by Lisa Graff
I followed her gaze across the street to the theater marquee.
“Which one?” I asked her warily. There was a 5:30 showing of Hawk & Dove, a superhero movie I’d been bugging her to see for a while, and a 6:15 of Lucky in Love. I didn’t need to know what that one was about to know that I didn’t want to see it.
“Your pick,” she said.
I was surprised, I guess. Not about her letting me pick the movie, but about suggesting we go at all.
“Aren’t I supposed to have dinner with Dad tonight?” I asked her.
“Were you actually going to show up?” she asked back.
I guess that was a fair point.
• • •
Mr. Jacobson wasn’t at the window selling tickets, which I was pretty glad about. It was one of the other workers, one whose kid I hadn’t beaten up on Halloween.
While Mom went for a last-minute bathroom run before the movie started, I went to get the popcorn. That’s when I noticed Jeremiah behind the counter. There were two other kids back there with him—older kids, high schoolers—and I prayed and prayed that I would get one of them instead of Jeremiah when my turn came. But no such luck.
Actually, at first Jeremiah pretended to ignore me, asking the guy behind me what he wanted. Which was kind of funny, really, because I was busy ducking down to study the candy counter, like I really didn’t know which was better, Milk Duds or Junior Mints, and here was Jeremiah not wanting to help me either. Unfortunately, the guy behind me, who had obviously forgotten how much it sucked to be in middle school, said, “I think this kid is next.”
“I’m still thinking,” I told the guy, barely glancing up from the candy.
He ordered a soda.
By the time he was finished, Jeremiah was still the only person free behind the counter, so finally I straightened up. I did my best impression of someone who had never met Jeremiah Jacobson before and said, “Two small popcorns, please. Thanks so much.”
Jeremiah did his best impression of someone who hated my guts. “Next!” he shouted over my shoulder.
“Dude, Jeremiah,” one of the high school kids, who was filling up three sodas at once, told him, “help that kid, all right?”
Jeremiah glared at me. I’d done a pretty great job of dodging him the last two weeks at school, and it was starting to occur to me that maybe it’d been so easy because Jeremiah didn’t want to see me either.
“What do you want?” he asked me. He did not say it very nicely.
I could feel the ball of fire starting in my chest, but I thought happy things—Movie Club with Fallon, the Dodgers winning the World Series—and pushed it down. “Two small popcorns,” I said. I even managed to smile a little bit.
Jeremiah didn’t nod or anything. He didn’t ask if I wanted butter. He turned around and filled up one small popcorn bag barely to the top. Usually the high schoolers packed it till it was overflowing.
“Eight fifty,” he said, slapping the bag on the counter so hard that one of the corners crumpled and at least ten pieces spilled out. He rang me up, and the price clanged on the front of the register.
I stared at him. I didn’t want to start anything, I really didn’t, but I wasn’t sure what to do. Eight fifty was technically what I owed him, but that was for two bags of popcorn. He’d only given me one.
“Eight fifty,” he said again, like he was bored or something.
Over my shoulder I heard someone growl, “Hey, kid, you gonna pay or what? It’s a long line.”
Luckily, the high schooler with the sodas seemed to notice that something was up. “Everything okay?” he asked me. The way he said it, I could kind of tell he was aware what a major jerk Jeremiah was. Which made me realize that working beside Jeremiah at the concessions stand might be almost as terrible as going to school with him.
“I, uh,” I said, doing my best not to look at Jeremiah as I said it, “I was just waiting for my second popcorn.” Pushing down the fire.
The high schooler darted his eyes toward Jeremiah. “Ah,” he said. “Small?” he asked me.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
As Jeremiah took my money, he told me, “Enjoy your movie, dill hole.” Only he didn’t say “dill hole.”
There was the fire again. But instead of letting it radiate out to my arms, my legs, my everything, I clenched my fists tight and did my best to stop it.
“I’m sorry about Halloween,” I told him. Speaking truths.
And I didn’t wait to see what he said to that, or what his face looked like when he heard my apology, because none of that mattered, I decided. What mattered was that I’d said what I felt. I unclenched my fists and grabbed the two bags of popcorn.
Mom was standing right beside the line. I hadn’t even seen her. She was smiling at me, a proud motherly smile.
“Ready for the movie?” she asked me.
“I think so,” I said.
• • •
After the movie, Mom insisted we get dinner at the Mad Batter, and I didn’t argue, because the Mad Batter was delicious.
But I did ask, “You think Ray’s all right at the store by himself?”
Mom waved a hand in front of her face. “He’s got fifteen minutes till close,” she said. “He’ll be fine. I want to talk to my boy.”
I got my usual, grilled cheese with bacon and a side of fries. Mom got a western omelet with extra onions. You weren’t technically allowed to have breakfast after 11:00 a.m., but Mom said that was one of the benefits of being friends with the owner.
“So,” Mom said, sipping her coffee while we waited for our food. I just had water. “I had a good talk with Aaron the other day.”
I concentrated on Mom’s coffee mug, which had a giant picture of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland on it. I didn’t want to say anything that would give away Aaron’s secret, in case he hadn’t told her everything. He was my brother, after all. “What about?” I asked, rearranging my utensils on top of my napkin.
“Trig, mostly,” she said. She took another sip of coffee.
She knew. Aaron had told her everything. I could see it in her face.
“How did his test go?” I asked her. I really wanted to know. Aaron hadn’t told me yet.
Mom frowned. “Not so well. He works so hard and he’s such a smart kid, but math’s never been his strong suit. He still has time to get back on track, but there’s a chance he’ll have to do summer school.”
“Oh,” I said. “That sucks.”
“Yeah.” I was playing with my fork on my napkin again, flipping it over and over, and Mom reached out her own fork and jabbed the tines together. “We’ll figure it out, though. It’ll be okay.” We had a mini fork-joust. I let Mom win.
“Aaron said you were the one who told him to talk to me,” Mom said after a while. Our waitress, Giulia, brought our food then, so Mom paused while Giulia set it down. “Anyway, thanks for that.” She dug into her omelet. “Anything you wanted to tell me about?”
I picked up my grilled cheese. Studied it. Thought about what I wanted to say to Mom. If I’d learned anything from lunches with Fallon the past couple of weeks, it was that it was a lot more fun to eat with someone who talked back to you.
“Things are okay,” I said. “I mean, mostly.” She nodded, looking for more. “Basketball Buddies is pretty fun, actually. They paired me with Annie.”
“Annie Richards?” Mom seemed surprised. “How’s that going?”
“Not bad. She’s nice. Well, she says she hates me, but I don’t think she does.”
“I guess that’s good then.”
“Yeah.”
“And I’ve been watering plants for Ms. Emerson. Every day after school.”
Mom raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said. “I thought you hated Ms. Emerson.”
I thought about that. I think lately I hated Ms. Emers
on the way Annie Richards hated me.
“It turns out she’s not so bad.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Mom took another big bite of her omelet. “Anything else going on?”
Speak truths.
“I think I might have ruined things with Fallon,” I said.
Mom set down her fork, all concern. Listening, waiting.
“That night, at Halloween,” I went on. “She was really upset. And I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve been trying, but . . . I think maybe I ruined it.”
“I can’t imagine your friendship would be over,” Mom said, thinking things through. “Not just like that. I don’t believe you only ever get one chance.”
I was starting to understand why it hadn’t worked out so well between her and Dad.
“But Fallon doesn’t talk to me,” I said. “Not really, anymore.”
Mom picked up her mug. Took a long sip. Stirred in a little more cream.
“I’ve heard Fallon talk to you plenty,” she said. “Maybe you’re just not listening to the right parts.”
That Cheshire Cat was grinning big at me, like he knew something I didn’t. I stuck a few fries in ketchup and chewed them. “Maybe,” I said slowly. But I wasn’t so sure.
“Keep me updated?” Mom asked. I nodded.
When Mom had finished her entire giant mug of coffee and was on a second cup, she told me, “I like you when you’re chatty, you know, Trent. I like knowing what’s going on with you.”
“Yeah?” I said.
She smiled. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” I told her, and I set my grilled cheese down on my plate. Folded my hands together. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me all about you and Ray.”
• • •
In the car on the way home, Mom told me, “I had a good time hanging out tonight, Trent.”
“Me too,” I said. Because that was the truth.
“It wasn’t really fair, though, was it?” she said. I glanced sideways at her. “I mean, it was your dad’s night with you.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
“He misses you,” she said.
“He doesn’t,” I told her.
“He’s bad at showing it,” Mom said slowly. And I could tell it was hard, saying anything even remotely nice about Dad, because she probably hated him more than I did. “But he loves you, a lot. And I think it would be nice if you went easy on him sometimes.”
I wanted to say that he was the one who should go easy on me. I wanted to say that if he loved me so much, then why did he have to be such a jerk all the time.
But I looked at Mom’s face, and she was so hopeful. She was trying so hard to raise a good kid, not a screw-up. So instead I just said, “I’ll try.”
• • •
When I opened the door to my bedroom, I saw them right away. Fake black plastic spiders. Hundreds of them. Doug must’ve gone to four different stores to find so many. They were everywhere—taped to my light switch, crawling up the walls, crunching under my feet as I walked. Sprinkled on top of my pillow.
Not for one second did I think they were real. Not for one second was I even mildly close to having a heart attack. This prank might’ve been even worse than the soup one, which was saying something.
But I didn’t tell Doug that. What I did instead was let out an incredible fake scream, as loud and shrill and girly as I could. And when I heard Mom holler, “What? What happened?” really worried, from down the hall, I called back, “Uh . . . Nothing! Sorry, I just thought I saw a . . . mouse.” But I kept a tiny hint of fear in my voice.
From outside my door, I heard a muffled giggle.
After Doug went to bed, I slipped a note under his door. It said:
I’ll get you back for this, Doug. Just you wait.
It was the least I could do, really.
TWENTY-FOUR
I went to the store Thursday after school, too, because it wasn’t the worst place to be. Mostly I spent the afternoon drawing in my Book of Thoughts, thinking over what Mom had said at dinner, about me listening to the right parts of what Fallon was saying.
I drew a lot of different pictures. I’d always thought Fallon had a good face for drawing, and it turned out I was right. Every picture I drew of her turned out to be better than the last, and it wasn’t because of my incredible artistic skills.
The more I drew, the more I figured out.
Fallon leaping up to pause a movie, startling Squillo so badly, he tumbled off the couch.
(Fallon might talk nonstop sometimes, I figured out as I drew, but she kept some words tucked away deep inside.)
Fallon on a roller coaster, hanging upside down, laughing.
(Fallon might seem like she was the bravest person in the world, but she was afraid of some things, too.)
Fallon sitting on the floor of the stockroom, her back against Ray’s bookshelves, playing with her hippie leather belt, describing her dreams.
(Fallon might not trust me completely, not yet, but she trusted me enough to tell me something really important.)
Fallon with her mouth open wide, screaming her guts out.
(Fallon had a scream inside her somewhere. I just knew it.)
“How’s everything going over here?” Ray asked me, pulling up a stool beside me at the counter.
“Just thinking,” I said, looking up from my sketches.
“A noble pastime.”
I closed my Book of Thoughts. “Hey, Ray?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Mom told me you used to coach high school baseball.”
He smiled at that. “Years ago,” he said. “Before I moved to Cedar Haven. In my previous life.” But you could tell he had good memories of it.
I sniffed, thinking very carefully about what I wanted to say next. “Mom said . . . I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Would you be able to help me sometime?” I asked. “With, like, my hitting and pitching and stuff? I haven’t played in a while, and I’m sort of rusty.”
The look on Ray’s face, you would’ve thought I’d asked him to split my winning lotto ticket. “I’d love to, Trent,” he said.
“There’s . . . something else, too,” I told him. He waited for me to go on. “Sometimes when I’m playing ball, I get, like . . . my arms, I mean. They get sweaty, sort of? Not normal. And I can’t breathe and it’s . . .” I shifted my Book of Thoughts this way and that on top of the counter. “I don’t know if that’s something you could help with.”
Ray rubbed his bald head for a moment, thinking.
“How’s this weekend work for you?” he asked.
• • •
As soon as I sat down at the lunch table next to Fallon on Friday, I pulled my Book of Thoughts out of my backpack and set it between our two trays. “Here,” I said. “I wanted to show you.” She was squinting at me. “Go ahead. Open it.”
“But you never let me look.”
“This time’s different,” I told her.
Fallon opened the book, then immediately sucked in her breath and poked her nose down close to the page. “Is this us?” she asked.
“Mm-hmm.” I took a bite of tuna casserole while she examined the picture.
“This is really good, Trent.”
It was the two of us at her birthday party, that’s the picture she was looking at. Fallon and me, sitting in the bumper car, with Fallon pretending to steer. I even remembered to add the foil wrappers tossed near the trash can.
Fallon turned the page.
The next picture was the one of us at Movie Club, where Fallon was jumping up to pause the TV. I was pretty proud of that one, because I’d captured the way Fallon’s face lit up, those big brown eyes on either side of her scar, when she got so excited about a continuity error.
Fallon turned the pa
ge again. And again, examining each picture closely. She seemed to like them all. I closed the book before she got to the last one, though, with the scream. I wasn’t quite ready to show her that one yet.
“You have to do more,” she told me as I returned the notebook to my backpack. “Those were really awesome.”
“Thanks,” I told her. “Hey, Fallon?” I said, spitting it all out at once so I couldn’t chicken out. “Can you ask your parents if you can hang out with me this Sunday? I wanted to show you something. It’s a surprise.”
Fallon frowned. “Oh,” she said. “I mean, I don’t know if . . .”
“Tell your dad I’m watering plants,” I said.
Fallon looked at me like I was insane. Which I was thinking for a moment I might be.
“He’ll know what I mean,” I told her. “I mean, I hope he will.”
Fallon took a deep breath, like she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. But finally what she did say was “Okay. I’ll ask.”
“Aaron and I will pick you up at ten sharp. Dress warm.”
• • •
Fallon was ready at ten on the dot on Sunday, just like she’d promised.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she piled into the backseat of Aaron’s car next to me. Aaron said he felt like a tool driving around with me in the backseat and no one in the front, like he was some sort of chauffeur, but I’d promised to do his chores for two weeks so he’d have more time to study, and he hadn’t mentioned it after that.
“Trent didn’t tell you?” Aaron asked as he carefully pulled out of the driveway onto the street.
“He said it was a surprise,” Fallon replied.
“Well, aren’t you full of mystery?” Aaron said, glancing at me in his rearview mirror. “He won’t tell me much about his master plan either.”
“We’re going to Swim Beach,” I told Fallon. “Aaron’s work.”
“Aaron’s work unless he gets fired for going there during the off-season,” Aaron said, turning right on Woodbine.
“Two weeks of chores,” I reminded him. “Anyway, I thought you said you cleared it with your boss.”
“I did,” Aaron told us. “But she doesn’t make good decisions.”