“Sleeping during such a vital subject!” she teased in a soft whisper, her brown eyes dancing. “Wicked thing.”
Bucky nodded, rolling his eyes in false chagrin. Reluctantly he turned back toward the front. Having had some exposure to exponents in last year’s math class, he wasn’t too worried about tonight’s homework assignment, but he decided to pay better attention for the rest of the period, just in case. Besides, Lisa was watching.
Last night’s extra-inning Giants’ game was part of the reason he couldn’t keep his eyes open, Bucky realized. The good guys had lost a heartbreaker in the thirteenth inning, and the luminous LCD digits on Bucky’s clock radio had indicated 11:25 by the time he’d switched off the post-game show.
Which probably accounted for the reason that he’d overslept this morning. As a result, he’d skipped his usual devotional period for an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. I’ll read it tonight, he’d consoled himself during his hastier - than - usual bike ride to school.
“ . . . Then if you combine two multiplied terms with the same base, you simply add their exponents. See?” the instructor patiently concluded, as Miss Sunglasses finally nodded in comprehension.
At last the bell!
Minutes later, Bucky sat down at a long picnic table out in the quad. He looked for Lisa, but the slim girl had already disappeared in the crowd. Loud hip-hop music blared from a loudspeaker suspended from a nearby pole as students milled about, looking for a lunch partner or noisily making purchases at the refreshment stand.
“How’s it goin’?” Bucky looked up from his spread of food at an Asian student sitting across the table. He recognized the older boy as a fellow band member.
“It’s all good,” Bucky nodded around a bite of sandwich. “Sorry, man, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Sam.” The boy pulled a can of Pepsi out of his sack and took a long sip. “What about yours?”
“Bucky. I’ve seen you in band, but didn’t know who you were.” He was about to take another bite when he realized he hadn’t said grace yet. “Excuse me just a minute,” he said to Sam, bowing his head and saying a brief, silent prayer.
The Vietnamese boy studied him questioningly, then averted his gaze as he saw Bucky open his eyes and bite into his sandwich. “What was that all about?” he said finally, his curiosity getting the better of him. His speech held the faintest trace of an accent.
“Oh, just a prayer. You know, grace.” Bucky spoke without embarrassment. “God is great, God is good, etc.”
“Whatever.” Sam paused, appearing as though he wanted to ask another question, then suddenly changed his mind and began tearing open a sack of Fritos instead.
“How long you been playin’ in the band?” Bucky asked between bites.
“My second year now,” Sam replied. “It’s taken a while to move up the line. Getting to finally play first trumpet makes it all worthwhile, though. They get all the hot parts.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bucky agreed. “Actually, even the second part kinda has me going right now. I’ll leave those hard notes to you guys! For the time being, anyway. Did you – ”
“Watch it!” A misguided basketball suddenly bounced onto the picnic table, narrowly missing both the chips and Bucky’s small jar of applesauce. Sam deftly grabbed the ball and impatiently hurled it across the pavement to the small knot of diehard basketball fans gathered around a tattered hoop.
“Typical,” Sam muttered to Bucky. “Dumb jocks. They bounce a ball way over here, nine million miles off course, almost hit you on the head, and then what? No sorry. No thanks. No nothin’.” He growled a mild four-letter word to himself.
“Oh, they don’t mean anything by it,” Bucky responded, ignoring the outburst. “Someday it’ll be me shooting an air ball at your Fritos, so don’t be too hard on us basketball nuts.”
“You play ball?”
“Oh, just some,” Bucky said modestly. “We played a lot last year; of course, that was only eighth grade.” He paused for a moment to watch the fast action on the court. “I just joined the ski club this morning,” he said as an afterthought. “My dad gave me permission.”
“I was thinking about joining that too,” Sam said, shielding his eyes from the noon sun as he looked out over the lunch area.
“Go for it,” Bucky urged. “That’s going to be a great ski trip in January.” The meal continued pleasantly as the two students visited leisurely.
Lunch over, Bucky scooped up his wrappings, stuffed them into his brown bag, and lobbed the contents neatly into a nearby trash can. “See?” he remarked to Sam. “Two points. Come on, I’ll walk over with you to band.”
The two boys ambled across the sun-drenched quadrangle to the music building. Inside, the students were warming up their various instruments with scales and a snatch or two from a recent pop hit. Bucky found his place in the second row and began leafing through several pieces of music in his folder.
Moments later, the ever-congenial director stepped up to his stand and rapped on it quickly several times. “Listen up, boys and girls. We have only two weeks before we play, so I want to cover a lot of ground. We want to do the Pirates medley and also two new pieces I think you’re going to like. Steve will pass them out in a minute. Remember, we play for the football game, which is a home one for us, the eighth of October, during halftime. And then twice during the November games. Twelve and nineteen are those dates, and they’re up on our web site already. So go out and buy yourself a sweater, kids, ‘cause it gets cold out there on the field.”
Bucky, who had been tinkering with a stuck valve on his trumpet, made a mental note.
“Do we, like, I mean, is attendance required?” One of the girls in the flute section raised her hand.
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” Mr. Walter gave her a mock scowl. “Unless you’re sick or dead, one of the two. ‘Course, if you want an F in band, I hand ‘em out like bottled water.” He grinned to let her know that he was just kidding – and that he expected perfect attendance.
“So, got that? Two weeks from now, we’re on. No sweat, guys. A little halftime show, a few ‘Charge!’ fanfares during the touchdown drives to give the Panthers a win. And Coach Brayshaw tells me the way the team looks right now, our band might be the best thing there that night.” He laughed. “OK, now, let’s run through the medley.”
Wordlessly, Bucky brought his horn to his lips and came in on measure five with the rest of the trumpet section. The cheerful, syncopated melody echoed through the room, but in Bucky’s mind a cloud was forming. November 12. He made a mental note to stop after band and ask Mr. Walter about it. Squinting at the jazz notation on the sheet of music, he and his bandmates bobbed their horns up and down in time to the wall of sound coming from the rhythm section.
As students were putting their instruments back in their cases at the end of the hour, Bucky resolutely made his way to the director’s chair in the center of the room. Mr. Walter, busily explaining a difficult section to a trombone player, caught Bucky’s eye as he approached.
“Be with you in a second, boss,” he said.
Bucky patiently waited while the man tapped out the baffling rhythm several times for the student.
“Got it?”
“I think so. Thanks.” The trombone player backed away, tucking sheet music into his folder as he made his way out the door.
“Let’s see. It’s Bucky, right?” Mr. Walter turned his attention to the young freshman.
“That’s right. Mr. Walter, I have a problem.”
“Not with your playing, you don’t,” the director beamed. “Your whole row is really hitting the notes. I think your presence is making quite a difference. Last year those guys were kind of ragged. I can tell that Benito is leaning on you big-time. Anyway, what is it?”
Bucky flushed at the compliment. “I think I have a conflict with the November 12 program.”
“Oh really?” The director didn’t look too upset. “Nothing you can change?”
“Well, it’s kind of important.” Bucky tried hard to relax. “Our church is going on a retreat clear up to Eureka for the weekend, and I think we’re all heading out right after school that day.”
Mr. Walter nodded affably. “Oh, sure. In that case. I know kids have other obligations and family stuff. But you know what? Do me a favor and just bring me, like, a brochure from the church. Would you mind?”
“Absolutely. No problem.” Bucky grinned, feeling better. “We have this guy coming in from an AIDS mission in Africa to talk to us for the whole weekend, so I’m pretty excited about going.”
The older man gave another nod. “Huh. I’m not much for church lately, but if it’s working for you, then go for it. I think that’s great.” Bucky noticed that Sam, his companion from lunch, was standing just outside the doorway to the band rehearsal room, with a questioning look on his face.
“Didn’t you tell me that you were going to some private church school last year?” The director began compiling his own stack of music and shoving them into a tattered folder.
“Uh huh.”
“So your family’s pretty into it?”
“I guess. Well, not my dad. But my mom and sister and I are.”
Mr. Walter hesitated. “One of these days, I’ll have to wander over to where you guys have lunch. You can give me the short version.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes twinkled. “Oh, just . . . stuff like that is fun to talk about. I think so, anyway. How does God hear – I mean, if there is a God – how does he hear a bazillion prayers all at once and keep ‘em straight.” He laughed. “Sorry, Buck. My theology doesn’t run much deeper than that. Last time I was in church was about twenty Easters ago.”
Bucky relaxed a little. “Well, we got room over at mine any time you want to take a look.” The moment he said it, a tiny flush began to ease into his cheeks. Should I have said that?
But the director seemed at ease. “Boy, my girlfriend would fall over in a dead faint. But who knows?” He glanced at his watch and snapped his music folder shut. “Anyway, the official word is: yes, go on your trip. Tell all the saints hello for me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Walter.”
Out in the hallway, he stopped at the drinking fountain for a long, cold drink. Even though the director was such an easygoing type, Bucky found that his pulse was racing just a bit from the brief conflict he’d experienced. He looked in the mirror hanging over the drinking fountain and smiled ruefully.
“That’s one down, kid,” he murmured to himself. “I wonder how many more to go?”
Chapter Five: Mr. Storyteller
Bucky bent his knees slightly as he peered at his reflection in the dresser mirror. Last year’s growth spurt had added nearly five inches to his frame, and now the mirror cut off his image at the top of his nose,
“I gotta get stilts for this dresser,” he muttered to himself cheerfully, trying for the third time to get the two ends of his necktie to align themselves. His freshly laundered dress shirt reflected the sunlight filtering through the two bedroom windows. It was a gorgeous day outside.
From downstairs, the aroma of breakfast wafted up into the bedroom. If smell was any indication, the meal would be another of Mom’s masterpieces.
“Breakfast will be ready in one minute,” Mom announced from the kitchen.
“Be right down,” Bucky called out into the hallway.
“Bring your sister with you.”
Giving the knot of his tie one final tug, Bucky ran a brush quickly through his hair and padded in his stocking feet to Rachel Marie’s bedroom. His sister sat on the floor, quietly playing with the newest doll member of the Rachel Marie family.
“Breakfast, R.M.” Bucky leaned over and gave one of her braids a playful tug.
“Just a minute,” she fussed. “I hafta give Delilah Comet a bath.”
“Better let it wait until later. Mom says breakfast is ready this minute. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
“OK,” the little girl agreed. “Can Delilah come too?”
“Is she hungry?” Bucky asked, playing along.
“I don’t know. Delilah, are you hungry?” Rachel Marie paused for an answer. “She says yes.”
“Bring her along then.” Picking up sister and doll in one motion, he deposited both of them on his shoulders. He ducked as the trio made their way through the doorway, and bounced down the carpeted staircase. Bucky and his load walked quickly through the family room and into the kitchen.
“Here we are,” he announced. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Cinnamon rolls!” Rachel Marie squealed, sliding down from her brother’s shoulders. “Come on, Delilah Comet, you have to sit with me.”
Dad came in from the garage wearing a pair of faded jeans and his favorite working-in-the-garage shirt. “Hey, guys.” He gave his wife a quick kiss on the way to the table. “There’s no way an American man like me can work in the garage when my nose tells me there are cinnamon rolls nearby. What do you say about that, woman?”
Mom laughed. “The only way to get rid of cinnamon aroma is to eat up these rolls.”
“Let’s do it then,” Dad nodded. He looked over at Bucky. “All dressed up already? What happened to wearing pajamas at the breakfast table?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Bucky shrugged. “I got up earlier than I usually do, so I decided to get dressed before breakfast.”
“I know,” Dad teased. “You didn’t stay up till all hours listening to the Giants game last night. That’s why you were able to wake up on time today.”
“You probably have something there,” Bucky grinned, putting his napkin on his lap. “I wonder how they did?”
“Well, let’s say grace,” Mom said, “and then you can do all the speculating you want. Rachel Marie?”
As the family held hands, Rachel Marie said a brief prayer, after instructing Delilah Comet to close her eyes real tight.
In short order, rolls, juice, and cereal began to disappear amidst the pleasant morning chatter. With one eye on the clock, Mom graciously kept the meal moving along, especially in the Rachel Marie/Delilah corner.
Stacking the morning dishes into one precarious pile, Bucky teetered his way over to the kitchen sink and carefully lowered the collection of plates, cups, bowls, and silver. Moving efficiently, he began rinsing the dishes in the sink.
“M-m-m-m-m-m, what a help you are,” Mom observed appreciatively.
Bucky snorted. “What do you mean? It’s my job.”
“That’s true. I’m going to go get dressed. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“OK.”
Promptly at 9:10 the three family members climbed into the car. “‘Bye, honey,” Mom called, giving her husband a wave.
He saluted with his wrench. “Adios, guys. Have a good time at church.”
Mom peeked into her rear view mirror at Dad’s retreating figure as they drove down Woodman Avenue. “One of these days,” she confided to Bucky, “Dad’ll come along with us. You wait and see.”
The family arrived at church just as the pastor’s wife was driving into the parking lot. “Hello, Sharon,” Mom called. “Driving separately again today?”
She waved a greeting. “Oh, you know how it is. Dan had to come down early to work on some First Amendment church project. Hi, Bucky; hi, Rachel Marie.”
“Hi,” Rachel Marie said bashfully, snuggling up to Mom. Bucky nodded a greeting, then made his way around the corner of the white stucco sanctuary to the youth division. He was intercepted by the silver-haired pastor. “Yo! Bucky! Wait up!”
Bucky halted and waited for Pastor Jensen, who was carrying a Bible and several large folders. The pastor’s footsteps crunched heavily on the gravel walkway. He smiled broadly as he adjusted the folders and reached out a hand for Bucky to shake. “How’s it goin’?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “Listen, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Kid Church.”
“What about it?”
“I’ve g
ot an idea. Listen, walk with me over to the office and I’ll tell you about it.”
A desk and three chairs nearly filled the pastor’s small office. A large poster promoting the upcoming Habitat For Humanity campaign decorated the door.
“Grab a seat,” Pastor Jensen invited, setting his materials down and settling into the chair behind his desk. He looked over at Bucky quizzically. “What would you think about being an assistant in the kindergarten division this fall?”
The unexpected question took Bucky by surprise. “What?”
“Kindergarten division. I’d like to have you help them out over there. What do you say?”
Bucky examined his fingernails closely. “Wow. I don’t know what to say. What does it involve?”
The pastor glanced at his watch. “Well, I can’t really take a lot of time to describe it now. Briefly, you’d be telling stories, helping out with the singing, teaching the little Bible lesson. You know, stuff like that. Tell you what,” he concluded, “why don’t you sit in on it this morning? Mrs. Crawford is the leader, and I told her I was going to talk to you about this. Get a feel for what they do, and then let me know after church.”
“I know, but . . .” He tried to think of a way out. “I kind of would like to just go with my friends and all.”
The older man nodded understandingly. “I know. But, bit by bit, I think it’s really important for young people your age to begin taking leadership roles here in the church. And, man, you’d be perfect for this.”
“I . . . I guess I could,” Bucky said reluctantly. “And Rachel Marie’s in there. But I don’t know much about being an assistant or anything.”
Pastor Jensen chuckled. “You’d be surprised how much fun it can be. The kids are a total crackup. And I know they’ll love you.”
“OK,” Bucky said with a sigh. “I’ll go take a look.”
“Great!” the pastor beamed. He glanced at his watch a second time. “Well, I’m off like a herd of turtles. Whoever said this was a quiet day of rest wasn’t thinking about me, that’s for sure.” He headed out the door.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 3