Alex Ryan, Stop That!

by Claudia Mills

  His dad looked at him, hard. Then he winked, as if to show Alex that he wasn’t really mad. And he turned back to his two hundred and fourteen e-mails.

  14

  ALEX TOOK THE LAST SEAT in the back row of the multipurpose room. Of course, his father sat in the center of the front row, this time with Alex’s mom beside him. At least tonight his dad wasn’t going to make any embarrassing speeches. Parents didn’t get a chance to speak at the end-of-year awards program. They just sat and clapped as their children paraded up to accept various awards. This year the seventh-grade program was held on Wednesday evening, the week after outdoor ed.

  Marcia came in with Sarah; she sat on the aisle and laid her crutches on the floor beside her. Even though, as Alex had predicted, Marcia was making the most of her crutches as an attention-getting device, he still had a pang every time he saw them. Marcia’s broken ankle was real. It wasn’t something she had dreamed up to make Alex feel guilty for playing his prank on her. The broken branch on Marcia’s tree was real, too. And, in a way, Marcia’s hurt feelings after his zit remark had been the most real of all. All the confessions and apologies that he still hadn’t found the right time and place to make smoldered inside him.

  Dave sank into the seat next to Alex. Alex couldn’t imagine that Dave would get any awards at all, the way he goofed off in school. Maybe he’d get a perfect attendance award, or something. Dave was there all the time to help Alex carry out his plans. But Alex was through with plans for good—at least plans that broke any bones, or tree branches, or hearts.

  Alex knew that he himself was going to get an award for being on the Principal’s List, the list of kids with all A’s and B’s on their report card. It was a pretty long list, but if you had even one C you couldn’t be on it. Alex also expected to get an award for general excellence in math. Probably twenty kids would get that one. Still, it was something for his dad and mom to clap about.

  The multipurpose room was practically full. Alex saw Ethan and Julius, Alison and Lizzie, and tall Tanya, who no longer blushed and giggled whenever she passed Alex in the hall. It was a good thing that feelings faded from lack of encouragement.

  Dr. Stanley spoke into the microphone. “Good evening, West Creek parents and students.” This time there were no problems with the mike. “It’s my great pleasure to welcome you all to the seventh-grade end-of-year awards program,” he began.

  “It’s his great pleasure that the school year is almost over,” Alex whispered to Dave.

  “Ours, too,” Dave whispered back to Alex.

  “Our first award goes to students who have had perfect attendance throughout the school year. Six students are receiving this award. Students, please stand when your names are called. Parents, please hold your applause until all the names have been read. David Barnett, Amy Daniels …”

  Dave stood in place, hamming up his joy at receiving the first award of the evening. Alex had to yank him back down again when the principal went on to the next award.

  The program was long and dull. Half the awards, it seemed, went to Lizzie. She had scored the most points for the Mathletes, the new school math team; her poem was chosen as the best one in the West Creek literary magazine, Creek Dreams; a paper she had written for social studies had won some statewide essay contest. In between Lizzie’s awards, other kids got an award or two: an award for Lizzie, an award for someone else, an award for Lizzie, an award for someone else.

  Alex caught a glimpse of his mother’s proud smile and his father’s half-mocking grin as he collected his own three awards: the two he had predicted, plus another for being one of the three top medalists on the West Creek track-and-field team. It was funny: when it came to running, Alex didn’t even care whether or not he got an award. All he cared about was the running itself.

  Ethan was handed a certificate for taking second place in the science fair, back in February; Julius got some community service award for starting a babysitting program for parents during West Creek sporting events; Lizzie’s friend Alison had won a piano competition; Marcia was recognized for having been on the tennis team. Her awkward limping to the podium on her crutches drew the biggest applause of the evening. Alex clapped hard for her, too.

  “I now have one last award of special merit to present,” Dr. Stanley said, just as Alex thought the program would never end and he would spend the rest of his life trapped in the multipurpose room watching Lizzie Archer get an award for everything. “We’ve recognized academic excellence in every subject area, excellence in sports, excellence in the arts, excellence in community service, even excellence in attendance.”

  At the mention of the word “attendance,” Dave began his pantomime of preening again. Alex thought he’d have to stop him from rising to his feet for a second bow.

  “There is one other form of excellence we should honor tonight. It may sound old-fashioned, but there is a form of excellence we can sum up in the simple word hero.”

  Alex felt his stomach begin to churn. More than anything, he hoped Dr. Stanley wasn’t talking about his “rescue” of Marcia at outdoor ed. He tried to remember what else had happened during the whole year that could be called heroic. He came up with a blank.

  “The person I am calling a hero tonight,” Dr. Stanley went on after the rustle of speculation running through the audience had died down, “had to think quickly in an emergency situation. He had to use the first-aid skills learned in his family-living class and apply them in a real-life situation.”

  Everyone was turning around to look at Alex now. He felt like running out of the room before Dr. Stanley could finish. He felt like throwing up on the floor.

  “This person had to make decisions under pressure, decisions that would affect others’ lives as well as his own. And he and his companion had to bear the burden of carrying one of his classmates to safety.”

  Dr. Stanley paused again, for effect. He was only making it worse by dragging out the announcement.

  “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” Dr. Stanley asked, smiling down at the assembled seventh graders.

  For answer, they began to chant: “Al-ex. Al-ex. Al-ex.”

  “Please come up here,” Dr. Stanley said. “Alex Ryan.”

  Somehow Alex made his way to the podium. Dr. Stanley shook his hand and drew him in front of the mike, lowering it so that Alex could speak into it easily. No one else that evening had been invited to give an acceptance speech for an award.

  What if he accepted the award, just took it and walked away, and vowed never to let himself get into such a mess ever again? No. If he didn’t say now, for once and for all, what needed to be said, he would hate himself for the rest of his life.

  To keep himself from looking out at the audience, he fastened his eyes on the ceiling. He didn’t want to see his father’s face.

  “I—I can’t accept this award,” he said.

  Dr. Stanley leaned down toward the mike. “Son, every true hero thinks that what he did was nothing. But the award is yours. You earned it.”

  “No I didn’t.” Alex’s voice came out stronger now.

  Dr. Stanley, as if aware that the award presentation wasn’t going as planned, put his arm around Alex’s shoulder to draw him from the podium and send him back to his seat.

  Alex broke away from him. “Marcia ran down the trail because she heard a rattlesnake,” he said into the mike. “I was the rattlesnake. That was me. I had a snake rattle with me, and I rattled it, just to scare her and make her scream. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen. I never meant for her to get hurt.”

  The multipurpose room was deadly quiet now. Alex stared at his feet. There. They could all hate him again. They could laugh at him, pick him last for square dancing, he didn’t care. No, he did care. But there was something else he cared about even more. He cared about being able to live with himself.

  Alex started back to his seat. The shocked silence in the large room continued unbroken. Alex felt a stab of pity for Dr. Stanley. He h
adn’t expected the festive awards assembly to end this way.

  The principal finally cleared his throat. “Making a mistake and being big enough to admit it,” Dr. Stanley said. “In my book, that’s heroism, too.”

  Alex reached his seat just as Dave jumped to his feet and began clapping. Then the others—parents and teachers, and Dr. Stanley himself—joined in.

  “Now please join us for a wonderful reception next door in the cafeteria, provided for us by the PTO,” Dr. Stanley said.

  Alex had never heard anyone sound more relieved. The seventh-grade end-of-year awards assembly was over.

  Kids sitting near Alex held up their hands to him for high fives. In a trance, Alex returned them.

  “Man, that took guts,” Dave said. “I have no guts. I’m a gutless wonder.”

  Ethan shook Alex’s hand. Julius pounded Alex on the back. Across the room he caught a glimpse of his parents, trying to make their way toward him, held back by the mob of kids surrounding him.

  Alex didn’t wait for them. He pushed through the other kids till he reached Marcia; she couldn’t leave her seat until the crowd had thinned, so she wouldn’t get knocked over on her crutches.

  “You were right all along,” Alex said, before she could say anything. “You were right to hate me.”

  Marcia looked up at him. He couldn’t tell if she was going to smile, or if she was going to cry. “I don’t hate you,” she said in a half-whisper. “I never hated you. Well, not a lot.”

  A good-looking, broad-shouldered, almost completely bald man appeared behind Marcia, holding hands with an attractive platinum blonde. Marcia’s parents.

  Alex was not looking forward to what was going to come next. Would he have to pay for all of Marcia’s medical bills? What else could the law do to a kid who caused another kid to have a serious accident? He was too young to go to jail. He guessed they could make him do hundreds and hundreds of hours of community service. He had visions of helping Julius babysit at every school event from now until he graduated from high school.

  Mr. Faitak looked him over. Alex recognized the look. It was a tactic of intimidation favored by his own father. Its name was “Let ’Em Squirm.”

  “So,” Mr. Faitak said with no hint of amusement in his voice, “you were the rattlesnake.”

  Alex met his eyes. “I was the rattlesnake.”

  “I don’t suppose that you were also the toilet-paper artist who paid us a visit some weeks ago?”

  “I was the toilet-paper artist.” At least artist had a nice ring to it. “And, sir, I’m sorry about the tree branch, really I am. And about Marcia’s ankle, too. Even sorrier. Much sorrier.”

  “This gives me the chance to ask something I’ve always wanted to ask one of these T.P. artists,” Mr. Faitak said.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Why?”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Why would someone spend all that time and effort doing something so pointless? It is pointless, isn’t it? There is no point to it at all, is there?” Mr. Faitak sounded as scornful as Alex’s father.

  Alex knew he might regret what he was going to say next even more than everything else that had happened so far, but he had to say it anyway. “Um—the point? The point is—um—to show some girl that you like her.”

  He forced himself to look at Marcia. Her face was flushed with happiness. He quickly looked away. But what he had said was true. He did like Marcia. And he wanted her to like him.

  “Well, that clears things up considerably,” Mr. Faitak said, his face a tad less grim. “So what happens now? What kind of restitution are you prepared to make?”

  Was this where Alex was supposed to offer to pay the tree man and the ankle doctor? He knew he should pay something. He wanted to pay something.

  “Um—whatever you say, sir.”

  “Well, since you’re so fond of our tree, you can come over this fall and rake its leaves. And while you’re at it, we have another twenty trees on our property, all great ones for producing colorful fall foliage.”

  Alex waited to see if Mr. Faitak was going to add anything else to his “sentence,” but he seemed to be finished. “All right, sir. I’ll do that, sir,” Alex said quickly. He saw himself toiling away as Marcia and her girlfriends lolled in lawn chairs, sipping hot spiced cider and giggling at every stroke of his rake. But he had expected far worse and couldn’t say that he deserved any better.

  Mr. Faitak helped Marcia onto her crutches and led the way to the reception. Alex would have felt limp with relief, except for one thing. He still had to face his father.

  Alex spotted him as soon as he walked into the reception. His father was standing in a group of other dads, holding forth on some topic. Kids today, and how dumb they were compared to kids long ago? School policy on field trips, and how it could be improved if only teachers would have the sense to listen to him?

  His mother was waiting for Alex. Without a word, she drew him into one of her great hugs. Alex didn’t resist it. He let her hug him, and he hugged her back.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Not just for your awards, but for what you said into the mike just now. All of us do things we’re sorry for all the time. What matters is what we do afterward to try to make things right again.”

  Well, Alex was also planning to do fewer things in the future that he’d have to be sorry for.

  His dad looked in his direction and slowly started walking toward him. This was it.

  “You had to do it your way, didn’t you,” his dad said once the obligatory “Let ‘Em Squirm” moment had passed. “I’m surprised you didn’t arrange to make your confession on national television. ‘My name is Alex Ryan, and I’m a no-good skunk.’” He let a fake sob creep into his voice.

  “Al.” Alex’s mother laid a warning hand on his arm.

  “No,” he said. “It’s fine. It worked. You’re a bigger hero than ever. All the other dads are pumping my hand in congratulations for my part in raising you.”

  Alex looked away. “That’s not the point,” he muttered.

  “No? And what, may I ask, is the point?” This conversation was beginning to sound like a replay of the one with Marcia’s father.

  “Dax says—Well, Dax says that Thoreau says that what matters isn’t what other people think, but what you think. About yourself.”

  “‘Dax says,’” his father repeated. “‘Dax says.’ It’s a dark day when my son takes his cues from the Daxes of this world. Next you’ll be getting a little rosebud earring, I expect.”

  Alex gave up. He should have known better than to mention Dax to his father.

  “Come on, you two,” Alex’s mom said pleadingly. “Let’s eat.”

  His dad turned away. His dad didn’t understand. He would never understand. But right then it was enough for Alex that he had done what he thought was right. Alex couldn’t change his father; it was useless to try. But at least Alex had taken one small step toward changing himself.

  “I hope some of your cake is left,” he told his mom.

  She smiled at him, tears in her eyes.

  “Alex!” Marcia called to him from the refreshment table, holding her fork upright like a queen’s scepter. Alex obeyed her summons.

  “I saved a piece of cake for you,” she said, leaning on her crutches, gazing at him with her big, blue eyes.

  It wasn’t his mother’s rich, dark, homemade chocolate cake but a dry, powdery, store-bought cake, covered with bright pink, sticky, gooey, too-sweet icing.

  Alex savored every bite.

  ALSO BY CLAUDIA MILLS

  Dinah Forever

  Losers, Inc.

  Standing Up to Mr. O.

  You’re a Brave Man, Julius Zimmerman

  Lizzie at Last

  7 × 9 = Trouble!

  Copyright © 2003 by Claudia Mills

  All rights reserved

  Distributed in Canada by Douglas & McIntyre Ltd.

  Designed by Nancy Goldenberg

  eISBN 9781429934862


  First eBook Edition : May 2011

  First edition, 2003

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mills, Claudia.

  Alex Ryan, stop that! / Claudia Mills. p. cm.

  Summary: Seventh-grader Alex Ryan enjoys attracting attention, though he never seems to impress his father, but when his antics cause problems with his would-be girlfriend on a school outing, he has second thoughts about his actions.

  [1. Schools—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Behavior—Fiction. 4. Fathers and sons—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.M63963 Aj 2003

  [Fic]—dc21