Tangerine

by Edward Bloor

  The coach still wasn't looking at him. And she still was not happy. "This is more disruptive than you could know, Mr. Donnelly. If you want to run a picture of our team, you should show Victor. He's our captain."

  Mr. Donnelly replied, "But he's not news, Coach. Having girls on your team is news."

  "Not really. I've had girls on this team for five years. Why is it suddenly news?"

  Mr. Donnelly held up his hands to explain, and the coach looked at them. "You're the first-place team in the county. You have the top scorer in the county. And she's a girl."

  The coach nodded. "All right. Fair enough. Her name is Maya Pandhi. P-A-N-D-H-I."

  He wrote this down. "Great. And what about Shandra?"

  "You never mind about Shandra. She doesn't want any part of newspapers or publicity, so that's the way it's gonna be."

  Mr. Donnelly nodded. "OK. I'll certainly respect her wishes."

  They shook hands again. The guy with the long hair saw this and broke away from the boys. He grabbed his bag, climbed up into the driver's seat of the van, and the two of them drove back the way they came.

  Betty Bright watched them go, then walked slowly across the field and into the school. Victor sat down, so the rest of us did, too. Finally the coach and Shandra came walking out. By the time Shandra was back in goal to start the scrimmage, we had lost about twenty minutes of practice time.

  Like I said, that all happened yesterday. This morning I looked in the Tangerine Times, in the back of the sports section. There was no article about our team, but there was a photo. The wrong photo. It was a photo of Nita Shirali with the caption, "Maya Pandhi Leads All Scorers in Tangerine County."

  Good going, Mom.

  Monday, October 2

  I'm in classes with Theresa, Tino, Maya, Nita, and Henry D. all day. Now Joey has joined that group.

  The first and last periods of the day, science and language arts, do cross-curricular projects together. That means that we do a science-type project in science class, and we write about it in language arts class. I came in at the tail end of the last project, so all I could do was sit and listen to kids read their reports. They were really good.

  Now we're starting a new cross-curricular project. Mrs. Potter passed out a project sheet that describes what we're supposed to do, how we're supposed to do it, and how we're supposed to present it to the class. At the top of the project sheet, it says:

  Science/Language Arts Cross-Curricular Project

  Broad topic—Florida agriculture

  Narrow topic—an agricultural product that is native to this area of Florida

  Your topic—??????

  Mrs. Potter gave us twenty-four hours to form our own groups of four to six kids. After that she would form new groups out of "the leftovers," as she called them.

  I was looking over the project sheet with Joey when I saw Tino walking back toward us. He stopped at Henry D.'s desk and said, "Yo, Henry D. You want to be in a group with Theresa and me? We got a hot idea."

  Henry D., whose real name is Henry Dilkes, is a quiet country boy, always polite. He said, "Thank you. I'd be pleased to."

  Tino bumped his fist down on top of Henry's and started back toward his desk. I called out to him, "Hey, Tino! What about me and Joey? Can we be in your group?"

  Tino stopped and looked at me, surprised. He thought a minute and said, "Yeah. Why not? But it's our group. You got that?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

  He returned to his seat and Joey said to me, "What did you do that for?"

  "Do what? We gotta get in a group, right? I don't want to be a leftover."

  "So why don't we form our own group?"

  "With who? We need four to six people."

  "With anybody. Anybody but him." He shot an angry look at Tino.

  "C'mon, man. Henry's nice. Super nice. So is Theresa. And Tino's OK, when he's by himself."

  Joey shook his head. He didn't believe me. "That guy's bad news. I don't need this. I don't need this at all."

  "Hey, this isn't soccer practice, it's science class. You're an ace in science, right?"

  Joey glared at me. "What are you saying, that I stink in soccer?"

  "No. I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that this is different. This is something that you're really good at."

  Joey finally agreed, doubtfully. "All right. All right."

  "Good. This'll give you another kind of chance with people. You know? A chance to get in with some of the people from the team."

  There was a strange pause. Joey finally said, "I'm not on the team anymore."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Since when?"

  "I turned in my uniform this morning."

  I looked at him, but he wouldn't look back. I finally said, "That's it? You're just not on the team anymore, and that's it?"

  Joey tightened up. "Yeah. That's it. So what? What's it to you?"

  "It's nothing to me. I just don't understand. I thought you wanted to play soccer."

  "Well, I don't. Not here, anyway." He finally looked at me. "Not anywhere. I'm gonna play football when I get to high school. You understand that?"

  I understood. I said, "OK," and I was willing to leave it right there.

  But Joey wasn't. He was practically snarling now. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this," and he gestured around the room. "I let you talk me into coming to this dump." I suddenly became aware of the other kids around us as he went on. "This place is like darkest Africa. Like the Amazon jungle. Like we're learning to live among the natives here."

  I took in the ugliness of Joey's words, and I saw, for the first time, how different he was from me—different parents, different friends, different brother. The speaker came on, and the gong sounded. I had to say something, so I muttered, "I'm sorry you feel like that," and headed out, without him, into the crowded hallway.

  Tuesday, October 3

  There's something I forgot to record here about Joey's first day at Tangerine Middle School. Or maybe I didn't forget. Maybe I just wanted to block it out. But after what he said yesterday, I can't. The scene came back to me today on the way home.

  It was last Monday. I was sitting in homeroom. Suddenly Joey walked in and handed Ms. Pollard a pass. He was all by himself—no Theresa to show him around, like I had hoped. Ms. Pollard told him to take a seat, so he came back and sat next to me. He was all smiles, and he said something like, "Hey! So far, so good."

  I said, "Where's Theresa?"

  "Who?"

  "Theresa. Theresa Cruz. I told you to ask for her as a guide."

  "Oh yeah. She's back in the office. I saw her there."

  "What? Is she guiding somebody else today?"

  "Nah. I just said I didn't need it. What do I need a guide dog for?"

  "A guide dog? You're calling Theresa a guide dog?"

  Joey laughed. "C'mon, man. Lighten up. What?—Do you think she's good-looking?"

  I thought about that. "Yeah. I guess I do."

  Joey still had that cocky smile plastered on his face. "Then you've been here too long."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I just shook my head. I finally said, "I gotta tell you, you're comin' in here with the wrong attitude."

  "Hey, what's the big deal? I got here OK without a guide, right? You'd have to be blind to get lost in this place."

  "Oh, is that right? So now you're calling me blind?"

  "No, I'm not calling you blind—"

  "You're calling Theresa a dog?"

  "No, I'm just pointing out that she's not my type."

  The bell rang for first period. All I had time to say was, "Don't do this. Don't come in here with attitude."

  Like I said, that scene came back to me today. We had our first meeting for the science project. Each group of kids pulled their desks together; the leftover kids then got put into their own groups. Joey and I pulled our desks into a circle with Henry D., Theresa, and Tino. I was surprised when Theresa, not Tino, took charge of the meeting. And it wa
s obvious that she had done this sort of thing before.

  Theresa began by reading the assignment aloud: "To research and present information about an agricultural product that is native to this area of Florida." Then she passed out a glossy one-page ad with a picture of a citrus tree laden with fruit. "When we heard this assignment, Tino and I knew right away what we were going to write about. I just gave you all an advertisement for an agricultural product that was developed by our brother, Luis. It's a new variety of citrus that he has named the Golden Dawn tangerine.

  "This tangerine is seedless, very juicy, and very resistant to cold weather, which makes it perfect for this area. Luis thinks it could even return this area to its former prominence as the tangerine capital of the world. He just got it registered with the state this year as a new variety. Now he is starting to market it to citrus growers in Florida, California, and Mexico. So our report is going to be called 'The Golden Dawn Tangerine.'"

  Theresa passed out sheets of paper that had our report title typed across the top. She said, "What we want to do today is divide up the research part of the project. Tino and I will concentrate on Luis's invention and what he had to do to register it with the state. Somebody else can do the history of the citrus industry in this area. Henry, we thought you could do that part. You know—When did citrus growing start here? What are the types of trees that grow best here? That kind of thing." Henry D. nodded and jotted something down. Then Theresa turned to me. "Somebody else could do basic research on what a tangerine is and how it is grown. We thought that you and your friend could handle that." I nodded. Theresa added, "Any questions?"

  Henry D. said, "Excuse me. How long did it take for your brother to invent this tangerine?"

  Tino answered. "His whole life. I can't remember a time when Luis wasn't working on this. And I don't know if Theresa made this clear or not, but this is really a big deal. It's like inventing a new kind of medicine or something. Luis is going to be famous for doing this."

  Theresa said, "Luis is real interested in helping us, too. He'll answer questions and he'll show us how it's all done. We figure we'll get all this research in. Then we'll have an organizational meeting, probably with Luis. Then each group can write its section of the report, and give it to me, and I'll type it all up."

  Joey interrupted her. "Just put it all on a disk and give it to me. I'll run it off on the laserjet at home."

  Theresa looked away. She seemed flustered. She said, "We don't have a computer. We use a typewriter."

  Tino snapped at him, "You got a problem with that, Tuna?"

  Joey stared him down. "No, I don't have a problem with that. I guess I got a problem with you."

  "Yeah? You gonna have a big problem with me! Bigger than you know, chump."

  I felt I had to head this off, so I said, "C'mon, you guys. Forget this."

  "Shut up!" Tino snarled, his eyes still locked on Joey's.

  "Joey," I said. "It's Tino's group, right? We agreed to that when we joined."

  Joey stood up and moved his desk back. He looked at me with disgust. "You agreed to that. You'd agree to anything. Not me. I'm joining another group." He started to drag his desk away, but then he stopped and looked at Tino, adding sarcastically, "Not that your brother and his new type of banana aren't fascinating."

  Tino jumped up and lunged at him, but Joey was too fast. He leaned back, and Tino flew past him, landing on the desks of the next group. Mrs. Potter was there before he could recover. She got a grip on Tino's arm and hustled him out into the hallway.

  Joey turned on me. "This is how you get by here, right? You kiss up to these guys? You're scared of these guys?"

  "What are you talking about? I'm not scared."

  "You're a gutless wonder, Fisher. You're afraid of girls. You're afraid of your own brother. Now you're afraid of these lowlifes. They treat you like a dog, and you take it! Take it? You like it! You think they're your friends!"

  Everyone's eyes were on Joey. He was red faced and angry. "Let me tell you something. You're bigger than this little punk. You know that? And I'm bigger than you. If he ever messes with me again, I don't care where it is, I'm gonna punch him out!"

  Mrs. Potter stepped back into the classroom and signaled for Joey to join her in the hall. He walked out, and everybody's eyes turned to me. I had no clue what to do. I just stood there.

  Finally Theresa broke the tension. "So are you joining another group, or what?"

  I answered immediately. "No. I want to stay here."

  Theresa spoke to the class. "Then let's all sit down."

  I spent the rest of the period staring at a blank piece of paper, trying to sort out what had happened. Joey came back at the end of the period and sat down with the leftover group behind me. Tino didn't come back at all. The word at practice was that he had been suspended for three days.

  Wednesday, October 4

  I type these journal entries, and my homework assignments, on the little PC clone up in my bedroom. For anything major, like a school report, I use Dad's big IBM, which is down in an alcove off the great room. Dad has a CD-ROM encyclopedia, a fax modem, and a Web navigator that gets hundreds of information services. I can find out anything about anything without ever leaving the chair.

  Tonight I was down in the alcove searching for information on tangerines when Mom announced, "I've got people coming over tonight, Paul. You might want to work upstairs."

  "Who's coming?"

  "It's a meeting of the Homeowners' Association. I think it's going to be a loud one."

  "Why's that?"

  "Mr. Costello has been getting a lot of phone calls about a lot of different things. There's the termite problem. And there have been break-ins over on his side of the development."

  "Robberies?"

  "Yes. People are talking about organizing a neighborhood watch patrol or even hiring a real guard to sit in the guardhouse." She stopped and looked at me. "You haven't heard anything about break-ins, have you? Are kids involved?"

  "I haven't heard a thing."

  "Joey hasn't said anything to you?"

  "No."

  The doorbell rang. I went back to my search as the homeowners started to arrive. I could hear them file in behind me—the yellow Tudor, the York with the three-car garage, and a loud group from Joey's street, the street where all the houses are getting blue tents put over them.

  I stopped working when Mr. Costello came in. I rolled my chair to the entrance of the alcove so he could see me.

  "Hi, Paul. How's it going?"

  "Fine, Mr. Costello."

  Mr. Costello's face has looked lined and tired ever since Mike got killed. He carried a thick black appointment book in one hand. He walked to the kitchen end of the great room and said quietly, "All right, let's get started."

  The meeting began like the town meetings we used to have in social studies class—treasurer's report, old business, new business; "I move"; "I second the motion." I had turned my attention back to the computer screen when I heard a man call out, "What's with Donnelly's house? It looks like something that landed from outer space!"

  I rolled my chair back and watched Mr. Costello. He checked his notes and said, "All right. Mr. Donnelly applied for permission to install a lightning rod on the roof of his house. The Architectural Committee, because of his unique problem, did approve that addition. But then, for some reason, Mr. Donnelly went and installed a series of ten lightning rods across the top of his roof. It does look odd."

  "It looks like hell."

  Mom spoke up. "The Architectural Committee has sent Mr. Donnelly a strongly worded letter about it. I think he clearly took advantage of us."

  "What are you going to do about it?"

  "As I just said, we sent him a letter. I had hoped he would show up tonight so we could work this out. If he doesn't respond, we will take further action."

  Another homeowner stood up. "I've been keeping track of our fish population, what there is of it, and I'd like to announce that it is now dow
n to zero. As far as I can tell, we have zero fish left in that pond."

  Mr. Costello nodded grimly and flipped to another page. "You're probably right, Ralph. The koi appear to be all gone. We're not sure why, but we think someone may have stolen them."

  I thought, Think again, Mr. Costello. Your koi are a gourmet meal for the ospreys out on Route 89.

  Another voice called out, "What about the muck fire?"

  Mr. Costello knew right where to flip for this one. "All right. We've certainly heard your complaints about the muck fire, and we certainly share your ... distaste for it. Since our last meeting, Mr. Porter and I have contacted the Tangerine Fire Department on three different occasions."

  Mr. Costello began to read directly from his notes: "The captain there basically told us that he can't do anything about it. We said, 'Why don't you pour water on it until it goes out?' and he said, 'Why don't you?' So we did."

  Mr. Costello slammed his book closed with one hand. "We hired a contractor to sink four wells in the muck-fire field. We rented pumps and spraying equipment and started saturating the area last month. To make a long story short, the muck fire is still burning, and now we have swarms of mosquitoes breeding in the swamp that we created out there."

  I heard Mom speak up again. "These mosquitoes carry encephalitis. Two children died in Tangerine last year after they were bitten by mosquitoes."

  Mr. Costello nodded gravely. "Right. We've already contacted the county about it. They have a spray truck that is for hire. Starting tomorrow night, they will drive through our development spraying a cloud of insecticide every other evening until the mosquito problem is under control. Do not—I repeat—do not allow your kids to ride their bikes behind the spray truck. They'd be inhaling a powerful pesticide. Also, you should keep your pets inside, and you should move any delicate plants from your porches, patios, whatever, into the house."

  Everyone got quiet at the thought of the spray truck spewing insecticide every other night. Finally the man who had asked about Mr. Donnelly's house said, "OK, what about all the robberies?"