The Secret Life of Lincoln Jones

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  Poof. The laughing kids disappeared, and I was outside the media center with a real boy standing right next to me. The one I’d seen working at Ms. Raven’s computer.

  His hair was wild, and his backpack looked like it weighed more than he did. He was grabbing the shoulder straps tight. “It’s going to be closed all day?” he said, pointing to a sign taped to the door.

  I would have been upset, too, but I got distracted by the strap where his hand had been.

  It had a name written on it.

  Isaac Monroe.

  A bell went clanging inside my head. And then Kandi’s voice started clanging beside it. If you don’t watch out, you’ll wind up like Isaac Monroe.

  I stared at him, trying to figure out what Kandi had meant. He looked pretty normal to me. Well, except for the backpack making him look like a pack mule. And his hair making him look like a wild sea anemone.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he said.

  “I…” But before I could think of something to say, he clomped away.

  I could feel my cheeks burn. I hadn’t just been looking, I’d been fool-faced staring. And even though I was kicking myself for doing it, I was mostly mad at Kandi.

  Why’d she have to say anything about Isaac Monroe?

  Why’d she go around talking about folks?

  Thinking that made all of me hot. Like steam was building up inside of me. The feeling I’d had on the bus was long gone. This was Kandi’s fault. If she had just left me alone with my stories, nobody would’ve thought I was writing about them! But she nosed and nosed and then went and said stuff like, If you don’t watch out, you’ll wind up like Isaac Monroe. Even before I knew who he was, I thought there was something off about Isaac Monroe, all because of Kandi.

  Well, Isaac Monroe might look like a wild anemone pack mule, but at least he didn’t paint his fingernails like candy corn or turkey tails!

  I steamed along looking for Kandi ’cause I’d had enough. And I knew what she was doing! Right that instant she was tellin’ someone that Lincoln Jones’s ma worked in Crazy Town.

  Like it was anyone’s business?

  It wasn’t hard to find her. She was on the playground talking to a group of kids—boys and girls—waving her hands through the air and laughing.

  The other kids were laughing, too.

  I ran at them, full speed ahead. “Stop it!” I shouted, plowing into the group like a runaway train. I looked right at Kandi. “Stop nosing in other folks’ lives, stop following them around, and stop talking about stuff that has nothing to do with you!”

  Kandi did stop.

  Everybody else stopped, too.

  And they all stared at me.

  “You think it’s something to make fun of,” I shouted, “but it’s not!”

  Kandi blinked at me, not saying a word. But the other kids started asking, “What’s he talking about?” “Make fun of what?” “Why’s he so mad?” “Kandi, what’s going on?”

  Kandi just shook her head, then turned and gave me those stupid puppy-dog eyes. Like, Oh, you poor, sad boy.

  “Stop that!” I shouted at her. And because it felt like the world wasn’t quite spinning the way it’s supposed to and I needed to get my footing back, I said, “And what’s so weird about Isaac Monroe?”

  Everybody turned back to Kandi.

  “I never said he was weird,” she said softly. “He’s just…a loner.”

  “So what?” I shouted.

  “Calm down, Lincoln,” she said. “Really, it’s okay.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

  When it sank in that she was telling the truth, an oops flattened out my face. And when I stepped back, I saw that the group was about twice as big as it had been when I’d come crashing in. Colby was there. So was Benny. And Hank and Troy. And Rayne.

  “What’s wrong?” Rayne asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, backpedaling, then running away.

  What I meant, though, was everything.

  I was mighty relieved when school let out. Not that anything happened during it, but I kept expecting it to, which was maybe worse than if it actually had.

  I kept my radar up for Kandi on the walk to Brookside, but she didn’t pop up anywhere, and neither did Troy. I almost jumped for joy when I made it to Brookside without being ambushed.

  The minute I was inside, though, I came skiddin’ to a stop. Thanksgiving decorations were all over the place. There were full-on hay bales and cornstalks, but it wasn’t like being on a farm. It was all fancy. Like a scarecrow dressed in a tux and wearin’ shades.

  Geri said, “Nice transformation, isn’t it?” And after I’d signed in, she hurried around from behind her desk. She was wearing little white sneakers and blue jeans and moving faster than usual. “Wait until you see the Activities Room! It’s almost ready for tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I asked.

  “For our Thanksgiving celebration?”

  “But…tomorrow’s Wednesday.”

  “That’s right. We do it on Wednesday so families can celebrate here with their loved one and have their own celebration on Thursday.” She keyed in the pass code. “It works out better that way.”

  “Wow!” I said, taking in the Activities Room, which had been made into a dining hall, with white tablecloths and Thanksgiving decorations everywhere. “Who did all this?”

  “The activity director’s in charge, but everybody helped out. It’s fun and festive, don’t you think?”

  I nodded. “It looks great.”

  “You’re joining us tomorrow, right?” She gave me a sweet smile. “You’re family now, too, you know.”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am.” And I should have left it right there, but the “family” part was messin’ with my head a little, so I let slip, “Ma says I have to.”

  Geri laughed.

  “I didn’t mean it like that!”

  She chuckled. “Believe me, I understand.” Then she keyed me into the back door of the East Wing and said, “But we’ll have a great time, I promise.”

  The back hallway of the East Wing looked the same as usual—not a stick of Thanksgiving decoration. I could hear snifflin’ comin’ from down Dove Lane, but that wasn’t anything shocking. Tears spring up quick at Brookside, but if Gloria’s nearby, a few there, theres and they disappear just as fast.

  But when I glanced down Dove Lane, it wasn’t one of the oldies doing the snifflin’. It was Gloria. And Ma was the one standing by, making soothing sounds.

  “What’s goin’ on?” I asked, and right away Gloria flicked back her tears and said, “Oh, nothing, dear.”

  Ma was a little more truthful. She scowled down the hallway and said, “Wilhelmina’s son says we’re doing a slipshod job of taking care of his mother.”

  I knew who Wilhelmina was. She stayed in her room most days, but according to Ma, she was a terror. She hit and bit and screamed bloody murder over everything. Ma would come out soaked after bathing her. “Half sweat, half shower,” she told me on a bus ride home. “Lord save me from having to bathe that woman ever again!”

  I spy-eyed the hallway toward Wilhelmina’s door. “Doesn’t her son know how much trouble she is?”

  Gloria put on a brave smile. “She’s been here a year, but this is his first visit. He can’t know what we go through.”

  “But he should,” Ma growled. “And him threatening to have us fired? That’s…” Ma’s head wobbled and steamed and looked mighty close to exploding.

  “Can he do that?” I asked.

  Gloria shook her head. “It just hurts to hear. Especially when you try so hard.”

  Ma finally spouted off. “Who does he think he is anyway, comin’ in and bossin’ us around like that?”

  “Uh…Wilhelmina’s son?” Gloria said with a shaky little grin. Then she took a mighty breath and grabbed Ma by the arm. “Come on. We should get back to it.”

  It didn’t take long for Gloria to make like she was over what had happened, but I could
tell something was still knotting her up. She kept checking the main East Wing door like she was expecting something bad to come bustin’ through it. And then she came up to me all fidgety and asked, “Dear, would you mind playing with them?” She was pointing out a table where Pom-Pom Pam and June were sitting with an oldie named Marla, putting together Scrabble letters on the bare table. “They lose their way. And I can’t handle a squabble right now. Not with”—she gave the door a worried look—“all I need to do before tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I told her, and went right over, filling the fourth seat at the table.

  “Oh, good,” June said to me, then pointed at a word that would have put me in hot water if I’d’ve said it at home. “Make her take it off.”

  “If it’s in the dictionary, it’s fair play!” Marla said, giving me a twinkle. “And that baby’s in the dictionary!”

  “It’s crude,” June said, reaching for the word. “And I’m taking it off!”

  Marla slapped her away. “Hands off!”

  “Now, now,” I said, putting them back in their corners, like I pictured Gloria doing. “It’s Pam’s turn, right?”

  They all gave me the wary-eye, but finally nodded.

  At Brookside, players don’t bother to hide their Scrabble letters. They keep them faceup in front of them, but it doesn’t seem to affect the play. I guess it’s hard enough for them to make words without worrying about anything else. So since I could see Pam’s spread of letters, I pointed to her L and said, “You don’t have to take off Marla’s word, just change it with that.”

  “Ha!” June chortled. “Do it! Do it!”

  So Pam turned the word to “LASS” like she was making a royal move, and then Marla went and shocked everyone by saying, “Now that’s how you play. Good move.”

  I was feeling mighty proud for snuffing the fuse of that situation when a man walked into the Clubhouse. He was wearing slacks, polished shoes, and a tucked-in polo shirt, and he was talking on his phone.

  I’d never seen him before, but I knew right off that he was Wilhelmina’s son. I could just tell. He was keeping his voice down, but it filled the room with a low growl, and he was moving like a dog fixin’ to bite.

  Which I guess is why nobody stopped him when he started going inside bedrooms. Most of the doors were wide open, but even the ones that weren’t he opened anyway, doing a quick tour before moving on to the next one.

  Ma and Gloria stayed back, twitching as they watched him. Teena and Carmen were steerin’ clear, too, delivering laundry to rooms he wasn’t anywhere near.

  After seeing him go in and out of so many rooms, I started getting a dangerous case of the snoops. What was he doing?

  When he went into Mrs. White’s room and didn’t come out, I could see Ma and Gloria whispering, wondering if they should go find out what he was up to.

  Or maybe they were hoping Mrs. White was using her vampire powers!

  A few minutes later he was still in there, so I got gutsy and went over and spied through the door. My heart was jumping like a jackrabbit, but his back was turned, so I held still and listened while he talked on the phone.

  “They better not have a problem with it,” he was saying. “Why would they? The second space is empty!…No, it’s not by the window, but the woman in here is on hospice and doesn’t look like she’ll make it through tomorrow….Why wait? We pay a lot of money to have her here!…Well, I think it is reasonable to demand that they move Mom now. She doesn’t like her room, and her roommate moans. Have you heard it? It would drive me crazy! And this one’s just lying here like she’s already dead!…Well, I don’t care. This is a much better room, and when this roommate goes, we’ll make sure Mom gets the window….Well, isn’t that typical of you?…No, you listen. You’re not roadblocking me on this! I don’t care if you are the legal authority, I’m not leaving here until I get her moved!”

  He jabbed at his phone, and I ducked to the side quick, but he never even noticed me. He stormed out of Mrs. White’s room and snapped his fingers at Ma, commandin’ her to let him out of the Clubhouse.

  When he was gone, Ma and Gloria both swooped down on me. “What did you hear?” they whispered.

  So I told them, and they listened with their eyes stretched high and their mouths stretched low.

  When I was done, Ma whispered, “He said all that? Right there by Mrs. White?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Lord!”

  Gloria looked toward the main door. “I’ll bet he’s gone to talk to Mr. Freize. And I’m sure he’ll get his way.” But when she turned back, I could see she was trying to fight off a tickling at the corners of her mouth.

  Ma noticed it, too. “Gloria?”

  Gloria shook her head a little, but the tickle wasn’t letting up. And finally she said, “Poor Wilhelmina.”

  Slowly, Ma’s mouth took up the tickle.

  Mine did, too.

  Poor Wilhelmina.

  Ma got off work really late. Partly that was because of moving Wilhelmina into Room 102—something her bossy son watched over the whole time. And partly that was because of everything that needed doing before the next day—giving oldies showers, mostly. And tidying up. And readying clothes for any oldie whose family was coming to the Brookside Thanksgiving.

  “Why’s everything got to be so perfect?” I asked on the bus ride home.

  “Some folks only visit on holidays. It’s important the residents look their best.”

  “But…isn’t that like faking it?”

  “It’s the same as cleaning yourself up before family comes to supper.” She looked out the window. “Just a whole lot more work when a body has trouble moving on its own.”

  I was going to leave it right there, but she turned back and stared at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  Behind her stare, I could see tired wheels turning toward trouble. And before long she took up blinkin’—something I knew to be a dangerous sign.

  “No, Ma. Whatever you’re thinkin’, no. There’s only so much one day can take.”

  But she yanked on the stop cord, and before I knew it, we were off the bus miles from home, marching along the sidewalk.

  “Where we goin’, Ma?”

  “To fetch you some clothes. I’m wearin’ my work uniform tomorrow, but you can’t be showin’ up in that.”

  I was tripping all over myself to keep up. “I’ve got clean stuff at home!”

  “Did you see Brookside today?” She tossed me a look that was half angry, half helpless. “I had no idea all this would be such a fuss or I’d have planned better.” She started walking even faster. “Lord, I hope they’re still open.”

  “Who, Ma?”

  But then we turned the corner and I knew.

  Goodwill.

  The lights were on, and we made it with seven minutes to spare. And in seven minutes, Ma tracked down some slacks, a button-down shirt, and a pair of shoes. The shoes were at least two sizes too big, but it was the only pair that came anywhere near fitting me. “Better too big than too small,” Ma said, and headed for the register.

  The clothes came to six dollars and fifty-two cents. That left Ma with a little change from the seven dollars she handed over, and left me with an eye on the stack of comic books by the register. They were tattered and torn, but I heard them crying out, Lincoln…

  “They’re only a quarter, Ma, please?” I begged.

  Ma looked at me, at the change in her hand, at the comics, and back at me.

  I could feel my face start to crumble.

  That was not her cavin’ look.

  That was her stand-firm look.

  But…why? She had a quarter right there in her hand! And couldn’t she hear the comics calling my name?

  And then the girl behind the counter said, “One free comic book with the purchase of a traditional Thanksgiving outfit.”

  I stared at her, not believing my ears. She had eyes that looked like they’d lost a battle with a fat-tipped Sharpie and had
pins sticking through an eyebrow, but her voice was like angels singing.

  “Go on,” she said. “Take one.”

  She didn’t have to say it again.

  Back on the bus Ma leaned against the window and closed her eyes. “Four of those comics equals one good shirt,” she said, sounding worn to the bone.

  I knew she was explaining why she hadn’t jumped at the chance to buy me a comic, but it gave me an instant case of guilt over the hush money I’d wasted.

  I tried to smooth it all over by kiddin’ around. “So…can I take the shirt back?”

  Her head turned toward me. Slowly. Like it was in need of oilin’.

  “You’re a funny boy, Lincoln Jones.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, grinning at her.

  She raised a disapprovin’ eyebrow, then turned back to the window, but I could see her in the glass, smiling.

  —

  The next morning we were up early, same as every Wednesday, but instead of getting on the school bus, I got on the city bus with Ma. My Goodwill clothes and comic book were in my backpack, along with a notebook for stories.

  “So,” Ma said once we were settled in, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Not already…!” I moaned.

  “What am I gonna say?” she asked, her proper tone instantly slippin’ away.

  “Somethin’ havin’ to do with me doin’ somethin’ besides readin’ my comic book?”

  “Hmm,” she said, sizing me up. “How’d you know?”

  “Ma!”

  “And didn’t you read the whole thing last night?”

  “It was a speed-read! To see how it ended! I need to go back and read it right.”

  She sighed. “Look, Lincoln, I didn’t ask if it was okay for you to spend the whole day with me. I figured it’d be fine, but after all the fuss yesterday, I don’t want to jeopardize my job.”

  “But Gloria said—”

  “Gloria’s been workin’ there five years and everybody loves her. No one’s firin’ Gloria.” She took a deep breath. “Me, I’m new, and not as…sunny as Gloria.”

  “So…why was she the one so shook up yesterday and not you?”

  Ma gave me a long, hard stare, then nodded and said, “I guess we can thank Cliff for that.”