by Jamie Sumner
“Oh, she knows,” Vij says as he sits back and gives me an unfamiliar look. It takes me a second to realize it’s surprise and maybe a little awe. This might be the first time ever that I’ve managed to impress my cousin. I fight back a grin.
Micah sighs and begins to doodle a curling tree on the top of his math homework. “I wonder what my trash says about me?”
* * *
When Aunt Soniah picks us up, she gives me a quick kiss and asks Vij how newspaper went. He says it was great and we’re working on a story about the new water bottle fill-up stations. He tells it so smoothly, I forget we weren’t in Mrs. Jacobsen’s room letting Emilia boss us around for the last hour.
They stay for dinner. Actually, Aunt Soniah brings dinner: Dad’s favorite—meatball soup with extra meatballs. But Dad never shows and Uncle Dave’s on a business trip, so it’s just the moms and the cousins. While Mom hunts for bowls, I hear her tell Aunt Soniah, “His behavior is inexcusable. I’m not going to apologize for him. If he gets here in time, he can do it himself.” I shrink back from the doorway. Mom would never say all that in front of me. Whenever I try to get one of them to side with me, they always say, “We’re a team.” Aunt Soniah clucks her tongue and doesn’t ask more. That’s how our family works. You deal with your drama on your own terms, but call if you need backup. By the time they come to the table with steaming bowls of meatball soup—“meatbowls” Vij calls them—they are both calm and smiling. I knew Mom was just as mad as I was about Dad never showing up when he says he will. I should be happy I’m right and Mom is on my side, but the victory feels empty.
Adra, Vij’s eight-year-old little sister, sits next to me and chatters all through dinner about umlauts, the double dots you sometimes see over vowels, because her new best friend in third grade is named Zoë. Adra is all knees and elbows, and she wears glasses with the band around the back, like Micah. But the way she owns her nerdiness is most impressive. She’s also already as tall as me.
“I have an announcement,” Mom tells us after dinner over a round of Thin Mints from the freezer.
Aunt Soniah pauses in her sweep of invisible crumbs off the table into her palm.
Mom smiles at us. “I’m starting my practice back up.”
“Of course you are,” Aunt Soniah says with an approving nod. If she were in charge, she’d already have the name plate for the door: DR. MARION BARNES-O’CONNELL.
“Here’s the catch. There’s no affordable rental space. So”—Mom shoots me a look I can’t read—“I’m going to practice right here.”
“Here where?” I ask, spraying cookie crumbs all over the table. A few land on Vij’s arm.
He rubs them off on my shoulder.
“Vijay!” Aunt Soniah shouts.
He smiles sweetly at his mother.
“Chew, then speak, Hugo,” Mom says.
I swish some milk around in my mouth and then point at her. “Explain.”
“I’m going to see clients right here at home. I’ll start with couples counseling for now. Father Joseph at St. Stephen’s says there’re plenty of parishioners who could use it.”
“I bet he did.” Aunt Soniah snorts into her tea. From what Vij has said, Father Joseph is notorious for sharing other people’s business. He’s the worst gossip in the church.
“So these clients would be in our living room confessing all their secrets while we’re, like, eating breakfast?”
“No, of course not, Hugo.” Mom’s starting to sound annoyed, like I’m ruining her plan by asking a simple and obvious question.
“I’d see them while you’re at school.”
“Well that sounds… weird,” I say, because it does. Strangers in our house, using our bathroom and staring at our family pictures on the walls, if we ever get around to putting any up.
“I think that’s smart,” Aunt Soniah adds.
“It’s something, at least.” Mom crosses her arms. Does no one in this house care what I think?
While the moms keep talking, Vij, who’s been quieter than normal all night, leans over and whispers, “I have an idea.”
Chapter Four The Garbologist
Vij won’t tell me his idea until lunch on Monday.
“I’m waiting for the right audience,” he explains before first period, and after second, and during third, when I ask him again.
Emilia hasn’t forgiven us for forcing her to cancel the Paw Print meeting last week, but at least she’s in a better mood now that Mrs. Jacobsen let her reschedule it for today. She actually puts her phone down and says hello when I get to the table at lunch. I’ve been here long enough now that I have a spot—facing the long windows with Vij on my left and Micah on my right. I am last to the table today and I can’t lie, it’s nice to see that little gap open and waiting for me.
I am folding a slice of pizza in half when Vij dumps a brown paper bag in front of me.
“I thought we agreed I would never brown-bag it again,” I say through a mouthful of coldish cheese. It’s not the best pizza in the world, but at least it’s not heart shaped.
“We did, and I didn’t.” He points to his tray filled with three chocolate milks and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. His mom would kill him if she saw that. “This,” he says, nudging the bag toward me, “is an experiment.”
I set the pizza down and it unfolds slowly, like a tired butterfly. Jack leans over the table and tries to grab the bag. Micah gets to it first and helpfully holds it out to me. Even Emilia looks mildly curious in between bites of tofu nuggets.
“You know you want to, man,” Vij says, taking the bag from Micah and slowly opening the top.
“No, I don’t. I want to enjoy my cold pizza.”
His smile holds all his old dares: jumping off the bridge over Cherry Creek, hiding out in the abandoned house by the gas station, sneaking out after dark to go night-sledding. I am equal parts terrified and excited, or maybe they’re the same thing.
He tips the bag over so the contents spill across the table.
“Ummm,” Gray says, picking up an eraser shaped like a strawberry. He sniffs it appreciatively. “Nice.”
“I found a banana one!” Micah cheers and holds it out for Gray and Jack to smell, which they do. I stare at the pile and then back up at Vij’s face and then back down at the pile that holds so much more than erasers.
“Vij, is this someone’s trash?”
He nods and holds out his fist for a bump.
I shake my head. The garbology thing was a one-time deal. I already feel a little bad over what I said about Mr. Wahl, even if he is a crow. And if anyone else ever found out that the new kid digs around in people’s trash, I’m done for. Vij is still holding out his fist.
“That’s somebody’s garbage? Get that away from my food.” Emilia scoots to the far edge of her seat, dragging her lunch with her.
“Come on, Em,” Vij says. “We all know tofu’s not food.”
“I’m not doing it, Vij,” I say. “Where’d you get this anyway?”
“If I tell you, that’s cheating.” He lowers his fist and spreads the rest of the trash out so nothing overlaps. At least there’s nothing actively rotting or crawling toward me in the pile. I try to remember all those dares and if I’d ever successfully said no.
“If I do it just this once”—I lean forward—“you have to promise this will be the only time.”
“Oh, come on, what if—”
“I mean it, Vij. I’m not going to be the creepy kid in love with garbage.” As if I didn’t have enough bully-magnetism already.
“It’s not creepy. It’s cool!” Vij argues. He used “cool” in reference to me. It has its intended effect.
“Swear this is the only time.”
I hold out my hand. He sighs and slaps it. “I swear. Now do your thing.”
I stare at the mystery trash, trying to figure out where to start. My knees bounce under the table. Even if it’s a terrible idea, I’m excited. Who doesn’t love a good puzzle?
There ar
e six fruit-shaped erasers—lemon, cherry, strawberry, banana, orange, and watermelon—the kind you’d get all together in a pack. I put them in their own little pile.
“Okay, this has to be from someone younger than us.”
“Obviously,” Gray says, even as he sneaks another sniff of the cherry one.
“It could be either a girl or a guy.”
Emilia smirks from her far corner of the table. “Fruit does tend to be non-gender-specific.”
“And?” Vij says, unimpressed.
I remember something Mom once told me about motives. You make different choices depending on what you value. It’s why she makes our whole family write our top three priorities every year on January 1 instead of New Year’s resolutions like normal people.
“It’s not the what that matters. It’s the why,” I say, mostly to myself. Emilia picks up her phone, and Jack and Gray start fighting over a pack of Oreos. I’m already losing my audience.
“So, okay.” I cup the erasers in my hand. “No kid would throw away perfectly good smelly erasers, right? There’s either something wrong with the erasers or…” I look around at some of the other items on the table. My eye catches on a lined sheet of notebook paper. I pull it toward me. The word “syllabicate” is written out half a dozen times.
Jack squints at the paper. “What does syllabl… syllac… whatever mean?”
“It’s the process of dividing a word into syllables,” Emilia explains. So she is still listening. And also, of course she knows what that means.
“Right, so obviously this person is supersmart, or pretends to be,” I say, and Emilia shoots me a look. “I think they threw away the fruit erasers because they were embarrassed of them. Maybe they thought they were silly?”
“And?” Vij says, still unimpressed. Garbology is both science and art. It’s guesswork based on the information given. It’s a hypothesis, not a diagnosis. What does he expect me to do, give him a name, weight, and eye color?
“And…” I study the rest: an empty tube of bubble gum toothpaste rolled all the way up into a tiny rectangle so that not a single squirt is left, a bunch of tissues (gross), a neon orange Post-it Note with a pretty great drawing of a dragon on it that has been mostly scratched out. I pull the Post-it toward me. “And this person is picky about everything.” I will not look at Emilia. I will not. I trace the six syllabicates in a row with my finger. “If it’s not perfect or useful, it goes in the trash. So.” I hold up my hand and count off: “Perfectionist. Diligent. Probably younger. Possibly artsy but doesn’t pursue it. Values smarts above all else. And”—I pick up the erasers again—“needs to go play outside more.”
Everyone is staring at me. Like staring staring. My stomach flips over. Did I overshoot and land all the way into the weird zone? “Or maybe it’s just a kid who likes to doodle.”
But Vij just spins the banana eraser on the table before saying, “Wow, my sister is a total nut-job.”
“This is Adra’s?”
That’s some stressed-out garbage for an eight-year-old. I hope I’m wrong about what it means.
“So?” Vij turns to everyone else. “Creepy or cool?”
Micah and Jack and Gray all vote cool. Emilia shrugs. “Ninety percent cool. Ten percent creepy.”
Vij shouts, “Hugo the Garbologist!” and a few heads turn. Pleaseohpleaseohplease don’t let this end up on Snapchat. I want to slide bonelessly under the table.
“Vij, no. I told you, just this once,” I whisper.
“Come on, Hugo!” He thumps me on the shoulder. “This is your superpower. You can look at a person’s trash and see into their soul. How can you not want to use it?”
I’ve always wanted a superpower. Vij sees me wavering.
“We could find out tons of stuff about anyone we want!”
“And do what with it?” Emilia asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I add because I want Emilia to forget the ten percent creepy and be on my side.
Vij rolls his eyes like this should be obvious. “This place is both totally boring but also full of people.”
“So?”
“So, man, you could help us learn more about them.” He stands up and puts his hand on his chest like he’s saying the Pledge of Allegiance. “We can educate ourselves about our peers so as to better pursue empathy and inclusion.” He absolutely rehearsed that at home.
Emilia tilts her head, considering. But I’m no fool. That’s way too nice a motive for Vij.
“What do you get out of it?” I ask.
“Me?” Total innocent face. He pretends to pause and think about it. “I get to make this place a little more exciting.”
“I think this place is plenty exciting!” Micah remarks. I agree. I just found a nice comfy spot midlevel in the social stratosphere. I don’t want any attention drawn to me that might send me plummeting to the bottom.
This is basically Vij’s way of passing the time that he can’t spend on the mountain. He’ll get to find out people’s secrets and wishes and embarrassing quirks. He doesn’t care about empathy. He wants reality TV. But if done correctly, and quietly and incognito, it could be used for good. I study Adra’s scribbled-over dragon. What if I could drop hints that she should give the dictionary a break and take an art class? Wouldn’t that be helping? What if I could do that for other people too?
I don’t officially agree to anything, even though Vij begs. By the end of lunch, I find myself alone for a second, throwing away my half-eaten pizza in the big gray trash can as everybody races to class. Only then do I let myself think the other thing that I would never admit to anyone: I did feel a tiny bit cool after reading Adra’s trash. It was the look on all their faces, even Emilia’s. I had their attention and it wasn’t for being small or the new kid. I was impressive for the first time in my life. How can I say no to that?
Chapter Five The Doctor Will See You Now
Mrs. Jacobsen’s room feels different after school—like walking into church on a Tuesday. Everything looks the same, but the vibe is off.
Mrs. Jacobsen, however, is exactly in character. Once we file in (I’m the last one), she fishes her glasses out of her hair and looks us over like melons she’d like to thump. Emilia isn’t the only one upset that our first newspaper meeting was canceled.
“Right,” she says finally after a long pause in which Emilia has already raised and lowered her hand three times. “Emilia is our editor-in-chief, as I’m sure you know. But because this is our first go-round with a newsletter, I think we need to establish the roles and responsibilities of everyone in the room.”
“Wait,” I say, before remembering to raise my hand. Mrs. Jacobsen lets me go ahead anyway. “I thought this was a newspaper.”
“Well, you have been mis— or perhaps, underinformed. We will run our inaugural edition of the Paw Print, our newsletter, the first week in October under Ms. Costa’s initiative.” She nods toward Emilia.
“You can’t call it a newspaper unless it’s longer than one page,” Vij explains helpfully. Emilia glares at him.
“Not to worry, Hugo. We are off to a good start,” Mrs. Jacobsen says with the same smile she gave me after handing back my first essay. Not very reassuring, as it was a C-. “Jack and Gray are our photographers.”
Gray holds up a sleek digital camera. “Our parents got us these for our birthday this summer.” Jack raises a separate lens and waves it around like a trophy. It’s longer than my arm. I don’t think I’d know how to use a camera that wasn’t part of my phone.
“And Vij is our editorials writer and manager of the monthly calendar,” Mrs. Jacobsen continues.
I raise my eyebrows at Vij. That seems like a thousand times more responsibility than he should ever be handed. He shrugs.
Micah turns a laptop toward me that shows blank white boxes with HEADER in big bold letters above them, and squished below those are a bunch of other boxes filled with the word “paragraph” over and over again in a tiny font. “It’s a design template,” he explains
, which explains nothing at all. “I’m in charge of layout.”
“And I’m in charge of all of you,” Emilia says, oozing responsibility. She hands out the assignments for the day.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask Mrs. Jacobsen, who is already retreating to her desk. She must have agreed to be the faculty advisor on the condition that she could stay in her room and do whatever English teachers do once the school day is over. Read Jane Austen? Play Scrabble?
“You help Vij write the editorials and do interviews,” Emilia orders from the other side of the room.
“You can do whatever you’d like to do, Hugo. This is a volunteer position,” Mrs. Jacobsen reminds Emilia and then asks me, “Do you ever read the newspaper at home?”
I read current events on my phone because we have to write about them for history class, but I don’t think that’s what she means. Does anybody actually read the newspaper anymore? The only part I like is the crossword. I’ve been doing the Saturday puzzle with my parents for as long as I can remember. Before I could even read, they’d let me cross off the clues after they’d completed them. I’m pretty decent now. Dad gets geography and sports. Mom takes science and literature. I focus solely on pop culture. There are a decent amount of DC and Marvel movie references these days.
All of this floats through my head, and by the time I realize I’ve been sitting here with my mouth half open without actually giving Mrs. Jacobsen an answer, she’s already moved on.
“Why don’t you follow Vij around on his assignment and have a think on it, and we’ll go from there, hmm?” she says, waving us away.
I’m almost out the door when Emilia grabs me by the elbow. Her face is so close to mine, our noses almost touch. I take a slow, cautious step back, like you do with bears and other wild animals.
“Hugo, listen. I know you’re only here because of Vij and I know Vij is only here because his mom made him and I know Jack and Gray are here because soccer season hasn’t started and, well, I’m not sure why Micah is here, but I really, really need you to take this seriously, okay?”