is a joke, the classrooms are crowded, there’s no equipment in the science rooms, the portables stink with the doors closed and freeze with the doors open – what kind of school is this, anyway?” he finished petulantly.
“It’s a converted elementary school,” Mr. Ishii answered matter-of-factly.
“So why are we here?”
“Well, it’s mainly financial issues that put us here. Demographics – you know what those are – how many children of what age are in the neighborhood, predicted future trends, money available to build new schools. Things out of your control.”
“So you mean, now that we’re poor, I get a second-rate education?”
Mr. Ishii steepled his fingers. “Do you think the teachers here are less competent or less dedicated than at your old school?”
Danny paused. He hadn’t really thought about his teachers. Were they that different? But even his mom had said this wasn’t as good a school.
“So,” said Mr. Ishii. “Everything here is an obstacle to your success?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah,” replied the counselor. Again he paused. “But in your old school your marks were already going down after Christmas.”
Danny pursed his lips.
“Perhaps then,” Mr. Ishii continued, “you’ll agree the way you feel now has more to do with what happened at Christmas, than the situation here at the school?”
No reply.
“Moving on, then. Have you made any friends?”
“No.”
Mr. Ishii slowly flexed his fingers. “I assume you had friends in your old school?”
“Yeah.”
“Are the students different here?”
Danny snorted. “Yeah.”
“Can you tell me how?”
“They don’t do the things I used to do with my friends.”
“Such as?”
“They don�
�t go bike riding. We never go to each other’s houses. There’s no money to go to movies. It’s a pain to go anywhere on the bus.”
“Oh. So, it’s actually because they’re poor?”
Danny rubbed his thumbnail along the seam of his jeans.
“Also something that’s not in your control, David.”
Danny squirmed.
“So,” said the counselor, “if I can summarize. Something last Christmas changed your circumstances, and you’re resentful and angry about it. Would you agree?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Well, I can see that’s true. But, we’re here now, and where do we go from here?”
“I dunno.”
A long pause. “Would you like to meet again?”
Danny didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no.
“I’ll book another appointment.”
Danny left without saying good-bye. Mr. Ishii bent over his desk to make some notes.
The next day in art class, Danny asked to be moved closer to the window. “The light over here isn’t very good,” he told Mr. Thompson. “I think I’d do better over there.”
“Certainly, if you think it would help,” the teacher replied.
The move put him beside Nixxie.
He caught her looking at him, and she noticed him looking at her. A dropped pastel was an excuse to move closer.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey. You really do have talent,” he said, looking at her paper.
“Thanks,” she replied with a smile.
“What’re you doing after school?”
“Nuthin’ much.”
“Wanna go over to the mall for ice cream?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay,” he said, and they passed the rest of the class in nervous silence.
The day dragged, but when the bell rang, he hustled to Nixxie’s home room, where he tried to look relaxed and casual as he leaned against the wall and waited.
“What would you like?” he asked as they entered the store.
“An ice-cream sandwich.”
“Wanna stay inside or go outside?” he asked.
The Second Trial Page 17