Hope Is a Ferris Wheel (17 page)

D
etention shifted to Thursday this week so that no one would have to stay after school on Halloween. How nice.

Just kidding. It was terrible. But not because something horrible happened. I was just ready to get the heck out of there and check the mail. I knew it had only been three days since I'd sent that letter to Dad, but maybe that had been enough time for the letter to have gotten there and for a letter to come back.

So I was focusing on the letter and not on detention, because detention is always the same anyway. That's why it took me so long to notice that Eddie wasn't there. Which was odd. I'd always thought he was kind of a permanent
fixture. After detention, I asked Miss Fergusson if he was sick that day.

“No, no,” Miss Fergusson told me. “He turned in all his overdue work, so he doesn't have detention anymore. Ever since he joined your club, he's been doing a lot better in class.”

Great. Miss Fergusson looked so happy, I didn't know how to tell her that Eddie hated me now, and the club was over. If only he was in detention, I could have apologized. “Do you think Eddie's better at running the club than me?” I asked Miss Fergusson.

“I think, Miss Star Mackie, that without you, Eddie would be failing the fifth grade, as smart as he is. That's what I think.” She smiled at me and gave me a butterscotch candy from her desk.

It's so unfair that I'm stuck with Mr. Savage all year.

I thanked Miss Fergusson and left. And instead of having Eddie next to me, all I had was stupid loneliness, perching and laughing. I even missed Eddie's stupid poems.

As I headed past Mrs. Feinstein's room, a big crowd of fourth-grade detention junkies flooded out, and among them were some very familiar tattooed arms.

“Hi!” Genny said, dragging two girls over with her. One was tall and the other short, and they both stared at the
fringes of my hair. “This is Maggie and Chelsea. They said they'd join the Emily Dickinson Club.”

“Oh.” I was too surprised to say anything else.

“We said we'd check it out,” said Maggie or Chelsea. I didn't know who was who.

“Who's Emily Dickinson?” the other one said. “An actress or something?”

“We meet on Mondays,” Genny told them, pushing them along on their way. They walked down the hallway without a backward glance. “See?” Genny told me. “I told you Denny was wrong.”

“What are you doing in detention?” I asked.

“Well, I don't have lunch at the same time as the other fourth-graders,” she said. “And I had to talk to them to see if they'd join the club. Plus, I wanted to see Mrs. Feinstein's pinkie. She really does keep it in her desk!” Her eyes grew wide. “It's so gross-looking. It looks like a dried-up pickle.”

I still didn't understand. “How did you even get detention?”

Turns out it was a two-day ordeal. The day before, she'd kicked a ball over the fence, thrown a bunch of wet paper towels on the ceiling in the girls' bathroom, and then, for good measure, she hadn't turned in her sentences today.

“Detention's kind of fun,” she finished.

Detention was not fun. “You just sit there, and you
can't talk to anyone,” I said. “And everyone's extra mean, because they're all delinquents-in-training.”

“Well, then, why are you in detention?” she asked. “Anyway, this is great! Now we can be detention buddies. Hi, Langston.”

She said the last two words to Langston, who had been standing right behind me for I didn't want to know how long.

“Hi, Genny,” he said. “Mullet.” That was to me, obviously. “Here, I have something for you. Proof that I am the superior Langston.” And from his pocket he pulled out a tiny, folded-up piece of paper and practically shoved it into my hands. The folds were so small and tight, it took a long time to open it all the way, and when I finally did, I saw only four lines:

Roses are red

Mullets are blue

Poems are stupid

Admit it, it's true.

“Wow,” I said. “This is a terrible poem.”

“Are you joking? I spent all day on that!”

“Let me see!” Genny insisted, but Langston shook his head so hard, just watching it made my neck hurt.

“It's for Star,” he told her, and then to me, he said, “I thought girls liked poems.”

I wouldn't exactly consider it a poem, but sure, girls like poems. For a moment I wondered why we didn't have more girls in the club. Genny and I were outnumbered by boys. The moment ended when I noticed Langston staring at me. Just sunken-eyed staring.

And right when I was on the verge of telling him how creepy that was, he said, “Well, see ya, Mullet.” And he jogged away.

I kind of forgot that Genny was still there, so when she tapped me on the shoulder, my body jerked like a stalling truck. We walked out to the front entrance together, where Denny was apparently waiting for us. Well, for Genny. Like he'd ever wait for me.

He did glare at me, though, even while he told Genny it was time to go. Genny smiled at me and said she couldn't wait for detention next Friday.

“You won't be in detention next Friday,” Denny told her.

“Sure, I will,” she said. “I hardly got to talk to anyone. Did you know I got us two new club members today? I bet I'll get more next—”

“Genny.” That was all he had to say, and Genny stopped talking.

But I didn't want Genny thinking that she'd done something
wrong, just because her jerk of a brother didn't like it. “Thanks, Genny. You really did prove him wrong.” Although it wasn't true. I'm sure Chelly and Mags, or whatever their names were, didn't actually like me and therefore wouldn't like the club.

Denny didn't like that one bit, though. “You shut up,” he snapped. “If it weren't for you, she wouldn't even be in detention.” And he left, pulling his sister behind him.

I stood there for a while before remembering that Langston and Eddie were gone, so I didn't have anybody waiting with me, and I could just go. So I trudged home to Treasure Trailers. And checked the mailbox. And trudged to the trailer, empty-handed.

Not counting that terrible poem, of course.

I
probably would have dressed up for Halloween if Mom hadn't said anything. But when I woke up Friday morning and Mom cheerfully asked if I was going to wear my lawyer costume from last year, I couldn't say anything other than “No.” I wanted to see her face fall in disappointment, the way mine had when Robert told me he wasn't my father.

“Well, we never got a chance to go costume shopping this year,” Mom said. “Sorry about that.”

Sorry about a dumb costume?
That's
what she was sorry about? I put on the most ordinary clothes I owned. Then I changed, just in case people thought I was dressing up as Normal Girl or something.

Winter was already gone when I left. She was always leaving early and coming back late, and then she'd spend all her trailer time in her bed, reading or doing homework or just lying there and staring at the ceiling. Gloria said Winter was in one of her moods again, but I knew the real reason she wouldn't talk to us.

I wanted her to talk to me about being pregnant. And I wanted to talk to her about my letter to Dad and the club and everything else. It was nice knowing that Dad would send a letter back soon, but problems were starting to pop up all over the place, and even though Winter had told me to solve them on my own, it'd be great if she could give me a couple of hints.

On the way to school I checked the mail, even though I knew it wouldn't get there until afternoon. And, just as I thought, there wasn't anything in there but a dead earwig.

Since it was Halloween, we didn't do any actual work at school, and the whole day was kind of like a party, even for the two people who didn't dress up—Denny and me. Genny, in a sweaterdress with feathers glued all over it, told me that Denny was too old to dress up.

“What about Allie?” I asked.

“He's a troll,” Genny said.

I didn't know if she meant that was his costume, but I didn't ask.

“What's Winter?” she asked.

Luckily we had to sit down then, and I didn't have to admit that I had no idea if Winter had even dressed up.

Mr. Savage kept me in during recess, as always. I thought he'd cut me some slack, since it was Halloween, but I guess not. Once everyone was gone, I headed over to the sink to fill the bucket so I could wash desks, since that was my usual job. But Mr. Savage called me up to his desk before I could turn on the water.

“So,” he said.

I waited, watching in disgust as his hand went straight for his beard.

“I heard you started a new club in Miss Fergusson's room.” He leaned back in his chair. “The Emily Dickinson Club. What a great idea for a club.”

Mr. Savage hates me and would never give me a compliment. I knew this had to be a trick, so I didn't say a thing.

“Unfortunately, I haven't received your sentences yet,” he continued. “So you're going to have to cancel your club.”

I remembered having arguments ready in case Mr. Savage discovered the club, but I couldn't remember exactly what they were. So again, I didn't say anything. I just let the hollow feeling in my stomach creep its way into my chest.

“When you bring me your sentences, we can talk about whether or not to reinstate your club,” Mr. Savage said, along with some other things I didn't listen to. I was too busy thinking that I should have just handed the club over to Eddie while I had the chance.

I shuddered, remembering how mad Eddie had been on Tuesday. Mad enough … to tell Mr. Savage that I had illegally moved and renamed my club? Mad enough to get it taken away forever?

I felt sick. And I had to stand there and pretend to listen to Mr. Savage's rotten speech for the whole recess and not cry and not grab the glass apple off his desk and pitch it through the window, and it was maybe the hardest thing I'd ever had to do, but I got through it. I got through it, and during the Halloween Parade after lunch, which was just everyone walking on the painted track that looped around the playground, I found Eddie.

He hadn't dressed up either.

“The club got canceled,” I told him, and he said, “I know.” Which just confirmed what I already suspected.

“I know you know!” I said, as we passed a couple of slow-walking fourth-graders. “Because you
told
Mr. Savage so he'd take my club away and so you could get back at me for not letting you turn it into a Poetry Club!”

“No, I know because Miss Fergusson told me, after
Mr. Savage told her, after somebody told him,” he said. “Besides, I would've just socked you if I wanted to get you back for something. I'm not a coward.”

Yes, now that I thought about it, getting the club canceled was not something Eddie would have done. “Oh,” I said. “Sorry.”

“That's okay,” Eddie said. “People are always accusing me of things. I'm kind of used to it.”

“Well,” I said, “Mr. Savage only canceled
my
club. I'm sure you could start your own club. It could even be a Poetry Club.”

“Yeah, but then you couldn't join.”

“So what? You can run it,” I told him, but he shook his brown curls at me.

“Then it'd just be me and Langston,” he said. “And Langston would quit once he found out you weren't gonna be there.”

I spotted Langston's mohawk up ahead, in a big group of sixth-graders. I couldn't tell if he had a costume on, but he was laughing and shouting with everyone else. “Why? He's your friend.”

“Yeah, but he likes
you
.” Eddie laughed. “You didn't think he actually liked Emily Dickinson, did you?”

Langston looked back then and saw me and waved, and I focused on my shoes so he wouldn't see how red my
face was. I didn't think a boy had ever actually liked me before. And a sixth-grader! Maybe the girls in class would be jealous if I told them. But then they still wouldn't want to be my friends, would they?