by Joyce Magnin
“That ain’t enough,” Linda says.
“Yeah, you owe me twenty-five cents,” I say.
“Cheese-a-loo,” Rat says. “Here.” He gives me a quarter.
“Thanks,” I say. “See you at the display tomorrow. And tell everybody else.”
Beezo waves his hand.
“They’ll tell everybody,” I say.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they don’t believe us.”
• • •
We get to Brian’s house. He’s working on the truck.
“Hey,” I say.
Brian looks up from the engine. “What’s shakin’?”
“Going great,” I say. “We sold some tickets.”
“Yeah,” Linda says. “And we figure word of mouth will start up, and pretty soon, all the kids will know. We’ll be selling tickets at the door.”
Brian smiles. “I sure hope so. Elaine needs a new pet.”
I suck in a deep breath and wonder for half a sec whether it’s right to replace Jelly Bean. Brian can’t replace his mother or his brother.
“What’s in the box?” Brian asks.
“Tickets and money,” I say. “It’s not much. Eight dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Brian looks away. “Not enough.”
“I know. But we’ll sell more, and like Linda says, we’ll sell tickets at the door. You’ll see. We’ll get enough money to buy the pig and for you and me—”
“Right,” Brian says. “Arizona.”
Linda’s eyes grow to the size of tea saucers. She doesn’t know my plan to go with Brian.
“So we’ll open the display tomorrow?” I say.
“Sure. Sooner the better.”
Linda grabs my hand and practically pulls me down the street. “So what gives?”
“What do you mean?” I stop. She’s still holding my hand.
“You and Brian? Arizona? What gives?”
“Oh that. It’s nothin’. Just a mistake.”
“You’re planning to go with him. Boy, oh boy, are you gonna catch it. You’re crazy. You can’t go to Arizona.”
“Look, I don’t want to. I have to.”
“How come?”
“Because of what I did. That’s how come.”
“You mean Jelly Bean?”
“Because it’s my fault she died. It’s my fault Elaine got so upset, and it’s my fault nobody…”
“Nobody what?”
“Nothin’.” I take off running toward home, the coins jingling in the box.
Linda chases after me.
I don’t stop until I get to my front gate.
Linda comes panting up behind me. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I got to. I can’t stay here. Elaine hates me now.”
“How do you know? Did she say it?”
“No. But…but she won’t talk to me. Nobody will.”
Linda and I stand near the peach tree. “I wish you wouldn’t go. Maybe you can just stay on the roof longer.”
“Nah, the roof isn’t far enough away.”
• • •
I suck in a deep breath before opening the front door. I don’t see anyone at first, just Polly lying on the couch, asleep and snoring to beat the band. She wakes up when I close the door.
“Hey, girl,” I say. “Where is everybody?”
After checking the kitchen, I run upstairs. Elaine is sitting on her bed as usual, drawing. At least she’s not crying.
At first, I pretend to need something out of my dresser, and to not look too stupid, I change my socks.
“We decided to go ahead with the UFO display,” I say.
Elaine just keeps sketching.
“What are you drawing?”
She pulls the book against her chest. “None of your business. Shouldn’t you be on the roof or something?”
Jelly Bean’s cage is still on its table. Black ribbon and all.
“Brian made the UFO look terrific. You should come see it. It’s spectacular. We even have music. Some dead guy…Gustav something or other. It’s really good. Please come.”
She shrugs and then erases something with the gummed eraser that came with her set of ultra-fancy drawing pencils.
I wait a little bit. But she doesn’t budge.
“Fine.” I stamp my foot. “Be mad at me. Everybody is mad at me. But it’s not like I did it on purpose, you know. It was an accident.”
“No it wasn’t,” Elaine says. “Murderer.”
Wow. My heart breaks into a million pieces.
I run out of the room and down the steps. I don’t even stop to talk to Polly or check in with Mom or see about supper. I can’t stay in the house one more second. I climb to the roof and cry. I cry until I can’t cry anymore. I cry fifty buckets.
Seventeen
The next morning arrives with bright sun swimming in a sea of orange and pink and purple sky. It is going to be a good day. A clear but hazy day. Hot as usual, thick and humid. The kind of day that makes a kid sweat just standing still.
I climb down the ladder through the peach tree branches, which are full of baby peaches. After a quick visit to the bathroom, I go to the kitchen, where Elaine is eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. Mom’s fussing with her African violets. She’s humming.
“Hey,” I say.
“Morning, Lamb Chop,” Mom says. “Rice Krispies this morning.”
Lamb Chop? Maybe she’s not mad at me anymore. I pour myself a bowl. “Today’s the day,” I whisper to Elaine.
She doesn’t even look at me.
“Today’s the day for what?” Mom asks.
“Nothin’,” I sit in my chair with a flop. “I was just wondering if today was the day she’d talk to me. More than just three words.”
Elaine makes a noise and looks away from me. I guess the work I did the other night to get her to talk didn’t last very long.
“It takes time,” Mom says.
• • •
I finally head over to Brian’s house, a little late because I had to do chores—dusting and vacuuming the living room. When I get to the alley, I can hear that Gustav guy’s music. And there is already a line with Joey, Beezo, and Rat in the front.
“Come on, Joyce,” calls Beezo. “Open up.”
“Hold your horses,” I say. “I gotta make sure it’s ready.”
I knock on the garage door. “Brian, open up. It’s me.”
The garage door opens just a few inches, enough for me to slip under. It’s like walking onto another planet, what with the music and the black light and the flying saucer hanging there, seemingly hovering with flashing lights. It’s spectacular. Brian even painted planets on the backdrop. He did a pretty good job.
“That’s Saturn,” he says, pointing to the planet with rings. “And Neptune and Mars. Makes it more authentic, don’t ya think?”
“Truly bona fide,” I say.
“Still wish Elaine could have painted them,” he says.
I lightly touch one of Saturn’s rings. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Guess we should open the garage,” Brian says.
“No. Not all the way. We should let just a couple of kids slip under, to get the full effect.”
“Good idea.” Brian opens the garage enough for me to slip out again.
“Come on,” Joey says. “Let us in.”
“If you want to see the saucer, you have to slip under the door,” I say. “Give me your tickets first.”
Rat is the first, followed by Joey and Beezo and then Wayne Cowsill and David Hazel.
I sell tickets to six more kids who show up out of the blue—must be word of mouth.
Linda Costello shows up. “Let me in,” she says.
“You need a ticket,” I say. But I’m just kidding. Linda doesn’t
need a ticket. Besides, she can make her own.
Rat and Beezo and Joey slip back under the door from outer space.
“It was pretty cool,” Beezo says.
“Yeah,” Joey says. He socks my shoulder. “Better than I thought.”
After that, all the kids are hollering to get in, and the music gets louder and louder until—uh-oh—trouble comes marching down the alleyway.
My mother and Elaine are heading our way.
“Oh rats,” I say so loud everyone hears me.
I slip under the garage door.
“Brian,” I say. “My mother is coming. We need to close down.”
The kids inside all holler. “Hey, what gives?” Wayne said. “We just got here.”
“You’re kidding,” Linda says.
“I want my money back,” holler a few of the kids.
“Yeah, this is like a fraud or something,” says Kathy DeLuca. Her brother James looks like he’s gonna punch me or something.
“Sorry,” I say. “Can’t be helped. Circumstances out of our control.”
“Go on,” says Brian. “Everybody out.”
The kids slip under the door.
Brian turns off the music and then closes the garage door from the outside.
Mom marches through the crowd that scatters around Brian’s truck. “Joyce Anne, what on earth are you doing?”
“It’s not about earth,” hollers Beezo.
“See, Mom,” Elaine says. “I told you she was still doing it.”
“But, Mom,” I say. “We did it for a good reason. We had to.”
“That’s right,” Brian says. “And it’s my fault too.”
“You must be Brian,” Mom says.
“Yeah.” Brian looks straight at Elaine with those googly eyes he gets every time he sees her. “I heard about Jelly Bean. That’s why Joyce wanted to go on with it.”
“What gives?” Kathy says. “We want to see the UFO.”
“Not today,” Mom says. “All you kids, go on home now. Scat.”
The kids scramble, even though a lot of them never get to see the display.
“Aw, Mom,” I say. “You don’t get it. We…I…we did it for Elaine this time. I mean, it’s her flying saucer and, well…”
“She wanted to use the money to buy you a new guinea pig,” Brian says.
“I don’t want a new guinea pig,” Elaine shouts, backing away a couple of steps. “I want Jelly Bean. And you can’t get her back.” She stomps off down the alley.
Mom moves closer to me. “It’s too soon, Joyce.”
That angry-sad sensation builds up inside me again. I run after Elaine and grab her arm. “I said I was sorry about a gazillion times. I am not a criminal, and you have to stop treating me like I’m one. And…I was just trying to help by getting you a new pig, but if that ain’t good enough, then…then I don’t care.” I stomp my foot on the ground. “I am not gonna say I’m sorry anymore. Not one more time.”
I stare down at my Keds. “I just wanted to help.”
Elaine gives me a shove. “I still hate you.” She runs off toward home.
I turn toward Brian’s house and run smack-dab into my mother.
She holds my shoulders. “I told you not to do this.”
“I had to do something,” I say. “I had to at least try. I’m sorry I disobeyed. Guess I’m grounded forever.”
“I could have told you that trying to replace Jelly Bean was not a good idea.”
“But, Mom…I—”
“I know, Joyce Anne.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I know what you wanted. It’s not going to work.”
I catch Brian out the corner of my eye. He’s standing near his truck looking a little scared. A little sad.
“What about Brian? He needs the carburetor.”
Mom takes a deep breath through her nose and lets it out slowly.
“I just wanted to do something…something that matters,” I say. “Like you help Mrs. Lynch, and Dad fixes everyone’s leaks and is on church committees, and Elaine…Elaine’s such a good artist and…and—” I sniff back tears and snot. “Bud…well, he’s lost now, but he’s doing something that matters. I wanted to do something that mattered too. I wanted to help Brian. And at first, that was all I thought until…”
Mom squeezes my shoulder and I say, “Until I left the gate open, and then it became more, I guess. I thought I could replace what I did, like it never happened.”
Mom looks into my eyes. She scrutinizes me like she’s trying to see clear through my pupils into my heart of hearts. Then she looks at the garage and then back at me. She lets go one of her I might be sorry for this sighs. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s take a look at this flying saucer.”
“You really want to see it?”
“Sure, let’s see.”
Brian flings open the garage door. I see a group of kids led by Beezo and Rat run toward us.
“Quick,” Mom says. “Let’s get inside and close the door.”
I laugh with my mom for the first time since…Jelly Bean died.
Brian turns on that Gustav guy, and the amazing music fills the space.
Mom is looking all around like she’s having a hard time finding a focal point or like she’s getting swept up in the music and the display. “Impressive,” she says.
I smile.
“So you made this?” She looks at Brian. He nods.
“With my Jell-O mold and…and is that my turkey roaster?”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“Oh, good lord, Joyce Anne.”
My mother always says, “Oh, good lord, Joyce Anne,” when she is upset but also amused at me. It’s usually a good sign.
Brian flips on the black light, and my mother kind of swoons when she sees the display in all its grandness.
“How much did you raise?” Mom asks.
Brian flips on the regular lights and turns the music off. “Not enough for a carburetor or a pig,” I say.
“This is against my better judgment,” Mom says, “but go on and open the show back up. Use the money to help Brian fix his truck. That’s a better cause than replacing Jelly Bean right now.”
Then she smiles. “You’re so much like your father, Joyce Anne. When I think of the crazy things he has built over the years.”
“Like your copper pipe lamps?” I say. And I think I might be like her too. With her crocheted-frog toilet-lid cover.
She nods. “Those lamps. Good lord. I’ll see you at home. I better go see how your sister is doing, and Joyce…try to forget about the guinea pig.”
Forget? How in tarnation am I supposed to forget? She makes it sound so simple. Like I can just snap my fingers and Poof! The memories of Bubba and the gate and Elaine always crying and everyone looking at me with their stern eyes will all just disappear. Like I can just forget that I killed Jelly Bean.
Eighteen
Brian lets out a long, loud whistle. The kind where you don’t have to put your fingers in your mouth. The kind of whistle I can never do. He whistles three times, and kids come running.
Linda jumps out from her hiding spot behind Brian’s truck. “So, we’re back in business?”
“Yep. Get everyone lined up and start collecting money.”
She takes a spot near the end of the short driveway. “Line up over here,” she says.
Maybe twenty kids, some from the other side of the Park, get in line.
“Word of mouth,” I say. “See that? Word of mouth.”
Brian smiles. But his smile has a tinge of sadness around the edges. I figure that’s because he’s both happy and sad. Happy because we might raise enough money and sad because he’s getting closer to leaving—and maybe extra sad because of his brother.
“I miss my brother too,” I say.
“This i
s for him too,” Brian says. Then he pulls a large piece of cardboard from behind some stacked boxes. Written on it is: For Mike Hardy.
Brian gets the Magic Marker and writes: and Bud. He looks at me. “What’s your last name?”
“Magnin,” I said. “Bud M-A-G-N-I-N.”
Brian writes my brother’s name with large block letters. “I’m gonna hang it on the truck when we ride through the Park in it.”
I sniff back even more tears.
He turns on the music. It swirls around the garage and makes me think of faraway places.
Then the exhibit-goers start banging on the garage door.
I swipe away my tears as Brian slides the garage door up a few inches and Kathy DeLuca climbs under for her second chance.
“Wow” is all she says for a second.
“Found right here…at Indian Rock,” I say. And then I give the saucer a tiny clandestine nudge and it moves in a circle.
“Cool,” Kathy says. “Were there any little green men inside?”
“Nah,” Brian says. “It was probably unmanned…on reconnaissance.”
I know she doesn’t have a clue what reconnaissance means.
“OK,” I say. “We have to let the next visitor inside.”
Kathy ducks under the garage door.
“That was a good one,” I say to Brian. “The part about it being on recon—”
“Reconnaissance,” Brian says. “That’s when a couple of soldiers go out ahead of the others. To check for enemies and…”
“And what?”
“And that’s why Mike got clobbered. He was on reconnaissance.”
“Wow.” I look at my feet because I don’t know what else to do.
Donald Crawford slips under the garage door. “So where’s this supposed UFO?”
Kids come and go. Some say stuff, some don’t. The smaller kids just stand there. I think the music is more unsettling than the UFO. Beezo—who paid twice—tries to mess things up by saying we just used some dumb old Jell-O mold. But Brian stares him down and he backs off.
That’s pretty much how it goes until Brian and Linda and I figure no one else is coming.
“So let’s count the money,” Linda says.
Brian stacks the quarters, while I hold the only dollar bill we have. Linda counts the dimes, nickels, and pennies. “Twelve dollars and ninety-six cents.”