Me & Jack (4 page)

chapter 7

M
ost people hide keys under a pot or the doormat. These are not good hiding spots because everyone knows that everyone else puts keys there. I put mine in the thumb of a dirty garden glove that I left by the back door. After I got into the house, I locked the door right behind me like my dad said because you don't want any robbers or murderers sneaking in.

Jack almost knocked me over when I came in. He didn't like staying alone in the house. I got us a snack, some cookies for me and bologna slices for Jack, and took them on paper plates to the den. By the time I got the TV on and flipped through a few channels, Jack had gobbled down his whole snack.

Gilligan's Island
was on. Gilligan must have done something wrong because Skipper just hit him with his hat. I settled onto the couch. I used to watch this show in New Jersey. It was good to see Gilligan and Skipper again.

If I were stranded on the island with them, I would never worry about getting back to the mainland. Skipper was like a dad, the professor was like a smart uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Howell could be your rich grandparents, and Mary Ann and Ginger were pretty. Everything you need, right there on the island.

Jack and I sat on the couch even after
Gilligan
was over. A show came on where people jumped up and down and tried to guess the price of things. I thought about going over to Prater's tonight. I wished I could bring Jack; that way, at least someone who liked me would be there. But since Prater's dad would be with us, Prater wouldn't be able to act like a jerk. Then he'd see I was an okay kid. Plus, his sister was nice and so was Ray. I nodded to myself—maybe it would work out.

Sighing, I petted Jack. He harrumphed and settled even closer to me. His body was warm. I stared at the TV without really watching, just hearing the bells ding on the show.

The phone ringing woke me up. I sprinted to the kitchen.

A man's voice blasted through the earpiece. “Is this the recruiter's house? Richard Reed?”

“He's busy.” That's my standard answer when I'm home alone. “Can I take a message?”

“Yeah, I've got a message for him. You tell him to stop calling my son. Tell him if he stops by here again, I'll run him down the driveway with a baseball bat. You got that?”

Loud and clear. I hoped he didn't know where we lived. I tried to keep my voice from shaking as I asked for his name.

“Fritz Davies. You make sure he gets my message.”

“Yes—”

He slammed the phone down.

I felt like he'd be pounding at the back door any second. Clicking off, I checked the locks and dialed Dad's office.

“Fritz Davies?” he said after I told him what happened. “Son of a— Listen, sit tight. Don't worry. I'm calling him right now.”

I gripped the phone with both hands. “Why's he so mad at you?”

Dad sighed. “He's trying to get his son Steven to go to college, but Steven doesn't have the grades. He's got buddies going over. He wants to go with them.”

I knew right then that Steven would soon be reciting the Oath of Enlistment. Being a soldier made you part of a brotherhood, just like being an air force kid. It didn't matter whether or not Steven believed in the war—he believed in his friends, and that would be his strength.

Dad spent a few minutes reassuring me that he'd take care of Fritz Davies, then we hung up.

Jack's spot on the couch was empty. I looked all over for him before finding him by the back door.

“Want to go for a walk?” I asked.

He jumped up and down and turned in tight little circles. I hooked on his leash, locked up the house, and we left. We jogged into the woods at the same place Jack had slipped in the other day.

A light breeze lifted the branches, and they swayed back into place. Sunlight flickered through the trees. Walking from shade to shafts of sunlight, I felt cool and warm at the same time. The trees right near the house had skinnier trunks than those a little higher on the mountain.

I spotted some blueberry bushes. A hint of red still colored most of the berries. I picked a few and popped them into my mouth. Juicy, but a little sour.

“Want one?” I asked Jack. I pulled off a berry and fed it to him. He sat there for a second, then he opened his mouth and let it roll off his tongue. Then he sneezed. I laughed and petted him. “Okay, you don't like blueberries.”

I picked up a flat rock and began to dig a hole. If you dug a hole deep enough, you'd tunnel straight through to China. My friend Nick and I tried to do that until our moms came out and yelled at us for messing up the flower bed. That was when I lived in Missouri.

Jack helped me dig. His paws furrowed so fast that the hole quickly became deeper. Bugs and a worm crawled in the dirt, and then I spotted a couple of strange rocks.

“Jack! Stop!”

I reached into the hole and pulled out the rocks. They were flat and smooth and shaped almost perfectly like triangles. I whisked the dirt off with my fingers. These weren't just regular rocks.

“Arrowheads! Jack, look!” I held them flat on my palm. The last person who touched these was an Indian, a real Indian. Closing my fist over them, I couldn't believe how lucky I was. An Indian had touched these and now I was touching them.

I looked at the arrowheads for a long time. I imagined a strong brave running silently through the woods. Spotting a deer, he drew back his bow and the arrow flung through the air. Or maybe he used these arrows to fight against soldiers or another tribe. It didn't matter—these were definite treasures in every way. An excellent find for my Pennsylvania shoe box.

I slipped them into my pocket and suddenly felt hungry enough to eat a horse. “C'mon, Jack,” I said, giving the leash a light tug. We trotted through the woods all the way to the back door. I picked up the dirty garden glove, shook the key into my hand, and Jack and I ducked into the empty house.

chapter 8

I
sat on the bank across from the garage with Jack on one side of me and a pile of rocks on the other. I'd discovered the chalky ones burst if you threw them hard enough. “Okay,” I said, picking up one that was lemon-shaped, “here goes an M26.” Pretending to ignite a grenade, I hurled the rock against the garage roof and watched it explode into a million pieces. They rolled down the shingles, dropping from the garage like hail.

My arm was cocked for another attack when I heard the station wagon revving up the hill. Finally. I wanted to show Dad the arrowheads but more important, I had to talk to him about going over to Prater's.

While our TV dinners were in the oven, I parked myself beside Dad on the couch. He lowered the newspaper. I held open my palm. “Look what I found today.”

He leaned over, picked one up, and stared at it. “Let me see the other one.” When I gave it to him, he looked at them so hard, I thought he was X-raying them. Then he turned to me with an amazed expression. “These are arrowheads!”

“That's what
I
thought!” So far, so good. It wasn't like I was going to lie to Dad about anything, but I knew I was warming up for the big question. When I was younger, other boys shot at each other with cap guns, but not me. I wasn't even allowed to own a squirt gun.

“Guns are not toys,” he'd always say whenever I begged for one.

“Yes, they are,” I'd whine. Mom and I passed them in the grocery store, for crying out loud. I'd tug on her hand, plead, and still she'd shake her head.
Your dad said no.

I wondered what he'd say tonight. I wondered all through my mashed potatoes and sick-looking peas. The steak was as hard to chew as leather, so I moved on to my apple turnover compartment.

“Nothing like a gourmet dinner,” Dad said. He'd eaten two of them. “I've got a few phone calls to make, okay?” He pushed back his chair.

“Wait.” I swallowed and looked at the steak. I'd give it to Jack later. “Um, you know those boys I met? The ones playing basketball the other day?”

He smiled, ready for good news.

“Well, I saw them today and they invited me to come over after supper.”

“That's great!” He relaxed in his chair. “I'm glad you're making friends. What are you guys going to do?”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. “They want to shoot targets. Prater's dad will be there,” I added quickly.

Dad frowned.

“His dad will be there,” I said again.

Staring at his folded hands, Dad mulled it over, then stood. “What's his name again?” I told him, and he went straight to the phone book. He called a few Praters before landing on the right one. After introducing himself, he made some small talk with Mr. Prater, then started asking questions. “What kind of guns? What kind of targets? How much experience do the other boys have?” I cringed in my chair. “Where will they be shooting?” Okay, I was officially overprotected. I just hoped Prater didn't get wind of this or I'd have to listen to more of his wisecracks.

I cleared the table while Dad said good-bye. Pretending to be busy by sliding our chairs back into place, I waited for his answer. Dad grabbed the dishrag, soaped it up, and wiped down the counter.

“Look at me.” Dad turned from the sink. White soap bubbles glistened on his hands, but there was no mistaking that a US serviceman stood before me.

I straightened my posture and gave him my full attention.

“You can go.”

“I can? All right!” I headed for the back door, but Dad caught me by the arm.

“Listen,” he said, his eyes dead serious, “I'm letting you go because I trust you.” He lowered his chin before going on. “A gun is a weapon; I want you to respect that. No playing around, okay?”

“Yessir,” I said. He'd fought in the Korean War. This was a big deal for both of us.

“Okay,” he said and gave me a sharp nod—
dismissed
.

Jack and I waited for Ray on the front porch steps. I wondered what it would be like to shoot a gun. Soldiers fired guns all the time, but their lives depended on it. Plus, they trained with guns. I'd never held a gun before, much less shot one. The main thing was to not mess up in front of Prater. No way did I want to give him another thing to rag on me about.

Suddenly, Jack stood erect, and he focused on the bottom of the hill. Ray came pedaling up the road. I waved. This is how it starts, a friendship.

He cut over to his right, like he was going into Mr. and Mrs. Nichols's driveway. I almost shouted to correct him, but then he turned and cut over to the opposite side. He zigzagged all the way up the hill; it was ingenious—he never had to get off his bike.

“Hi, Ray!” I jumped down the porch steps to meet him.

“Hiya.” Ray's face was pink from the ride. He laid down his bike and looked around. “Hey, I was right,” he said. “I knew your woods and Alan's woods were connected.”

“Really?” Great—Prater was my neighbor.

“Yeah, if you cut through your woods that way”—he pointed to the right—“you'll end up by his yard. I mean, it's like a few blocks over; the woods are really big.”

“Oh.” As long as I didn't have to see that jerk from my backyard.

“Where's Jack? I thought I saw him,” Ray asked.

Jack had been right at my side on the steps; I leaped onto the porch and found him around the corner. He seemed relieved when he saw me. I bent down and stroked his head. “C'mon, Jack, it's all right.” I tried to lead him out, but he balked. He looked up at me like he wanted me to stay.

“It's all right, Jack, he's nice.” I rubbed his back. “C'mon, boy,” I said. “Come on.”

Jack rose slowly and walked with his tail drooping. He followed me down the steps but stopped just short of being near Ray. He held his head straight. It wasn't like he was afraid of Ray; it was more like he was being careful. “He just has to get to know you,” I said.

Without moving closer, Ray crouched and held his hand out—not stretching his arm all the way, just holding it out a little. “C'mere, Jack.” He waited. When Jack didn't come, Ray moved a little closer and touched Jack's head, scratching him lightly behind the ear.

I could see Ray was a dog person. I could also see that although Jack allowed Ray to pet him, Jack was actually inspecting Ray to see if he was a good person or not.

Ray must have passed the test because Jack relaxed; he looked like he was enjoying the petting.

When I put Jack in the house, Dad looked up from some paperwork near the phone. “You be careful.”

“I will.” Jack pushed behind my knee, almost making me fall. Dad kept his eyes on me. “Don't worry,” I said, but I knew it was useless. Dad looked like he wanted to hug me. I pushed open the screen door and yelled good-bye.

“Have fun,” I heard him shout as I lifted the garage door for my bike. “But be careful!”

I winced at his loud caution, hoping Ray didn't hear him. After I closed up the garage, I hopped on my bike and sped out of there, hollering to Ray as I neared the porch.
Please don't let Dad come bursting out the front yelling more warnings
. He'd hammered Mr. Prater with all those questions, and plus it was just target shooting. Nothing to worry about. Ray joined me as I turned down the hill.

Nothing to worry about at all.