You Can't Sit With Us

by Nancy Rue

  I blinked several times until I was sure Mrs. Fickus thought I had stones in my eyes. Could I be hearing this right? On a day when everything else was all knotted up and bad, something good was happening to me?

  “Is that a yes?” she said, drawing the yes out into about five syllables.

  “Yes!” I said.

  “All right then. Go on down to the library. You’re expected.” She squeezed the folder tighter. “And again, Ginger, I’m sorry I misjudged you. You’re a bright girl. Don’t hide that.”

  I might have to cross that off my list of Things Nobody Knows About Me.

  As I made my way downstairs, I tried to remember the librarian. She was kind of a cranky lady, although maybe that was because she was going to have a baby. I read that in a book once. It didn’t matter. As long as I was away from Those Girls and I didn’t have to worry about the Tribelet and I could do a special project all by myself, the librarian could be the Witch-king of Angmar for all I cared.

  When I got to the library, a man met me at the double glass doors. He had gray hair pulled back into a ponytail and wrinkled pants, and he was wearing clunky sandals. If he’d had a pointy hat and a long robe, he would’ve been identical to Gandalf. I liked him right away and wished he was one of my teachers. Like instead of Coach Zabriski.

  When he nodded at me with a light in his eyes that were just a shade bluer than gray, I thought he might possibly be as cool as Mr. V. Only in a way more serious way. I found myself hoping that he wouldn’t smile and spoil it.

  “Are you Ginger?” he said.

  I loved his voice too. It was kind of raspy, like he could probably do a really good imitation of Donald Duck.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’m Mr. Devon.”

  “Are you a teacher?” I said.

  The skin around his eyes crinkled into fans. “No. I’m the new librarian.”

  “A boy librarian?” I said.

  “A girl scholar?” he said.

  I expected to get that blotchy feeling, but I saw right away that he wasn’t making fun of me.

  “I just never met one before,” I said.

  “I have met girl scholars before,” he said. “But never one as charming as you. Shall we?”

  He wafted his hand—characters in fantasies were always wafting, so I knew what that was—and I followed where it led, past a set of shelves to a round table. A boy was already sitting there.

  “Ginger, I give you Colin Quillin. Colin, my boy, this is Ginger.”

  The kid looked up at me and smiled with half his mouth. He had silky blond hair that fell over one eye so he had to jerk his head to get it out of the way to see me through his round glasses. His skin was as pale as Winnie’s, and even sitting down, he was taller than most sixth-grade boys.

  “A gentleman stands up when a lady enters the room,” Mr. Devon said.

  It seemed to take Colin a minute to realize Mr. Devon was talking to him. He pushed the chair back, only it didn’t slide on the carpet and he almost fell backward, and when he did stand up, his feet got tangled up. I could see why. They were huge. Sort of like Big Bird’s.

  “A handshake would be appropriate,” Mr. Devon said.

  I stuck my hand out and Colin stuck out his and they missed each other and it took us two more tries to finally get them together. Why they didn’t slide off one another, I had no idea. His were as sweaty and slippery as mine.

  Somehow, we got into our chairs, and Mr. Devon sat across from us with his hands folded. He had long fingers with tiny tufts of dark hair on the lower part of them, and he wore a ring with a design I recognized.

  “That’s a Celtic knot,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “Colin and I were just discussing that. He appreciates the Celts as well.”

  I looked at Colin and he looked at me and we both looked away.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” Mr. Devon said. “Each of you will work with me doing a project about your favorite book of all time.” He held up his index finger. “As long as that book has depth and is well written. We are talking about good literature here. I’ll give you some time to think about it—”

  “The Lord of the Rings!” I blurted out, my bullhorn fully operational.

  But I wasn’t the only one. Colin said the same thing. And just as loud.

  “Really?” I said to Colin.

  “Seriously?” he said to me.

  “Brilliant!” Mr. Devon said to both of us.

  It was actually. I had never met anybody my age who had even read it. Jackson thought it was lame, and I never brought it up with anyone outside the family. Even though I started my journey with it in fourth grade.

  “Then may I make a suggestion?” Mr. Devon said.

  “Yes, sir,” Colin said.

  Yes, sir. I liked that. I might start saying it.

  “I’d like to propose that you do this project together rather than separately.”

  It didn’t really sound like a question, so I nodded right away. Colin was slower, but he didn’t look like he was going to throw up or anything when he said, “That makes sense.”

  “Good then,” Mr. Devon said.

  I looked at Colin. He looked at me. I watched his pale skin turn pink from his neck all the way up to his hair follicles. My own blotches were so hot, I almost searched for a fire extinguisher.

  “It’s settled.” Mr. Devon gave a satisfied nod. “Now, will you each take out paper and pencil and write down why The Lord of the Rings is your favorite book?”

  “How long can it be?” I said.

  His lips twitched. “No more than the length of the trilogy itself.”

  Colin kind of laughed, and we sneaked another look at each other and both turned red again. I was going to have to bring a fan next time.

  I wrote fast and filled up two and a half pages and only stopped then because my hand was hurting. Mr. Devon told me I could browse around the library while he read it.

  “May I use a computer?” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  I glanced at the clock. There was just enough time for me to get on my e-mail and write to Tori. Maybe it was because I’d forgotten about the whole situation for the last half hour that my mind wasn’t jumbled like our kitchen junk drawer now. Kylie said I couldn’t hang out with my Tribelet, but she didn’t say I couldn’t e-mail them, and I couldn’t just let them think I didn’t like them anymore. Not after all they did for me.

  I remembered how to get on, and I started right in.

  Dear Tori,

  I hope you guys don’t think I hate—

  No, they wouldn’t think that.

  I deleted that part and started again.

  I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’m acting weird, like I don’t want to be with you. I do. It’s just that—

  “You get to play on the computers?”

  I jerked my face up to look at Kylie who was standing behind the screen, staring straight at me. My fingers fumbled over the keys, and I signed out.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She waved a hall pass at me. “I came down here to check out a book and I saw you and I wanted to say . . .”

  She glanced around and moved to squat beside me. I was so stiff and tight, I was afraid I’d crack.

  “I wanted to say that if you keep doing what you’re doing, we won’t tell any more about your mother.”

  “You mean any more lies?” I whispered back before I could stop myself.

  Kylie’s eyebrows went up. Ophelia said she waxed them. I didn’t care if she completely shaved them off right now.

  “How do you know they’re lies?” she said. “You told us yourself you didn’t know how the accident happened or who she was with. But we can find out stuff like that.”

  “How?” I said.

  Kylie looked at the computer screen. “You can find out anything on the Internet. Weren’t you looking up something just now?”

  “No,” I said. “I was writing an e-mail.”

  As
soon as it was out of my mouth, I wanted to flush myself down the nearest toilet. Why did I tell her that? Was I ever going to be able to stop everything I thought from blaring out of me?

  “Sorry I interrupted you,” Kylie said. “Sign back on.”

  “I’m done,” I said.

  “I feel bad now. Sign back on, seriously.” She leaned against me like I was her new BFF. “I’m trying to be nice.”

  No wonder she could get people to do whatever she wanted them to do. All she wanted right now was to see who I was writing to. But I’d deleted it, and besides, I didn’t feel like getting into a fight I wasn’t going to win.

  Still, my fingers shook as I typed in my password and got back to my e-mail account. I had no new messages and nothing in my out-box.

  “I feel better now,” Kylie said. “Go ahead and write. Or you could do it when you get home. Right after school.”

  She looked straight into my eyes and then she stood up and walked away. Message delivered.

  We had a test in Spanish class, so I couldn’t talk to anybody, which was a relief. As soon as the bell rang, I headed straight for my locker. I could be halfway home before either Those Girls or the Tribelet got out of the Spanish room.

  But I wasn’t fast enough. I just finished cramming all my books into my backpack and slamming my locker door when a shadow fell over me. I looked up at Mitch. She scowled down at me. Nobody could scowl like Mitch Iann.

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  “Not ’til we talk,” she said. Well, growled.

  “No, really.”

  I darted around her. She followed me to the end of the locker hall and got past me, stopping me in the corner just before the steps. Unless I wanted to crawl between her legs, I was trapped.

  “We had a meeting at lunch,” she said.

  “Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

  “We said if you didn’t want our help anymore, we would back off.” Mitch crossed her arms so her hands went into the opposite armpits. “But we don’t get why you won’t tell us to our face.”

  Because I can’t!

  That’s what I wanted to shout until it echoed through the stairwell. But all I could say was, “Sorry.”

  “Not good enough,” Mitch said. “Not for me.”

  “Sor—”

  “It would be one thing if you just wanted to stand up for yourself now, like Lydia said you’d have to eventually do, back when we first started this.” Mitch gave one of her grunts. “But that’s not what you’re doin’, is it?”

  No! I was protecting my dad and my brother.

  Wait. Mitch would get that, right? She punched somebody out for her brother. Maybe if I told her . . .

  “What’s this about?”

  I wrenched my neck to look down the stairs where Mr. Jett was coming up. He had one of those shiny bald heads with black fringe around the edges that matched his toothbrush mustache. It was his eyes behind his glasses that made me think of a Doberman. That and his voice that was like a warning bark. All the time.

  He reached us on the landing and pierced those eyes into Mitch. “You giving her a hard time? We have rules against that around here now.”

  “I was just talkin’ to her,” Mitch said, in a voice so low I almost had to read her lips to know what she was saying.

  “Is that right?” Mr. Jett said to me.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “You don’t have to run scared anymore.”

  “I’m not scared. Honest.”

  Mr. Jett nodded, but he didn’t look like he was convinced.

  “Why don’t you move on along?” he said to Mitch. And then he stared at her until she grunted silently—I could see it in her neck—and went down the steps.

  Mr. Jett waited until she disappeared below before he said, “Anything you want to tell me now?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “We really were just talking. About something serious.”

  “Is that why she looked like she was about to deck you?”

  “She wasn’t! Mitch wouldn’t do that!”

  “All right. Don’t get all worked up.”

  Yeah, well, it was too late for that. My stomach was in a Celtic knot. Could this man go away so I could go after Mitch and tell her because she was the only person who would understand?

  “Can I please go?” I said.

  Mr. Jett looked like he was going to start a whole lecture, but just then a locker slammed above us and somebody shrieked. It was just a sixth-grader, but Mr. Jett took off two steps at a time, yelling, “What’s going on up here?”

  I took off down the steps and stitched my way through the crowd in the hall, jumping up every couple of steps to try to see Mitch. I finally spotted her spiky head at the front door, and I bullhorned, “Mitch! Wait up!”

  “Are you serious?” someone said right behind me.

  I shouldn’t have turned around to answer Heidi. I should have kept going. I knew right then I should.

  But Heidi wrapped her fingers around my wrist and held on, all the time smiling in that plastic way that reminded me of Mr. Potato Head so nobody would know she was about to say something mean. She put her goopy lips close to my ear.

  “You were going to talk to Michelle?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Kylie’s going to hear about this.”

  She let go of me, and turned with a flip of her streaky hair that was too thin to swing like Kylie’s did, and melted into the throng of kids headed the other way. Me, I just found the wall and pressed against it until the hall was empty. Then I walked home, without dreaming of being rich in the Gold Rush days. That kind of good thing never happened to me.

  Chapter Five

  On Saturday morning, I remembered that one good thing had happened to me that week, so I spent most of the weekend rereading my favorite parts of The Lord of the Rings to be ready for Colin and Mr. Devon on Monday.

  As always, sitting on my Hobbit Seat, sinking into my favorite book made me want to be brave like Frodo, even though he was scared half to death. Even when he and Sam got separated from the Fellowship, they kept going, kept trying to get to Mordor where they could destroy the ring that made everybody evil. They didn’t always have Gandalf to guide them, just the way I didn’t have Lydia right now, so they had to trust other people to give them information.

  Like the creature Gollum himself.

  That, of course, made me think of Jackson, and then it dawned on me. Just because I couldn’t talk about the accident to Dad didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to him. Dad always told him stuff he didn’t tell me, even though he was only a year and a half older. Sure, Jackson would go into his cave again, but Grandma wouldn’t take us away because of that.

  I waited until after church Sunday when Dad went out to buy us a grill. Jackson was in his room, but his door was halfway open and he didn’t have his ears blocked off with headphones or his face in a screen. He was sitting in the middle of his bed with a sketch pad, and since he didn’t look like he wanted to pinch somebody’s head off, I stepped inside.

  “Yeah, don’t bother to knock,” he said, without looking up.

  I glanced around for somewhere to sit down, but he had stuff on the chair, the bed, even the floor. It always looked like robbers had come in and ransacked the place. I took a chance and perched on the corner of the bed. He stared at it as if I had just dumped poison on his mattress.

  “Is this okay?” I said.

  “Whatever. Did you want something or did you just come in here to bug me?”

  “I want to ask you a question.”

  “So ask it. Wait.” He tapped the pad with his pencil. “You want to know if I’m drawing this for my girlfriend. The answer is yes. It’s my marriage proposal.”

  He wasn’t in a bad mood. Maybe we could have an actual conversation.

  “You could have a girlfriend,” I said. “You’re not that ugly.”

  Jackson finally looked at me, his whole face twisted into a question mark. I sometimes thought the question mark was actually
shaped the way it was because of the look Jackson gave me when he thought I was nuts.

  “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

  “Do you know what happened in mom’s accident?”

  Jackson got really still. The whole room did. The only thing that moved was his Adam’s apple going up and down in his thin neck.

  “She died,” he said.

  “I know, but why? Was it the person’s fault that was driving?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I said I don’t know!”

  I slid off the bed. Jackson tossed his sketch pad aside and leaned over to look at me on the floor.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said in a tight voice. “So stop asking questions.”

  “But I need to know.”

  “No, you don’t. She’s gone. We gotta move on.” His face was white and his lips were almost blue. “Close the door on your way out.”

  I struggled to my feet, but I couldn’t leave. It was like my feet were Velcroed to the rug. “If you ever find out, will you tell me?”

  “Go.”

  “But I need—”

  “There’s two letters in that word. G. And O. Which one don’t you understand?”

  His voice was shaking hard, like he was going to cry in a minute and then I would start bawling and then—

  “Hey.”

  I stopped in the doorway and looked back at him.

  “Don’t ask Dad. He’s finally acting okay, and if you bring it up, he’ll go back to like he was. You have to swear.”

  He really was going to cry. That was the only reason I said, “Okay. I swear.”

  That was it then. I couldn’t get the truth to fight Those Girls with. I couldn’t upset Dad or my brother. I couldn’t go to Mitch or any of the rest of the Tribelet because every way I tried, Kylie knew about it. The only thing I could do was not make her mad.

  So Monday morning, March 16, I told myself all the way to school that I would do whatever she wanted until . . . until when? How long was this going to go on?

  A huge wave of something dark washed over me, just as I pushed through the front doors of the school. The first thing I saw was the Code, hanging on the wall. I had put so much hope into it. Now I wasn’t sure it did any good at all.