Pinned (9780545469845) (8 page)

I am not in a wrestling match with Autumn, although sometimes I think she might believe that I am. And she will not take me down. I am in control of my destiny. But on the mat — well — she is one of the best wrestlers there is.

Autumn is extremely good at takedowns. From a neutral position, she controls her opponent and takes them down to the mat, to attempt to pin their shoulders for a fall. There are several takedown moves. The high crotch, the ankle pick, the double- and single-leg takedown, among others. If you successfully control your opponents with the move, you will score two points.

Imagine someone holding your left leg while attempting to sweep your right leg from underneath you. Or maybe you are attacking them. Grabbing the back of their neck and their arm. Pulling. While you also kick away their leg. Attacks and counterattacks. Pushing and pulling. Strategizing. Changing levels and making moves. This is what Autumn Knight does or faces several times a week. Could you? I could. I can do anything.

M
iss Pattie in front our class, wearing high heels and a PTA pin saying she the vice president. In jeans and a white shirt, she dressed almost exactly like Peaches. Mr. E. says he'll speak to her later. “By phone. For privacy reasons.” Miss Pattie's feet stay put. She standing by his desk, with her hands holding Peaches's wrist as tight as skin hold on to bone.

Walking back like he got miles to go. Out of breath a little, even. Mr. E. learning to do things Miss Pattie's way.

It's Friday the thirteenth. Not a bad day. But a different kinda one. Adonis is here at the back of the class watching the show. Seeing me but not seeing me. I wonder. Did he hear what I said? That I love him — more than I love my best friend.

Mr. E. standing with his hands in his pockets, slouching. Miss Pattie is doing all the talking. Words are like weeds in her mouth — they keep coming. No matter how many times Mr. E. tries to interrupt.

“So far this semester, Peaches is more than passing.” He belches into his fist. “Her mistakes. Little, silly ones. Nerves, I think.” His voice getting lower. We get quiet, especially when he asking 'bout Peaches's home life. Do she got a quiet place to study? he want to know. “Time to relax? To just do nothing?”

Miss Pattie's rubbing her pin, saying Peaches's home life is fine. “It's how you presenting the material. If she's making As in every class but yours — something's wrong in here. Not home.”

“She —”

She cuts him off. “We thinking college in our house. You ain't helping her to get ready by thinking Cs is okay.”

Pulling her hand free, Peaches moves away from Miss Pattie. “Leave.”

It's a little word and a big, giant, stone-cold hard word both at the same time. I can spell it. Write it. But it's Peaches's word. Not mine.

Peaches stops and stares at Adonis by the door. Shaking her head, sitting down, she tell her mother to go home, “Please.”

Miss Pattie's heels always scrape floors. Or tap 'em like hammers on nails. “Patricia. I —”

Mr. E. wanna start class. He'll speak to her and Peaches later by phone, he saying. Peaches cracking her knuckles, using her calligraphy pen to say what Miss Pattie don't want to hear.

The more words she writes, the bigger the letters get — like clouds filling up before a storm.

Leaving. Miss Pattie walks over to Adonis, asking about his mom. He's respectful, but the way he keep his wheels turned away from her say maybe he hate Miss Pattie as much as he hate Peaches.

Mr. E. gives one big clap after Miss Pattie leaves. “Okay, people. Let's get busy.” At the board, he writes
Adonis Einstein Anderson Miller
.

I never knew his name was so long.

“This young man works with me sometimes. Tutoring. Grading seventh grade papers.” Mr. E. smiling like Adonis is his son. “Genius.”

Since we started this new chapter, Mr. E. say, it's clear most of us just clueless. “So let's try something
new.” He asking a boy sitting by the door to close it. For Jaxxon, with his head down, to sit up. “I'm letting the best student I got explain things to you all.”

Adonis sitting in the middle of the room, when a screen drops from the ceiling. A timer on the lights dims the room. He connecting his laptop, holding a laser pointer.

Turning to page ninety-seven, I follow along. He read the problem out loud. Then says not to let math put you in no hammerlock.

Carefully, step-by-step, he making the problem more understandable to us. After a while, Jaxxon sitting up. Eyes forward.

In the dark, with my head as high as a peacock's tail, I write myself a new word.

I
t is awkward, uncomfortable, to be in Autumn's company now that I know she is in love with me.

On the mat, she pushes and pulls her way into a win. Never forfeiting even when she is out of her league. She is determined to shove her way into my life. Regardless of what I want.

The library is the only volunteer experience Autumn has ever had. In private, Mrs. Carolyn told me this could be a very good thing. “Maybe Autumn will learn to love books as much as wrestling.” She winked. But something in her smile told me she wasn't counting on it.

Mrs. Carolyn's nutmeg-brown shoes have new soles sewn on the bottoms. I notice them while she walks down the library steps. Pointing toward me, she hands
Autumn a stack of envelopes. “He'll fold. You stuff.” Then she goes to meet with Mr. Webb and his class.

Autumn rolls up her long white sleeves, and kicks off her shoes. “You like the color pink?” She wiggles her toes. “See that
P
? On my big toenail? Peaches drew it.” She pulls at the pink feather in her hair.

Showing her the letters at the end of the desk, I explain how I like to have things done. Already I've placed labels on most of the envelopes. I began this job the day before yesterday. “All you have to do is stuff and seal them.”

She scratches her cheek. “You like working here?”

I pick up a letter, folding it so the ends meet perfectly. Then folding it once more, I pass it along to her. Shoving it in the envelope, she bends a corner, ruining my work. She is full of apologies. Why can't she just do things correctly?

I fold another letter. Sliding my nail along the edge, making a sharp, crisp bend, I put it in the envelope myself. Now something else on her is itching. Her knee. The back of her neck, too. She slides her chair closer to mine. “I'm allergic to libraries, I think.”

Saying ridiculous things never seems to embarrass her. I hand her another envelope, holding it out like a gift, hoping she'll realize how to treat it this time.

The media center is always full. In between folding, I check out books. I teach Autumn how things work, as I go along. Every once in a while I think about what she said. Loving me is ridiculous. She does not know me. I bet she's told Patricia, who told her she could do better. But I am the smartest boy at this school. She cannot do better than me.

I love to see what other students are reading. I can tell by what they check out if they are good students or not. Autumn frowns at some of the titles.
Of Mice and Men
.
Bridge to Terabithia
.
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
.
The Coldest Winter Ever
.

Jaxxon Teagarden walks past Autumn, clapping his hands in her face. You must keep an eye on him. He can be so disruptive. Sometimes he is too difficult for his teachers. They send him to the library to get him out of their hair. “You like him?” Autumn wants to know.

“I don't know him,” I reply, sighing.

She wants to discuss Mr. Epperson's class. She congratulates me on the great job I did last Friday. I am proud of myself. The other students appreciated me, I believe. A few clapped when I left.

Rushing into the library, Roberto moves in between students like a skier steering clear of trees. Mrs. Carolyn pokes her neck out, turning her head in his direction.
“Slow down, Roberto. Unless you want a speeding ticket.”

I have his schedule in my locker. At the circulation desk, I ask why he isn't in Spanish class. “Autumn” is all he says.

She stuffs and talks to him at the same time — not watching how she places the letters into the envelopes. If she bends another one …

With both hands, Roberto sets a box on the desk. “Can I teach … you how to play, Autumn?” When he smiles, he squints, like she is the sun shining on his face.

Autumn walks around the desk, kneeling in a short purple skirt.

“Is this okay, Autumn? It's all we got at home.” Santa Clauses and sleds cover the wrapping paper on the box. From across the room, Mrs. Carolyn asks if he has a hall pass. Autumn opens her gift. A chess set. Roberto paid for it with his own money. It's wooden, very expensive.

I wonder if Autumn sends thank-you notes after she receives gifts. I have one in my backpack for Mrs. Tarnelle. She baked cookies for our Monday group.

Autumn kisses him on his cheek. Roberto presses
his nose to her neck and sniffs, like tulips are planted there. “Do you know you smell good, Autumn?”

“This the first gift a boy ever gave me.” She looks at me. “Thank you. I'm gonna remember what you did forever. When I open my restaurant …”

He listens while she talks about becoming a chef and owning a restaurant along with Patricia. “I'm gonna bring you in a coupon tomorrow”— she wipes gloss off his face — “for two free eats at Pinned.”

Roberto swallows. “Can I come … to one of your matches?”

Mrs. Carolyn asks me to escort him to the door.

When I return, Autumn is checking out books on her own for other kids. One girl has a graphic novel. The next one is reading romance. I'd say they were C students. Maybe worse.

“Adonis?”

“Yes?”

Spinning side to side in a wooden chair, Autumn holds up a chess piece. A king. “I like it that you never say
huh
— even though I do. And you never say
yeah
.
Yes
is nice.”

What is she talking about?

“You ain't say —”

I let her know that I never say
ain't
.

It's her favorite word, she says, pointing out that I folded one letter crooked. She holds it up. Without my permission, she turns it into a ball and trashes it.

“You want a coupon?” She jumps up running to assist Mrs. Carolyn, who has an armful of books. Returning, she picks up the conversation. “A coupon for my restaurant.”

“No, thank you.”

For the next few minutes she tells me all about it. That is when I learn that she makes dinners. Sometimes she sells them to teachers. What's my hobby? she wants to know. How can I answer? She is still speaking. “I'm gonna make Roberto a chess set made of cookies,” she lets me know.

She talks about chicken potpie. Red velvet cake. Asian almond chicken salad. Which would I like her to make? she would like to know.

I explain that I only like to eat my mother's food. As we pack our things to leave for class, she hums. It's a song I have heard before. I cannot think of the words.

I wish she would quit it. I have a headache. The first I've ever gotten at a library.