The Puzzle Master

by Heather Spiva

  Marshall opened the chips and grabbed the empty boxes from the other puzzles. He began to put edge pieces into one box. But as he went through the pile, pieces tumbled onto the floor, and scattered everywhere. He decided to separate colors too. All the golden grasses into one, the red barns in another, the trees in another, the blue sky in another. But he ran out of empty boxes. The air conditioning unit rattled in the corner.

  Marshall wished Iris was here. Doing a puzzle by himself was kind of like swimming alone. There wasn’t anyone else to show off to, or to talk to, and though he didn’t want to admit it, lonely too.

  Marshall looked at the wall. The puzzle of the lighthouse was up. He gasped. How hadn’t he noticed that before? He turned around. The cat puzzle and the stallion puzzle were on different parts of the wall too. She’d put them up!

  He smiled and ran his fingers over the pieces. They were tight and fitting, and perfectly matched. The cats stared back at him, and seemed as if they could jump out of the picture and run around him, purring as they went. He already had a story in his mind about how they could take care of the cats in the room, and keep them in there. When Iris and he left for home, they’d let them out of the room so they could roam the store at night and protect it from thieves and mice. They could even use the basket the cats were sitting in to store the other pieces of the big puzzle.

  But Iris wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same.

  Marshall went back to the puzzle pieces and tried to concentrate on finding the rest of the edge pieces. Out of ten thousand pieces, there were probably three hundred edge pieces. It could take all night to put it together.

  But then he realized that that was exactly what he needed to do. Stay as long as he could to get the perimeter set up. When Iris came back, they’d be ready to go—each ready to get their quota of fifty connections a day. He’d have to reconfigure the numbers when she came back. They were missing out on several days of hundreds of connections. They might have to stay late, every night, just to finish it on time for Christmas.

  But he knew they would do it. It was a goal, a promise they had to keep to themselves as friends: get the big one done before Christmas.

  Marshall stared at the stallion picture. He saw a note attached to it and ran over. Was he blind? It was right there the whole time.

  Marshall’s name was on it. He carefully peeled it off of the puzzle, not trusting the glue job to hold, and opened it.

  Marshall,

  I’m sorry I can’t be there today. I finished hanging the puzzles on the wall last night. Do you like it? If you don’t, we can move them later. I thought about you and me riding on those stallions. Wouldn’t that be so much fun? We could be as free as the horses, not tied to anything; no cancer, no asthma, and we could run free.

  See you soon. You better not finish the puzzle before I get back.

  -Iris

  PS. I’ll be doing my research on cancer while I’m at the hospital, so don’t be surprised if I’ve found the cure for all the cancers when I return.

  Marshall laughed. She was a riot. Really. She made him laugh the way a funny movie could.

  He folded up the note and tucked it behind the puzzle picture. He finished finding all the edge pieces, and went through the mountainous pile again to be sure. And then he headed home for dinner, thinking about how glad he was it was Monday. Dad would be home this week.

  Maybe they could go fishing.

  Chapter 9: Now Everyone Knows

  Iris wasn’t back on Tuesday. She wasn’t even back on Wednesday. So Marshall had to ignore the questions and how he felt, particularly when Mrs. Melton asked him in Math class—Iris’ favorite subject—where she was.

  “I don’t know,” he had said. Everyone looked to see his face and what other juicy information he might tell them. He looked straight ahead; straight to the blackboard where the equation of the Pythagorean Theorem was written in large print. She wanted that equation melded into their brains apparently.

  Marshall disliked math. He preferred to be down by the river, or reading a comic book. Anything but geometry or algebra. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t figure out, he was forced to learn this stuff. And Mrs. Melton loved telling them about it all in a way that only a brainiac could understand.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Hasn’t her uncle called the school about it?” Marshall asked. He really didn’t want to go into detail about her problem, especially not in front of the whole class, and even more especially not in front of the three amigos. Although, in Math class, it was only the two amigos. Greg was in a different class.

  The cancer was a secret between the three of them, or at least with the office staff too. Had Luke not told Mrs. Melton what the problem was?

  “He has called,” she said. Mrs. Melton had short gray hair and tiny glasses so that she looked like a mouse standing on her two hind legs. “You and she seem to spend quite a bit of time together.” A couple low whistles erupted from the back, presumably Michael and Co.

  “Yes Mrs. Melton.” Marshall kept staring straight ahead. This was getting worse by the second.

  “You sure you don’t know where she is?”

  Marshall felt a flush creep up his cheeks. His breathing became raspy and shallow. His inhaler was there, but he didn’t want to use it. Not now; not in front of everyone who had practically forgotten that he even had asthma.

  But he didn’t have to think any more about it because Justin whispered something to Michael and laughed out loud, which distracted her enough to forget about him. Marshall felt his breathing return to normal, and kept his head low. He sunk into his seat. No one would ask him about it again. He was done talking about Iris with anyone else other than her.

  When school let out, Marshall headed over to the store. He only had an hour there today because he had to be home early. His mother had had enough of him being at Luke’s more than at home, and insisted he had to be home by four. So that was it. And this time he couldn’t be late. Or so help her, he’d never go to Luke’s again.

  Marshall groaned when he saw Michael waiting for him at the gate. They walked through it toward Luke’s store.

  “Going to Luke’s?” Michael asked.

  “Yeah, just for a little bit.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking (he did), what’s so special about that place Marsh? If Iris ain’t there, or even if she is, what do you do all afternoon?”

  Marshall sighed. “Sheesh Michael, what’s with the twenty questions? You sound like my mom.”

  “It’s nothing,” Michael defended, “Just wanna know why you got the hots for Iris.”

  “I don’t have the hots for her,” Marshall said. “She’s a friend.”

  “She’s not a friend like me though; you spend gobs of time with her. What’s so special about her?”

  Marshall shrugged. That was a good question. Iris was different than most people they knew, but how could he tell Michael that? They had more than a common like of puzzles. She was a lot like him too—not altogether normal, not all together well.

  “And that whole thing with Mrs. Melton today, I swear you sounded like you knew something that you didn’t want to tell.”

  “Don’t know what you mean,” said Marshall. They crossed the street, and headed toward the mini-mart.

  “Yes, I think you do,” Michael held out a hand to stop him. “Where’s Iris? Is she playing hooky? Or is she at the store just waiting for you to come back to her?’

  “Cut it out Mike, come on.”

  “No you come on; you never acted so weird with a girl—with anyone—before. What’s she got that’s so special?”

  “Nothing,” Marshall sighed. “Nothing at all.”

  “No there is something. I can tell. And if you don’t tell me, I don’t care what toy you come up with, you’re not joining the club. You hear that?” He pointed at Marshall’s chest and then crossed his arms. “Now tell me what’s up. And don’t say it’s because her uncle owns the store. You never cared to spend this m
uch time here until now.”

  It was infuriating. Marshall wanted to keep quiet about it all. But if he did, then Michael would harass him for the rest of the year. He was already sick and tired of the girlfriend jokes swirling around him like a bunch of flies. He just wanted Michael to leave him alone, leave Iris alone. For heaven’s sake, she was still getting over being sick.

  “She’s had cancer. Leukemia.”

  Michael didn’t say anything. His lower jaw just sort of dropped open. “You mean like, cancer as in sick in her blood?”

  “Yep.” Great. Now he’d done it. He’d told Michael. The whole school would know about it by tomorrow morning. His mind was racing. Although, maybe they wouldn’t. It was a tender subject; something that hopefully everyone would understand. Maybe, he could do damage control if necessary.

  “Look, you got to keep quiet about it,” said Marshall, tugging at his ear in nervousness. “She’s not at school ‘cause she has a checkup or something.”

  “So she doesn’t have the cancer anymore?”

  Marshall shook his head no. “Just stay quiet. She’s getting over it all, and now she has to live with her uncle ‘cause her aunt is sick.”

  “What she doesn’t have parents?”

  “Nah, they died a while ago.” Michael kicked the road with his foot, and they walked on to the front of Luke’s store. “Just don’t talk about it to anyone. You got to promise. I told Iris I would keep quiet about it.”

  Michael nodded, still looking somewhat concerned, and they parted ways. But Marshall knew that telling Michael this big secret wasn’t a good thing. Michael was the kid; the one everyone went to in order to feel cool, to know info, to watch him out of awe and reverence. And yet, even if he told the whole school, for once Michael might just tell the secret because he has a heart; tell the secret because cancer was a big deal.

  Michael may have a heart, a tiny one, but it was still a beating, real one nonetheless. And Marshall, though ticked off to high heaven with foe-friend Michael, could still appreciate that about him.

  ***

  Marshall went to the store. The bell tinkled as he walked in and Marshall wound his way through the tiny pathway to the front counter. He felt like he just betrayed his family, even though he wasn’t related to Iris. He felt awful. Michael was going to say something about the cancer, and all because Marshall opened his big mouth.

  “Hey Marsh, I’m going to get Iris tonight. She’ll be back to school tomorrow.”

  “Great.” Marshall wanted to be happy. But how could he? He just gave away her secret.

  “Is everything okay?” Luke looked concerned. “Someone bothering you?”

  “No, I’m fine, really. Um, I don’t think I’m going to work on the puzzle this afternoon. I’m not …” how could he explain it? “I’m not feeling so great.”

  Luke cocked his head to the side. “Okay, Iris might be a bit disappointed. She sort of thought you’d have it more than started by now.” Boy would she ever be disappointed, Marshall thought. He’d just told the most popular kid that she’d had cancer. How could he trump that?

  “I did start it actually. I … I’ll come back tomorrow night. That way we both can get going on it together.”

  Marshall got out of there before he threw up. He was disgusted with himself. He walked home, the heat of the day dwindling down. The days were already getting shorter, the mornings were darker, and Marshall knew autumn was at their doorstep.

  He trudged through dinner, picking at his food. He wasn’t hungry. But no one noticed. Not really anyway. Leila was talking about the new letters she was learning in kindergarten, Mason wasn’t home yet because of football practice, his dad was eating, but only listening … maybe. Definitely not engaged in the conversation.

  “Marsh honey, aren’t you going to eat?” His mother had noticed.

  Marshall groaned slightly and leaned on his hand. “I don’t feel so good.” What would Iris say to him? Would she even speak to him, or let him come over to Luke’s anymore? He could be ostracized from the only people he wanted to spend time with.

  His mother put a hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel hot, but you look awful. Maybe you should go lie down.”

  He groaned again. Good idea. He should lie down, maybe that would take away the nausea.

  Marshall left the table. Leila was looking at him funny, almost like she knew what was wrong with him. But how could she? She was five, dumb and an absolute pest. He crashed onto his bed and rolled onto his side. His room’s window was open, and a tiny breeze trickled in.

  How would he sleep tonight? He’d be racking his brain thinking of excuses to why he told Michael. Iris was smart. She’d have to know that it was practically forced from him. Right? Didn’t they both want to keep their sickness on the quiet side?

  He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Tiny specs of texture covered it, making it look like popcorn. He hated the ceiling. It reminded him of cottage cheese and how much he hated that stuff too.

  He made a list of excuses. Number 1. Michael beat him up and told him to tell him where Iris was, that was why he told. No that wouldn’t do. He didn’t have a scratch or bruise worth anything to prove he was beaten. Okay. Number 2. Michael took his inhaler and vowed not to return it if he didn’t tell. No, that wouldn’t work either. Iris already knew he was trying to stop using the thing, not to mention, he had a back up already, waiting for him in the bathroom cupboard. Alright. Number 3. Well, by then, he couldn’t think of the third excuse. All of them were lame, he was lame. He would just have to tell her the truth tomorrow.

  He rolled over to his other side. He wished he’d never said anything at all.

  ***

  Wednesday arrived and Marshall took his time dressing. He hoped somehow Iris wouldn’t show up; that she would take another day off and recuperate from the checkup.

  The bus was waiting for him, and after the third honk, he rushed out the door with a kiss from his mom. Mason was holding his hands up, implying Marshall should have been on the bus a long time ago. But Marshall didn’t care. He had to face Iris, and he had to get it over with.

  The bus was its usual fullness, but the girl he normally sat next to wasn’t there. She was sitting next to her other snob-friend Sandra, and they were snickering to each other. That wasn’t anything new. What was new was their looking at him, and then whispering to each other and then looking at him again.

  Marshall sat down. He could feel more than their pair of eyes staring into the back of his head. Come to think of it, the entire bus was very quiet. He slowly turned around. All eyes were on him, just as he suspected. Even his brother was staring at him. What was going on? That usual morning buzz wasn’t there; it was more like a giant whisper, like the flutter of insects’ wings flapping around.

  The five minutes it took to get to school seemed like forever. And when they finally got there, he scrambled out of his seat and off the bus before anyone had a chance to say something to him. Not that they would. They all seemed more content to talk about him behind his back.

  Marshall walked to homeroom and kept his head down. He could see feet, shoes actually, tennis shoes, sandals, high tops, and especially the skateboard shoes that Michael wore. He walked right past them though, and Michael said nothing. In fact, if Marshall wasn’t mistaken, it felt like everyone was walking away from him. Avoiding him.

  He plopped into his seat. Iris was right in front of him. There she was and here was his chance. And he had to say something now before anyone else said something first.

  But when she turned around, her usual soft brown eyes and small, sweet smile was gone. Vanished, like smoke.

  She knew. Somehow, she’d already found out.

  “I’m sorry,” Marshall whispered. She looked paler, and the dark circles under her eyes made her look like she’d been punched in the face.

  “It’s alright.”

  Marshall started. “No, it’s not. I was an idiot.” He looked around. Homeroom was quiet. Peo
ple were talking in whispers, obviously about the cancer. “Now everyone is whispering.”

  “So? At least they know now. It’s done. Actually, it’s more of a relief. I’m glad you said something.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah, now I don’t have to pretend I don’t have a problem, or uh, had a problem.”

  “But I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

  She shook her head side to side. “It’s fine. It’s done. Promise to meet me at Luke’s after school?’

  It seemed too good to be true. Iris had just accepted and forgiven him in one fell swoop. She was too perfect. Her hair tossed to and fro waiting for his reply, and waiting for him to look at her.

  “I’ll be there.”

  ***

  Iris and Marshall walked to Luke’s. But not without talking about how odd everyone behaved. The three amigos didn’t even joke about them being together once, the entire day. It was as if everyone accepted them together, that her condition—her old condition—gave a reason for him to do whatever he pleased. It was like everyone thought of Marshall as the kind one; the one who had shown acceptance to the new girl. The very girl who once had a death sentence.

  “Why are you so quiet?” she asked when they crossed the street.

  “I don’t know. I just can’t stop thinking about how I ruined everything for you.”

  “Marsh, stop it. You tell me to stop worrying about my condition, or Luke’s condition and I’m asking you to do the same. Stop worrying.”

  He jabbed at her side, and assented. “Fine. But I owe you. Like, I owe you …” and he thought about it, “a new puzzle, or to do this one all by myself and frame it for you.”

  She laughed. “Oh, good luck.”

  They stopped giggling when they passed the mini mart. Luke had his feet up on the counter and the smoke circled his head like a halo. Good old Luke was back at it again. Perfect.

  “Hey kids, how was your day?’ They proceeded to tell him what happened. Marshall winced and groaned through Iris’s entire explanation and description, but Luke was entertained.