Six Degrees of Lost

by Linda Benson

  But by second period, English, I decide to just forget about that stupid David. The teacher is pretty cool, actually, and he gives us the reading list for the whole year, including some book by this guy J.D. Salinger, who is dead now, but pretty famous I guess.

  Toward the end of last period, U.S. History, I begin to dread the bus ride home. Is David going to be on the bus again? This morning, he wouldn’t even look at me. Am I wearing something funny? Or my hair isn’t right? Maybe because he lives in one of those big houses he thinks he has the right to be rude to people. I’m sorry that I was ever nice to him, or that I thought for even one minute that he meant what he said on that postcard.

  I stand in line for Bus Number 3 and I don’t see David anywhere. I recognize some of the younger kids from the last two mornings. I can hardly wait to get home and see the puppies.

  I board the bus and pass by the curly-haired bus driver. She doesn’t smile, but maybe she’s having a bad day, too. I move to the very back seat, near the window, so I won’t have to talk to anyone. The bus fills up, and this time no one sits next to me. I begin to breathe easier as the bus starts its engine and begins to move.

  But the bus slows and the folding doors open for a last-minute passenger. David. I hold my breath as he shuffles down the aisle, moving past every other passenger, and finally drops his book bag in the last row where I am sitting. He folds his long legs and sits down.

  I will not talk to him. I won’t.

  “Hi, Olive,” he says, like nothing is the matter.

  I shoot him a dirty look. The bus pulls out of the parking lot and begins winding through town. We pass the Safeway store, the Rite Aid drug store, and the Chevron station where I stumbled down the steps of the Greyhound with Pendleton and Rags last May. It seems like a very long time ago. I wish I could hop the big Greyhound south to California right now. Wish I could leave this stupid town, fly away like the swallows do, and never have to talk to boys like David ever again.

  “So, how are you liking school so far?” he asks.

  I look straight out the window, as if I can’t hear him.

  “Sorry that I didn’t say anything to you this morning when I saw you sitting back here,” he says.

  Sorry? What is that supposed to mean? I pinch my lips together and say nothing.

  “Yeah, so I was having a bad morning, okay? I had to run to catch the bus, and by the time I got on and saw you I was like, all flustered.”

  Flustered? I didn’t know that boys like David Tellington got flustered.

  “Actually, I was surprised to see you,” he says. “I didn’t know you were going to be staying longer than the summer. Going to school here.”

  “My aunt had to go in the hospital,” I say. As if that explains it. Did I talk to him? I said I wasn’t going to.

  “Is she going to be okay? Are you staying to help her out?”

  I nod. Hey, it sounds good. It’s a great reason. Now I don’t have to tell anybody the real reason I’m attending school in Washington. I’m just helping out my aunt, that’s all.

  “She has a lot of responsibilities with all those animals,” I say. “And she needs a pacemaker.”

  “For her heart? I thought those were for, like, really old people?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Aunt Trudy says too. She refuses to get one. Stubborn, is what Swede calls her. You know. Mr. Hanson.”

  “Yeah, I know hi…” David hesitates for minute. “I’m going to start working for him pretty soon. Building a barn.”

  “Really? Like a job? Is he paying you?”

  David coughs. “No, not exactly,” he says. “It’s more like, uh, community service is what I’d call it.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s really nice of you. Because one of his barns burned down a couple months ago.”

  David doesn’t reply. Sometimes he’s kind of quiet, but he must be a really nice guy if he’s going to help Swede rebuild his barn. Maybe he did just have a bad morning, and wasn’t being stuck up when he didn’t talk to me.

  “So, you had a good time in Hawaii?” I say, trying to be nice.

  David looks down at his lap.

  “Because I got your postcard, and I—”

  “Hey, I was just being…friendly, when I wrote that. You know, like I meant it in a friendly way.”

  “I know.” I feel my face get warm. Friendly. What does that mean, exactly?

  “But yeah, we had a good time, actually. My mom didn’t feel like doing anything, so it ended up just being my dad and I going everywhere together. Which was kind of weird, but we went snorkeling, and ziplining, and—”

  “Is that where you hold on to that cable and glide—”

  “Across canyons? Yes! It was totally awesome,” says David. He’s smiling now, remembering.

  “Doesn’t your hand get a rope burn or something?” I ask.

  “No. You wear this glove and they show you where to hold on, where the cable doesn’t touch it. It’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. I’d go do that every single day of my life, if I could.”

  I can’t believe I’m actually talking to David. Because seven minutes ago I was never going to speak to him again. Which just proves how wrong you can be about something.

  “Wanna hear about the puppies?”

  “Puppies?”

  “Remember when we saw you down by the river and I had that whole box of tiny pups?”

  “So much has happened, that seems like a long time ago.”

  “I know, but I’ve been taking care of ’em the entire time. We got rid of one of one puppy, but we still have three. They are soooo adorable.”

  “How big are they now?”

  I hold up my hands, about a foot apart. “We have the spotted one left, and the black one, and the gold one you liked, remember? She’s actually my favorite, too. I think she’s mostly Lab, and she’s starting to look just like the yellow dog, Calypso. Only it’s a girl.”

  “Cool. I wish I could have one, but the way my mom’s been lately, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. And they’re already pretty ticked at me because—”

  “Isn’t this your stop?” I say. The bus has pulled to a stop at the corner of River Crest Drive.

  “Well, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” says David as he stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

  “Okay.” I give him a little wave and watch as he heads up his private road toward the big houses. I know I said I was never going to talk to him, but he’s actually, well, nice.

  32-David

  “Knock it off, dude,” I snarl at James, who swings the four-by-four sideways and almost hits me in the head. We started work the second week of school, James and Sherman and I, working every day after class to rebuild this barn for Swede.

  “Where’s your sense of humor?” asks James.

  “I lost it in the river, that day we paddled away when this barn was burning,” I say. Sweat runs down my neck. I can feel it trickle under my T-shirt, but I have a load of lumber in my arms and can’t stop to scratch.

  Sherman looks up from where he’s nailing cross braces, shakes his head, and smiles.

  The whole month of September has been hot as blazes, which hardly seems fair. Especially since all that free time we had in the summer was mostly wasted, ’cause it rained so much. Now that we’ve started back to school, I sit in a muggy classroom all day and then sweat in the sun all afternoon, following the terms of the contract we all signed. After that, I hole up in my room to finish my homework, go to sleep, and get up in the morning to start all over again.

  Sherman sets his hammer down for a second. “You guys at least had something to say about the contract you agreed to. How do you think I feel?” He rolls his eyes. “I was on vacation, got back and found out all this was happening.”

  “My dad was trying to get us out of it,” says James. “He knew we didn’t mean to burn the barn—it was just an accident. But then David’s dad jumps right in and says ‘oh, let’s sign the contract.’ Great lawy
er he is.”

  My fingers ball at my sides. I could punch James, but Swede will be back any minute, and I’d just get in even more trouble. “Shove it, James. You know what our other choice was: juvenile hall.”

  “Ha.” James spits on the ground. “Juvie couldn’t possibly be as bad as this.”

  I shake my head. Some of the stuff that comes out of James’s mouth just doesn’t make any sense. Sherman’s actually an all right guy, but I don’t even want to be friends with James anymore. In fact, I wish we hadn’t taken the raft down the river at all.

  “Maybe you should go live at juvenile hall and find out,” I mutter under my breath, but James is wandering away.

  Wonder how much longer until my mom gets here to pick me up?

  I hear James holler now as he clambers down the bank toward the river. “Hey, the old man’s not around. I say we slack off and go swimming.”

  “Swede’ll be back soon,” I answer. “He only went up to his place to look for some roofing material.”

  “Besides,” says Sherman, “we’re supposed to be working. He’s going to know we haven’t done anything.”

  “You guys are just a bunch of pansy-asses,” says James. He strips off his shirt and dives into the water. When he emerges, his Levi’s are dripping wet. “Refreshing,” he smirks. “You should try it.”

  I pick up a two-by-six and walk toward where Sherman is nailing. “Some of us would rather just get our work done,” I say. “And not screw around all the time.”

  “Are you calling me a screw-off?” asks James. He’s strutting up the bank now, and his eyes lock onto mine.

  “My dad always told me to call it like I see it,” I say. The words come out of my mouth without thinking. I know James is a hothead, and I really shouldn’t provoke him. Still, there’s something about him that just royally ticks me off.

  “Take it back,” grunts James.

  I ignore him and set the lumber down by the far wall. James is always stirring up trouble. I don’t know why he was ever my friend in the first place.

  “I said, take it back, Tellington.” He struts toward me with his bare chest poked out and his beady eyes gleaming.

  “Hey, cool it, guys,” says Sherman. “Mr. Hanson’s coming.”

  I hear the big Dodge truck rattle and bump through the field. James stands about two feet away and my heart thumps against my chest. “You know, James, sometimes you just need to shut your freaking face up,” I say. “It’s your stupid fault we’re out here, anyway. If you hadn’t brought those firecrackers along on the raft trip, none of this would have happened.”

  “Yeah, well I wasn’t the idiot who dropped one down in the hay.”

  My blood turns hot and my jaw clenches. I’m going to punch him. I just know it.

  The Dodge truck pulls close and Swede rolls down his window. “Afternoon, boys. It’s a hot one out here today, isn’t it?”

  No one says anything—not one word.

  “Well, I can tell we’re all in a great mood today,” says Swede. “Come, on, let’s get the roof on this building. Make us a little shade to get under. Weatherman says we’ve still got some scorchers ahead.”

  I don’t know what would’ve happened if Mr. Hanson hadn’t drove up just then. But it probably wouldn’t have been pretty.

  33-Olive

  It’s October, and I wait at the back of the bus for David. It’s like our own personal spot now. He’s been on the bus every morning and most afternoons. Usually he gets off at the field where he’s building the barn for Swede. But today’s only a half day and we get released at noon. Will he be here?

  My heart skitters as I see David stride up the bus stairs two at a time.

  “Hey,” he says as he sits down next to me and scoots over close. “What’re you doing this afternoon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got all afternoon,” he says. “You could always go try to ride one of those old nags around.”

  “I don’t want to ride them by myself,” I say. “You know me. A big chicken.”

  “Bawck, bawck.”

  I blush. “Besides, Swede’s been busy every afternoon.”

  “Swede’s down at the hay field with us every day,” he says. “Teaching us how to build.” David cocks his arm, flexing his biceps. His arms look tan and strong.

  “Do you have to work there today?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but since we usually don’t get there till, like three-fifteen or so, I’ll probably go home and have lunch first.”

  “Wanna come up?” I ask. It comes out before I think about it. “You could just stay on the bus and get off at my stop. You should see the puppies before they’re all gone. We only have two left.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The spotted one, I call him Mr. Spots, and the yellow one. Goldy.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s the one I liked best. I don’t know, though. My mom…”

  “Will she get worried?” I ask.

  “Probably. You know how moms are.”

  I close my eyes for a second, trying to remember what my mother was like. “My mom always had chocolate chip cookies,” I say, “waiting for us after school, as soon as we got off the school bus. You know, warm—right out of the oven.”

  “Really? Where is your mom? Back in California?”

  “Yeah.” I can’t let him know the reason she’s there. “She’s in training—going back to school.”

  “To do what?” asks David.

  “Uh…m – medical assistant.” It’s the first thing I can think of. I remember the nice ladies in the hospital emergency room who helped Aunt Trudy.

  “Cool,” he says. “My mom just lies in front of the television all day long. Unless she’s getting her nails done, or something.”

  I look down at my own ragged fingernails. They’re chewed to the nub.

  “So she probably won’t be expecting you until later, right?” I say. “Just stay on the bus with me.”

  The bus pulls over into the gravel turnout at the entrance to River Crest. The twins get off and skip up the road toward home. David smirks at me, but he doesn’t get up to leave. I’m waiting for the bus driver to notice, but she just smacks her gum, moves the lever to close the folding doors, and heads on up Upper Ridge Road.

  I look over at David and start to giggle.

  “Shhh,” he says. “She could still make me get off here.”

  We stifle our laughter as the driver stops and lets kids out at two more stops and then pulls into the bus turnaround at Tucker Road, just past my house. I mean, Aunt Trudy’s house.

  David and I bounce down the steps of the bus together.

  The curly-haired driver finally notices that both of us are getting off. She gives David a piercing look. “Haven’t you been getting off at River Road?”

  “Yeah,” says David. “But Olive and me are working on a project together.”

  The bus driver doesn’t say a word. She just closes the door and turns the giant bus around. When she pulls away, David and I dart across the road.

  “A project?” I ask, laughing.

  “Hey, it sounded good,” says David.

  He always seems so sure of himself. Maybe it has to do with growing up in that fancy house. Everything’s so easy for him. He always knows what’s expected of him, and how to do things, and how he should feel. I mean, he’s been to Hawaii and everything.

  “Did you make that sign?” he asks, pointing to the piece of cardboard I tacked on a fir tree at the end of the driveway. It reads: Free Puppies.

  “Yes,” I say as we meander down the driveway. “That’s how we got rid of the black one. Aunt Trudy says we need to find homes for them before they grow out of their cute puppy stage.”

  I open the screen door to the back porch and the two pups yip and squirm against the side of their pen. “Oh, Aunt Trudy didn’t put them out.”

  “Hey, guys.” David kneels down to pet them. “You’re starting to get big.” The puppies, standing on their back legs
, reach almost to the top of the wire now. Their pink tongues slobber him with kisses. He ruffles their fur and picks up the yellow one. “Hi, Goldy,” he says, holding the pup against his chest as she almost wiggles from his arms.

  I set my book bag down and grab Mr. Spots. “Let’s put ’em outside to run around. Aunt Trudy must be at the animal shelter. It’s her afternoon there, I think.”

  “Is she better now? ’Cause she was in the hospital, right?”

  “She only stayed there for some tests. She’s been fine lately. Still doing pretty much everything she was before.”

  After we take the pups to their outside pen, we wander into the house together. I open the cupboards looking for something to snack on. “Want some cookies?” I ask as I grab a handful of oatmeal raisin ones from a package.

  “Sure,” he says, and I hand him two.

  It feels sort of weird, suddenly, being alone here with a boy. We push the screen door open into the back yard and all the foster dogs come up and want to be petted, too. We plop down on a bench and watch them play-growl and wrestle.

  “I can see why you never get lonely up here,” says David. “You’ve got lots of company, that’s for sure.”

  If he only knew. “Yeah,” I say, “I love them a lot, but they’re animals. They’re not…”

  “Your mom?” he says. “You miss her, huh?”

  I blink a tear back. “She’s…”

  “She sounds like a wonderful mom,” he says. “Going back to school, and still having time to make cookies and everything. My mom hardly ever cooks anymore.”

  “She doesn’t?” I say. There’s a lump in my throat. Probably because I’m trying to swallow the story that I made up about my mom going back to school. I hate that I cannot tell David the truth. He’s sitting so near to me, his leg is practically touching mine, and I tremble. I wish I could just be honest and tell him the real reason I’m here in Washington. But a boy like David would never talk to me again if he knew my mother was a jailbird.

  “When my brothers were home, my mom always used to make huge family meals. She’s really a good cook. But for some reason, it’s like she forgot how, or something.” David’s voice cracks a little. “I sorta have to fend for myself, most nights.”