by Susan Ross
Jacques shifted his feet. “There’s kind of a dance this weekend at school. Sadie Hawkins.”
“I see,” Father Lazar replied.
“I might get invited by this girl. . . .”
“I understand,” the priest said.
But Jacques wasn’t exactly sure that he did.
“You think about it. If you change your mind, bring some kids with you. They don’t have to be church members—all comers welcome. The ladies are planning an impressive dessert table, did I mention that already?”
Jacques waved goodbye with a few grunts about having to help his grandmother. He sprinted the rest of the way to the shop, cutting through the alley behind Main Street. Mr. Silverstein, the owner of the Army Navy Store, was out back heaving empty boxes onto the curb.
“Do you need help?” Jacques saw that the biggest box was hard for the older man to carry.
“Oh hello there, Jacques.” Mr. Silverstein smiled. “Thank you, but I’ve got it. How’s your grandmother been doing? How’s business?”
“It’s maybe been a little slow, I guess,” Jacques replied.
Mr. Silverstein sighed as he dropped the last box onto the curb. “There’s not much traffic on Main Street these days. Too many people are out of work, and nobody’s got money to spend.” He hesitated for a moment as he cleared his throat. “Tell me something. Your grandmother, does she go out much on weekends?”
“What do you mean?” Jacques asked. He eyeballed Mr. Silverstein closely. He was a tall, trim man with gray hair that grew thick behind the ears, but not so much on the top of his head. He was sixty at least, Jacques decided.
“Well, does she, er . . . ever see people?”
Jacques wasn’t sure what to say. “Sometimes she likes going to the speedway, and, um, Grandmère always goes to church on Sundays.”
“Interesting—church and racing cars.” Mr. Silverstein smiled as he turned away. “You won’t tell her that I was asking, now will you?”
“Definitely not,” Jacques answered.
Jacques walked along the curb to the back entrance of the bridal shop. Afternoon sun streamed through the display windows, and he could see girls from a large wedding party admiring themselves in the three-way mirror. The girls were all shapes, all ages and all sizes; the bride was short and not slim.
“You give yourself a good twirl.” Grandmère Jeannette took one of the bridesmaids and spun her around in the mirror. “Look how the fancy pleats on the backside make you look like a model!” Jeannette swerved, diving toward a taller bridesmaid. “You ought to be wearing heels with that dress; the higher the better—the lace on the hemline shows off those gorgeous legs you got.”
The tall girl giggled with appreciation as Grandmère Jeannette leaned forward to claim her prize. She pulled the bride to the center of the group and asked her to step on a small wooden stand. Grandmère Jeannette fluffed the back of the gown and arranged the train so the stand didn’t show. With a triumphant flourish, she placed an eyelet veil over the bride’s long wavy hair.
“Now look, perfection! Your wedding photo!” Grandmère Jeannette made clicking noises as if she was taking lots of pictures.
She’s amazing! Jacques thought. Just like a soccer star, dribbling it home.
“I look so beautiful. . . .” There were actual tears in the bride’s eyes. Her mother was pulling out tissues. The sale was done.
Grandmère Jeannette licked her lips as she took their deposit. “My handsome grandson,” she announced, pointing her pinkie in Jacques’s direction.
“Tres beau!” The mother of the bride nodded.
After the women left, Grandmère Jeannette collapsed on the couch with a satisfied grunt. “What are you doing here this afternoon? Don’t you have soccer?”
“I came to help,” Jacques replied. “Practice got cancelled.”
“Good timing,” Grandmère Jeannette said. “It’s been busy and we need every sale. Why don’t you make some boxes and put those dresses away.”
Another bridal party arrived for a fitting. Grandmère Jeannette took them to the sewing room, but the front door quickly opened again, and a not-so-young lady wearing sparkling gold eye shadow above thick false lashes walked inside.
“My grandmother will only be a minute,” Jacques said.
The woman ignored him. She went to the rack filled with formal gowns and shuffled through a few before turning to go.
“Did you find your size okay?” Jacques asked.
“Well, sweetie—I’m kind of in a rush, and I’m looking for something special.”
“Do you need a wedding gown?” It didn’t seem likely.
The woman laughed, her large lips parting. “No, I need a dress for my act. I’m a dancer at a club in Portland. I’m looking for something exotic . . . but classy, of course.” The woman’s teeth were whiter than any teeth Jacques had ever seen—whiter than Grandmère Jeannette’s best china that she only brought out for Easter.
“We have lots of cool gowns.” Jacques went over to the dress rack.
“It’s fine, I can look for myself.” The woman seemed dubious.
“You should try this one, for sure.” Jacques handed her a pink satin gown with sequins and silver beads stitched to one strap. “I think it’s your size.”
“You’re cute.” The woman stopped and checked the tag. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try this on.” The woman paused before entering the dressing booth. “What else you got?”
For dinner that night, Grandmère Jeannette served pork ragout with garlic mashed potatoes. “Mon Dieu, our Jacques made three sales! Full price!” Grandmère Jeannette clapped her hands while Jacques felt his face turn as pink as the dress he’d sold. “I was out back, and I didn’t even hear the first lady come in.”
Dad grunted and dug at his dinner. He drained a can of beer and crushed it with one hand.
When Grandmère Jeannette went into the kitchen to get dessert, Dad turned to Jacques. “I know what she told you. I’ll find some other work, okay? You don’t need to be busting your head about it.”
“It was nothing!” Jacques replied quickly.
Dad rose, his fork clattering to the floor.
Jacques’s stomach tightened. He was doing his best; why was Dad angry? When Jacques was little, whenever Dad would get heated up about something, Mom would tilt her head and say, “Put away your grizzly bear, darling!” Dad would nearly always stop his fuming, take Mom in his arms and do a fake growl until they both started laughing.
“You want some, Donny?” Grandmère Jeannette held a Maple Sugar Pie in front of them.
Dad didn’t answer. He left the table, and a moment later, they heard the front door slam.
“Don’t worry.” Grandmère Jeannette set the pie down. “Enjoy your food. He’ll be back soon.” She pointed the pie cutter toward the ceiling. “You did great today. Your maman would be proud—real proud.”
Jacques closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the memory of Mom wrapped in Dad’s big bear arms. He didn’t feel like pie anymore, but he ate two slices anyway.
9
“Watch out for the lobsters—they bite!” Boucher snickered as he strode past Kiki’s desk. A fleet of buses had arrived to take the entire seventh grade to Spruce Point Beach for a field trip, followed by an afternoon at the amusement park on the pier. Kids were yelling and hopping in the air like pogo sticks while Mrs. Sinclair tried to bring the noise down to a dull roar.
Jacques saw the question mark lingering on Kiki’s face. “Ignore Boucher! It’s the best day of school.”
“I never seen the ocean yet,” Kiki said. “In Somalia, my family lived far away from the sea.”
When they got to the beach, kids leaped from the buses and ran toward the dunes, but Kiki lagged behind. A silver mist hung over the ocean. Sunlight peeked through fat gray clouds. At the far end of the beach, Jacques could make out the silhouette of an old lighthouse, appearing and disappearing into a blanket of fog.
“Come on!” Jacque
s yelled.
Kiki pulled off her sandals and jumped on the beach. Laughing in surprise as her toes sank into the soft sand, she twirled on one foot, her hijab billowing behind her as she raced toward the sea.
Tim O’Shea whistled. “That girl can run.”
“You should see her kick.” Jacques grinned.
When Kiki reached the water, she kept on going. She splashed a few feet into the edge of a spent wave, stopped short and pivoted, shock etched on her face.
“It’s freezing!” Kiki ran back out, the bottom of her skirt dripping. “What kind of crazy ocean is this?”
“We’re in Maine!” Jacques laughed.
Mrs. Sinclair divided the kids into teams of four. Jacques, Lucy, Kiki and Sammy had half an hour to find some living creatures.
“How about out there?” Kiki started walking in the direction of a jetty where a long wall of boulders jutted into the water.
“It’s covered in seaweed.” Lucy looked unsure.
Kiki began climbing to the top. Balancing on the balls of her bare feet, she hopped from rock to rock. The others followed, but the seaweed and barnacles made it hard going.
“Ouch!” Lucy tripped on a slab of granite.
Jacques reached forward to pull her up. He felt a strange jolt as Lucy’s warm fingers clung to his wrist. Her pony tail was loose, and damp ringlets framed her face.
“I’m going back.” She frowned. “You coming?”
Jacques hesitated, the weird electricity still tingling in his fingertips.
Then he shook his head, no, and gestured for Sammy to keep up with him. Nearly all the rocks this far out were topped with green slime. Jacques slowed down as a roll of fog came in, obscuring the end of the jetty.
“Where’s Kiki? Do you see her?” Sammy craned his neck.
Jacques’s pulse began to race. He turned in every direction and strained to listen, but all he could hear were the waves slapping against stone. What if Kiki fell into the ocean? Did she even know how to swim?
“Kiki?” he called out.
His words hung empty in the fog.
“Kiki! Kiki! Where are you?” Jacques shouted.
Suddenly, she bobbed up from the side of a boulder with a sand dollar in her hand. “Is it still alive?” Kiki flipped the shell in her palm to admire the delicate flower pattern on top. “It is beautiful.”
Jacques released a long breath and looked closely at the sand dollar. He’d seen a hundred of them, maybe a thousand, but Kiki was right—the flower design on the shell, with its round symmetrical petals, was amazing.
Kiki’s eyes were shining, reflecting water and the sun.
“Yeah.” Jacques examined the outline of the star and mouth hole on the bottom. “That is cool.”
By the time they returned to the beach, Mrs. Sinclair was halfway through a lecture on jellyfish.
“Spineless—like you, Gagnon!” Boucher hissed. He covered his face with his elbow, cackling.
A million things to shout back ran through Jacques’s mind, but what was the use? If he started something with Boucher, it was going to end in a fight, and he’d probably be the one to get in trouble, maybe even miss the afternoon at the pier. It just wasn’t worth it. Jacques could see Kiki looking his way, her mouth slightly open, expecting him to do something. He glanced up at the sky, down at his feet and kicked at the sand.
Finally, Mrs. Sinclair handed out free tickets for the rides.
“Hey, Kiki! You’re gonna love The Dominator—it’s sick!” Boucher gestured toward the enormous roller coaster rocketing above them. As he spoke, the cart at the top of the ride descended in a perpendicular roar.
“Yes, why not?” Kiki crossed her arms and stared straight at Boucher.
Boucher flinched and turned to Jacques. “What’s the matter, Gagnon? You look scared!” Without waiting for an answer, he tore off toward the ride.
“You sure you want to go on that?” Sammy asked Jacques in a low voice. “Last time, you chucked.”
“That was fifth grade,” Jacques replied, “and you don’t need to remind me.”
“You can come with us.” Nicole motioned to Kiki as the girls walked toward the roller coaster. The line was short, and they quickly stepped forward to the very front cart. Kiki stopped and smoothed her skirt, then climbed in between Lucy and Nicole.
“Hold on a minute.” The attendant pointed at Jacques. “There’s room for one more.”
“Me?” Jacques croaked.
Lucy giggled as Jacques squeezed in beside her. Kiki’s face was blank, but Jacques noticed that the edge of her nose was twitching. She stared ahead at the empty track and sky. When the attendant flipped the switch, the cart lurched forward.
Jacques could feel Lucy’s breath coming in and out next to him, or maybe it was his own chest heaving. He tried to focus on the ricky-tick-tick of the cogs as the cart rose above the ground. The early morning mist had cleared. You could see the ocean, the beach, the lighthouse. Not so bad, Jacques thought for a moment. Then the cart teetered at the very top and plunged in a free fall toward the ocean. Jacques shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, trying hard not to faint. His stomach rose into his throat, and his hands gripped the bar, fingernails scratching icy metal.
They swerved to the left, and Jacques felt Lucy clutch his arm, her body leaning into his shoulder. She smelled like flowers. The wind came rushing against his face so hard that he couldn’t open his eyes. His stomach heaved and flipped as the cart dropped again.
When Jacques finally managed to blink, he could see the girls leaning forward, arms high above their heads, screaming and laughing as they flew toward the bottom with a wild screech.
And then it was over. The cart slid to a stop, but Jacques’s stomach was still in motion.
Boucher was hanging over the fence. “Took you long enough!”
Just don’t pass out in front of him, Jacques thought. Or Kiki. Or Lucy. Anything but that.
Sammy jumped out from behind. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jacques mumbled. But he wasn’t. His head felt light, and he could taste the hot dogs from lunch in his throat.
“I gotta puke!” Jacques stumbled toward the nearest trash can.
“Go Gagnon!” Boucher cackled. “How about another turn?”
“Shut it, Boucher!” Sammy exclaimed under his breath. He stood beside Jacques, blocking him with his body and trying hard not to look.
Jacques rose and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Did the girls see me?”
“No way,” Sammy quickly replied. Jacques knew he was lying.
Jacques scanned the grounds. Kiki, Lucy and Nicole were standing in front of the cotton candy machine, giggling. Kiki said something that made the other girls double over in hysterics. Her eyes met Jacques’s, and she turned and walked toward him.
“Here, maybe this can make you feel better.” Kiki held out a mound of pink fluff. The edge of the scar crinkled when she smiled.
Jacques shook his head. “I’m good for now . . . but thanks.”
Kiki licked a dab of cotton candy off her lips and grinned. This time, the gap between her teeth was filled in bright pink.
10
On Thursday morning the soccer team list was finally tacked to the gym door. Next to the list, a cardboard poster was decorated in blue and yellow flowers. In large block letters, it said Girls Don’t Wait! Ask Your Date.
Jacques walked by the team list twice before taking a look. He exhaled when he saw his name halfway down the list; though the truth was, it didn’t look as if Coach Morrin had cut anybody.
Then Jacques’s eyesight went blurry. Rubbing his forehead, he inched closer. Toward the bottom of the sheet in bold letters he read the word CO-CAPTAINS. Underneath there were two names: Mohamed Husen, and just below it, Jacques Gagnon.
Co-captains! Jacques wasn’t sure whether to shout or be sick. What was Coach thinking? How in the world was he going to lead the team alongside a boy who seemed to hate him?
Sammy came
up from behind. “It’s not fair. You should be the only captain. Just you.”
“No.” Jacques’s head dropped. “Let’s face it; I’m lucky Coach even made me co-captain this year.”
Lucy was walking down the hall toward them, her arms filled with books and binders. Sammy grinned and slipped away in the other direction.
“Hey!” Lucy stopped and spun one toe against the floor. She was wearing blue denim shorts with lace pockets hanging out; her hair was gathered in a butterfly clip.
“Oh hi,” Jacques responded.
“The roller coaster at Spruce Point Beach was awesome, wasn’t it?” Lucy gazed into his face and smiled.
“Guess so,” Jacques replied cautiously. Was she making fun of him?
“I was kind of wondering—are you going to the dance?” Lucy stretched high on her toes.
She’s taller than I am, Jacques noted. “What dance?”
Jacques’s eyes slid down to the binder in Lucy’s arms. On its spine, there was a red Sharpie heart with the initial “J” in the center.
When Lucy saw where he was looking, she quickly moved her hand to cover the spot. “I’m talking about the Sadie Hawkins dance this weekend.”
“Actually . . .” Jacques coughed. “Actually, there’s something really important I need to do. Father Lazar wants me to come to church. They’re having a party to welcome the African families.”
“Oh really.” Lucy’s left eyebrow began to twitch. “You’re saying that you have to go to church on Saturday night?”
“Yeah,” Jacques said. “Father Lazar is kind of making me. Lots of kids are going. You can come if you want.”
“I’ll think about it,” Lucy replied flatly. She wrapped her arms around her books and backed away. She wasn’t smiling anymore.
Sammy caught up with Jacques in front of homeroom. “Did Lucy ask you?”
“I guess so.” Jacques sighed.