Smiles to Go (10 page)

I climbed out. “Bye,” I said to Mi-Su.

“Bye,” she said.

I shut the door. The car pulled away.

I looked down from the dormer window. Korbet Finn was riding a fish up and down the sidewalk in front of our house. The fish was orange plastic with blue wheels. A two-seater, with two sets of pedals. Korbet was in the forward seat. He pedaled furiously, back and forth, chin jutting out, churning knees boxing his chin. He didn’t even glance at our house. He acted as if he had nothing else in the world to do but pedal that fish. But he wasn’t fooling me. He was trying to impress my sister, hoping she was at the window, watching. Hoping she’d be so impressed that she’d burst out of the house and jump onto the backseat and go riding off with him. The pedals for the backseat went round and round by themselves, no feet to push them.

PD164

I
feel like I’m playing chess in water. The pieces keep floating away. I don’t know where things are. I can’t figure out tomorrow.

PD165

E
very day I hold my breath until I see her. Sometimes in class, sometimes in the hallway. I can’t start breathing until I see her smile at me. She always does, but the next day I’m always afraid she won’t. At lunch I’m afraid she’ll smile more at BT than at me. I’m afraid she’ll look at him in some way that she doesn’t look at me. I’m afraid that when I go to bed at night I’ll still be wondering. I’m always afraid. Is that what love is—fear?

PD166

D
ormer-dreaming…

Night sky. Stars. Her whisper in my ear: “It’s the Horsehead, my darling. See?” I try and try, but I can’t see it. And the stars are going. All across the vastness of the universe the stars are winking out, winking out. And the empty pedals on Korbet’s orange fish spin faster and faster like a runaway clock.

PD167

I
sat in the auditorium today, last row, watching rehearsal. They were practicing a song about giving Iowa a try.

It was dark back there. Mi-Su couldn’t see me. She looked so happy. She threw herself into it and smiled her killer smile and acted like she was facing a thousand people on Broadway. Before I snuck out, for a minute, I pretended that she knew I was there. I pretended she was performing just for me.

PD168

S
he tore the top off her strawberry yogurt, smacked the lunch table with the flat of her hand and said, “I’m gonna be an actress!”

“Go, girl,” said BT.

“No, you’re not,” I said.

She stared at me. “Hello? Whose life is this?”

“You’re going to be an astronomer. You said.”

“That was then. Today I’m going to be an actress.”

“Movies?” said BT. “Or stage?”

“Hmm.” Mi-Su pressed her finger to her lips. “Stage. I love being close to my people.” She stood and threw her arms out to the lunchroom mob. “My people!”

Suddenly BT was standing on the table, dancing. Mi-Su joined him. She belted out “Give Iowa a try!” All across the lunchroom kids were climbing onto tables, most of them just seizing the excuse to clown around. Yogurt cups were hopping, monitors moving…

PD170

I
really enjoyed Monopoly last night. It was like old times, back to normal. Park Place was still Park Place. The thimble was still the thimble. BT still said “wheelin’ and dealin’” and Mi-Su still couldn’t stand anchovies. We just sank into the game and had fun.

PD173

I
read a magazine article Mr. Bontempo sent me. It’s about string theory. It says there might be another universe nearby, like one inch away from our noses, going along side by side with ours, but we’ll never see it because it’s in a different dimension. At the same time my mother was baking her famous Granny Smith apple pie. The smell was incredible. I sent a thought-message to the neighboring dimension:
Boy, you don’t know what you’re missing.

PD175

O
ne-month anniversary: The Kiss at Smedley Park.

No Monopoly tomorrow night. Because Mi-Su is having a party for the
Music Man
cast. Plus BT and me.

PD176

I
t seemed like half the school was there. When I arrived, the first thing I saw was a
Music Man
poster tacked to the front door. Inside, it was the smell of pizza and chocolate mint brownies, another dozen coming out of the oven every half hour. Cranberry punch and sodas. Get your ice cream in the kitchen and head for the dining room table to make your own sundae. Dancing in the den. Twister in the living room.
The Music Man
DVD running in the basement.

I started out hanging with BT. Most of the kids there were a grade or two ahead of me, so
I didn’t know them except by name. Of course, BT didn’t know them either, but he didn’t care. He waded into the crowd like it was nothing. I wanted to call out to him: “Don’t leave me!”

I grabbed a cup of punch and a brownie. I walked around. I tried to look comfortable. Mrs. Kelly was working the kitchen. Mi-Su was buzzing here and there, yukking it up, hugging. There was a lot of that going on: hugging. For no good reason that I could see. Show biz, I guess.

I never knew Mi-Su had so many friends. Everybody seemed so chummy-huggy with her. Packs of girls in relays headed up the stairs to her bedroom. I wanted to stand on the coffee table and announce: “Hey, people! I just think you ought to know that Mi-Su and I grew up together in this neighborhood! We’ve been close since grade school! She was my Valentine’s date! We went to Smedley Park! We kissed! And I don’t mean just a little peck either! So don’t go getting all excited just because she’s hugging you! Mi-Su Kelly kissed me! Twice!”

Rob Vandemeer drew a crowd. He’s the star of the show. He plays Professor Harold Hill, the Music Man himself. The girls flocked around him. Mi-Su handed him a broom, and he showed everybody how he’s going to strut out leading the parade. The others pumped their arms and tooted “Seventy-six Trombones.” When he finished, he didn’t just give the broom back to Mi-Su. He let her take the end of it, then he reeled her in till she was so close she was standing on his sneaks. Their noses were touching. Their lips puckered out like a pair of fish till they were touching, too. They broke apart, laughing. Everybody cheered (but me).

I finally found a kid I knew, a cross-country teammate, and I was talking with him at the punch bowl when I heard a familiar shriek. I looked in the living room. It was Tabby. BT was holding her upside down by her feet. She was wearing her blue cottontail bunny pj’s. I looked at my watch. It was almost ten. She should have been in bed.

She saw me. She held out her arms. “Will!
Help!” BT was dunking her up and down. I didn’t see my mother or father.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I came to the party.”

“Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“I sneaked out.”

Howls of laughter. A gaggle of girls rescued her from BT. They mauled and kissed and nuzzled her like they’d never seen a little kid before.

I heard the phone ring in the kitchen. A minute later Mrs. Kelly came out. She took Tabby from the maulers. “That was your mother, young lady. She found your bed empty and she’s not too happy with you and she wants you back right this minute.”

Tabby whined, “I wanna stay! Will, can I stay?”

“No,” I said.

Mrs. Kelly said, “Will, you’re supposed to take her home.” She waggled her nose across Tabby’s cheek. “You little sneak, you.”

I thought:
I’m at a party, and she still finds a way to mess up my life.

BT grabbed Tabby from Mrs. Kelly. “I’ll take her home.”

Mrs. Kelly said, “Wait.” She pulled one of Mi-Su’s jackets from the closet and wrapped it around Tabby. “You’ll freeze.”

BT slung Tabby over his shoulder. Tabby shrieked, “No!”

Mi-Su held the front door open, tweaked Tabby’s nose as she passed. “Bye, peanut.”

BT hauled his load down the walk, Tabby bellowing: “Let me stay! I’m a big kid! I can read! I wanna play Twister!”

As Tabby’s voice faded, Mi-Su closed the door and suddenly the center of attention was me.

“Oh, Will! What a neat little sister!”

“She’s so cute!”

“She’s adorable!”

I bit my tongue and let the fuss wash over me.

When BT returned, the attention shifted to him. Girls fussed. (He was now Mr. Carried Tabby Tuppence Home.) Even guys. (Mr. Skateboarded Down Dead Man’s Hill.) I was back to being Mr. Nobody. Which, really, I wouldn’t have minded if only I were Mr. Somebody to Mi-Su. But it was hard to tell. I
kept contriving to bump into her. A couple of times we managed to say a few words to each other, but then she would dart off to play the hostess. I started to feel like I was stalking her. Like a pest. Whatever confidence I had arrived with was totally gone. I had planned to stay after the others had left, offer to help clean up, finally get face time with Mi-Su. Now I just wanted to get out. I got my jacket from the closet. Two parades of make-believe trombones were winding through the house. They collided in the hallway. Everyone was laughing. Music was blaring. I felt conspicuous walking out the door, but no one seemed to notice.

PD178

I
don’t think I’ll watch rehearsals anymore.

PD183

H
ome alone today. I took Black Viper for a spin around the neighborhood. I zipped past Mi-Su’s house, forced myself not to stare as I went by. Black Viper was a whisper on the asphalt. The Stealth plane of skateboards.

Back home, I set up shop on the front step. I was installing shock pads I ordered from Fairman’s. They’re compressible foam, so they’ll hardly raise the deck. They’ll make curb jumps a little smoother and keep the wheel flanges from coming loose.

I was working the wrench when I saw Korbet heading my way.

“Hi, Will,” he said.

“Korbet.”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Tuning up my skateboard.”

“Black Viper.”

“Yeah.”

“Black Viper is the coolest skateboard there ever was.”

I almost chuckled. “You could say that.”

“Need some help?”

“Not really.”

“Can I watch?”

“Sure. Not much to see.”

He sat cross-legged on the brick walkway before me. He cupped his chin in his hands, stared intensely.
Give him a thrill,
I thought. I spun the wheels. He gasped, “Wow!”

I worked. He watched.

After a while he said, “Tabby wants to ride Black Viper.”

“I know.”

“But she’s not allowed.”

“That’s right.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

It felt like he was going to make a pitch for her, try to convince me to change my mind, but he didn’t. He said, “I wish I had a skateboard.”

“You will someday.”

“Know what I’m going to name mine?”

“What?”

“Tabby.”

“Why Tabby?” I said.

His chin bounced out of his hands.

“Because she’s hot!”

I bit my lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And she’s so pretty.”

Eye of the beholder. Something mean in me—or maybe compassionate—wanted to say, Look, Korbet, she doesn’t like you. Why are you wasting your time with somebody who hates your guts? What does she have to do, whack you with a baseball bat?

Then he said, “I love Tabby.”

My hands stopped. I looked up. He was still staring at Black Viper. He didn’t look like someone who had just announced his love. There was nothing special in his voice, just stating a fact, like apples fall down. I knew he was just a five-year-old, but I also knew he meant it, and there was nothing in this disappearing world that my sister and a hundred baseball bats could do about it.

“That so?” I said.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Don’t you like any other girls?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

I fit the front shock pad over the screws. Korbet’s tongue showed at the side of his mouth. He was staring so hard I could almost hear his eyes squeak.

“Start first grade next year?” I said.

His head bobbed up. “Yeah. I hope I get the same teacher as Tabby.” He stared some more, then said, “Will?”

“Yeah?”

“You think we’ll get the same teacher? Me and Tabby?”

“Maybe,” I said. Come on, make the kid feel good. “Probably.”

His face lit up. “Yeah!”

More staring, then: “Will?”

“Yeah?”

“I wish you were my big brother.”

Wow. I knew I didn’t deserve it. “Thanks, Korbet.”

“Then Tabby would be my sister and then she would
have
to like me.”

Oops. OK, let it lie. Let him believe it. Don’t say: Got news for you, kid—it doesn’t always work that way. She doesn’t even like
me.

I said nothing.

“Will?”

“Korbet.”

“If you were my big brother, you could walk me down the aisle.”

He meant the aisle in the auditorium at
Roosevelt Elementary. Years ago somebody decided that we’re always celebrating endings (graduations) and never the beginning. So now there’s a ceremony each September for all the little kids about to enter first grade. It’s called First Day. Each little kid walks down the aisle to the stage holding the hand of a big kid. The ideal is for the big kid to be a brother or sister who’s in twelfth grade. But any big kid will do. Sibling. Cousin. Friend. Parents and grandparents get all weepy. I guess I’ll have to go down the aisle with my sister, but I’m not exactly looking forward to it.

“Somebody will walk you down, Korbet,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

Neither of us spoke for a while. The shock pad was snug. I was tightening the last of the nuts when he said, “I love you, Will.”

Where did
that
come from? What do I say? “I love you, too, Korbet”? “Back at ya, Korbet”? “Thanks, Korbet”?
I stared at the wrench, blinking. Time passed. And then it hit me: he didn’t need an answer. Probably didn’t expect one. I swung my eyes from the
wrench to his face, and I saw I was right. I smiled. He smiled.