by Gae Polisner
Actually, I haven’t really wanted to talk much ever since the Scoot died. Which is nearly a week ago today.
Another stroke, they said. Or maybe it was his heart. In the end, I guess it doesn’t matter. He went quietly in his sleep. MaeLynn said he didn’t suffer.
The day after Scooter died, MaeLynn had a small funeral, and the day after that she put up a FOR SALE sign on her house. She said there was really nothing for her in Glenbrook anymore. Not now. Not without the Scoot. She said that everything she had done was for that kid, and now she just needed to take some time to figure out her own life, to figure out what to do next.
“Yes, well,” Mom had said, “there’s a lot of that going on.”
At the funeral, nearly the whole school showed up, which was really something, not to mention people from all over town. It surprised me just how many people actually cared about the Scoot. He was just like that, I guess. You never knew who he knew, or exactly what he was up to.
During the ceremony I kept looking for a man who might be Scooter’s dad. I had seen an old photo that Scooter had given Jaycee, so I thought maybe I would recognize someone. Part of me was sure he would come. Part of me wanted to believe that. Also, I kept looking for my dad.
I actually couldn’t believe that Dad didn’t come home for the funeral, to say a final goodbye to the Scoot. But MaeLynn said that Scooter knew just how Dad felt about him, and that, in the scheme of things, a lifetime of hellos meant way more than one last little goodbye. Besides, MaeLynn said, after Scooter’s first stroke she had talked to Dad and told him to keep doing what he was doing, and that Scooter had wanted the same. That he had this great opportunity to work on this big election story in New York City, and needed to stay on it. That he could mourn Scooter’s death his own way, right from the spot he was in.
It surprised me a little that MaeLynn knew so much stuff about Dad. I mean, I hadn’t talked to him once. And I still hadn’t read his e-mails. Of course, Mom had filled me in some, to the extent that I wanted to listen. Which wasn’t that much, I guess. Anyway, I was glad Dad had talked to MaeLynn and knew everything that had happened.
The hardest part of the funeral was when we had to walk up to the casket and pay our final respects. Even though I knew how small Scooter was, I hadn’t thought about how tiny the casket would be. It was built for a toddler, and when I saw that, it was pretty hard not to cry.
Jaycee stayed with me the whole time. Neither of us had ever seen a dead body, and I was worried about how that might be. Mom said we didn’t need to go up, but I wanted to see Scooter, or maybe I needed to, to believe he was really there. Jaycee held tight to my sleeve, and we walked up together.
And there he was, just lying there sort of fake-looking, like a weird old plastic doll. Honestly, it didn’t seem like Scooter at all.
“Nick!” Jaycee whispered, tugging at my sleeve and nodding with her chin toward his body. I followed her gaze until I saw it there, nestled alongside him. My lightsaber. It was nearly as tall as he was. It was impossible, then, not to cry.
“I hope it’s okay, Nick?”
I turned around to see MaeLynn.
“I probably should have asked you first. But you meant so much to him.”
I nodded to let her know it was okay, since I couldn’t get out any words.
MaeLynn talked briefly at the service. She said that Scooter was content in his life, that he knew he only had a short time on this earth, and that he had completely enjoyed himself while he was here. She said he was grateful for his friends.
She told us privately after, Jaycee and me, that Scooter wouldn’t want us to be sad. That what he wanted most for everyone was for us to be happy, and to live big. To not fear change, or be afraid to take some risks.
As soon as MaeLynn was out of earshot, Jaycee said that what she said was a sign. A sign from Scooter that we still needed to go find his dad. As much as I didn’t want to agree with her—that I had half hoped, now that Scooter was gone, that there was really no reason to go to Rochester—I knew that she was right.
“Okay,” I said. She turned and looked at me, her eyes shiny with tears.
“Well, that’s good, because I promised him we would.”
“What? I thought we agreed not to tell him! I thought you didn’t want to get his hopes up.”
“I didn’t. But after the stroke, well, I just wanted him to be sure.”
“Oh,” I said calmly, even though my heart was racing and I was suddenly feeling panicked inside. “But what if we can’t find him, Jaycee? What if we don’t?” How could she promise something to the Scoot that we might not be able to deliver on?
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “What matters is that the Scoot knows we cared enough to try.”
“What happened to Yoda? Remember, ‘Do. Or do not. There is no try’?”
“No worries,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder, “he’s just a dumb old puppet, loosely modeled on Einstein.”
* * *
“‘The little man jerked down the brim of his hat and scowled over at Lennie. “So you forgot that awready, did you? I gotta tell you again, do I? Jesus Christ, you’re a crazy bastard!”’”
Jaycee shakes me and I jerk my head around. “Wait! What? What did I do?”
I’ve fallen asleep, that’s what. There’s drool on my cheek, and a smudge mark on the window. I wipe my face and try to figure out why Jaycee’s calling me a bastard.
“Not you,” she says without me asking. “That’s George talking. He’s mad at Lennie because he already forgot where they’re going. I told you you weren’t paying attention.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I guess I fell asleep. I was thinking about Scooter … and we did get up kind of early.”
“It’s okay.” She pats my shoulder. “Go to sleep, my little Lennie.”
* * *
When I wake up again, the bus is more crowded than before. I turn to Jaycee, but she’s asleep now. She’s got the hood on her green sweatshirt pulled up like always, a neon-green-haired troll doll hanging from a string around her neck. I hadn’t noticed that one this morning. Her mouth is open and she’s snoring a little.
I watch her chest go up and down as she breathes. No matter how I try, I can’t really believe I’m on a bus to Rochester with Jaycee Amato.
As much as we talked and planned, I don’t think I really thought we would go. Not until this morning when the alarm on my cell phone rang at 5:10 a.m., muffled from under my pillow, where I had stuck it so Mom wouldn’t hear.
I tiptoed downstairs to use the first-floor shower, my heart pounding so hard I was sure she would hear that, then started back up to my room. Mom was waiting at the top of the stairs.
“Nicholas! Where are you going so early?”
I ran through everything Jaycee and I had rehearsed. “Extra help, remember? For science. I’m meeting Ryan.” I said it impatiently, like I was annoyed she’d already forgotten the seed I had so carefully planted just a few days before. “I’m staying at his house this weekend. We have this huge science lab we have to get done, and he’s way better at that stuff than I am.”
She eyed me suspiciously for a second then said, “Okay, whatever you need to do. I’m in Philly, though, so make sure your brother knows where you are.”
I smiled, because of course I knew she’d be in Philly, because that was all part of our plan.
Back in my room, I quickly threw on jeans, sneakers, a T-shirt and a hoodie, then emptied my backpack and filled it with crucial things. Deodorant, two more T-shirts, a toothbrush, boxers, and a pair of gym shorts to sleep in. I couldn’t fit much more without it looking too bulky. Then I grabbed my cell, a message from Jaycee already blinking.
“Hey. U ready? Edge of Watson and Church in 20. Taxi will be there.”
“I’ll b there,” I texted back, flying out the front door.
Outside, it was still dark, just on the verge of daylight, which was weird, since I never get up so early. I ran down Car
ver and crossed Main, then decided I had better cut through the back streets the rest of the way to the park. Just in case Mom drove by.
As the water tower came into view over the treetops, I couldn’t help but think of Scooter, how he pretty much saved my life there. And at that moment, I knew I was doing the right thing. I owed it to Scooter to try to find his dad. It was the least I could do for the kid.
When I reached the Old West church on the corner of Watson, I glanced around but no taxi yet. And no Jaycee. I put my head down, hands on knees, and breathed. I must have run pretty fast. For one second, I thought about turning back, getting into bed, pulling the covers up over my head, and going to school like normal when the alarm clock rang again. But I wouldn’t do that. Not to Scooter, or to Jaycee.
I reshouldered my backpack and walked toward the curb. From there, I could see her headed toward me in her green sweatshirt and bright orange high-top Converse sneakers.
“No taxi,” I said when she reached me.
“We’ve got time. It’ll be here.” I nodded. “Everything go okay?”
“Like clockwork, you?”
She nodded too, and we stood on the corner, waiting, until the taxi pulled up, which only took another minute. I reached down for Jaycee’s bag, but it was heavy, like she had a dead body in there.
“Jeez, Jaycee, what are you bringing?”
“You got an issue?” she said.
In the taxi, we were both pretty quiet. I pulled out the copy of Scooter’s letter to his dad, just to make sure it was there, then found the small bunch of notes we had made and rifled through those. There wasn’t much, mostly the one address in Rochester. A. Reyland, 3625 First Street.
I slipped it all back in and put my backpack down on the seat next to me.
“So,” I finally asked, “do you really think we’ll find him, Jaycee?” She kept her head turned out the window, didn’t look at me.
“Don’t know, Nick. The dude’s a ghost,” she said.
* * *
Now, I watch her sleep and wonder if she’s worried that we won’t actually find Scooter’s dad. She always seems so confident. It’s hard to know exactly what she’s thinking.
I glance down. The book is still in her lap. Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck. I pick it up and open it. She’s put a Post-it on the corner of page 4. I find the words “crazy bastard” and laugh. I guess I didn’t stay awake too long. I flip the book to its back cover and read:
They are an unlikely pair: George is “small and quick and dark of face”; Lennie, a man of tremendous size, has the mind of a young child. Yet they have formed a “family,” clinging together in the face of loneliness and alienation.
I slip the book back into its pouch and into her bag and squeeze past her into the aisle. My legs are stiff from sitting so long. I walk to the front of the bus and ask the driver, a guy who looks around my dad’s age and almost as fat, how long till we get to Rochester.
“About an hour,” he says.
I go to the cubbyhole excuse for a bathroom and do my business, watch it disappear into the dark blue liquid that fills the toilet. There’s something enjoyably challenging about taking a leak in a moving vehicle. After I’m done, I turn around and inspect myself in the small mirror.
Almost fifteen and in high school, and not a single impressive sign of puberty.
Sure I have a cheesy shadow of fuzz on my upper lip, but most of my friends are shaving. And as for down there, well, you don’t want to know what’s going on down there. Or what’s not going on, I should say.
I suddenly find myself wondering if there’s any chance that Jaycee likes me, or if she just considers me a friend. I don’t know why I’m thinking about this now, on this bus, in this bathroom. The truth is I haven’t thought about it much before here. But now, here, I am.
I head back to our seats. Jaycee is awake, digging for something in her backpack.
“Hey,” I say, “we’ve got like an hour left till Rochester.”
“I know,” she says. She turns her cell phone out to face me, then goes back to searching in her bag.
“Where’d you go? Bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“Not too bad.” I squeeze in past her. She’s pulled the book back out plus a pack of Juicy Fruit. She offers a stick to me and I take it. She puts it back in her bag, then puts her hand down, resting on my knee. My ears burn red. I don’t know how I can feel sad and excited both at the same time.
I mean, here I am missing the Scoot, and then, all I can think about is kissing Jaycee. About what it would feel like to touch my lips to hers for a second. Whether she’d like it, or whether she’d be mad. My heart pounds loud enough that I’m sure she can hear it. My hands go sweaty. I glance sideways to see if she can tell, and sure enough, she’s staring at me.
I look down. “Want to read more Of Mice and Men to me?” I’m doing my best to keep my voice normal with her staring, hand on my leg.
“Sure,” she says. She opens the book to the page she was on, then turns to me with her crazy-amazing eyes and laughs. “I mean, if you’re not gonna kiss me, that is.”
My whole face goes red. I can’t believe she’s read my mind that way.
“Well, duh,” she says, slouching, her knees bent and pressed up against the seat in front of us. She starts to read again.
By the time we pass the WELCOME TO ROCHESTER sign, George and Lennie are at the ranch where they meet Slim and Candy and Curly. Candy is this old guy with one hand who has a crippled old dog that stinks, so the other ranchers want to kill it. To put it out of its misery and all. Curly is the boss’s son, a real jerk who tries to egg Lennie on. George tells Lennie over and over that, no matter what, he shouldn’t mess with Curly, or worse, Curly’s wife, who the men all think is a whore. So George tells Lennie to stay away from her, and that if he doesn’t, he won’t get to tend the rabbits when they finally get their own ranch. As soon as he tells Lennie this, you know there’s going to be trouble. Which is why I keep wondering what Jaycee likes about the book. I say this to her, before she can read my mind.
“It’s foreshadowing,” she says. “Haven’t you heard of foreshadowing?” She shakes her head like I’m thick or something.
“Yeah, I know what foreshadowing is, Jaycee. But it still seems sad to me.”
“I guess. But that’s what makes it so brilliant. Because, if I closed the book now, you’d want to know what happens, right? Sure, you know something’s going to happen, but you don’t know what. And you care about them, so you want to know.”
The truth is, I don’t know how much I really care what happens. In fact, I don’t even know how I’ve been paying attention at all. Because ever since Jaycee’s comment about the kiss, it’s been almost impossible to concentrate. I mean, how am I supposed to do that, just start kissing her, in the middle of a crowded bus to Rochester?
Then again, how do I do that alone in a hotel room, with a bed, which is where we’ll be in about a half hour?
So half the time I’m listening to her read—or at least trying to—and the other half I’m busy thinking about kissing her and sleeping in a hotel instead of paying attention. So I have to keep stopping to ask questions so I can pretend to understand.
“So, the gist is, they’re gonna work on this farm until they save enough money to buy their own ranch, right?” I ask. “Then Lennie can have the rabbits and they’ll all live happily ever after? But then they meet Curly’s wife, and we all know that there’s no way that’s ever gonna happen?”
“Basically,” Jaycee says. “If oversimplified.”
She’s about to start reading again, but the bus makes a wide sweeping turn and pulls into the next station.
“Rochester!” the driver yells as the bus stops, its air brakes hissing as it settles lower to let us all out. Jaycee puts the book in its pouch and into her backpack, zips it up, slings it over her shoulder, and stands.
“Well, this is it, Lennie,” she says. “Four
days and one lead. And there is no try. So we’d better find a way to make this happen.”
Then she grabs my arm and pulls me behind her, and we head down the steps into the bright unknown of Rochester.
11
We clear the bus fumes, and I wait for Jaycee to tell me what’s next on our plan. She kneels behind me searching through that heavy backpack of hers. I open my cell phone. It’s nearly eleven-thirty. We’ve been traveling in the gray, airless bus for almost five hours, but it actually feels longer to me. I have to squint against the bright sunlight.
Jaycee balances her backpack on her knee, rummages, and pulls out some fat book which she wedges under her arm, then goes back to searching again. Satisfied, she zips and reshoulders her pack, and we stand there in silence, me waiting for her instructions and Jaycee tapping the book against her thigh as she scans our surroundings.
I realize now, standing here like this, that during the whole bus ride, we managed not to discuss anything to do with the Scoot or our plan, or how to find his dad. Instead, except for when I slept, Jaycee read to me nearly the entire time.
Even though I don’t love the book, I do like listening to Jaycee read. I like her voice, and how she changes it to get across the different characters and moods of the story. It’s not like she tries to imitate them, but somehow she makes them come alive and the words sound mostly interesting.
“So, now what?” I ask finally, when it seems like we might just keep standing here.
“Hold your horses,” she says, “I’m thinking.”
She puts the book between her legs, cups her hands to her eyes, and looks around, then opens the book and pulls out a large AAA foldout map from a pocket in the back. She hands the book to me. It’s called A Weekender’s Guide to Rochester and has all sorts of yellow and pink Post-it notes stuck to it.
“You brought maps and books?” I ask.
She frowns. “Like, duh. I’m not an idiot.”
It stings a little. Obviously, this means that I am. And she’s right, of course. I should have thought of that.