by Joyce Magnin
“But he got in the yard because I didn’t check the gate. We always check the gate. And this time, I didn’t. I was sure I heard the latch click. And I was in a hurry to get to your house and start on the UFO.”
“Oh.” Brian stood. “So…so it’s really my fault.”
“What?” I look up at him, shielding my eyes from the setting sun. “How can it be your fault?”
“Because I’m the one who needs the carburetor.”
I don’t know what to say about that. “Yeah, but I was the one who left the gate open.”
Brian smiles in a nervous way. “I guess it’s really my father’s fault. He’s the one sending me to my aunt Natalie, and that’s why I needed the carburetor in the first place.”
“Or maybe it’s the war’s fault. If your brother hadn’t…hadn’t…” I can’t say the word died because it’s like if I do, it will somehow jinx Bud.
Brian nods. “He’d be here fixing the truck with me.”
I look out over the baseball diamond. A swirl of dust kicks up around the pitcher’s mound as a breeze begins to blow. The kind of breeze that signals rain. The kind of breeze that tells the birds and squirrels it’s time to go home, to take shelter. The sky is darkening, and I hear a crash of thunder in the distance.
“It’s all connected,” I say.
“What?” Brian says. “What’s connected?”
“Everything. Everything is connected if you keep looking. I left the gate open because it was connected to the flying saucer, and the flying saucer was connected to you, and—”
“Oh, I get it,” Brian says. “Everything gets connected. Nothing happens unless something else happened first.”
“Yeah, and the more connections you make, the farther away your problem gets. Except…well, except it still matters, it still hurts, and you could make the fault land on anyone or anything. But the part that is connected to you is all that matters when you’re in the thick of it.”
Brian lets go a soft sigh. “You’re pretty smart for a kid.”
“I want to go west with you,” I say in a hurry.
“What? You mean like run away?”
“I have to go. I can’t stay here. Not now. Not after what I did.”
“My aunt won’t buy two bus tickets. And without that carburetor—”
I’m hoping Brian isn’t just humoring me the way I humor Elaine about her UFOs.
“We can still make the UFO and sell tickets,” I say.
“I thought your mom said we couldn’t.”
I shrugged. “We need to make the money for the carburetor. And we’ll keep it secret.”
Rain falls. Small drops at first, but then all of sudden, it pours down in big, heavy drops—the kind you can see, the kind that splash on the bleachers.
“Come on,” Brian says. “Let’s run for the shelter.”
I look across the playground at the large, green-roofed shelter where we play box hockey and where the recreation director has her office and where she keeps all the pimple balls and basketballs inside a locked cage.
“No, I better not. I better go home. I’m in enough trouble now as it is.”
“Suit yourself,” Brian says. “I think I’ll hang under the shelter.”
I take off running toward home. Toward home—toward a different shelter that at the moment feels pretty leaky. But I stop halfway up the hill. Rain drips off my nose. The roof. No way they’ll let me sleep on the roof in the rain. My situation has just gone from bad to impossible.
Fourteen
The rain is pouring down pretty hard as I run up the hill toward home. I see Joey Patrillo. He and his two cousins are playing in the street, stomping in puddles and laughing like a pack of hyenas.
“Hey, Joyce,” Joey calls. “Sister see any more ships from outer space?”
One of the other boys—I think it’s Beezo—punches his shoulder. “’Course she did. She always sees them.” Then he makes what I think are supposed to be flying saucer noises.
I get to the house and look to the roof. I’m certain my little island is under water. It’s good that my books and other things are inside the tent, but I know I left the binoculars out and maybe a few other things. For a second or two, I think about climbing up there and checking on things. But a crack of lightning changes my mind. I stand on the stoop and take a deep breath like I am about to dive into the deep end of the pool. I push open the door.
Mom is crocheting on the couch, and Dad is nowhere in sight. I guess he’s in the garage working on his Fourth of July surprise. I think my dad forgets about troubles while he is working on his projects.
“Hi,” I say to Mom.
“You’re soaking wet. Go upstairs and change.”
“Is Elaine up there?”
Mom nods.
Polly lets out a bark, so I pat her head.
I go to the kitchen first and get a glass of water. Then I poke around a little, pretending I’m busy when I’m really just trying to avoid going upstairs.
But I can’t do this forever. Especially after Mom tells me to get changed for the nineteenth time.
• • •
I stand outside our bedroom for a pretty long time. The door is open, and I can see Elaine sitting on her bed, drawing as usual. I swallow hard—Jelly Bean’s cage is still there. Elaine has tied a black ribbon around it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
My sister shrugs without so much as a glance my way. My heart sinks into my sopping-wet sneakers. “I…have to get changed.”
She shrugs again.
It doesn’t take me long to change into another pair of shorts and a shirt. I leave my wet clothes in the bathroom, and then I stand in the hallway. I just stand there feeling like I have nowhere to go. It’s a cinch Elaine doesn’t want me in the room. So I head downstairs and go straight for the front door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mom asks.
“The roof.”
“No. Not in a storm. You stay inside tonight.”
“But, Mom, Elaine is so mad and…”
“Doesn’t matter. You stay in. Read a book or something.”
• • •
That night, after everyone has gone to bed, the house is quieter that it has ever been. Quieter because my brother isn’t home to bang on his drums or watch TV all night. Quieter because there are no guinea pig squeals. And quieter because Elaine won’t speak to me.
I hear her sniffling into her pillow, and all I can think is that I need to find a way to replace Jelly Bean and then leave for Arizona with Brian.
For a while, I listen to the rain and watch the dancing shadows that are even more sinister than usual tonight. Elaine stops sniffling. The room is warm, so I jump down from my bunk. Now, since we don’t have to worry about rain coming in, I open the window and look out at the still-cloudy sky. Just one star, off in the distance, hangs like a diamond between two small, dark cloudy spots. Even the moon is shrouded.
“Starlight, star bright,” I whisper. “First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.” Then I close my eyes tight and wish with all my heart that Elaine will be OK and start talking to me and that I can find a way to make her feel better.
And then it comes to me.
“Elaine,” I call in a loud whisper. “Look. It’s…it’s a flying saucer. Elaine.”
I shake her. She doesn’t wake up right away. I shake harder. “Elaine. It’s a flying saucer.”
“Where?” she says as she sits up.
“Outside our window.”
“Stop making fun of me. Haven’t you done enough?”
Finally. She is talking. Believe it or not, I am happy she is angry.
“I’m not making fun. It hovered right in front of the window and blinked its lights like…like you know… What do they call it?
Morse code.”
“Oh yeah, what was it saying?”
“I don’t read Morse code but…but I think the Martians—”
“I never said they were Martians.”
“Whoever. Aliens. I think the aliens were telling me to tell you I was sorry again and…to tell you I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
Elaine pulls the sheet up though it’s still as hot as blazes outside and inside. The little fan we have in the room isn’t doing much except blowing the hot, swampy air around. “You can’t.”
I climb back up to my bunk, wishing I was climbing onto the roof.
• • •
And that is exactly what I do the next morning. I wake before Elaine. The sun is on the rise. The rain is gone. The storm has passed, and even though it didn’t last long, at least I got Elaine to say more than a single word to me, more than a grunt. I decide to take that as a good sign. After I use the bathroom, I change into yellow shorts and a blue shirt. I tie my still-wet Keds onto my feet and slip out the front door without even saying good morning to my mother.
I head straight for the ladder, and lickety-split, I climb to the roof to survey my camp. It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The rain left a few puddles, but the tent is still standing and my books and other things are safe under the canvas. But the sketchpad I use to write messages to Brian is destroyed. Water-logged. My binoculars don’t seem any worse because of the storm. Although I know Dad will kill me if he finds out I left them in the rain.
After cleaning off the lenses with my shirt, I take a look. Brian isn’t on his roof. I scan the neighborhood and only see the mail truck and a few folks milling around. Mrs. Wilbur is hanging clothes to dry on the line near the survival shelter.
After a few minutes, my stomach growls, and I think I had better head down for breakfast. The last thing I should do is make Mom angry.
• • •
Mom has bowls on the table and boxes of cereal—Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies.
“Did Dad leave for work?” I ask.
“No, he’s in the garage working on his surprise.”
I pour Rice Krispies into my bowl. “Mom, can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure,” she says. “What’s up?”
I push my cereal down into the milk. “It’s about the flying saucer exhibit.”
“Yes, we agreed. You are going to forget the whole silly thing.”
I swallow, wondering how to tell her I still want to build the flying saucer and have the exhibit. But then she starts talking about Jelly Bean.
“We will have Jelly Bean’s funeral today.”
My heart sinks into my sneakers. I chew my cereal, still thinking I should tell her about the flying saucer plan. And I might have done just that if Elaine hadn’t walked into the kitchen carrying her sketchbook.
“Good morning, honey,” Mom says. “How are you feeling?”
“Sorrowful, Mother. I feel sorrowful.” Elaine sets her sketchpad on the table. It’s open. She’s been working on a pencil drawing of Jelly Bean in a pasture of grass and dandelions. The dandelions look odd though. They each have a tiny eye drawn into the jagged leaves.
“What’s with the eyes?” I ask.
Elaine pours milk over her Corn Flakes and ignores me.
“Dad stayed home for Jelly Bean’s funeral,” Mom says. “But we should have it this morning in case he wants to go do a job.”
“I made a cross and a little tombstone,” Elaine says.
Of course she did. I would have helped if she had just asked me.
“Why don’t you girls finish up with breakfast, and we’ll have the service in the side yard before it gets too hot.”
“We should bury her under the peach tree,” I say.
Elaine slams her fist on the table. “It’s not your choice!” Then she cries and wipes her face with a paper napkin. “Does Jerkface have to be there?”
“No name calling,” Mom says, “and of course Joyce Anne needs to be there.”
Elaine grabs her drawing book and runs for the stairs.
I push my bowl away as that angry burble in my stomach comes back. So what if we have to bury Jelly Bean? So what if Elaine doesn’t want me there? Maybe I won’t go to the stupid funeral.
But right then and there, I make my decision. I am gonna go ahead with the flying saucer display and get Brian his carburetor. Just as soon as the funeral is over, Brian and I can get started, and we’ll make enough to buy Elaine a new pig too. Then everyone will stop hating me. Especially when I’m on my way to Arizona.
Polly and I head out the front door. She goes straight for the side yard and sniffs around the spot where Jelly Bean died. I go straight for the ladder. But before I start to climb, I pat Polly’s head. “I didn’t mean for the pig to die. I’m not a cold-blooded murderer.”
Polly barks and licks my face.
“You just tell them I’m on the roof when they come out for the stupid funeral.”
I read Alice in Wonderland and wait for them to come out and bury Jelly Bean.
I get to the part where Alice meets the Cheshire Cat.
“How fine you look when dressed in rage,” the Cheshire Cat said. “Your enemies are fortunate your condition is not permanent.”
My angry feelings start to fade.
Alice’s rage wasn’t permanent and neither is mine. Elaine’s might not be either. Or my dad’s. Maybe he won’t always be angry about Bud.
The sun is a little higher in the sky. I wonder if the sun is up in Germany or if it is still night.
“Joyce Anne, are you up there?” my father calls.
• • •
The only other funeral I have ever gone to was the one for Humbert the hamster. He died from natural causes, and it wasn’t nearly as sad as this.
Elaine stands near Mom. She’s all dressed up in her new blouse and green shorts. She used poster paint to paint a daisy on one cheek. She’s holding a small cardboard box painted with flowers and trees and dandelions. She must have hand-decorated it last night. Jelly Bean is painted in gold on two sides. I stare into the small, guinea-pig-size hole Dad dug under the peach tree. A small mound of dirt waits nearby—dirt that we’ll use to cover the box.
Polly is wearing a black ribbon around her neck. She sits on her haunches between Mom and Elaine.
Dad is wearing his plumbing clothes—no shirt-and-tie or black. It isn’t that kind of funeral, at least for him. “Today we are here to say good-bye to our friend and pet, Jelly Bean,” he says.
Polly nuzzles Elaine’s leg.
And that is when Elaine loses it again. “She was a good pig,” Dad continues. “And we will all miss her.” Then he clears his throat and looks at me. I suppose it is my turn to say something.
I have to sniff back tears as feelings of guilt well up inside again. All I can think to say is “I’m sorry” and “She was a good pet.” There had to be something better to say. But I can’t think of it. I look into Elaine’s swollen, teary eyes. I can see how much she loved Jelly Bean. A shiver wiggles through my body.
Elaine’s lower lip trembles. Mom drapes her arm around her. I close my eyes and wish my father would put his arm around me.
“Jelly Bean was the best pet and a good friend,” Mom says. “Remember how she loved peanut butter and black licorice? Remember how she rode on Polly’s back?”
Polly whimpers and nuzzles the decorated box.
“Yeah,” Dad says. “She was not your average guinea pig.”
“She was one of the family,” Elaine says. “My best friend.”
“Yeah,” I say. Yeah is a pretty stupid thing to say.
Elaine sniffs. She kneels and places the small, decorated box into the hole. “I’ll miss you forever.” Then she wipes some dirt over the top of the box.
We all stand there. No o
ne moves, no one says a word for what feels like an hour. Finally, Dad says, “I think we should all get on with our day.”
And that is that.
• • •
I can’t stand the thought of hanging around anymore. So I head toward Brian’s. I am going to earn some money to buy a carburetor and a pig and make things right.
On the way past Linda Costello’s house, I have an idea. Maybe Linda can help. She can help round up kids to come for the exhibit.
Now the thing about Linda Costello is that she will do practically anything for red licorice. I once got her to stand in the middle of the street and cluck like a chicken for three red licorice whips.
I see her bike in the yard and figure she’s home. So I knock on the door. Linda doesn’t live in an end house like me. She is sandwiched in between like a giant slice of baloney.
Her mother comes to the door.
“Oh, Joyce. Go on up, honey. She’s in her room.”
Her bedroom door is open, and her favorite music drifts into the hall. The Monkees. She loves the Monkees.
“Hey,” she says.
I close the door and whisper, “I need a favor.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Linda says. “Not another one of your favors.” She is sitting crisscross-applesauce on her bed and looking through Tiger Beat magazine. “I’m not doing anything for you. I always get in trouble.”
“For red licorice?”
“How much?”
“Ten whips.”
“Must be big. What do I have to do?”
I sit down on her bed. “The first thing you have to do is promise not to tell a word of this to a living, breathing soul under penalty of death.”
“OK, OK. Don’t give yourself a heart attack.”
“I’m serious. Pinkie swear.” I hold up my pinkie finger, inviting her to lock hers onto it as a solemn oath of secrecy.
“Jeez,” she says. “So dramatic.”
“Good—now listen.” I make sure the door is still closed and turn the music up a little.
And then I tell her. I tell her about the flying saucer exhibit, and I tell her about Jelly Bean. Telling about the pig is the worst.