by Susie Salom
“Yes, but we can’t use sound,” Cameron says again. “Isn’t anybody listening?”
Reed looks at Cameron and smiles, but just with his eyes. Reed’s always laughing on the inside, it seems like.
“We can’t use audible sound,” Donna says. “Sonar has different properties.”
“Yeah, but you can only use sonar underwater,” Brooke says.
“Wait, you’re getting too complicated,” Cameron says.
I’m glad he said it first.
“You wanna submerge the maze underwater?” he asks. “We can’t submerge the maze underwater. Can we submerge the maze underwater? Mrs. Arceneau?”
Mrs. A. just looks at Cameron with one of her peace, love and brotherhood smiles.
“I told you the hardest part would be explaining things,” Donna says.
“Try me,” Reed tells her.
Donna’s eyes fall to slits.
“Can’t do it without a pool,” she tells him. Then she looks at Mrs. A. “Can we have the next meeting at my house?”
“Of course,” Cameron says, like he’s the inventor of NAVS. “Some of the best brainstorming happens at people’s houses.”
“We’re allowed to schedule problem-solving meetings wherever is convenient for all team members involved,” Mrs. A. says. Then she looks at Cameron. “And I certainly appreciate your enthusiasm. It always helps to feel passionate about meeting the challenges ahead.”
Especially if you get to have your showdown in a place with carpety walls and red velvet seats like the Civic Center. I think even presidents go there. Or at least a governor or two.
“The citywide competition will be held at the end of October,” Mrs. A. says. “After which, the winning team will advance to Regionals in Phoenix, Arizona.”
“Is there a Nationals?” I ask.
“There is,” Mrs. A. says.
Kick.
“We can talk about that a little more as the time approaches.”
“All right, next meeting’s at Donna’s,” Reed says. “But for now, I have one more question.”
“By all means.” Mrs. A. looks at him.
“We can’t use sight or sound,” he says, “but can we use the sense of smell?”
“The rules say nothing about the senses of taste or smell,” Mrs. A. reminds us.
Reed flips his paper over and scribbles something on the back with a stubby pencil. It’s only the first day of school and already his pencil’s half the size of a pinky.
“We’re not gonna need the sense of smell,” Donna tells him.
Okay, Mrs. Boss of the Universe. I mean, what’s so bad about using a little perfume maybe? Some fresh-baked chocolate chip brownies or a lemon mint pie? (Sounds kinda good, actually.)
“The only thing we’re not going to do,” Mrs. A. says all calm, “is suppress anyone’s ideas or contributions. Cameron, can you tell the rest of the team what NAVS stands for?”
He sits up even straighter in his desk—if that’s possible.
“Negotiating Actions and Values for Solutions.”
“Correct. And can anyone guess what that might mean?”
Crickets. Even ol’ Grand Master Cam doesn’t have the answer for this one.
“What do we use to decide how we are going to behave?” Mrs. A. asks. “Anyone?” She looks from one face to the next.
“Our values?” Brooke says in a tiny voice.
“Thank you, Brooke,” Mrs. A. says. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means”—Cameron stops and glances around—“how we act is a way to tell what we believe?”
“Precisely.” Mrs. A. rests a hand on Cameron’s shoulder and he gets this hotshot look on his face like he just solved world peace. “But it also means,” she goes on, “that what we truly believe will eventually determine our choices.”
“Can you give an example?” Reed says.
“I can.” Mrs. A. nods. “Now, this is a really basic situation, but I think it might help. My husband likes to ski. I don’t. But we both like to spend our weekends together. So when he wants to hit the slopes, what do I do? Well, I ask myself what my values are. Number one, I value time with my husband. Number two, I value staying warm and comfortable. Number three, I value new experiences. So, instead of staying home when my husband goes to the mountains for the weekend, I go with him and find pleasant ways to pass the time while he’s on the powder. I have used my values to shape my actions and find a solution. And that’s what you will be doing as you work together as a team to beat this maze with the limitations the rules have placed on you. Make sense?”
Kind of. Only I’m not gonna worry so much about the details right this second since I think I’m the kind of girl who just picks things up as she goes. And anyway, who says Donna can’t be right? I mean, what if this actually does turn out to be a cinch if we just, I don’t know, use our sixth sense or whatever?
All in all, this is not too shabbs a punishment compared to Ino el Clean-o and his paradise of mystery meat. I lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the seat in front of me.
Thank youuuu, Count Bracula.
“Brooke wanted me to tell you she’s not riding the bus home either today,” Sheroo reports as she stands at my locker.
“How come?” I ask.
“She had to leave early to have some kind of tests run.”
I slam my locker door shut and we move toward the front of the school.
“What kind of tests?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” Sheroo shrugs. “We still on for tonight?”
“7:07.”
For years, Sheroo and I have had the tradition where one of us calls the other at 7:07. Not every single night or anything. But definitely on special nights, like the one after the first day of school.
“You call me or I call you?” she asks.
“How about I call you?”
“Okay, but don’t forget.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. When have I ever forgotten?
Once we get outside, Sheroo crosses the front of the school to get to where her bus is waiting. Two buses from mine, I spot Marcy. I chew on my bottom lip. Wonder if I have time to go talk to her? I’d wanted to invite her to sit with Brooke and Sheroo and me at lunch, but didn’t see her in the cafeteria. I start to walk toward her now.
“Fedora.”
I turn to see Reed standing at the front of the line for our bus.
“Wouldn’t take too long,” he tells me. “Driver might leave without you.”
I nod and he doesn’t say anything else. Just squints one eye at me as I keep walking over to Marcy. Once I get to her bus, I stand there for a moment before she notices me. When she does, she smiles and I smile back.
“Is this your bus?” She speaks the words but she also kind of signs them.
“Is it yours?” I ask.
She nods.
“Thanks for earlier,” she says. “You didn’t have to punch anybody’s guts out.” She smiles a little. “Even though he was kind of begging for it.”
I lift a shoulder. “Sometimes it’s easier to stand up for somebody you care about than it is to stand up for yourself. ”
She smiles again. “I bet you’re the type who makes friends really quickly.”
The sign for ‘friends’ is rad. I hook both pointer fingers together one way and then the other, just like she did, and we stand there and grin at each other.
The line starts to move. I don’t wanna cut the convo short now that I’m actually getting the chance to talk to her. I glance back at Reed and rub at my nose with the back of my hand. I’m not sure how sharp his ESP skills are at this point, but I go ahead and give it the ol’ Jedi try.
USE THE FORCE, REED.
His eyebrows meet in the center.
LET GO.
I lift a hand and hope he understands sometimes you just gotta seize the breeze. The big tree at the curb shakes a little in the flowerish wind and my legs climb onto Marcy Diamond’s bus.
&n
bsp; Marcy and I sit toward the middle, away from the rough kids in the very back and the kind of dweeby singing kids right behind the driver. For the first few minutes, I just twist my backpack straps in my hands and swallow a lot as I look out the window. I almost can’t believe what I just did. What kind of values made me pick that action? Is friendship a value, I wonder?
“What street do you live on?” she asks me.
“Oh, you know,” I say and watch how she stares at my lips. “What street do you live on?”
“Tierra Santa.”
I twist in my seat to face her. “Hey, did you know that means holy dirt?”
“Holy land, actually.”
“Oh,” I say. “Did you used to go to a school for only … ” I stop and crack the knuckle on my thumb.
“Deaf people?”
I tip my head and she nods.
“But I can hear now.” She pushes her hair back and shows me an ear with part of a snail poking out. “Because of these. They’re the first ones I’ve tried that have worked without any problems, and they’re really slender. I had six others before these.”
“How come you still look at people’s lips when they talk?”
“It helps.” She shrugs as she pulls her hair back in front of her shoulder. “Most of the time now I can make out everything crystal clearly but I still like to listen with my eyes. I still listen with my fingers.”
“With your fingers?”
She laughs. “Want me to show you?”
“Do it to it, Mountain Dew.” I let her take my right hand and she presses it to the window.
“Perfect timing,” she says as a yellow sports car with gonzo loud bass zooms by. “Did you feel it?”
“Well, I heard it,” I say. Because I did.
“I did, too,” she tells me. “But with my skin first.”
The bus squeaks to the curb and she tells me this is where she gets off. Velocicraptor. I was hoping her stop was one of the last ones but it’s one of the first.
“Guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she says.
“Yeah.” I give her a big, phony smile to hide how nervous I all of a sudden am. “See ya.”
Once she steps off, I look out the window at her front yard. It’s pretty spotless. There’s a sign in the front that says, ROOM FOR RENT, and I wonder if Marcy has brothers or sisters.
The bus pulls back onto the street and I notice I don’t recognize any of the houses or even the street names. I wish with my entire body that I was sitting next to Brooke on my own bus instead of next to no one on a bus that isn’t mine. Where is it gonna take me? And how will I ever get back to civilization after it does?
MAYDAY! MAYDAY!
KYLE TO MEOWSIE.
I’M GOING THROUGH THE DESERT ON A BUS WITH NO NAME!
As the strange houses whiz by, I try to think what I should tell the driver. Maybe I can just say I got on the green bus by mistake. That I’ve been color blind since I was five years old.
But then what if she gives me a lie detector and can tell I’m bustin’ a whopps? And then what if she reports me! I’ll be banned from all buses and Mom or Dad will have to pick me up from school every day—or worse. They might hire our neighbor Mrs. Ockfatrea to come get me and I’ll have to hold in my puke or hurt her feelings and rock the nose plugs. (The back of her car smells like vegetables and armpit.)
Something outside the window at the next stop makes me melt in relief.
Meowsie.
He’s waiting on the seat of his bicycle and in the basket of his bike is his old skateboard. The driver opens the door and I give her a quick look before running off with the kids from this stop. The bus does a loud crying noise as it pulls away from the curb and I grab Meowsie’s shoulders.
“You,” I say, “are the savior of the universe. Also, the champion of twin ESP.”
He glances at one of my hands. “How was your first day?”
I let go and push up my bottom lip. “Pretty good. Made some new friends.”
He drops the skateboard to the ground and puts one foot on it, passing me the handlebars of his bike. I get on and start pedaling down the street behind him. I don’t bother to say anything about my special meeting with Bracamataco since I’m pretty sure I can get the discipline referral out of the mailbox before anybody even knows it’s there.
“How ’bout yours?” I ask.
“I signed up for choir,” he tells me. “There’s this thing called Voices of the Future and my teacher said I should try out for it. That my spirit would become enlarged and I could hang it on a tree.”
“That doesn’t sound like Mrs. Marcus.”
“It’s a new guy,” Meows says. “His name’s Mr. Arriéta.”
“I didn’t think you were the type to be all, dude, just let me jam.” I bang my head and lift both hands to make the sign for heavy metal. Then I stop before the bike tips over.
Meowsie shrugs, pushing with one foot to move forward. “I just like Mr. Arriéta. He says interesting things.”
“Like?” I pedal slowly behind him, the tires moving in lazy half circles on the gravel and making a nice crunchish sound.
“Like that the universe is made of chords, not single notes. That every thing is actually an every things.”
“I don’t get it.”
Meowsie brakes. His pupils seem to get bigger as his eyes move all over the ground in front of him. He does that when he’s thinking of how to word whatever he wants to say next. Like when our cat Circe is playing lasers and getting ready to pounce—which is why I started calling him the Meowsmeister General in the first place.
“You know how there’s a part of you that doesn’t come to life until it’s around a certain other person?” he says. “It’s the part that’s real not just because of you, but because of who you are when you’re with them.”
“Kind of,” I fib. But then I figure, what the schneck? It’s Meowsie. “Actually, I still don’t get it.”
“Like a joke, Kiki. Is a joke funny when there’s no one around to laugh?”
I flare my nostrils, even though Meowsie says it makes me look imperious. (Whatever that means. I just like doing it sometimes.)
“And Mr. Arriéta taught you this stuff in music class?”
“He teaches Social Studies.”
“Well, what does he look like?”
“Tall,” Meows says. “He wears a goatee and doesn’t look like a teacher.”
He pops up the skateboard and sets it down before we take off again. I try to picture this Mr. Arriéta as we ride in silence for almost a block.
“So, guess what I found out today,” I say.
Meowsie shrugs.
“That you can hear with your fingers. Oh! And sound travels differently through water. And people have a sixth sense that they can use during combat.” I close one eye and slice a karate chop in front of me.
“Where’d you learn all that stuff ?” he asks. “In class?”
“Most of it, no,” I tell him. “Well, the sixth sense part I did. In gym. There’s this kid named Reed and I used it to follow his wrist. We were pushing hands.”
We get to the end of the street and hang a right. I recognize the junky blue truck in the yard down from our house. No one ever moves it. It just sits in the driveway with a twisty pink and orange lei drooping from the mirror, getting more and more rusted. I’ll bet it gets bored and wishes someone would take it on a car chase after burglars. Or even just a date.
“Why’d you punch a kid in your class?”
I stop the bike and let both feet touch the ground. “I knew it!” I say. “I knew you could feel what was happening in my day.”
“Actually, Mom’s kind of freaking out at home.”
My ears get hot.
“She called the school because you didn’t get off the bus at your stop and they told her about the discipline referral.”
Craptain America.
I do a gulp and look at our house. The light over the porch is on even though the sun hasn
’t set. I imagine Mom inside, walking back and forth in front of the kitchen island and wringing the liver out of a dish towel.
“When Mom started yelling on the phone to Dad, I went outside and figured I’d ride to your school. I asked some kids from your bus if they’d seen you. A guy with an English accent told me you’d gotten on the green bus.”
“That’s Reed.”
“Why’d you get on the green bus?”
I take a breath and look at our front porch again.
“Meows, do you want to run away with me and live under a bridge?” I ask him.
“No.”
We get to the edge of our yard and stop by the mailbox. It has the huge numbers of our address in those stickers that get all glittery at night when a car shines its lights on them. I pick at the curly edge of the 4. Meowsie nudges my arm and we put his bike and skateboard in the greenhouse off to the side of our driveway. There’s no plants in there. Just tools and whatever.
“Just so you know,” he tells me, “I’m pretty sure you’re grounded.”
I stare at the kitchen window.
“Why did you slug that guy, anyway?”
“’Cause he took a girl’s hearing aid and he wouldn’t give it back.” I turn to look at him. “He was bigger than her.”
Meowsie thinks about this.
“There’s a lot of dirt wads in this world, Kiki. Don’t let them turn you into one of them.”
“Okay, I won’t.” I look at the kitchen window again and lick my lips.
“Anger isn’t about what you feel,” he says. “It’s about what you do when it comes. Same goes for fear.”
“Okay, but will you please just stay with me when I go inside to see Mom?”
Meowsie scratches the side of his neck.
“Yeah, all right,” he says. “But if she starts to scream too loud, I might go to my room. I don’t like it when anybody starts to scream too loud.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say. Then I swallow and turn to face our front door.
6:59.
I stand by the door of my room straining to hear. I overheard Mom telling Dad that she was gonna go to the grocery store like fifty years ago but she’s still sitting there in the kitchen, sipping on her matcha.