by Alex Lyttle
She shrugged. “What was what?”
I stared at her and she tried her best not to smile but then she cracked and started to laugh. I looked around to try and find something to throw back but she was already running away.
Ever since I’d promised not to bug Aleta about what made her sad, it was like she’d opened right up, like she’d been a flower that had popped open in the spring. I found out her nervous, quiet, shy side was just a tactic to avoid questions she didn’t want to answer. I knew because she still kept it up in church. She barely even said a word to me unless there was absolutely no one around—which was basically never at church.
At the Secret Spot she was different. She laughed, she joked, she’d play tricks on me whenever I let my guard down. If I ever got too absorbed in my book I could be sure that sooner or later a raisin or pebble or apple core would come flying my way. Luckily, her aim wasn’t very good. We’d usually read and write for the morning until we’d grow bored and restless, then find something else to do for the afternoon. Sometimes Aleta would bring Chloe (we decided animals didn’t count against the secret because there were already frogs and ducks and groundhogs at the pond) and we’d play hide-and-go-seek in the corn fields or watch Chloe chase bullfrogs by the pond. Other times we’d explore the woods beside the pond, hiking far enough to find a dilapidated shed at the end of a field. Inside there were old, rusty tools and a length of rope that we’d brought back to the Secret Spot to make a swing.
One day we’d been standing at the top of the hill when Aleta had said, “I bet we can hike all the way to Lake Huron.”
I’d agreed, but I guess from the top of the hill things had looked closer because after two and half hours of hiking, I was fairly certain we weren’t going to make it.
Part of the problem was the terrain. There was no clear path and the grass was tangled and knotted so that it grabbed at our feet and tripped us as we walked. Sometimes what seemed like solid ground was actually mossy bog and we’d have to circle around until we found a route where we could cross. There were groundhog holes, fallen branches, divots and mounds—it wasn’t exactly a sidewalk or bike path.
“How about Cuckoo Clock of Doom or The Haunted Mask?” I asked.
Aleta gave a fake shiver. “The Haunted Mask! Definitely the creepiest ending to any Goosebumps book.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I had to explain it to Sammy because he didn’t get it. Then he talked about it for weeks. He was so scared he couldn’t sleep.”
I had been scared too.
“Which one is Sammy’s favourite?”
I thought for a second. “Probably Cuckoo Clock of Doom,” I said. “He likes the ending because he thinks the brother feels bad for making his little sister disappear. Except I’m pretty sure the brother isn’t actually going to go back in time to rescue her.”
My stomach started to feel funny.
It was a feeling I’d been getting every time Aleta brought up Sammy. For the most part, when I was with Aleta I hardly thought about my brother. But when I did, I’d start to get this feeling like I was suddenly hungry.
Except I knew it wasn’t hunger—it was guilt.
As much as Aleta and I had grown closer, Sammy and I had grown apart.
For a while, he’d kept up with the basketball; determined to complete his daily mission.
Each day he got a little closer until one afternoon I’d come home to find him sitting on the basketball in the middle of the backyard waiting for me. He was practically vibrating he was so excited.
“One hundred!” he shrieked as soon as he saw me.
I made a big deal out of it and gave him his Badger Level, only to find out he didn’t know what a Badger was, and since I didn’t really know what one looked like either I had to make it up. For a short while things had seemed like they were back to normal but then later that night he’d asked me quietly in bed, “Cal, can I come with you and Aleta tomorrow?”
And I’d had to say no.
“Okay,” he’d said in a sad little voice that had made my stomach hurt.
So, for the next few weeks he’d continued to play basketball and I’d continued to spend time with Aleta. Except when I’d come home in the afternoon there was no more excitement in his eyes, there were no more stories of his day, there were no more counts of how many baskets he’d sunk—just sad little eyes watching me walk past.
And my stomach would feel hungry.
Sad hungry.
IT WAS SOMETIME in early August that Mom had finally had enough.
I knew she was waiting for me the moment I opened the screen door to the kitchen. I saw her sitting at the table with eyes that said I’d done something wrong.
I tried to walk past. I tried to avoid the look.
“Calvin,” she said, using my full name, which was never a good sign. “I need to talk with you.”
I knew what the talk was going to be about. She’d hinted at it a few times over the weeks before when she’d asked, “Where are you going? Is Sammy going with you?”
But Dad had intervened. “Oh, leave the boy alone. I seem to recall another love-struck couple spending more than their fair share of time sneaking off when they were just getting to know each other.”
Then he’d wrap his arms around Mom and her serious face would melt and I would be allowed to slip away without a lecture.
But on this particular day, Dad wasn’t there to bail me out.
Mom started every lecture with the same question.
“What do you think I want to talk about?” she asked, her eyes narrow and piercing.
So I went through my usual rigmarole of playing dumb. Normally it was something like, “Is it the fact that I’m wearing my shoes inside?” when really I knew it was the black mark on the back deck I’d left when I’d tried to teach Sammy how to light a campfire.
That day it was, “Umm, did I leave my pajamas on the floor?”
“Calvin,” she said, looking over my shoulder, “look at your brother.”
I turned around to see Sammy doing what he’d been doing endlessly for the last few weeks—shooting the basketball.
“He’s getting better, huh?” I said.
He was. In the few seconds I watched, he made both his shots.
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that he’s been all alone for the last three weeks shooting that basketball so that he can impress you and you come home and barely acknowledge him.” I considered telling her that he wasn’t shooting to impress me but I didn’t want to divulge any information about the Levels. After an uncomfortable few seconds, she continued, “Your father and I agreed to give you some time to get to know Aleta. We understand that it’s nice to have friends your own age and I’m happy you’re getting along so well but look at Sammy—he misses you. There is no one to play with when you’re gone and Dad is at work. Can’t you take him with you?”
I groaned. “Mommmm, it’s so lame that I have to take my brother with me. And besides, Aleta might not want him around. And it’s a really long walk to the Secret Spot.”
“The Secret Spot?” Mom asked.
Crust—I’d accidentally let it slip.
“Well, it’s not actually a Secret Spot,” I said, backtracking. “It’s just…It’s just…”
There was no obvious explanation that came to mind. Everything I said would either get me in trouble for being selfish or give Mom too much information about our Secret Spot.
“Please, Calvin,” Mom said, “he looks up to you so much. It may not seem like it right now, but when you’re older, you’re going to realize how important he is.”
I fidgeted with my shirt not looking directly at her but I knew she wasn’t going anywhere until I said yes. I slouched my shoulders, I rolled my eyes, I groaned as dramatically as I could. I wanted Mom to feel like I was doing her a really big favour but deep down I knew she was right.
“Fiiiine. I’ll take him with me tomorrow,” I said, stomping out of the kitchen and up the stair
s to my room.
I thought about what I’d tell Aleta the next day when I brought Sammy. Deep down I knew she wouldn’t care but I wanted her to care. I wanted her to feel protective over our Secret Spot. I wanted it so badly that I started to convince myself that she would care. I started to worry about how I would tell her the news.
But then the next morning, I found out that all my worrying was for nothing. Sammy was still in bed long after I’d finished breakfast and Mom went up to check on him. When she came back down, she had a worried expression.
“Sammy’s not feeling well again. I think his fevers are back,” she said to Dad.
Dad shook his head slowly. “Poor kid. It’s been a rough summer. Another cold probably.”
“I’m worried it’s not just a cold.”
“Let’s give it a day or two and we can bring him back to Dr. Whatever-His-Name-Is and have him take another look.”
“I’m going to call the doctor now and see if he can see him today,” Mom said, walking over to the phone.
“You know, I’m sort of a doctor myself,” Dad joked. “Remember the piece I wrote last year on medical errors? I had to interview more than a few white-coats and basically got my MD.”
“I’m not joking, Harold.”
Dad shrugged and went back to his reading. “Okay, suit yourself, take him in. But make sure they give him the banana-flavoured stuff. And ask them to pack seconds for me.”
Mom hung up the phone disappointed.
“They’re not open yet,” she said with a huff.
She started to walk out of the kitchen to go back upstairs.
“Mom, does this mean I don’t have to take Sammy with me?” I asked.
“Not today,” she said.
THREE MORE WEEKS had passed and I still hadn’t had to take Sammy to the Secret Spot. It was the last week of August and already the air was starting to change. The hot mugginess of summer had left and there was a cool bite to the breeze as it passed. A few of the farmers had been plowing their fields as I’d walked to the Secret Spot that morning. Soon the towering corn would be nothing more than dirt and grass.
“Can you believe school is less than a week away?” I said, catching up to Aleta as she stood on the top of a dirt hill looking out toward the lake. It had been another hour and we still weren’t any closer. “I really don’t think we’re going to make it,” I said, following her gaze.
I looked at Aleta and saw she looked worried. I guess making it to Lake Huron was a bigger deal than I’d thought.
“We could always try again tomorrow,” I said. “Start earlier or something.”
The wind picked up, blowing Aleta’s hair over her face but she didn’t seem to notice. She was thinking about something.
“We can keep going,” I said. “I was just saying that it’s getting a little late in the afternoon but if you really want to keep going we can probably make it.”
“No,” she said, “we should turn around. I was just thinking about school, that’s all.”
I felt relieved that we weren’t going to keep hiking.
“Don’t worry about school. The homework isn’t that hard, and I can help you.”
“I’m not worried about the homework,” she said.
“Then what are you worried about?”
“I don’t know, everything I guess—the kids, the teachers, the thought of going back to school. When I left Ryerson in London, things weren’t so great.”
“You’re worried about people asking you questions,” I said.
Aleta looked at me, holding my eyes for a moment. She nodded. “Yeah, that too.”
“I’ll sit with you on the bus and if anyone asks you anything, I’ll knock ’em square in the kisser.”
Aleta laughed. “The kisser?”
“It’s what my dad says. But seriously, I’ll make sure no one bugs you. It’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Cal—you’re a great friend. I’ve never had a friend like you.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I’ve never had a friend like me either.”
We both laughed and turned back toward the pond.
CHAPTER 14
ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, MOM TOOK ME ASIDE IN THE morning for another “talk.” She pulled me into the living room while Dad and Sammy ate their breakfasts and I figured I was in trouble. Except usually I knew what I’d done—this time I wasn’t sure.
“I’m worried about Sammy,” she said. “He’s still not feeling well but he’s too excited to stay home. Can you promise me that you’ll keep an eye on him today?”
It was true. Sammy had been doing his best all morning to pretend he was well. He’d gotten up early, brushed his teeth, dressed and packed his lunch (which Mom had to repack)—all before I’d even gotten out of bed. Except when I’d climbed down from my bunk, I’d seen his sheets were drenched with sweat, so I knew he was still having fevers. The doctor had said Sammy had something called mono and that it would take him a few weeks to get over it.
“If he still isn’t feeling well why not just keep him home?” I argued. “Why does he have to be my responsibility?”
I was feeling a little nervous about my first day back at Huxbury too and didn’t want to have to watch out for Sammy. I already had Aleta to worry about.
Mom gave me an angry glare.
“Okay, okay, sure—I’ll watch out for Sammy,” I said.
In the kitchen, I found Dad and Sammy sitting at the table. Dad was eating and reading the paper while Sammy sat beside him looking nervous. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and he was wearing his new pants and shirt Mom had got him from our back-to-school shopping. Although, Sammy had needed more than just back to school shopping that summer. He’d lost a lot of weight, which I figured was a combination of playing so much basketball, not baking as much and being sick all the time.
Sammy already had his backpack on, even though the bus wouldn’t be there for another hour and it looked like he hadn’t taken more than a couple bites of his cereal.
“You ready for today?” I asked, sitting down beside him. Mom had put a bowl of cereal out for me but had forgotten a spoon so I grabbed Sammy’s—he was done anyway.
Sammy nodded.
I took a big bite of my cereal then proceeded to talk with my mouth full. “Don’t worry,” I said, as milk dripped to the table. “Grade two is a breeze. All you have to do is read, like, one book or something and you pass.”
Sammy didn’t seem relieved.
“They’re easy books. Not like Goosebumps or anything. You’ll be fine.”
Dad put down his paper. “And don’t forget that they have allyou-can-eat gumball machines and a servant that walks around to your desks and says, ‘Can I get you some more gumballs, good sir?’”
Sammy smiled. “No, they don’t,” he said, then glanced at me to make sure Dad was joking.
“Not gumball machines—ice cream machines,” I said, joining in. “With every flavour you could possibly imagine and a little tube that sticks out of your desk so you can just suck it back while you listen to the teacher.”
“And flying carpets for chairs,” Dad said.
“All right, enough, you two,” Mom interjected. “We don’t want him showing up on his first day asking where the ice cream machines are.”
“I know they’re joking,” Sammy said. He was smiling and his nervous look was gone.
After breakfast, Sammy and I waited by the front door for the bus. When we saw it coming down the road, I bolted only to hear Mom yell, “Calvin, get back here!”
I stopped, turned around, went back and gave her a quick hug. I was about to start running again when I remembered our conversation from earlier. I waited for Sammy to give her a hug too—which was very long and drawn out—then grabbed his hand and started to walk down the driveway. I knew Mom would appreciate the handhold.
When we got on the bus, it was mostly empty and I walked down the aisle and took a seat somewhere in the middle. Sammy followed and sat down next to me,
hugging his backpack and not saying a word.
The very next stop was Aleta’s house and as we turned onto Thornton Road I saw her standing next to Raquel at the end of their driveway. She was wearing a long, black pea coat and her hair was neatly pulled up into a ponytail. Her shoes looked shiny and new and she wasn’t wearing a backpack, but rather, a leather satchel thing that hung over one shoulder. She looked really proper and fashionable—not like the other kids we would be picking up.
“Sammy, move over,” I said, giving him a little shove and pointing across the aisle to another empty seat.
He looked confused, then looked out the window at Aleta, then back at me, then got up and moved across the aisle without arguing.
Aleta got on and looked nervously around. She reminded me of a cornered mouse as her eyes frantically darted around the bus.
“Aleta,” I said, giving a wave, “over here.”
She saw me and quickly made her way back and sat down next to me. She didn’t say a word and I knew from her body language she wasn’t interested in talking. As the bus continued along the road and more nervous kids got on, I quietly whispered who they were and whether they were nice or funny or annoying or whatever else I could think to tell Aleta.
A few stops later, we pulled up to a small, rundown farmhouse with a cluttered lawn and two figures hunched by the road. One was kneeling behind the other rummaging through a backpack. Behind the screen door, I saw the silhouette of a man smoking. The two figures by the road looked back and gave the briefest of waves before climbing on the bus. The man in the doorway didn’t wave back but watched for a moment longer before opening the screen door to throw out his cigarette then heading back inside. I knew this house well and never looked forward to the stop.
Tom and Joey walked down the aisle with mischievous grins. They climbed into the seat in front of Aleta and me, facing backwards despite my attempt to avoid eye contact. Their faces were dirty and it was apparent they hadn’t bathed in a while.
“I seen you in church,” Tom declared as he stared at Aleta. I could feel her discomfort as she looked down at her feet. “What’s your name?”
Aleta didn’t answer. Instead she continued to look down. I knew this would only antagonize Tom and he leaned in closer, the smell of cigarettes on his jacket suffocating us in our seat. I felt a rapidly developing situation in which I’d probably have to do something when Joey yelled, “Wow, Pudge lost weight!” from across the aisle.