by Jack Gantos
It was sweet, as sweet as the little packets of sugar I eat at Dunkin’ Donuts, sweeter maybe. More like Log Cabin pancake syrup right out of the bottle the way I drink it if Mom even for a second lets it stay out on the counter. And the pie was almost as runny as the syrup. It wasn’t gelled up like the cafeteria cherry pie. So I picked the top crust off and ate that first while I stirred my finger around trying to find the shoes and flies. But it was just all molasses, so I felt tricked but didn’t know how. Then I just kept sticking my two curled fingers in and licking them off and the more I ate the faster I wanted to eat it and nothing else mattered. Not the real flies sticking to my fingers and lips, not the wind blowing through the cornstalks, not the voices overhead of kids carving pumpkins. Nothing. Just eating the pie and tasting the warm sugar melt all over my tongue and ooze down into my belly like a slippery sugary snake, and when it was almost finished I bent the tin pie plate in half, tilted back my head, and poured the last brown drops of it right down into my throat. Then I licked the plate like a dog, and by the time I finished my mind was a mess and my legs were pumping. I was ready to run a circle around the entire world.
I had a funny sound in my head, kind of a hissing like when the TV station goes off the air at night and there is nothing but static, but really loud static and no words at all and getting louder like tires speeding down a wet road and coming right at me. My eyes felt so swollen with the flood of energy inside my throbbing head that I could only see the tops of my cheeks and a smudge where my nose fit on and a bigger blur beyond that. I took a deep breath and the air gushed into my lungs and lifted me up and suddenly I was running and crashing through the stalks of the cornfield. I had my arms stuck out like the wings of a plane, and the long curved leaves sliced me up but I didn’t feel the stinging. I didn’t feel my feet hit the ground. I didn’t feel the jolt when I tripped forward and slammed into the cornstalks and clods of dirt with my chest and bounced right up and kept going. I was running so fast and breathing so deep that I thought I could take off up out of the cornfield and higher into the blue air and above into the clouds and look down on the farm and bus and the kids and Mrs. Maxy, who would be pointing up at me.
Then before I could slow down I was suddenly running out of the cornfield and from there I headed for the barn where there was a huge open door so I went inside and I was not saying to myself, “See the ladder. Climb the ladder.” No, I was just climbing before I knew it and I was up way high on the big timbers playing a crazy kind of snakes and ladders, sliding down the tilted beams and climbing others like a monkey on a coconut tree. My spring was wound so tight that I was more like a rat in a maze, without words, or any feelings, or any ideas about myself and what I should be doing other than go, go, go, up, up, up, faster and higher until there was nothing more above me but the roof and an owl, one of those big white owls with the huge dark eyes and hooked beak, which is where I stopped.
“Who?” it said. “Who?”
And I answered, “Joey Pigza. That’s who.”
“Who?” it said again, and kept its eyes right on my face, and for some reason it was the same as if someone had asked me why I ate the pie, and why I was all the way at the inside top of the barn. And before I knew it my gears started shifting and all the energy inside me went somewhere else. I sat as still as a bookend with my chin on my knees and looked down from the rafter, and the ground was way beneath me with a hundred really small fourth- and fifth-graders pointing up into the air and one of them was calling my name. It was Mrs. Maxy.
“Joey,” she hollered, and waved her hands over her head like she was in trouble. ‘Joey, don’t move. We’re coming to get you.”
And in a few minutes the biggest ladder I ever saw was being raised up from the back of a horse and wagon and an old man with a long white beard wearing a big black hat was climbing up as if he was Santa for the Amish.
“Don’t worry, son,” he said. “Just stay put. That owl don’t bite.”
“Me either,” I said, squeezing some words out of my brain. I stood up on both feet and began to walk the big beam and everyone below looked so tiny and they were all yelling for me to sit down. But I didn’t want to sit. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. I just kept walking across the huge room until below me was a pile of hay bales. And I had seen about a million movies of kids falling in hay and bouncing up and down and running off, so it seemed no different than playing Stuntman or jumping into piles of fall leaves so I yelled out, “Ger-on-i-mo!” as I jumped.
The best part was being in the air, sort of wiggling as if I was doing a hula dance to keep from landing on my head, and then I hit the hay with my feet first and it wasn’t soft like the movies but so hard that it felt like something had landed on me instead of me landing on it. I didn’t even sink into it like leaves or anything. It was more like landing on a huge pincushion and each time I bounced down on it I was jabbed a hundred more times. But none of it hurt as much as my ankle when I tried to stand up. I must have twisted it, and instead of being able to run away I tried to crawl, but by then another old farmer was on me. “I got him,” he hollered to those who were still to come.
“Joey,” Mrs. Maxy said when she came running over, “what got into you?” And then she must have seen all the molasses on my face and shirt and she put two and two together. Her face first got mad but then when the farmer put me down on my feet and I fell over to one side because of the pain in my ankle she got all worried again.
“Let’s see that ankle,” she said, and untied my shoe with her nervous hands, which hurt because my ankle was a little swollen and looked more yellow than it should have.
“Oh, Joey.” She sighed, and tried to feel for broken bones. “What are we going to do here?”
“I didn’t mean to get hurt,” I said. “I just wanted to jump in the hay.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s just that there is always a difference between what you think you are doing and what happens to you and everyone else.”
I looked up and there was Maria Dombrowski writing my name down on a pad because Mrs. Maxy had told her to keep a list of everyone who “got out of line.” And everyone else, teachers and parents and Amish, were all looking at me as if they were at the zoo and I was something in a cage.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, and pulled my foot out of her hands and stood up. “But my shoe doesn’t fit anymore so they can have it for their pie.” I pointed at the Amish girls and they began to giggle and cover their mouths. Then everyone began to laugh. Except for Mrs. Maxy. I don’t think she got the joke.
7
GIFTED AND TALENTED
Mrs. Maxy had a conference in the morning so our class had a substitute named Miss Adams, who didn’t know me from Adam. This was a good break because after the field trip Mrs. Maxy said she and me and Mrs. Howard and Mrs. Jarzab and my mom and Nurse Holyfield were all going to have a big meeting to discuss the “next step” for me. I knew she wasn’t talking about my ankle. That much I was sure of.
But since Mrs. Maxy didn’t show up I stopped worrying about what might happen. There were other things going on right before my eyes. After Miss Adams took roll it was announced over the loudspeaker in the classroom that all the students in the gifted and talented program were to be released to meet in the auditorium for a special presentation. A handful of students stood up and I did too and followed them right out the door. Maria was at the front of the line and I was the last, so she didn’t even see me or she’d have snitched.
I knew if Mrs. Jarzab saw me she would be upset about yesterday and probably send me down to Mrs. Howard, so instead of going in the regular auditorium door I went around to the side door that opened to the back of the stage. I had gone in there before because when the huge velvet stage curtain was pulled open I loved to hide between the folds on one end, and I could stand there forever wrapped up in the soft blue velvet like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
So I tiptoed onto the back of the stage and slipped into one of the fo
lds of the curtain and stood still with the dusty velvet tickling my nose.
Before long Mrs. Jarzab introduced a woman named Mrs. Cole who had written a book on “character counts,” which was one of Mrs. Jarzab’s favorite slogans. Then she introduced Mrs. Cole to the gifted and talented students and said they were a very special bunch of children. “The cream of the crop,” she called them.
Mrs. Cole was very excited and began to speak as loud and intense as a television preacher. “Special people have to do special things for others less fortunate,” she declared. “This is one of the great duties for people of exceptional character.”
In a roundabout way she was talking to me. I knew I’d never be part of the gifted and talented kids. That much was true. But I was one of the special people. My mom said I was special, the nurse said I was special, and I was also in special ed. So I really listened to everything she had to say, and I liked what I heard, that because we were the special kids we had to make sure we put our energy and talent to work for the benefit of the whole world. “Think of it this way,” she said as if she were telling the greatest secret ever. “All of you in the room have the power to change the world for the better. You might invent something like computers. Discover a cure for AIDS and save millions of lives. Like Mother Teresa, you might devote yourself to helping people who have no one else to help them. Perhaps you could be the president and set an example of superior leadership. Or you could contribute your time and effort to build a better community.”
She went on and on about how it was up to the special gifted and talented kids to lead the way for others and that if we each pledge to be a positive force in the world then the world will be a better place for everyone. “And it all starts one person at a time,” she said. “So I want each of you today to accomplish something special that is an example to your peers that character counts.”
Everyone clapped, but I didn’t dare so I did a sneaky clapping by blinking my eyes up and down real fast. What she said was true. Already I was thinking about something I could do during the day that would make the world a better place because of me, Joey Pigza.
After the assembly I didn’t want to go back to class so I hobbled down to the nurse to have her check on my ankle. From all that standing it started to throb. I knew nothing big was wrong with it, but the throbbiness gave me a reason to see the nurse, who was always happy to see me.
I was wearing a regular shoe on one foot and I had the rabbit slipper from Mrs. Howard on the one that was twisted. The nurse looked at my ankle, then squeezed it, and flipped it back and forth. “This is nothing,” she said, and nicked my chin with her fist. “Swallowing the key was worse.”
“I could never swallow my ankle,” I said as a joke.
“Lord, I hope not,” she said, and laughed. “I don’t think nature would take its course.” Then she took an Ace bandage out of a metal cabinet and wrapped the ankle up for me tight so that it felt better. “You can keep the bandage,” she said. “As long as you use it.”
“Okay,” I said. “I was thinking of using it to wrap myself up like a mummy for Halloween. Do you have any more?”
“I have some old ones,” she said. “But first, let’s get your ankle healed before we mummify you. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed. I loved being agreeable. I loved the nurse and I thought she did a lot of special things so I told her in a whisper I snuck in to the gifted and talented speech. “And Mrs. Cole told us to do one really good thing today,” I said to her.
“I think that is an excellent idea,” Mrs. Holyfield whispered back. “So what do you have in mind?”
“I’m still thinking about it,” I said. “But it’s coming.”
“Well, keep working at it,” she said.
“I am,” I replied, and stood up. As long as I walked in straight lines and didn’t twist my foot right or left then it didn’t hurt so much.
“See you later,” she said.
After lunch I returned to the classroom instead of going out to recess. I wanted to work on my new idea to change the world even though I could feel my meds wearing down like they do every time I eat something.
Mrs. Maxy was back and sitting at her desk filling out some papers.
“Hi,” I said. “Did you have a nice morning?”
“Yes, I did,” she replied, then asked, “How’s your ankle?”
“Better. Did you notice anything extra in your desk drawer?” I asked.
“I did,” she said, and smiled at me.
I lifted my chin and smiled right back at her.
“It seems some secret admirer of mine left me a slice of cinnamon apple in my drawer.”
“Can you guess who that nice kid might be?”
“I bet it’s the kid who’s going to have the best behavior all afternoon,” she said.
“I bet it is too,” I replied.
“You know we still have to have that talk,” she said, still smiling. “You really lost it yesterday.”
“Yeah, but I’ve changed already. I sneaked out and went to the gifted and talented assembly and now I’m ready to do something great for the whole world.”
“Sneaking out doesn’t lead me to believe that you’ve changed at all,” she replied.
“Yeah, but I only broke a little rule,” I replied. “And now I can do something great for the world.”
“Really?” she asked. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m going to make a million bumper stickers for cars that say ‘Hate Is Not a Family Value.’ My mom saw one at work and said she wished she had a million of them to put on every car in the world.”
“That is very thoughtful,” she said. “But I don’t think you should stick things on people’s cars.”
“I won’t,” I said. “Mom will. I better get going. I only have a few minutes before everyone comes back from recess.”
“Well, go to the back of the room and use the art supplies,” she said. “If you stay on task I’m sure you can get a million done on time.”
So I went to the back of the room and got a thick piece of poster board. I took my time and drew wide lines across it and between each line I printed out the bumper-sticker saying in big block letters. I took a Day-Glo marker and outlined the word HATE to grab everyone’s attention. When I finished I held the big poster up and over my head. “Mrs. Maxy, look,” I shouted.
She lifted her head from her work and gave me the thumbs up. Then she gave me a little secret wink and a smile because even though I’m difficult I’m very special and smart. Everyone says so.
“Very good printing,” she said. “Nicely done, Joey.”
Nicely done, Joey, echoed in my mind over and over. I loved how that sounded and I didn’t want to have any other words come into my head again. Ever. Just those three, Nicely done, Joey.
But suddenly I remembered I had to finish up fast. I got the safety scissors and began to cut the poster board into bumper-sticker-sized strips. But the poster board was too thick and the scissors kept twisting over onto their side and the harder I squeezed the more my fingers hurt.
Then the bell rang and kids started to pile in from the playground. I wanted to finish cutting my bumper stickers, so when Mrs. Maxy got up from her desk to go stand in the hall and make sure nobody was running, I snuck up to her desk and opened the top drawer and grabbed her secret extra-sharp teacher scissors.
I was racing back to the bumper stickers with scissors in my hand when it happened. I tripped over the stupid ear of the rabbit slipper and I sort of dove through the air with the open scissors stretched all the way out in front of me like some evil Big Bird’s beak when Maria Dombrowski walked sideways across my path like a safety patrol guard and said, “Slow down.” But I didn’t and my hand collided with the side of her face and I went tumbling down the aisle.
I thought I was the one who was screaming because it was so loud I figured it had to be coming out of my mouth. But it wasn’t me. I jumped up and didn’t know what had happened at first, when, O
h my God, you should have seen the blood. It was like a pipe had burst. Blood just poured onto the floor from the cut end of her nose and she stood there shaking with her eyes wide open like she stuck her finger in the electric socket. I bent over and picked up the tip of her nose, which now looked like the tiny end piece of a sliced banana. Then I stood up and pressed it back in place but the blood sprayed out in a circle like a shower nozzle. Oh, it was awful. Her mouth was wide open and no more sounds came out and I looked into her eyes and there was so much fear trapped in them I went instantly out of my mind, worse than Maria even. Worse than Mrs. Maxy when a kid ran to tell her and she came flying into the room. And I was shrieking, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” as I tried to pat, pat the little nose piece back in place like it would stick and the blood would stop, and the cut would vanish, and I would run all the way to my poster which was going to change the world for the better.
Mrs. Maxy yanked me away from Maria and I went spinning around like a top, screeching and hopping from desk to desk yelling, “Sorry! Sorry!” Then I tried to wrestle the scissors from Mrs. Maxy who had taken them from me because I wanted to cut my whole nose off to show just how sorry I was and give it to Maria, but Mrs. Maxy wouldn’t let me have the scissors and she kept shouting, “Time out! Time out! Go to your corner.” But I was so nuts I couldn’t tell you the difference between a corner and a circle or a square. And before long Nurse Holyfield arrived with a mile of gauze and white tape and began to bandage the nose with ice and, oh, I was like on fire just skipping around and then I heard the ambulance and then the principal came and threw her jacket over Maria’s shoulders and they raced her out of the room. Believe me, it was bad, and everyone was staring at me like I was a maniac killer. I didn’t know what else to do so I sat at my desk and ripped the ears off that rabbit slipper and stuffed them in my pockets and waited for something horrible to happen and it did.