Making Friends with Billy Wong

by Augusta Scattergood

  I tromped in the back door and looked straight through to the front hall. Where I was sidetracked by a little girl sitting on the steps, singing to a loved-on baby doll.

  “Hey there. Are you lost?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and her lopsided ponytails zipped from side to side.

  “Looking for somebody?”

  “My brother’s Willis,” she whispered. Her eyes got big and she slowly spread the words out. “He’s doing important work at this house.”

  Willis’s sister thinks he’s doing important work? Punishment for shoplifting’s more like it. “I’m Azalea. He’s in my grandmother’s garden.”

  “My name’s Lizzie. I’m almost five. We have a puppy in the pecan grove.”

  Holy moly, Willis had a puppy? Henry Jackson’s dog, Tiny, sure didn’t take to him.

  “In the pecan grove?”

  Lizzie tucked her plaid skirt around that doll like a blanket. “Where we live. But I’m not supposed to blab. If I don’t tell, Willis gives me bubble gum.” The girl put her finger to her lips. “Shh. Especially the part about the new puppy. Mama doesn’t know. She’s sick.”

  Before I could tell her I’d like to see a new puppy. And how much better I’d be at playing with puppies than talking to my grandmother’s helpers. Before I could think of what to say to make her feel better about her mama, everybody poured out the front door, tracking thick mud onto the porch.

  Melinda skipped down the steps in her pointy shoes, waving across the street to a girl stepping out of a car bigger than my daddy’s truck. The girl ran up, squealing and cackling like a hen. They made me sick.

  Then prisspot Melinda grabbed her friend’s hand, whispered and giggled some more. “Nice skirt,” she said to Lizzie.

  “Yeah, nice plaid skirt,” the other girl said. “Looks real familiar, doesn’t it, Melinda?”

  Willis stormed down the steps and took his sister’s hand, brushing by those mean girls.

  My grandmother called from behind the front screen door. “What’s all this racket about?”

  “We’re leaving,” Willis muttered, and he marched Lizzie down the sidewalk.

  Melinda flicked a piece of dirt off her dopey shoes. “Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Clark,” she sang out as she wobbled off with her friend. I wanted to trip her, see how that hair bow looked squished up against the sidewalk.

  After Billy thanked my grandmother, he left faster than I could say See you around. Guess I still have a few things to figure out about talking to strange boys. My grandmother tapped both sides of her wheelchair lightly. “More than enough for today.”

  I pushed her into the living room and said, “That little girl Lizzie seems sweet. But Melinda and her friend were making fun of her clothes. What did they think was so funny?”

  “I suspect it had something to do with the child’s skirt. Which possibly came from the church resale shop. And previously belonged to one of them.”

  One more reason for me not to care a bit if Bossy Bow Melinda is a friend of mine.

  “Daddy taught me to try to see everybody’s true heart before you stare at their clothes or their hair or anything else.”

  Grandma Clark wrinkled her nose up like she wasn’t sure who I was talking about. “I suspect Lizzie and Willis have been struggling. Their mother’s not well. Mr. DeLoach does his best, but managing a pecan grove is hard work. Raising two children out there can’t be easy.”

  Two children and a puppy, I didn’t say.

  My grandmother made an exasperated clicking sound. “Look at this. Front hall’s a mess.”

  I was worn out from listening to so many people today, but I grabbed the carpet sweeper and attacked the mud. “Guess nobody paid attention to your request: Keep the place tidy. Wipe your feet on the way in.”

  “Next time, Azalea, have them come around the side of the house.”

  I don’t even like talking to Melinda. Or Willis, for that matter. And I’m supposed to enforce her rules?

  Grandma Clark took a breath as big as Texas. She sank back in her wheelchair and looked again at the hall carpet. “I swear, these garden helpers are almost more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “You can say that again,” I mumbled, and a smile flickered across her face. Some days, if I tried hard enough, I could almost see my grandma and me being friends.

  When you finish sweeping, pack up the leftover cookies,” Grandma Clark said. “I owe Henry Jackson for his work. Turn at the library. His place of business is a little ways off Main Street.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And Grandma Clark? Your foot may be healing, but I bet your doctor doesn’t want you jitterbugging or pulling up weeds while I’m gone.”

  Without smiling even a little, she left the cookies and the money on the dining room table and wheeled herself toward her bedroom. I hurried with the sweeper, hoping she wouldn’t notice a few clumps of mud left on the carpet, then went looking for Mr. Jackson.

  The minute I turned onto Main Street, a bike wheeled out from behind a tree and I jumped a mile. “Yikes, Billy. You almost made me drop these cookies.”

  “Sorry, Azalea.” He hopped off his bike, straightened his glasses up on his nose, and smiled. “I’m making a delivery for the store.”

  I looked past the library, where a road veered off. “I’m taking cookies to Mr. Jackson’s.”

  “Heading that way, too. Our store’s not busy. Great Uncle won’t mind if I’m a little late.” Billy pushed his bike and I walked beside him. Side by side, together but not saying a word. The way I like it.

  By the time we dropped off the Lucky Foods grocery delivery, a prickly heat rash had formed on my neck and sweat was pouring down my back. Finally, Billy parked his bike in front of the sign Henry Jackson, Mechanic and Fixer-Upper.

  “Hey, anybody here?” I called out. Nobody answered but Tiny, yapping her head off. “It’s Azalea. And my friend Billy.”

  Mr. Jackson stepped out from the back of his garage, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. “Afternoon, Azalea. Nice to see you, Billy.” He wagged a finger at his dog to shush her.

  I held the bag up. “Hope they aren’t in a million crumbs.”

  He put the money in a cigar box with a tight rubber band around it. After he offered us a cookie and popped one in his own mouth, a grin started at one ear and spread clear to the other. “Mrs. Clark sure knows how to cook.” He closed up the bag and nodded for us to follow. “Got something to show you, Azalea. Careful where you step.” Mr. Jackson pointed to the stubby root of a weed tree, half buried in the dirt. “Been like that a while, root holding the door open, tree offering shade. Good for business having everybody walk right in.”

  I miraculously managed not to stumble. We scooted around a barrel of black floppy inner tubes inside the garage. Shelves were piled high with doodads I didn’t recognize. When we got to the backyard, a blue bike was propped up on its kickstand.

  “I was coming by your house tomorrow, and here you are. How ’bout that.”

  I looked at Mr. Jackson, then at the bike.

  “Noticed Billy delivering groceries on his bike. Saw you two were becoming friends. So I fixed it up. It’s what I do when I think folks need getting around town. Take old bikes, make ’em good as new!” Mr. Jackson wiped a spot off the fender, then rolled it toward me.

  “Really? This is mine? Looks better than my old bike back in Texas.”

  Billy touched the soap-bubble-shaped circles decorating the fenders. “Now we can ride down to the creek to fish, catch some frogs together.”

  I don’t know about frogs, but we sure could get away from Willis faster.

  Mr. Jackson squeezed the tires. “Plenty of air. Try it out.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Jackson!” I hollered as I carefully put one foot on the pedal, grabbed the handlebars, and rode down the alley. “Holy moly, this thing is fast! Hope I don’t crash and crack my head open!”

  When I put on the brakes, he said, “I’ll adjust it for you, girl.” He tinkered with my
bike seat till we heard a loud banging on the side of the garage. Whack! Whack! Whack! Tiny came yipping and yapping to Mr. Jackson. He scooped her up while I stepped behind Billy and covered up my ears.

  And in strutted Willis DeLoach, big as you please. Lizzie was with him, smiling at Tiny and maybe at me. Willis’s bike already went so fast, he’d nearly run me down twice. What was he doing here? I inched closer to Billy, who didn’t flinch from Willis’s scowling face.

  “Need something, son?” Mr. Jackson asked.

  “Tire’s flat.” Willis whipped his head toward the sidewalk. He glared at me and Billy. “Why’re you here?”

  Willis looked like a coyote about to pounce. But I took three deep breaths to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest and made my voice as loud as I could. “None of your beeswax,” I answered.

  Mr. Jackson stepped in front of me and Billy. “Bring your bike this way,” he said.

  While Willis wheeled his bike around back, Lizzie sat on the shady steps and took two little paper dolls out of her pocket. “Hey, Azalea. I remember you. Wanna play? This is the baby and that’s her mama. Back at our trailer, I got lots more. Willis helped me make a dollhouse out of a shoe box.”

  I was having a hard time picturing Willis being helpful to anybody without a judge’s orders. “Your brother plays with paper dolls?”

  “Yep. Turned Lady’s water bowl into a swimming pool, too. I left it at home. For Lady.”

  “Lady? Who’s Lady?”

  Lizzie whispered her answer. “Remember? The puppy I’m not supposed to tell about.”

  “I love animals. Especially puppies.”

  “Cutest puppy in the whole wide world. You can come see her.” She unwrapped a piece of bubble gum and held it up. “Want to share? I got it for not being scared.”

  I was thinking of what to say when Willis stepped around the corner. “Don’t talk to my sister,” he said. He glared at Billy, then he grabbed Lizzie and her paper dolls. Before he pedaled down the street balancing his sister on his handlebars, he turned, sneered, then blew a gigantic bubble. Daring me to tell on him.

  Pretty soon, Mr. Jackson came out, shaking his head.

  “Why didn’t he fix his own flat tire?” Billy asked.

  “That boy doesn’t know the difference between a bike chain and a piece of macaroni.”

  “So we might could let all the air out of a tire and Willis couldn’t fix it to save his fanny?” I asked, mostly kidding.

  Mr. Jackson laughed. “Now, Azalea. You behave yourself. Just ’cause Willis is up to no good, doesn’t mean you should be. Boy don’t have a lick of manners.”

  Billy walked toward his own bike and I pushed my new one right up behind him.

  “Where’re you young’uns off to?” Mr. Jackson asked.

  “Maybe over to the creek?” Billy answered.

  But I was hatching a plan for a better bike ride. If we hurried, we might not even have to talk to anybody. “Mr. Jackson, did you know there’s a pecan grove outside of town?”

  Henry Jackson’s a lot like my daddy. Both of them love to tell a good story. So in no time flat, I’d learned the best time of year to pick up pecans and how much they cost last winter. I knew how far away the pecan grove was and exactly how to get there.

  All I needed was to talk Billy Wong into coming along.

  Another rainstorm early this morning had turned the dirt ruts into mud puddles and my new bike was a mess. But mud washes off. Puppies don’t stay little forever.

  “Wait up, Azalea! Creek’s the other way!” Billy hollered over the rattle of his bicycle basket. When he stopped at the V in the road, his bike was facing the wrong direction. If I told him the truth, he might take off and leave. Honest to goodness, I had to keep up a conversation inside my head to be brave enough to go myself.

  “Want me to show you where the creek comes out?” Billy asked.

  “I have another idea. Mr. Jackson says to turn left here.”

  He looked to where the road disappeared into a big pecan grove, way back off the road. “Left? Where’re we going? Thought you wanted to learn how to fish.”

  “Maybe later.” Though I wasn’t sure about baiting a hook with a real live worm. “I have an idea. It’ll be fun.” I pedaled hard, twisting and turning between tall trees, and Billy followed me. When we stopped, I said, “We’d better walk our bikes now. Quiet.”

  “Azalea, are we trespassing?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why’re we here in the middle of these trees? In the mud.” Billy started to leave. I grabbed hold of his handlebars and didn’t let go.

  “Willis’s sister says they have a new puppy. Don’t you love puppies?”

  For a few minutes, the only sound was loud black crows fighting way up on a tree branch. Billy finally looked at me and frowned. “Willis lives out here? My family doesn’t want me to associate with Willis.”

  “He’s probably not even home yet. We’re just looking for the puppy. Not associating.”

  Billy took slow, deep breaths. He didn’t move. “I’ve never ridden this far out of town. Great Uncle won’t like it if I ruin my bike. Or Willis ruins it. I need my bike for delivering groceries.”

  Really and truly, I didn’t want to ruin my bike, either. I didn’t even want to talk to Willis. It was taking a whole lot of nerve I didn’t know I had to ride my bike this far. “We’ll see the puppy and leave. Promise.”

  By the time we got to the end of the road, the sun had broken through the wet trees, making the green leaves sparkle. I pointed to a glint of white metal. “What’s that?”

  We moved closer and Billy stooped down behind a big tree. Almost like he wanted to disappear into the rough bark. “It’s an old trailer, and the window looks cracked. Does anybody live here? Are you getting us in trouble?”

  I wasn’t used to trouble any more than I was used to talking to people I didn’t know. But I was sure this was where the puppy lived. We’d look and leave.

  Next to the tree where Billy was hiding, a full mailbox was half-open. I reached around to open it the rest of the way. Billy jammed it shut. “It’s against the law to tamper with somebody’s mailbox,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Just a minute.” Peeping from behind the tree again, I saw a shadow up under the trailer. I moved closer, stumbled over a rock, and banged my knee. Just when Lizzie opened the front door.

  Uh-oh. Somebody was home. Standing up tall, I took a deep breath. “Hey there, Lizzie. That your puppy under the trailer?”

  She hopped down from the front stoop and leaned over. “That’s Lady! We found her all by herself and scared. We’re taking care of her till Mama’s home from the hospital. Mama loves animals. She’s gonna be so excited.”

  Their mama’s in the hospital? Maybe that’s why the mail’s overflowing.

  Before I could get closer, guess who came charging around the corner. Willis, carrying a huge laundry basket and making a face like he’d swallowed a fried worm.

  Oh, brother. Willis had seen us. Now what?

  But wait a minute. Was Willis DeLoach doing his own laundry? Hanging towels and underwear on the clothesline? Exactly like I had to do at my grandma’s?

  Billy scooted next to me. “We should leave,” he whispered, aggravated at me for sure.

  But I wanted to pet that puppy.

  Willis dropped his clean clothes and kind of kicked at the basket, shoving it under a scraggly bush. He gave me the meanest stare and shot his sister one, too. “Get over here, Lizzie,” he said.

  Lizzie ignored him and patted the ground to get Lady out from under the trailer. “You got a pet, Azalea?” she called out. “Does your grandma?”

  The sight of Willis storming up with that big laundry basket was taken over by a vision of a puppy in the middle of my grandmother’s knickknacks. “No pets here in Paris Junction,” I said, slowly moving toward hers.

  Willis marched over to a rickety old picnic table and picked up a bowl, then slamme
d it down. He flung the mushy cereal on the tree right next to Billy. I jumped a mile. Taking a few steps toward us, he said, mean as everything, “Get off my property. Nobody invited you.”

  Billy looked hard at Willis. “Your sister invited Azalea. Or we wouldn’t be here.” His voice got softer. “But maybe we can help. I could ask my great-uncle to change his mind about letting you shop at our store. Since your mom’s not here.”

  Billy Wong was about the nicest boy in the universe.

  Willis didn’t agree. “We ain’t no charity case. Don’t need help and don’t need anybody snooping. That’s trespassing.” Willis stuck his face too close to us and shot his fists straight up.

  Lady was lying on the ground right next to Lizzie now, a squiggly ball of white fur. When I backed away from Willis, Lizzie said quietly, “My brother’s mad ’cause I’m scared at night. He promised he’s found us a place to go. A sleeping place.”

  I didn’t know what Willis had up his sleeve, but he shot her a look that said keep quiet. Then he hissed at Billy in the meanest voice ever, “I see your squinty eyes over there, watching my dog. I said leave. Now.”

  “Shut up, Willis!” Even though I’d always promised Daddy never to say that, I had to take up for my friend. “Billy was trying to be nice.”

  I’d come to see the new puppy. That was all. I didn’t want anything to do with Willis, now or ever.

  I glanced back only once as we walked toward our bikes. As awful as Willis was to Mr. Jackson’s dog, Tiny? As awful as he was to Billy? You’d think no animal and no person would want to get close to him. But there he was, sitting next to Lady, rubbing her belly. Lizzie was smiling. Willis smiled right back at her.

  Billy left faster and madder than I’d ever seen him, and I hurried to catch up. Mud splashed on my legs, and now the mosquito bites on my arms had turned into bright red welts. But I couldn’t get away fast enough. No matter how nice he treated his sister and her puppy, I didn’t trust Willis DeLoach. I never should have brought Billy out here. I knew that now.

  All the way to the edge of the pecan trees, Billy didn’t talk. But when we stopped at Main Street, his words spilled out. “My bike’s a mess. Willis is mad. Shouldn’t have gone to their place, Azalea.” And off he went, his long skinny legs pedaling fast. Whatever he said next disappeared into the wind without giving me a chance to answer.