“Canaan’s my best friend,” I said. “I know he didn’t mean it. In a couple weeks he’ll come around begging for forgiveness, and I’m not gonna let a couple weeks of fighting ruin our plans. Besides, it’s not just about him. Kevin and Brian are coming, too. And Kevin’s too little to remember the last circus, so he has to go this year.”
“Well, even if you’re still mad at him, I hope you’ll come to my birthday party this weekend.”
“Of course,” I said. “No way I’d miss it.”
We stopped on the corner so Lulu could pee on Miss Shirley’s plants. Then JW squatted down in the grass beside the hydrangeas.
“Ewwww,” Felicia said, looking away. “You think Miss Shirley’d be mad if I didn’t scoop after JW? She’s always so nice….”
“Yeah, she’s nice, but you still oughta clean up after him. She can’t see real well. She might step in it.”
Felicia sighed and pulled a plastic baggie out of her back pocket. “Ugh. I know I wanted a dog, and I love JW and all, but I am not sure it’s worth it.”
* * *
On Saturday morning, I delivered the last two wooden carvings for Mr. Briggs. Even though he didn’t want money, almost every person I took them to wanted to give Mr. Briggs something. It was rare I left one of the houses on his list without a Tupperware container full of cookies or a jar of frozen strawberry preserves.
No wonder he was all right paying us. He probably saved a bunch of money on groceries.
“Thank you very much, Nola,” Mr. Briggs said when I came by to hand over today’s gifts. “I appreciate your help this week.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Briggs,” I said.
“Now, where’s Canaan?” he asked as he reached into his pocket and removed a battered brown wallet. “I thought he was helping you.”
“It’s a long story,” I told him. “But I don’t mind doing it on my own.”
“Well, I hope everything’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t seen the boys outside too much lately.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Here you are,” he said, handing me two crisp ten-dollar bills.
“Oh, Mr. Briggs, I can’t take this much —”
“Yes you can,” he said. “And you will. That’s also payment for one last delivery, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Just one second,” he said.
But it took him about thirty to get to his feet. He sighed and groaned and put a hand on his lower back as he straightened up. Then he walked across the porch and opened the screen door of his house. He was gone inside for a few minutes, and I waited on the steps, watching a couple hummingbirds swarm around the feeder in Mrs. Santos’s garden across the street.
When Mr. Briggs came back outside, he was clutching one of his small wooden statues in his thin, dark hands. “Today is Felicia Hooper’s birthday,” he said. “I believe she’s having a party?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “This afternoon at three. I’m going.”
“I thought you might be, which is why I’m hoping you won’t mind giving this to her.” He handed me the little carving. It was a girl with long braids holding a small puppy in her arms. It was the most detailed of his trinkets I’d seen, and I knew it must have taken forever to whittle.
I also knew the girl was Felicia.
“This is beautiful,” I told him.
He gave me a big smile, then eased himself back down onto the top step. “Y’all kids make me smile every day. I thought I ought to return the favor. Tell her I said happy birthday.”
“I sure will. Thanks again, Mr. Briggs.”
“Have a nice afternoon, Nola.”
I went home and changed into a pair of clean denim shorts and my favorite purple T-shirt. Mama helped me straighten my hair while Richard wrapped Felicia’s present — a copy of The Giver, a book I’d read in my English class and knew she’d like. I always gave Felicia books. She read more than anyone I knew, even in the summer when she didn’t have to.
“You’re making a mess of that.” Mama laughed. “Have you ever wrapped a present before?”
“Honestly? No,” Richard said. “I always buy gift bags.”
“Men,” Mama snorted. She ran the straightener through my hair one more time, then said, “All done. Go put your shoes on and I’ll rewrap Felicia’s gift.”
“It doesn’t look that bad, does it?” Richard asked.
“Uh …” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Well …”
“Nola doesn’t want to be rude, but yes, sweetheart. It looks terrible.” Mama kissed him on the cheek. “That’s okay. We all have our faults.”
I put on my tennis shoes and waited for Mama to finish rewrapping the present. “Have fun, Nola Baby,” she said, hugging me before I headed out the door. “Be home before dark.”
“I will, Mama.”
There were a lot of kids at Felicia’s party — people from her class, from her church, all her cousins, and then us kids from the subdivision. There weren’t even enough folding chairs in her backyard for everyone to sit in. It was the biggest birthday party I’d ever been to.
Not everyone was there, though.
“I thought you invited the Swift boys?” I asked Felicia while Mrs. Hooper cut into the cake. We’d just sang “Happy Birthday” and, with everyone gathered around, it was obvious I hadn’t just overlooked them. Canaan, Kevin, and Brian were nowhere to be seen.
“I did,” she said. “I guess they didn’t want to come.”
She looked kinda sad about that, and I understood why. Felicia had never been as close to the boys as me, but she’d known them all her life, too. She’d been to all our birthday parties and built snow forts with us in the winter and invited us over for snacks after school. It was weird for the boys not to come to her party, and it must have hurt her feelings.
Mrs. Hooper handed her a huge piece of lemon birthday cake and everyone else started lining up, ready to get some for themselves. I got the second piece, after Felicia, then sat down in a chair to eat. Usually, I sat with Canaan and the other Swift boys at parties and cookouts. But without them around, I found myself sitting alone.
Now I was the one feeling a little sad.
But then JW ran over to me, panting and wagging his little puppy tail. He jumped up to put his front paws on my knee and looked up at me. Like he could sense that I was down and wanted to cheer me up. Or like he saw the cake in my hand and wanted a bite. I didn’t mind either way.
“He’s a cute dog.”
I looked over and saw Teddy Ryan walking toward the empty chair beside mine, carrying a very, very small slice of cake on a blue paper plate.
“Yeah,” I said. “He is.”
Teddy sat down in the folding chair beside me. He wiggled around for a second, trying to get comfortable, then he pushed his glasses up his nose. He was wearing a striped shirt and khakis — he always wore khakis. Never blue jeans. His hair was real neat, cut close to his head. He looked too dressed up for a backyard birthday party, all crisp and clean except for a couple of red bumps speckling his dark skin, right along his chin and nose.
Pimples. A lot of the kids in my class had them now, and Mama said I’d have to deal with them soon enough.
I knew it was rude to stare, but Teddy had been so mean to me that I figured it was at least sort of all right. I would have stared even if those pimples weren’t gross. I was shocked he was sitting next to me. And nervous. Last time he was this close to me, I ended up with gum in my hair.
“So what did you get Felicia?” he asked, poking at his tiny slice of cake with a plastic fork.
JW got tired of waiting on me to give him cake, so he left me and wandered over to a group of girls from Felicia’s church, walking around them in circles while he waited for scraps to fall. In my head, I was begging him to come back. Then I could pretend I was too distracted by the dog to talk to Teddy Ryan.
“Just a book.”
“Oh, which book?”
If Canaan were here, he’d say, “None of your business,” and ignore Teddy until he went away. But I couldn’t be that rude, even when I wanted to.
“The Giver.”
“I like that book. I got it for Christmas from my uncle Clayton.”
I nodded. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, and even though I didn’t like Teddy at all, I didn’t like being so quiet, either. So I looked over at him and his empty plate and asked, “Why did you get such a small piece of cake?”
He looked embarrassed. “Don’t tell my mom I ate it. I’m not supposed to have any at all.”
“Why not?”
“I have a lot of allergies.”
“You’re allergic to cake?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
“Not to cake. To the stuff in cake. It makes me throw up.”
“Ew. So why’d you eat it?”
“Because it tastes good.”
I laughed, and he smiled at me. He had huge front teeth. Twice the size of the others in his mouth. It was an awful funny smile, and that made me laugh even more. Which made him laugh, too.
“Where’s Canaan?” he asked once we’d both stopped giggling.
I shrugged. “I’m not speaking to him.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
“What reason do you got for not speaking to him?”
“He’s always been mean to me.”
“He’s mean to you because you’re mean to me,” I told him.
“I’m not mean to you.”
I almost laughed. “You are so. You’re always kicking my seat on the bus or pulling on my ponytail. And you stuck gum in my hair. Mama had to chop it all off, and I was trying to grow it long. That’s mean.”
Teddy looked down at his empty plate. He looked embarrassed, but I had no idea what for. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“Well, you were. You’re the mean one,” I told him. “Canaan’s really nice, actually.”
“Then how come you’re not talking to him?” Teddy asked.
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Because … he’s being mean to me now, too.”
Teddy opened his mouth to say something, but Felicia hollered for me before he could get the words out. I was glad for a reason to get away from him and the questions about Canaan.
“Come over here,” Felicia said, grabbing my arm and dragging me over to the present table. “I can tell your present’s a book — I wanna open it first.”
I glanced back at Teddy once. He just sat there, holding his empty plate and looking as lonely as I’d felt a few minutes ago.
A couple hours later, the party was over and everyone started heading home. Somehow, I ended up with Teddy Ryan again, just outside the Hoopers’ house. We had to cross the same street, and we walked together, not saying a word until we got to the side we lived on.
“Your hair looks real pretty like that,” Teddy said out of the blue. “I’m sorry I put gum in it last year…. Anyway, bye.”
Then he took off like a lightning bolt toward his house.
I just stood on the sidewalk, staring after him. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I decided it was nice of him to apologize.
Too bad Teddy Ryan wasn’t the boy I wanted an apology from.
Our town has a fair every August, just a few days before school starts. It’s not real big — just a few rides and some games and lots of tables selling barbecue that Mama says is the best in the world. We looked forward to it every year, though, especially now that we were old enough that our parents let us walk around by ourselves.
We rode the Scrambler and the Ferris wheel over and over until Kevin said he was sick to his stomach, then the four of us headed across the lawn to the stage where a local band was playing country music.
“Can we go watch the tractor pull?” Kevin asked. “Please, please, please? I love tractors. Especially them big ones with big wheels. I want one, but our backyard is too small. Can we go see the tractor pull, please?”
“I thought we were gonna listen to the music,” I said.
“I don’t like this song,” Kevin whined.
“But Nola does,” Canaan said. He was right. The band was playing my favorite Miranda Lambert song, and the girl singing was doing a real good job. I wasn’t surprised at all that he remembered I liked it without me having to tell him, but it still made me smile.
Kevin started to pout. “Okay … But I really, really want to see the tractors.”
“We don’t have to stay,” I said. I didn’t want Kevin to miss out on what he wanted to do because of me. I’d feel real awful if he was upset.
“But you hate the tractor pull,” Canaan said. “You always fall asleep when we watch it.” He turned to Kevin. “And we’re older, so what we say goes.”
“I’ll take him,” Brian said.
Kevin’s face lit up. “You will?”
“I don’t like country music much, anyway. I can go with him if y’all will be okay on your own?”
“We’re not babies, Brian,” Canaan said. “We’ll be fine.”
So Kevin and Brian left and it was just me and Canaan and the loud music and a cool, soft patch of grass to sit on. We sang along to the songs for a while and sometimes Canaan would change the words, making up silly new versions to make me laugh. We’d sat through about three songs when I heard someone hollering to me.
“Nola! Hey, Nola!”
Canaan glanced over his shoulder and groaned. “Uh-oh.”
“What? Who is it?” I turned and saw Teddy Ryan walking toward us, holding a can of Coke and dressed in a barbecue-stained striped shirt and khakis. My heart sank. Today was going so well — I didn’t want Teddy Ryan to ruin it.
“Hi, Nola,” he said when he reached us.
“Um … hi.”
“What are y’all doing?”
“None of your business,” Canaan said. He stood up and held out a hand to me. “Come on, Nola. Let’s go somewhere else.”
I stood up and let him pull me away. Teddy hollered to me again. “Nola, wait up. I brought this for you.” But Canaan kept pulling me along, so I kept my head down and pretended not to hear him, which was rude of me, but it was Teddy Ryan and he was always picking on me, so he deserved it. Whatever he’d brought for me, I knew it wasn’t good.
We’d only taken a few steps when I suddenly felt something cold and wet splash all over my back and legs. I stopped, startled, and it took me a minute to realize what had happened. Teddy had just thrown the Coke all over me.
“What’d you do that for?” Canaan yelled. Teddy didn’t get a chance to answer before Canaan was pulling me along behind him again, telling Teddy over his shoulder, “Leave her alone. I mean it.”
Canaan helped me find a water fountain and I did my best to wash off all the sticky spots the Coke had left on my arms and legs, but there was no saving my shirt. It was white and now it was stained with a big brownish-yellow splotch.
“This is one of my favorite shirts,” I said, trying not to cry. It was a stupid thing to cry about, but I couldn’t help it.
“I bet it’ll wash out.” Canaan reached out and squeezed my hand. “He’s a jerk. Don’t let him get to you. He ain’t worth crying over.”
We spent the rest of the night playing the fair games, and Canaan won me a stuffed moose and, despite Teddy Ryan’s best efforts, it was still one of the most wonderful nights of the summer.
The smell of bacon woke me up the next morning. Richard was in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, when I came out of my room.
“Good morning, kiddo,” he said. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Where’s Mama?” I asked.
“Your grandmother called and wanted her help with something. I told her I’d come over and make you breakfast.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Why would you need to make me breakfast? Usually if Mama’s gone I just make myself some cereal or pop a frozen waffle in the toaster.”
“All right, you caught me
.” He put some bacon on a plate with a couple pieces of toast and handed it to me. “I’m procrastinating.”
I smiled. “Procrastinating” had been one of my vocabulary words in English class last year. Richard had helped me with that list. When I asked him what “procrastinating” meant, he’d said:
“It means to put something off as long as you can. Like right now — you’re asking me about your vocabulary list even though your test isn’t until Friday. Because you’re procrastinating cleaning your room like your mother told you to an hour ago.”
Richard loved my vocabulary lists. Every time I brought one home, he wanted to read the words and look them all up in the dictionary, even if he knew what they meant. He said I oughta know the exact definition. Then he’d use them all in regular conversation so that I got used to hearing them. I wasn’t even in school anymore and he was still using my vocab words when he talked to me.
I started chewing on a piece of bacon. “What are you procrastinating?” I asked.
“I promised to clean up the yard — you know, mow the grass, pull the weeds, water the plants. All that good stuff.” He made himself a plate and sat at the little dining table. I sat down across from him. “I shouldn’t be complaining to you, though. You’ve been working your behind off, haven’t you?”
My mouth was full of toast, so I just nodded.
“What kind of jobs do you have lined up today?” he asked.
I swallowed and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Nothing. I was gonna walk Lulu, but Mrs. Santos decided to go down to Tennessee to visit her sister, and she took the dog with her.”
“Well,” Richard said, “if you’re free today, I might have a job for you.”
“You want me to do the yard?”
“Not all of it,” he said. “But if you wanted to, I’d pay you to help me. Canaan, too, if he wants to join you.”
I looked down at my plate. “It’ll just be me.”
Richard didn’t say anything for a minute. I was just glad he didn’t ask me why Canaan and the other boys hadn’t been coming around. I’d been getting that question from everybody lately, and I never did know how to answer it.
The Swift Boys & Me Page 4