by Susan Vaught
chapter 18
Mom and Dad both drove me to the track meet. Then they decided to stay.
Shoelaces.
I hope nobody saw me come in with them. I mean, going with my parents was okay, but sort of bad pragmatics. At least I thought it was. Purple shoelaces might be bad pragmatics, too. People kept staring at them while I stood next to the row where Mom and Dad decided to sit. People looked at my shoelaces or my memory book or my scars. Then they quit looking. Mom and Dad didn’t try to make me sit next to them. Shoelaces. That was good.
I saw Todd and his girlfriend, but I didn’t try to sit with them, either. Good, good. No Big Larry at Leza’s track meet. Shoelaces. I needed to talk to Todd, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without making him mad. Shoelaces. Maybe I’d get a chance soon. Shoelaces. Where was I going to sit?
“Frog farts!” somebody yelled from down by the front bleacher rail.
“Hoochie-mama!”
“Hey, Jersey!”
Four of the lunch cheerleaders were waving at me.
I left my memory book with Mom and Dad and walked down the concrete steps really careful, bad boy, good boy, just like I was supposed to do. Pragmatics. Up and forward. Sitting with cheerleaders wasn’t so bad, even if I had purple shoelaces and no peanuts at all.
They explained that Leza had already been running. She ran early in the morning in heats and things. Now she was running in finals at 400 and 800 meters. Peanuts. The cheerleaders said Leza was getting good and she was best at going the distance, and one day, she’d probably take 1,500 meters, too.
That sounded like a lot of meters to me. It made me think of Algebra problems, but I didn’t talk about Algebra problems. I talked about peanuts and frog farts and stared at the black track and its bright yellow lines and listened to the cheerleaders yell and wave at people and waited for the girls who ran short races to get finished.
What was left of my brain remembered stuff like our track was a 400-meter track, so Leza’s first race would be one time around. I wondered what color shoelaces she’d have in her shoes. Probably not purple. Probably green. All the girls in our school shirts had black shoes with green laces. Not the springy kind like mine. The girls were lots springier than me in other ways, like hopping up and down and stretching.
When did the guys run?
Oh, yeah. After. First girls, then guys. The guys would run later today. I remembered that. And I remembered that seven and a half laps equaled a mile in the eighth lane, and that it took a little over eight laps to make a mile in the first lane. But our track team started using meters instead of miles when they built the new track and this concrete stadium with the metal bleacher seats. I was in eighth grade then, and I didn’t have any stupid-marks.
“You all right, peanut?” one of the cheerleaders asked.
“Don’t call him peanut,” another one said. I never got their names straight. They all wore their hair the same way and their lipstick was the same color and their clothes were different colors but the same style.
“Why not? He says peanut all the time.” The first cheerleader messed up my hair. “Besides, I think it’s cute, like him. He’s our little peanut. Aren’t you, Jersey?”
“Little peanut,” I mumbled. My cheeks got un-cold and turned red. “Shoelaces.”
“There’s Leza,” said the cheerleader who didn’t like calling me peanut. She pointed to one of the tunnels running under the stadium. Three girls in green shirts and green warm-up pants were standing at the opening. All of them were stretching. One of them was definitely Leza.
“Peanut.” It came out like a sigh.
Real fast, I glanced at the cheerleaders. None of them had noticed. A starting horn sounded, and they got busy watching the race. I got busy watching Leza stretch.
Even though she was far away, I could tell how pretty she was. I loved the way the sun made her skin even darker and more perfect. She’d probably think my purple shoelaces were stupid. But maybe not, since she gave me all the different colors. Still, I thought my purple shoelaces might be stupid. Dad and I needed to throw out some of the colors Leza bought me, but I didn’t want to throw any of them out because Leza gave them to me. Peanuts. Peanut.
Leza crossed the track between races and came closer. I grinned at her and waved, but she didn’t see me. She sat in the grass with some other girls, and they all stretched some more.
Track meets were fun. Why hadn’t I come to more track meets? Shoelaces. Did I have sweat on my face? I wiped my forehead and cheeks with my shirt.
Wet stains on white. Great. I stuffed the front of my shirt down my pants. Sweat was better than stains. Pragmatics, Hatch.
The cheerleaders got noisy again. Leza and her friends kept stretching in the grass while the girls on the track got ready. A starting horn sounded and girls started running. Leza and her friends stood up. This time when I waved, she saw me and waved back. Todd yelled something to her about being sure to be faster than a half-dead snail, and she started to do something she shouldn’t have with her middle finger. After a second, she just made a fist and shook it at him. I thought I heard him laughing. Other hands waved at Leza, and I saw Mr. and Mrs. Rush sitting together a few rows away from my parents.
Before, my parents and the Rushes would have been sitting together. But I messed that up.
I fiddled with my shirt snaps.
Shoelaces.
Trigger. Boom. Everything shattered. The clay people from my dream popped back into my head.
No, no. No dream-thinking, no bad-thinking, no Big Larry-thinking. Keep it together. Say “frog farts.” Frog farts helps.
“Frog farts.” The back of one of my shirt snaps tore through the shirt and dropped onto the concrete under the metal seat, between my legs. “Double frog farts. Triple!”
If I tried to pick it up, I’d probably fall off the first row and out of the stadium. Or all over a screaming cheerleader. Frog farts. When I lifted my head, Leza had moved. She was coming to the starting lines with the other girls. Eight girls, four in green shirts for our school and four in red shirts for the other school.
“Christmas.” I stood up with the cheerleaders. “Red and green. Dropped my snap. Frog farts.” My heart beat really fast as Leza took her place in the middle lane and stretched. She had this Rush glare on her face now. Getout-of-my-way glare. I’ll-run-you-down glare. If I’d seen that glare on her face and she wasn’t in a race, I would have ducked.
The starting horn blared.
Leza and the girls took off.
The cheerleaders started jumping up and down beside me.
I watched Leza and jumped up and down. She was behind, but she had to catch up. She ran so fast! Was she ever some little kid with goofy braids? No goofy braids now.
“Go! Go!” the cheerleaders shouted.
“Christmas!” I yelled. “Green! Snap! Go!”
At the turn, Leza wasn’t behind anymore. She was a lot closer. Three or four back. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Christmas! Christmas!”
“Go, go, go!” The cheerleaders yelled like they were all one person.
Leza passed somebody else.
I jumped up and down and waved. “Snap! Snap! Go!”
Almost back now. Almost to the yellow lines. Almost to the finish. She passed another person. One of the cheerleaders grabbed my bad arm and used it to hold on to while she jumped up and down really hard. I almost fell down jumping with her.
Leza plunged across the line right next to another girl—second! She came in second!
“Her first ribbon!” the cheerleader killing my arm shrieked. “She got a red! A second!”
“Christmas!” I yelled.
Then cheerleader-screams made my ears go numb. Did I still have an arm left? Shoelaces.
The cheerleader didn’t let me go. She and the others dragged me away from my seat and pushed and pulled me down the front steps of the stadium, right onto the track. Leza and the girls had moved off to the side, to the grass between the
end of the stadium, the track, and the fence. Some were bouncing like the cheerleaders. Some were bent over catching their breath.
“Giiiiiirrrrllll!” shouted the cheerleader who’d murdered my arm. She finally let me go and ran over to Leza. So did the other three. For a minute, they all bounced around together and yelled about how Leza might just win her next race.
My face hurt from grinning so big. I hoped I didn’t have sweat on my face. I couldn’t wipe the sweat off my face because I’d stain my shirt some more. Leza won a ribbon. I watched her win her first ribbon. I was a peanut. I had purple shoelaces. Red and green were Christmas. Snap, snap, snap.
She broke away from the cheerleaders, saw me, and ran straight toward me.
I grabbed her as she hit me full-on, laughing. I barely got to enjoy having my arm around her before we both almost fell in the grass. I would have fallen headfirst if she hadn’t stopped me.
“I did it! I did it, Jersey!”
“Christmas.” I grinned as she helped me get steady and let me go even though I didn’t want her to. “Snap. Good job!”
“Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!” She did a funny dance and the cheerleaders helped out. Then she pointed at my missing snap and my belly showing through and giggled, then danced some more.
I wanted to tell her how pretty she was, and how happy I was, and how much I liked her, but every time I opened my mouth, some other stupid word popped out. As soon as the cheerleaders left, I’d tell her. I’d tell her—I’d tell her—nothing, because Todd came around the corner of the stadium with his girlfriend and Leza’s parents and some guy I’d never seen before. He had more muscles than Todd, and he was taller, too. I stared at him.
Todd and Maylynn went straight to Leza and hugged her and told her how fast she ran.
“Nothing like a half-dead snail,” Todd admitted.
Maylynn punched him in the arm. “He doesn’t know much. Just ignore him. You were great!”
“I knooo-oooow,” Leza said dramatically, and laughed a bunch more.
Todd and Maylynn glanced at me as they walked away, but didn’t say anything. The Rushes did their congratulating, hugged Leza, gave me a once-over with nervous smiles, and they left, too. Tall-muscle-guy didn’t hug anybody or leave. He just smiled at Leza.
She quit bouncing. Her smile got bigger. She straightened her shorts and shirt and moved her hair around with the palms of her hands.
“Ewww-weeeee.” One of the giggly cheerleaders got my arm. “Come on, peanut-man. Let’s give Leza some time with her honey-honey before she has to go rest for her next race.”
And we were leaving, too, all of a sudden, the cheerleaders pulling me and pushing me and talking and bouncing as the announcer was saying something about a break ending and people getting back to their seats. We left. We left Leza and her honey-honey on the grass between the end of the stadium, the track, and the fence.
When I got back to my seat, I just stood there awhile, staring at the end of the stadium. Nobody came around the corner.
Honey-honey.
Did she call him that?
He had a lot of muscles. He was taller than tall.
Why hadn’t I known there was a honey-honey? I should have known a girl like Leza would have a honey-honey. I should have known he’d be tall with lots of muscles. Pragmatics, Hatch. Up and forward. Girls like Leza have tall honey-honeys with muscles and it’s a good thing I kept my big mouth shut about liking her.
I stared down at my shirt where the stains were. I stared at the missing snap and how my stomach showed. I stared at the weak hand hanging against my left leg. Then I looked up at my parents, who were looking down at me.
Another race lined up. From the corner of my good eye, I could see greens and reds, only I didn’t want to say Christmas anymore.
The cheerleaders tugged at me to move or sit down. I kept standing.
Mom stood, too. Her face clouded up. She punched my dad in the shoulder.
I bumped past the cheerleaders to get to the stairs, then took them one, the next, and the next. Good boy leading, bad boy following. Good boy goes up. Good boy, bad boy. Concentrate. Don’t fall. Honey-honey. I didn’t have a snap. My belly showed through my shirt. My shirt had stains. Good boy, bad boy, up, up, slow and careful. I didn’t have a lot of muscles like I used to. Good boy, bad boy.
“Jersey?” Mom met me halfway and got hold of both of my arms. “Jersey, honey, look at me.”
I did. I tried to tell her I was fine, but what came out was, “I had muscles Before. Didn’t I? I had muscles Before.”
Then, after a few seconds, “I want to go home.”
“We were thinking about going to the lake, and—”
“I want to go home!”
Mom didn’t say anything else. She just helped me up the steps, yelled to Dad, and we left.
Later, in the car, they tried to talk to me.
I didn’t want to talk.
Mom fussed at me about talking to them instead of other people, then Dad fussed at Mom about fussing at me. They kept on fussing. Mom said it didn’t matter what she did, it never made any difference.
I quit listening. I didn’t want to listen, and I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think about honey-honey or muscles or snaps or stains or any of it. I just wanted to go home and go upstairs and lie down on my bed with the green spread. I just wanted to be nowhere for a while, and not see anything or hear anything or feel anything at all.
chapter 19
My parents fought a lot that night, the night I found out Leza had a honey-honey that wasn’t me. I couldn’t hear what they said, but Mom got a lot louder than Dad.
Dinner that night and breakfast the next day weren’t loud, though. They were quiet. Dad found some reason to go to his office. Mom cleaned the house and mowed. I ate lunch and dinner in my room and tried to do my homework. I didn’t call Mama Rush at The Palace because she felt bad. I didn’t call Leza to see if she won a ribbon in her second race because I felt stupid. I didn’t call anybody else because I didn’t know anyone who wanted to talk to me.
Mom sort of wanted to talk to me. She checked on me about two hundred times.
“You okay?”
“Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Is that homework or are you writing in your memory book?”
“Don’t shut me out, Jersey, please. Give me a chance.”
“Are you still upset about the track meet? If you’d just tell me what happened, maybe I could help.”
“Did somebody bother you yesterday? Tease you or hurt your feelings?”
“You shouldn’t let people get to you, Jersey.”
“Do you want a snack?”
A couple of times I heard her crying and talking on the phone and saying she couldn’t do it, but I didn’t know what she was trying to do, so I finally went to sleep early just so I wouldn’t have to eat anything else or worry about Mom.
But I didn’t stay asleep.
I kept dreaming and waking up. Dreaming about clay people turning into dust. Especially Mom. She turned to dust so fast, no matter what I did or didn’t do.
Monday morning, Mom and Dad started yelling again, this time in their bedroom where I could hear a little better.
Maybe my parents needed counseling more than I did.
But it’s your fault they’re yelling again, J.B. told me as I got dressed for the half day at school. If you hadn’t been such a wimp at that track meet, you wouldn’t have worried Mom.
“She’s not worried.” I sat on the bed and pulled on my shoes. Black shoelaces, thanks to Dad. Better than purple, except they did have bright gold sparkly stripes.
She keeps thinking you’re better, then you get worse again. She’s broken because of you. You break everything.
“You always say the same stuff, and it sucks.” I grabbed my memory book off the nightstand and made my list for the day.
1. Go to the school library and check out a
book on getting rid of ghosts.
2. Say hi to Leza so she doesn’t think I’m stupid.
3. Don’t mention frog farts in Mr. Sabon’s class.
4. Don’t mention frog farts anywhere but lunch.
5. Don’t mention honey-honey at lunch.
6. Don’t miss the bus because it’ll be early because it’s a half day.
7. Call Mama Rush and check on her.
8. Find a spell or something in a library book to kill J.B.
J.B. laughed as I finished the list. You really think you can find a spell to kill me?
“I can try.”
Dad yelled something about being positive. Mom yelled something back about things getting better then falling apart all over again.
I decided to take a box of dry cereal and go catch the bus.
If you hadn’t shot yourself, you’d be driving, J.B. said as I closed my bedroom door.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Positive. Falling apart. Logical. Whatever.”
“Why are you being so weird to me?” Leza punched my shoulder as we headed back out to the early buses. I’d forgotten my memory book after last bell, and I had to go back to third period to get it. That’s when I ran into Leza and honey-honey. His name was Nicholas. Nick for short. Nick sounded like a tall honey-honey with muscles.
“Boy, you better answer me.” Leza punched me again. Honey-honey Nick walked behind us and didn’t say anything. I guess he’d already figured out some stuff about how to deal with the Rushes.
I stopped by the front doors. A few buses pulled away. “Ghost book on the list. Forgot it. Can’t kill the ghost and I can’t talk or I’ll miss my bus.”
“Nick and I can drive you home.” She reached out and grabbed my bad hand as I tried to go outside. “Seriously. You’re worrying me. Why are you being weird?”
The doors closed. I looked at my feet and tried to think of good words. Leza was worried about me. I was worried about Mama Rush and my mom and my parents and everything. Just everything.
“I got another ribbon after you left. It was just a third place—a white one, but still. I’ll get some blues next year.” She squeezed my hand and grinned. “Why didn’t you stay?”