by Anna Myers
Most of the time Stewart enjoyed being one of the popular group. Sometimes, though, he'd look up and see Ham, all alone in the gym or talking to no one between classes. Well, Ham had brought it all on himself, and Rachel too. They had turned their backs on him, but still he couldn't shake the little cloud of depression that would occasionally hover over him. Once, his depression changed to guilt.
It was between geography and algebra. As usual, Stewart went to his locker, got his books, and hurried to Brad's locker, where they hung out. Brad gathered his books while Jake and Stewart stood beside him on duty. "Girl Watch," the boys called it. They were supposed to make comments about passing girls. Stewart hoped he would get better at coming up with good remarks. Right now his job was mostly just to laugh when Brad or Jake said anything that was meant to be funny, even if it wasn't. He stood there ready to laugh and realized that the girl walking by was Rachel. "Oh look." Jake jabbed Stewart in the ribs and pointed to Rachel's back. "We call that one 'Turnpike.'"
A sour kind of taste came up from Stewart's stomach into his throat. "Turnpike? Why?"
Jake laughed. "Come off it, Wright. Surely you've noticed."
"Noticed?" Stewart shook his head. "Noticed what?"
"No curves," said Brad, "just one long, straight road." Brad closed his locker and moved his hand in a straight up and down line. "Not even a little bump."
"Oh yeah, sure," said Stewart. He tried to smile, but it didn't feel good. He didn't feel good later either. When he looked out his bedroom window that evening just before dark, he saw Rachel on her back porch with Molly and the little Dots. There wasn't enough light to see Rachel's face or her body really well, but Stewart didn't need to see. He knew Rachel. "It was a joke," he whispered. "No one really meant anything mean by it," but when he turned away from the window, he felt the need to talk to someone. Sammi hadn't been e-mailing him lately. Maybe he would have to call her. He wandered downstairs.
His father was watching the news on TV. Stewart stood for a minute, considering talking to his father about how he felt, but the idea made him uncomfortable. Dad didn't like discussions anymore than Stewart did, not about important things. He had enrolled Stewart in a special sex education class at school. Later, on the way home, Dad had started the car and asked, "Any questions?" Stewart could see the relief on his father's face when he shook his head no.
Stewart shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Dad looked at him. "Need something, Stew?"
"Nah," he said. "I was just thinking maybe I'd give Sammi a call. I mean you wouldn't mind, would you, on account of it being long distance or anything?"
His father turned down the TV and waved toward the phone. "Sure," he said, "go ahead. I'll talk to Susan when you're finished."
Stewart turned away before he answered. "No, Dad, I sort of thought I'd talk to Sammi upstairs."
In his room, Stewart stretched out on the floor with the phone, got the number from the book he had carried upstairs with him, and dialed. He did not make small talk when Sammi answered. Stewart had never particularly enjoyed talking on the phone, and he did not make small talk, ever. "Sammi," he said, "why does it matter what a person looks like? To be popular I mean. I don't see why it matters so much."
"Stew," said Sammi. "I can't answer that question. It's like asking why the sky is blue. No, I'll bet there is some kind of reason you could look up about the sky, but not about how people look. People like people who are nice-looking. It's just a fact, that's all. Lots of people don't care what's inside a person, just how they look. It's a shame, but it's true. What's going on?"
"Nothing." Stewart wanted to hang up. The phone call had been a bad idea.
"Don't tell me nothing," said Sammi. "You never call me. This is maybe like the second time in your whole life."
"I'm just trying to understand the popular thing, that's all."
"Yeah, well, I've got something to tell you about that." Sammi's voice sounded different, and Stewart waited uncomfortably. "I've been thinking about telling you for a while. I'm not so sure anymore about being popular, about it being important."
"What do you mean?" Stewart stood up. Out his window he could still see Rachel.
"I've gotten all involved with the drama club this year. We're doing a great play, and I love my part. Well, there are some great kids in the club, and some of them don't even care about being popular. They just care about drama and getting good parts and giving great performances."
"So are you saying you aren't popular anymore?"
"No, I'm not saying that. I still mostly run around with my same crowd, but I don't know . . . there are different ways of fitting in, I guess." She paused for a minute, and Stewart walked over to lean against the windowsill. "I just don't want to tell you what to do anymore about your friends and stuff. Maybe you don't want to be popular. I'm sorry for pushing you."
Stewart swallowed hard and stared through his window at Rachel. "It's okay, Sammi. I'm glad you told me to be popular. See I really like Taylor. I think she likes me, too, but I'm not sure."
"Well then, I will tell you one more thing. You ought to let her know. Girls like to be told. That's something I can say for sure."
After he hung up the phone, Stewart sat thinking. He did not think about what Sammi had said about popularity not being important. He did not want to go over any of that. He thought only about how Sammi had said he should tell Taylor that he liked her. He had been hanging around with her crowd for almost three weeks, but nothing had happened between him and Taylor. He wanted something more than just sitting at the same table for lunch.
Finally, he reached for his notebook, took a piece of paper, and wrote, "Taylor, will you be my girlfriend? I think you are beautiful. Stewart Wright." His hand shook as he wrote. His hand shook, too, the next day when he opened her locker and slid the note partway into the geography book that lay at the top.
All through first period, he felt uneasy. Maybe Taylor would laugh at him. Taylor laughed at lots of things. He tried to concentrate on all the times she had waved at him and smiled at him with her beautiful lips. She would say yes, she had to. When he came out of the English class, he saw her coming toward him.
"Hi, Stew," she said. "I read your note, and the answer is yes."
Stewart wanted to say something impressive, but all he could come up with was, "Good."
"I'll save you a place beside me at lunch." She walked away then, and Stewart watched her.
Sure enough, when Stewart got his lunch tray and headed toward the popular table, the place beside Taylor was empty. "Hey everybody," she said when he was just close enough to hear, "Stew and I are together now."
Grinning, he slid in beside her. He was sitting beside Taylor when her best friend, Madison, came and sat on the other side of him. Before he had always had one of the boys on at least one side of him, and he squirmed a little on the bench. A joke, he told himself. Make a joke, and one came to him. "Wow," he said, "I get to eat between the presidents!"
The girls both stared at him. "Presidents of what?" asked Taylor.
"Of the United States of America. Madison was number four and Taylor was," he stopped to think, "number twelve, I believe."
"You're strange, Stewart Wright," Madison said. She turned to Taylor. "Isn't he just too weird?"
Taylor smiled at him. "He is, but he's cute too." She put out her hand and touched his face. "Just as cute as he can be."
Stewart could feel his face turning red. What could he say now? In a second, though, he realized it wasn't necessary to say anything. Rachel's friend Ashley walked by, and Madison drew in her breath with surprise. "Look," she said. "Can you believe it?"
"I can't." Taylor rolled her eyes.
"What?" said Stewart. He couldn't see anything shocking about Ashley Sage.
"Her shirt," said Taylor. "She's already worn that same one once this week." She turned to Madison. "Was it Monday?"
"No." Madison made a face. "Tuesday, two days ago. I promise."
; "Just look at her. I'd die first," said Taylor.
Stewart did look at Ashley, and he thought her shirt was nice. He watched Ashley go over and sit with Rachel and Ham. The thought came to him that he wished he was at that table, but he pushed it down. After all, there he was beside the girl of his dreams. He decided not to listen, just look. Taylor had on a blue sweater, and it fit her just right. Sometimes she leaned against Stewart, not long enough to get them into trouble, but long enough to make him tingle all over.
The next day they had their third basketball game, and the coach was really excited. "We've won one and lost one," he told the boys that day as they warmed up. "Let's make it two wins for the Rams!"
"Got your spray?" Ham asked Stewart in the dressing room, but he didn't wait for an answer, just moved away from Stewart to get dressed at the other end. Stewart did have his spray. Leave it off, he told himself. Prove it isn't the spray that makes you play well, but he didn't leave it off. He scored sixteen of the twenty-six points that made the Rams victorious.
After the game, Stewart had plans again to join Brad, Jake, and a couple of other boys for pizza. Brad's parents were driving, and Stewart thought he'd better remind his father, who had already given his permission. He found him in the concession stand with a bag of popcorn.
"Oh yeah, right." Dad had popcorn in his hand, but he didn't put it in his mouth. A questioning look on his father's face made Stewart a little uncomfortable. "Is Ham going?"
"No, I don't think so. Why?" Stewart started to step away. "Dad, Ham doesn't have to everywhere I go." He moved away before his father could answer.
With Ms. Gibbs not at school, Stewart was usually able to push worries about her out of his mind. His father continued to see her often, but most of the time Stewart was able to avoid her. He tried to keep his thoughts only on Taylor, but occasionally there was no avoiding the Gibbs issue.
"I've got play tickets," Dad said when Stewart came downstairs on the Saturday morning before Thanksgiving. "It's over in Tulsa, a play Wanda really wants to see. Martha was supposed to babysit Ozgood and Georgia, but she just called. She's got the flu."
"Ah, Dad, I was thinking I'd meet some of the gang at the movies." Stewart dropped on the couch and buried his face in a sofa pillow.
"Look at me, Stewart," his father said.
Stewart opened one eye and turned it toward where his father sat across the room in his recliner. "Dad—"
"You've hardly seen Wanda or Ozgood the last couple of weeks. You told me you were fine with the relationship, remember?"
"I don't have a choice, do I? I mean about the babysitting thing."
"Not really."
"Can we at least do it here? I'd rather be here."
"Wanda said either way would be fine. Thanks, Stew." His father went back to watching the morning news.
Stewart groaned. He'd be trading a chance to sit beside Taylor at the movie for an evening of dealing with Ozgood.
Ms. Gibbs, Ozgood in tow, arrived with pizza and in a joyous mood. "It's so sweet of you to volunteer for babysitting," she told Stewart, and she pinched his cheek. He tried to give his father a dirty look, but Dad kept his eyes turned away.
"Ozgood," Ms. Gibbs said when she kissed him good-bye, "don't forget the rules."
"I won't," he said, but he seemed sad and suddenly small.
Stewart reached out to put an arm around him. "We'll have a good time, won't we, buddy?" He determined he would get Ozgood involved in some kind of game. Georgia had her ponies spread out across the floor. "We'll find something fun to do," Stewart told Ozgood. They had shelves full of different games, but before Stewart could even open the closet, Ozgood walked to the back door and looked out.
"Is it permissible for me to go into the yard?" he asked.
"Sure." Stewart turned toward him. "I'll go with you."
Ozgood opened the door. "I prefer to be alone if you do not mind."
"Okay." Stewart wandered into the sunroom. He could see Ozgood, sitting on the kitchen steps. Despite what he had told his father, the idea of having Wanda Gibbs as a stepmother still made Stewart uncomfortable, but watching Ozgood, he did feel real affection for the strange boy.
Then Stewart saw something that amazed him. A small rabbit hopped from beneath the porch. Stewart had seen the creature earlier in the yard. It had seen him, too, and had run away. Stewart hadn't known it had found a safe resting place under the porch. Now it moved slowly toward Ozgood, who held out his hand and said something to the animal. The little wild rabbit came directly to stop at Ozgood's feet and stayed still while the boy stroked it. Stewart watched until Ozgood straightened, and the rabbit moved on.
"I'm going outside," Stewart called to Georgia who played in the next room. He pushed open the patio doors, stepped outside, and moved toward the back porch. "Wow," he said to Ozgood. "I saw the rabbit. That's incredible!"
Ozgood shrugged. "Not really. Animals like me, that's all. His name is Henry." Ozgood stood up. "I'd like to go inside and draw his picture if you have paper."
Stewart had paper, a big drawing pad he had bought for art class and never used. For most of the evening, he and Georgia watched Ozgood draw. He drew Henry in a garden, Henry hopping across the yard, and Henry with his family. "This is Albert, and this one is Wilson," Ozgood said. "They're his brothers. He told me about them."
"How'd you learn to draw like this?" Stewart asked.
Ozgood looked up from his paper. "Mother taught me some." He smiled. "Mostly I just know."
"Does your teacher put your pictures on the bulletin board for best work?" Georgia asked.
"I am homeschooled," said Ozgood. "Mother teaches me, and a friend of hers filled in while she worked at your school. People don't see my pictures much."
"Well," said Stewart. "People are going to see them now. Can we keep one of these, the one with Henry and his brothers? I'm going to get a frame for it, and we'll hang it right here in the family room."
"I'll give one to Martha too," said Ozgood. "She loves my pictures."
"Ozgood," said Stewart. "Do you know why you and your mother moved here?"
Ozgood did not look up. "Mother came to help Martha," he said.
"Help Martha with what?"
Ozgood shook his head. "I don't think I ever knew what help Martha required."
Ozgood fell asleep that night on the couch. Georgia had gone up to her bed. Stewart was sleepy, but he did not go up to bed. He stayed near Ozgood and watched an old movie on TV until his Dad and Wanda came home. Dad gathered up Ozgood to carry him to the car. Stewart handed the other pictures to Ms. Gibbs, but he kept the one of the three rabbits.
Life for Stewart was good. He was at the top of his game every day in gym. There was no game the week of Thanksgiving. They wouldn't play again until the first week in December. He knew he would start and he would play well. Taylor Montgomery was his girlfriend, and everyone in the school knew it.
On the Monday before Thanksgiving, Stewart was just getting home and about to go in his front door when he heard Rachel call his name. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks, but he turned to see her coming toward him. She had a puppy in her arms. "It's the last little Dot," she said. "I sold the other three. I just wish Georgia would take her before someone else does. Molly won't ever have any other puppies."
"Yeah, I know." Stewart did not like discussing Georgia's change of mind concerning the puppy. "It's not up to me, though."
Rachel moved closer. "What is up to you, Stewart? Do you take responsibility for anything?" She didn't wait for an answer, but he could see the disgust on her face. "Will Ms. Gibbs let Georgia go through with helping me at the pet show?"
Stewart could feel his neck getting hot, soon his face would be red. "Well," he said, "I don't know for sure."
For a long minute, Rachel looked at him. Then without another word she turned and walked back toward her house.
On Tuesday he learned that Thanksgiving dinner was to be at Ms. Gibbs's house. "I thought you really wante
d to have Thanksgiving here," Stewart said to Georgia at dinner after he heard the news.
"Wanda says it doesn't matter where we eat." Georgia stopped to put another bite of baked potato into her mouth. "What matters is that the family is all together."
Stewart stared at his father. How could his father not see that Wanda Gibbs was tampering with Georgia's mind? Had the woman truly bewitched his father? It was something he tried not to think about. "I'm not very hungry," Stewart said, and he pushed himself back from the table.
Just as planned, Thanksgiving was at Ms. Gibbs's house. Stewart tried to enjoy the day. Wonderful smells did reach his nose the moment Georgia opened the door for them. Dad had dropped Georgia off early with her decorations. Last year's paper bag turkey sat in an honored place in the center of the table, but Stewart thought its feathers sagged more than when Georgia had first taken it out this year.
"Look what Wanda made for me." Georgia ran to get a dress that hung over the back of a chair. It was made of a pink shiny material and had lots of ribbons. She held it up to her and twirled. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"It is," said Dad. "You will look like a princess."
"It's for the wedding," Georgia said, "for when we get a new mommy."
"Oh," said Dad, and he smiled. Stewart did not smile. He could not smile. He turned away to look at the table.
Dad went on into the kitchen to greet Wanda, but Stewart stayed in the dining area. Wait, he thought, there are only four plates laid out on the table. Stewart looked again. Yes, there were only four. Stewart glanced up to see Wanda Gibbs in the kitchen doorway, watching him.
"Ozgood won't be with us," she said. "He's visiting friends."
A shiver passed over Stewart. Hadn't Ozgood said he didn't have any friends? "Didn't you tell Georgia the important thing about Thanksgiving was having the family all together?"
Wanda gazed at Stewart, and her eyes seemed to narrow, but before she said anything, Dad stepped out of the kitchen. "Stew," he said, "let Wanda manage her son."
Stewart shrugged. "Sure," he said. In his mind he added, sure let her manage Georgia too. Maybe that suits you, Dad, but it does not suit me. He decided to bring up the pet show right in front of Wanda. A few minutes into the meal he put down his fork. "Georgia, I was talking to Rachel about the show at the Pet Place tomorrow. You're still planning to help her with Molly Dot, aren't you?"