“Look at me, Avalon,” Mr. Peterson said as he leaned forward on his desk. “I know you’ve had a hard year. I’ve had my eye on you and am so proud of how you have gotten yourself back on track.” Then he looked at me real hard. “But you know we have a no-bullying policy at the school. There are no exceptions.”
Bullying? Was he calling me the bully?
“I’m afraid there will have to be consequences,” he said.
“But I’m not the bully!” I heard myself saying. “Elena’s the bully! She’s always been the bully!”
“That may be the case,” he said. “But you struck her in the face. She had to go to the hospital. No matter the cause, there is no excuse for one student hitting another student. There is never an excuse for using violence. You could always go to a teacher for help.”
Right. Like Mrs. Mendez would help me when it came to Sissy and her best friend, Elena.
“I will be speaking with Elena as well to get to the bottom of this,” he said, and went quiet so I thought he was finished. He wasn’t. What happened next came in slow motion. But still, I couldn’t stop the words from rolling out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry to do this, Avalon, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to compete in the Regional Spelling Bee this year. Behavior like this requires your immediate disqualification.”
My mouth went dry.
“Please use the time instead to think about your actions. There are other ways to deal with your anger and you need to learn them. You’re a very gifted speller. There will always be another spelling bee next year.”
And just like that, I was out of the regional bee.
As I sat in the chair outside Mr. Peterson’s office waiting for my mom, I thought about Adam and how he had been sent to Mr. Peterson’s office last year for hocking a loogie at Ms. Kinney’s blackboard. It looked like he had been crying when he came back to our class. Then it occurred to me—Adam sat on the sidelines during Field Day last spring. And Adam loves Field Day. It’s his favorite day of the whole school year.
That must have been Mr. Peterson’s loogie-hocking consequence. No Field Day for Adam.
No spelling bee for me.
* * *
Half an hour later, my mom picked me up and drove me home. She had to leave work to get me so she wasn’t very happy.
By the time we got home, which wasn’t long, I had told her the whole story. About how Elena had teased me about Dad. And about how Elena had deserved it.
Mom turned off the car and sat there without opening the car door. I looked at the back of her head and wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if she would be punishing me, too. Then she opened the glove compartment and pulled out a letter.
She handed it to me in the backseat and said, “This came for you yesterday.”
I took the letter and looked at it. I recognized the handwriting.
It was a letter from my dad.
As soon as we got inside the house, I ran to my room, closed the door, and jumped on the bed next to M.
I tore open the envelope and began reading my letter.
Dear Avalon,
I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written you and I’m sorry about that. I’ve kept meaning to write you. I really have, kid. I’ve got all your letters. They cheer me up every day. When I stopped hearing from you, I thought you might have given up on me. And, maybe you should have. I know I let you down.
Then I got a letter from your mom telling me about how you did so great in the spelling bee. She said you were amazing and how everyone in the school cheered for you. I wish I could have seen it, Avalon. You know I would have been the loudest one there.
She said you are going to the regional bee soon and that I should wish you luck. Your mom always knew spelling was our thing and that I would kick myself if I didn’t tell you how proud I am of you. As usual, your mom was right.
There’s something else I need to say to you. I was wrong not to write you for so long. You’re my favorite person and I never wanted to hurt you. But sweetheart, I was so ashamed. I let you down. I let your mom down. I just couldn’t face any of it for a really long time.
What I did at the dealership was wrong, too. I got mad at Mrs. Prescott for not giving me a raise and I decided to get back at her. I’m not saying that she was right. But what I did was stupid. If I had just kept doing a good job, she might have seen it eventually. But even if she didn’t, even if she was the Worst Boss Ever, letting my temper get the best of me didn’t help. Instead, it ruined everything. And I’m sorry because I know I’ve ruined a lot of things for you, too.
I’m glad you’re not like me, kid. I’m glad you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and that you’re not a hothead like your dad.
Please write me again, Avalon. I want to hear all about the regional bee. I want to hear about everything!
I love you, sweet girl,
Daddy
When I finished the letter, I felt terrible inside. Because I was just like my dad. I did something stupid to ruin my life. Just like him. How could anyone ever be proud of me now?
I opened my bedroom door and saw my mom standing in the hall. She was waiting there for me. I ran into her arms like I was a little girl again.
* * *
The next day I was back in Mrs. Jackson’s class. Elena had a big bandage across her cheek. She was acting all dramatic about it. Whenever anyone asked her to do anything, she’d say, “I can’t now. My face hurts.”
She was called to Mr. Peterson’s office earlier that morning. She was gone for about thirty minutes. I don’t know what happened but I doubted there would be any consequences for Elena. There never were.
At lunch, I sat next to Mae at our table. I looked over at the Ms. Smith table where Atticus was sitting with Kevin and Adam. It had been nineteen days since he had stopped being my friend. I wondered what he thought about me hitting Elena. It’s the kind of thing he would have warned me about. In general, he was against things like hitting other girls in the face.
Then he turned and we were suddenly looking at each other. It made me feel so much better, looking into that pair of eyes I most liked in the world. I was about to smile when Kevin threw an empty milk carton at him and Atticus turned away.
After school, I stayed behind to talk to Mrs. Jackson. I sat in my spelling chair just like we did in the spelling drills. She was disappointed, I could tell.
“I really wanted you to be the only fifth grader since Hari Singh to go to the regional bee,” she said.
“I did, too,” I said.
She just looked at me for the longest time, then said, “You want to tell me what happened, Avalon?”
I did. I wanted to tell her everything. But as I looked into her big trusting eyes, I was suddenly so embarrassed. Mrs. Jackson had helped me so much. She had really believed in me.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could say. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
“You didn’t let me down,” she said gently. “But I’m afraid you might have let yourself down.”
As I walked out of the classroom, I saw Hari in the hallway, leaning against the wall. His dark hair was hanging over one of his eyes.
“Hey, little speller,” he said. “You heading out?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Mind if I walk with you?”
We headed down the hall together toward the double doors that led out of the school. Hari walks to school, too. His house is in the opposite direction from mine, though, on the other side of the water tower.
“I guess you heard what happened,” I finally said.
“I think everybody has,” he said. “You’re the news of the whole school.”
“Great,” I said unhappily.
We walked outside. It was a warm April afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky.
“I’m so mad I’m not going to see you win,” I said.
“How do you know I’m going to win?”
“Don’t tease me,” I said. “Of course you’re going
to win.”
“I’m not teasing,” he said. “Spelling can be a game of chance. Especially at the higher levels. Sometimes you just get the wrong word.” He looked down at me and grinned. “But I do have a better chance now that you’re not going to be there.”
“Come on,” I said.
“Really,” he said. “You’re a good speller. You know what you’re doing up there. But—”
He stopped like he was wondering if he should say more. So I said, “But what?”
“Being a great speller isn’t just about the words. It’s about being a super nerd. And super nerds don’t let things get in the way of a spelling bee…”
“Even if those things have names like Elena,” I said, finishing the thought.
“Yeah,” he said. “Even that.” He looked down the road toward his house. “I guess I better get going, then.”
“Okay,” I said. “See you later.”
I watched as Hari started walking away. “Hari!” I yelled before he got too far.
He turned around, his hair falling across his eyes.
“Good luck in the bee!”
“Thanks, Avalon,” he yelled back. He smiled and waved and then started walking again.
A week later, Hari won the regional bee. Everybody knew he would. No matter what he said, spelling was not a game of chance for Hari Singh. It was practically a sure thing.
* * *
May had arrived and Atticus had still not said a word to me. I knew I had done a terrible thing and I knew I had hurt him, but hadn’t I suffered enough?
His birthday was on May 15. Mrs. Brightwell was very particular about sending the invitations out on May 1. I went to the mailbox every day to see if mine was there, but it never was.
I was going to miss Atticus’s birthday party for the very first time.
The night before the party, I was lying on the bed with M looking up at the ceiling. M was fat again, having fully recovered from the Mr. Squirrel incident. She was curled up right beside me, having hacked up a gigantic fur ball only moments before.
M would be my friend no matter what. M would always invite me to her birthday party.
I looked at my acorn on the bedside table and then I did something I shouldn’t have done. I reached into my bedside table drawer and pulled out the postcards.
Every summer, Atticus sent me postcards from the beach. His family always went there for two weeks and Atticus would send me a postcard almost every other day. I laid them out across the bed and looked at them.
There were pictures of waves and piers and roller coasters and beaches. There was even a postcard of Atticus and his family sitting on beach balls across the sand when he was eight. Other than M and my flashcards, Atticus’s postcards from the beach were my favorite things.
I turned them over and looked at all the things he wrote. Like how he wouldn’t eat lobster one night and how they saw a bunch of dolphins swimming in the ocean one morning.
Every one of them ended the exact same way:
From,
your friend,
Atticus
I looked and looked at the postcards. The more I looked, the more they looked back. They were part of the story of Atticus and me. A story that was over now.
I couldn’t stand to be in my room anymore. I put on my sneakers and tiptoed down the hall. It was late and my mom was already asleep so I was careful not to wake her. I went out the garage door and got on my bike and just started riding.
It was a full moon, so I could see where I was going even though I didn’t actually know where I was going. I rode and rode until my legs hurt. And then I rode some more.
Oh, yeah, I thought when I finally got there. Turns out, I had known where I was going all along.
My bike bounced down the gravel road as I passed the front pasture. Frank raised his head and looked at me. He snorted. I looked up the hill at Granny and Pop-pop’s house and all the lights were out. That was okay. I wasn’t going to the farmhouse anyway.
I kept riding, down the valley road that led to the barn. When I reached the shed and Atticus’s hay house, I got off my bike. I’d never been there by myself at night. It was dark. The mountains looked like monsters. And the bugs, the seeming gazillions of them, were freakishly loud.
What would my mom think? I’d been trying to avoid that question during the whole bike ride. If she woke up right now and found me not in my bed, she wouldn’t be mad. She’d be scared. I felt bad about that.
I parked my bike in the back of the shed and crawled inside Atticus’s hay house. I curled up in our favorite place. As I fell asleep, I wished more than ever for a magical power. One that would make me disappear so I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.
SIXTEEN
I realized my magical power had not arrived when I felt Charlie licking me awake the next morning. The day of Atticus’s birthday.
“Charlie!” It was Pop-pop’s voice hollering for the dog. “Get out of there, boy. Got to feed you before the party starts or Granny’ll have my hide.”
Charlie just kept wagging his tail and licking my face. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Charlie, stop it,” I said as loudly and as quietly as I could at the same time.
“Who’s in there?” Pop-pop said.
Uh-oh.
“Whoever’s in there better come on out,” he said in his don’t-mess-with-the-farmer voice.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I could stay put and let Pop-pop come find me. But since Pop-pop was the kind of person who sometimes carried a shotgun, I decided I’d better give myself up.
I crawled out of the hay house and put my hands in the air. Pop-pop looked at me like he was seeing a ghost.
“What are you doing here, sprout?” he asked.
And that’s when I started crying.
Pop-pop sat me down on a bale of hay and then sat beside me. He patted my back while I kept on crying. There were so many tears in there, I didn’t know when it was going to stop. Charlie sat in front of me and stared up at me the whole time. His dumb sad dog eyes made me feel like crying even more.
Finally, when I started sniffing more than crying, Pop-pop asked, “Is it all out?”
“I think so,” I said back.
Pop-pop handed me his handkerchief. He always kept a folded white handkerchief in the back pocket of his jeans. I blew and blew my nose in it. “Atticus hates me and I don’t know what to do,” I said.
“Now, I doubt that,” Pop-pop said. “Don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but I expect you’ll work things through. That’s what best friends do.”
I looked at him through my red, teary eyes. “But I did something bad. I really hurt him, Pop-pop.”
“I got one question for you, then.” He paused, all serious-like. “Did you mean to hurt him?”
“No!” I said. “I didn’t mean to. I was actually trying to do something good, and it all went wrong. It went terribly wrong. You’ve got to believe me. I’d never want to hurt Atticus. Not ever.”
He looked at me long and hard, and then he nodded his head. “That’s all I needed to know.”
I handed Pop-pop’s handkerchief back to him. He folded it up and put it in his back pocket like it had never been used at all. Then he got up and walked to his pickup truck. Charlie, whose head had been resting on my knee, followed him. When they came back, Pop-pop was holding something in his hand.
“Found it this morning on the hill over there. Was going to give it to Atticus today, for luck. But I think you could use it more. Hold out your hand.”
I did, and he dropped a perfect green four-leaf clover into my palm. I had never had my own before. It was supposed to bring the luckiest of luck.
I sniffed one more time. “Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome, sprout,” he said, and clapped his hands together. We suddenly heard the bell ringing from up the hill. Pop-pop reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “She hates when I forget to turn this dang thing on.” He chuckled. �
��Guess it’s time for me to put out the tables and get ready for that party.”
“Oh no,” I said. “What am I going to do? Atticus can’t see me here. I’m not even invited!”
“Now that is a problem. What do you think? You want to make a splashy entrance or you want to make like the Invisible Man?”
“Invisible Man, please,” I said. No way did I want anyone to know I was there.
“Okay, then. But first things first. You’ve got to call your mother. She must be worried sick by now.”
So that’s what we did. We rode up to the farmhouse and I ducked down real low in the front seat. We passed Granny, Mr. and Mrs. Brightwell, Caroline, and Atticus setting up for the party in the front yard. Pop-pop smuggled me into the house through the back porch. He gave me a bag of party snacks and his cell phone and he sent me upstairs.
“Call your mother and I’ll be sure nobody comes upstairs,” he said.
“Especially Atticus,” I said.
“Especially him,” he said back.
As I started up the stairs, Pop-pop walked out the front door. “Where have you been?” I heard Granny say from outside. Then the door closed, and I was alone in the farmhouse.
I went into the upstairs bedroom that looked out over the front yard. Through the window, I could see the whole front of the farm. Pop-pop had started setting up tables. Mr. Brightwell was cleaning the grill. Mrs. Brightwell and Caroline were counting out paper cups and plates. Atticus was playing with Charlie.
Atticus looked different. Maybe a little taller, maybe a little older. He was eleven years old, after all. His Infinity Year was over. It was just one more thing that separated us now.
I punched in numbers on Pop-pop’s phone and put it to my ear.
My mom answered immediately. “Hello,” she said. I could tell she was upset.
“It’s me, Mom,” I said.
“Avalon, where are you?!” she said, and I thought she might be crying. “I woke up this morning and you were gone. You scared me to death.”
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I said, full of guilt. “I’m at the farm. I’m okay. I promise.”
“How did you get there?” she asked.
The Infinity Year of Avalon James Page 13