by Joyce Magnin
Elaine grabs my hand. “Come on.”
We run as hard as we can toward the park and then stop to catch our breath.
“Do you see?” I ask. “Do you see why I have to help him? His own father doesn’t want him.” I stamp my foot on the ground. “I hate him. How come he can send his own kid away?”
Elaine and I sit on the field bleachers.
I throw a stick for Polly to chase down.
“I don’t think he wants to,” Elaine says. “It’s just…just that with no mom and with him being gone all the time, he can’t take proper care of Brian.”
I wince and pull the stick from Polly’s mouth. “I thought getting yelled at and grounded and stuff was hard.”
“Yeah.” Elaine sits her sketchbook next to her on the bleacher. She reties her sneaker, making two perfectly sized loops, exactly the same. She wears pink sneakers with green laces that glow in the dark. She probably got them at the mall—at some store only teenagers shop at.
I toss the stick a few more times, and Polly returns it each time.
“So guess what?” Elaine says.
“What?”
“Maybe I’ll help you build that UFO for no charge, no conditions. I want to help Brian.”
“Thanks.” I smile and lay my head on her shoulder. “Do you ever think about leaving?”
“Leaving what?”
“Home.”
“Nah. Not really. Do you?”
I lift my head from her shoulder and toss the stick for Polly. “Sometimes…when I feel like no one cares about me.”
Elaine gives me a little shove. “Aw, come on. That’s bull. Who doesn’t care about you?”
I want to tell her that sometimes, it feels like she doesn’t care about me, but I instead, I say, “You’re right. I guess everybody cares.” But then after a second or two, I say, “It’s just…just with Bud missing and—”
“Well, sure, silly. We all have to care about him and worry and get sad and stuff. He’s more important right now. That’s all.”
“Sure. That’s all it is,” I say. “Let’s go see Brian.”
“But what if his father’s still there? What if they’re still talking or Brian doesn’t want company?”
“He’ll want to see us. He needs us. And besides, nobody can talk about stuff like that for very long. It makes your heart hurt too much.”
• • •
We make it back to Crestview Drive. I check the front of the house for his father’s truck. “It looks a little like Dad’s.”
“Don’t see it,” Elaine says.
“Good. Maybe he left.”
We go down the alley, and this time, the garage door is open. I see Brian inside. He’s wiping a wrench on a greasy, blue rag.
“Hey,” I say.
He looks at us, and his face goes red like a McIntosh. “Hey.”
“I brought my sister, Elaine.”
Elaine raises her hand and wiggles her fingers. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Brian says.
The three of us just stand there like three mannequins in a store window. I figure he knows we heard and he knows we know and, well, someone has to speak first.
Polly barks.
“Sorry, Brian,” Elaine says.
“Yeah,” I say. “We heard.”
Brian took a breath. “Figured that. I heard you talking. Well, don’t sweat it. Ain’t nothin’. Not really.”
“We’re here about the plan,” I say. “Elaine and me.”
“Yeah, how’s that?” Brian walked out of the garage. He kneels down and gives Polly a good scratch behind the ears. I figure that’s a good thing. A dog is the best medicine after a big hurt. Polly licks his face twice and lets him nuzzle her head against his chest.
“So how are we going to build this UFO?” he asks. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Elaine opens her sketchbook. “This is a drawing I made of the UFO that keeps flying around.”
Brian looks at the drawing. “Hey, you’re good.”
“Thanks,” Elaine says.
“No, you’re like an artist,” Brian says.
“Anyway,” I say. “The plan is the same as last night. We build the UFO, like a model, and then we sell tickets to all the kids in the park to come see it. Bing, bang, boo, you’ve got your money.”
Brian laughs. “For real? We’re really gonna build this spaceship and sell tickets?” He shoves the rag into his back pocket.
“Yeah,” Elaine says. “Why not?”
Brian looks Elaine square in the eyes. “Then what?”
“We’ll set it up somewhere,” Elaine says, “and maybe even hang it from a string or something to make it look like it’s flying. People will come.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Fifty cents a ticket to see an actual flying saucer.” I tap the picture. “It’s a flawless plan.”
Brian smiles and looks at the drawing again. “That’s a lot of tickets we’d have to sell.”
“Yeah. We can do it,” I say. “And Elaine can draw or paint or build anything.”
Brian looks at Elaine. “Really?”
“Yep,” Elaine says. “This is my first flying saucer, but I bet we can figure it out.”
Brian scratches behind his ear with the wrench he is holding. “OK, I’m game. Let’s do it.”
Eleven
Brian throws open the hood of his truck with a thud and props it open with a stick.
Elaine looks inside at the same time as him. They bumped heads a little, and then they laugh and smile at each other.
“OK, OK, we got a UFO to build,” I say.
“Not so simple,” Brian says. “I can set the gaps on spark plugs, change oil, and even replace a timing belt—but build a flying saucer?”
Elaine looks at her drawing. “Plans. We need to make plans. You know, like an architect.”
“Like a schematic,” Brian says.
“Yeah,” Elaine says. And they smiled into each other’s eyes again, and I got a wobbly feeling in my stomach. I hate romance.
“Come on,” Brian says. “My father won’t be back for hours. We can work in the garage at the workbench.”
Polly settles down in the shade of the truck while we go inside. It smells of grease and dirt and heat.
“So how big do you think it needs to be?” Brian says. “Aren’t UFOs like really huge?”
“Not the ones I’ve seen,” Elaine says. “They’re about this big.” She holds her hands apart.
“About two feet?” Brian says. “Talk about little green men. These must be really small little green men.”
“Yeah, pygmy aliens,” I say, all of a sudden feeling left out of the conversation.
“I was thinking,” Elaine says. “We can use a turkey roasting pan, the kind with the lid. Might have to seal the lid on tight.” She points at her drawing. “See, like this.” And then she sketches it out.
“Yeah,” Brian says. “I can solder them together.”
“Good,” Elaine says.
“But it needs a top,” I say pointing to the drawing. “Like a dome or bubble.”
“It’s not a bubble,” Elaine says. “But it does need a…a thing.”
I roll my eyes. Bubble is a much better word than thing.
Brian and Elaine keep looking at the drawing and then around the garage as though he has spare flying saucer parts just lying around.
“I know,” Elaine says. “A Jell-O mold.”
“What?” Brian says.
“Yeah. Mom has these copper jelly molds. You know… They make little Jell-O things, like fancy blobs and shapes.”
“I’ve seen them,” Brian says. “My mom used to make them too.”
“So we get a small one and put it on top.” She quickly adds the Jell-O mold to her sketch. It looks pret
ty neat.
“And I can put a little pipe on the back, like in your drawing,” Brian says.
“And it will need lights,” Elaine says. “Around the middle.”
I think for sure they’d listen to me about the lights because I had already thought about Christmas lights.
“Christmas lights,” I say in hurry before either one of them can say it.
“Christmas lights,” Brian says like he didn’t even hear me.
“Yeah,” Elaine says. “They have those small ones now. My dad got some last year. And for the eyes, I can make cardboard cutouts.”
I wander outside and sit with Polly until Elaine finally calls me. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Nothin’.” I say.
“We think we got it figured out,” Brian calls.
“OK,” I say, still patting Polly.
Finally, they come out of the garage.
“We need to figure out how to sneak the supplies out of Mom’s kitchen,” Elaine says. “And since you’re the biggest sneak I know, that’s your job.”
“No problem. I sneak stuff all the time.”
Brian laughs.
“Just bring the stuff when you get it,” Brian says. “And I’ll fire up the soldering gun.”
That’s when he and Elaine look dreamily into each other’s eyes again. I hate googly eyes.
“Sheesh.” I walk on ahead with Polly at my side.
Sneaking the goods out of the kitchen isn’t too tough. We do it while Mom is in the basement working on laundry. I stash the roasting pan and the Jell-O mold behind the hedges out front while Elaine goes upstairs to pee and check on Jelly Bean. She never goes out without checking first.
Getting the Christmas lights is a whole other story. The lights are packed away in boxes in the basement, and it is never easy to figure out which box. My father tries his best to keep them organized, but there is just so much stuff in the basement that it’s hard to know where to begin.
Mom never throws anything out. She always says, “Don’t throw that in the trash. Someone might need it.” And so, no matter what it is—a chipped plate, one sock, a set of oddly sized springs—we keep it.
I mix myself a glass of Tang while I wait for Mom to come upstairs. I like Tang. It’s pretty famous because it’s what the astronauts drank in space. I also snag a chocolate-chip cookie. Mom finally comes upstairs.
“I need you to put all your laundry away, Joyce,” Mom says. “And I mean away, proper…in drawers. And then collect trash and bring down any glasses and plates you have in your room.”
“Now?” I say. “Can I do it later?”
“Just make sure it gets done.”
Mom carries the nearly overflowing basket of clothes upstairs, and I dash down into the basement.
I stand in the room and look around at lots of boxes and old tables, some piles of clothes, and an opened box filled with doorknobs. Another opened box is full of coat hangers.
I pick my way through the sea of cardboard the best I can without disturbing it too much. And then I see it: a box marked Christmas.
“Hope that’s lights and not ornaments.”
I yank it from its spot between two other boxes. “Rats.” Ornaments.
Another box. And another. Finally, I find the one with the lights. But they are the big bulbs. I know Dad bought a few sets of the tiny lights.
And then I find it. The motherlode of tiny lights. Eureka. I hold the small green-and-red box and read: Merry Bright. 35-Light Set. Guaranteed to light. “I hope so.”
I run upstairs, out the front door, and stash the bulbs with the roasting pan and Jell-O mold. Then I go inside. I find Elaine and Mom in the bedroom talking.
“Just go slow,” I hear Mom say. “But I’m glad he’s cute.”
I swallow. Brian? Were they talking about Brian?
I make a noise, and Elaine looks at me. I give her the thumbs-up.
“Thanks for the talk, Mom,” Elaine says.
Mom pats Elaine’s knee. “Any time. Now put that laundry into drawers, please, not on the floor.” She looks at me. “And you too. And don’t forget the trash.”
“But, Mom, I have to—”
“What?” she asks.
“Aw, nothin’. I’ll put my clothes away.”
“And mine too,” Elaine says once Mom is out of earshot.
“What? No soap. Put your own underwear away. You said no conditions.”
Elaine was cradling Jelly Bean like she was a baby. “I changed my mind.”
“You are such a jerk.” I heave a huge sigh. “Fine. I’ll put all the clothes away, including your stupid underpants and bras.”
“Thank you,” Elaine says. “And make sure you hang my blouses in the closet so they don’t get wrinkled. Keep my panties folded, and put the bras to the left of the panties. I’m going to Brian’s. Meetcha there.” Bras to the left. I shake my head. What a weirdo.
“Wait a sec,” I say. “What did you tell Mom about him?”
“Nothing much,” Elaine says. “Well, not too much. I told her I met a cute boy is all. I was trying to stall her so you could get the lights.”
“Well, stop talking about him. She’ll get suspicious. And besides, he’s not your boyfriend. I met him first…not that he’s my boyfriend. It’s just… Aw, never mind.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Elaine says. “Don’t be such a worry wart. And I never said he was my boyfriend. But maybe you want him to be your boyfriend.”
I chuck a rolled-up pair of black socks at her head. Only I miss and the socks bounce off her shoulder and ricochet onto Jelly Bean, who is still resting in the crook of Elaine’s arm.
“Hey, cut it out,” Elaine says. “You’ll hurt her.”
“I didn’t mean to, and you know how Mom is. She has a way of finding things out. It’s spooky. I swear she has ESP.”
Elaine chuckles. “Yeah, like the time she knew I played hooky that day before the school called her. How could she? I hung out with Grace DePalma all day, except for going to the mall.” Elaine shakes her head. “There was just no way she could have known.”
“She has special powers. I bet she’ll know I took the lights.”
“Of course she will. I bet you a million bucks she’ll decide to roast a turkey today and make a Jell-O mold. But we can’t worry about that. We have a UFO to build, and you have laundry to put away and trash to collect.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “I don’t know why I have to get the trash. I’ve been on the roof.”
Elaine shrugs and smiles.
“I stashed the lights and stuff behind the front hedge.” I’m not looking at her when I say it. I’m too busy shoving shorts in her drawer. “How many pairs do you need? Sheesh.”
But she is gone. I hear her pig-nose voice drift up from downstairs, telling Mom to bring Jelly Bean in the house in a little while. I quickly finish with the clothes, then collect the trash into the bag Mom left and dash down the steps.
Mom is watching her favorite cooking show on the TV. The chef is talking about whipping egg whites. I wonder why Mom watches cooking shows. She’s already a great cook.
“Take that trash out to the can,” Mom says.
“Aw, Mom, but—”
“No buts. Just do it.”
Man, oh man, I want to get to Brian’s before they start building the flying saucer, so I run down the cellar steps two at time. I stop just long enough to check the garage door. No soap. Still locked. Dad is getting ready to reveal his latest project, and the joint is still locked up tight.
I drop the bag into the can, cram on the lid, and dart into the yard through the side-yard gate. I hear the latch click, and since I’m in a hurry to get to Brian’s, I keep going without making the double check.
I keep an eye out for Jelly Bean because I don’t want to ste
p on her. I see her munching on a large dandelion leaf near the peach tree.
“See you later, Jelly Bean,” I say as I dodge through the front gate and slam it behind me.
I run down the street. I get just to the mailbox when I hear squealing. Not happy squeals. Loud, blood-curdling squeals.
My heart pounds. I run back to the house. The squeals grow more blood-curdling.
“Jelly Bean!”
I throw open the front gate and stop—frozen.
Twelve
Bubba, the huge, white German shepherd from across the alley, had gotten Jelly Bean.
I scream.
Bubba grabs her by her wiggly, little heinie and tosses her in the air like a toy.
I scream.
Jelly Bean flails in the air. I see every action like it is in slow motion. Her little legs move like she is trying to run away.
I scream.
Jelly Bean crashes to the ground with an awful thud.
Polly—where is Polly? It’s her job to protect Jelly Bean, but she’s not in the yard.
“Polly! Polly!”
I run toward Bubba. “Get out. Get out of here.”
Bubba snatches the pig up in his mouth and looks at me with wild eyes. The hairs on his back are standing on end, his ears are pulled back, and white foam drips from his jowls.
I pick up the only weapon I can find—a jagged, fist-size rock—and am just about to throw it when I hear another scream. It’s Elaine.
I throw the rock. It barely makes the dog flinch as he shakes Jelly Bean side to side.
I run at him and kick him.
He drops Jelly Bean.
She lies on the grass wiggling and shaking.
“No, don’t come near here,” I scream to Elaine. But that’s like holding back a burst dam. I start to cry. I want her to go back to Brian’s. I don’t want her to see. I try to hold her back, but she breaks through my arms.
She pushes Bubba out of the way like he’s a puppy, picks up Jelly Bean’s limp body, and holds the pig to her cheek.
Bubba growls. I holler at him. “Get out. Get out!” I make a move toward him. He lets out a yelp and runs through the side-yard gate.