The Monkeyface Chronicles (10 page)

I raise my hand.

“Uh, yes, Philip?” he says, somewhat surprised. In his science classes, Mr. Springthorpe is more accustomed to the sound of pens scratching down notes than to any sort of human discourse.

“I've got a question about a topic from a previous class, sir.”

“Philip,” he sighs, “is this something you could look back in your notes and find out for yourself?”

“Well, actually, sir, I'm looking for some clarification on a point you made during our class on light and its spectrum.”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Well, sir, if I recall correctly, you told us in class that the colour brown is not actually a colour at all.”

Caitlin looks back at me, wide-eyed, her Little Colour Girl mask momentarily cracking. Adeline's face is still hidden in her textbook, but I know she's listening. I hope I'm doing the right thing.

“That's correct,” Mr. Springthorpe says. “Brown isn't a colour — it's just an impression created by our eyes and brains.”

“But, sir,” I say, flipping my science textbook open to the glossary section, “according to the definition you had us copy into our notes,
colour is the appearance of objects (or light
sources) described in terms of a person's perception of their hue
and lightness (or brightness) and saturation.
So, by definition,
colour
is an impression created by our eyes and brains. Brown is a colour, right?”

Mr. Springthorpe sits up in his chair. “Well, Philip, I suppose you've got a point there. But brown doesn't appear on the spectrum, so it's still not technically a colour.”

Caitlin smiles smugly.

“So, what you're saying is, in terms of
perception
, brown
is
a colour, but in
physical
terms it isn't.”

“Uh, right,” Mr. Springthorpe says, re-opening his
Sportsweek
.

“And this is because when you run white light through a prism and break it into its separate colours, you don't actually see brown light?”

“That's correct, Philip. Now, you had better get started copying that note.”

“But
yellow
exists on the spectrum, right?”

“Of course,” Mr. Springthorpe says impatiently. “Yellow is one of the primary colours, so . . . ”

“Well, from what I understand, sir, the colour brown can be described as our
perception
of yellow. For yellow light to appear brown, it . . . ”

“Did your father put you up to this, Philip?” Mr. Springthorpe snaps. “Trying to discredit the lowly science teacher?”

A few of the other kids snicker.

Outside my father's basement lab, on the same wall where all of his science degrees and awards are displayed, he does in fact have a framed copy of an article he once wrote on the topic of spectrography so I could have discussed the topic with my father. But I didn't.

“I read it in our textbook, sir,” I say. “It says that for yellow light to appear brown, it needs to be set against a background of higher luminance. So the colour brown is how our eyes and brains
perceive
the
physical
yellow wavelength of the spectrum when the yellow is darker than the colour that surrounds it.”

“Okay, Philip! You win! Brown is a colour! I'll change my overhead notes to say that next year, okay?”

Adeline still hasn't looked at me, but I can see that she's wearing a tight-lipped smile.

Trevor Blunt says, “Uh, will this be on the next test?”

Mr. Springthorpe just shakes his head and flips open his magazine.

“Sir?” I say.

“What now?”

“So we agree that brown is definitely a colour. But would you say that
black
is a colour?”

Caitlin Black grimaces. She doesn't like where this is heading.

Mr. Springthorpe slaps his magazine down on the desk and stands up. “Are you trying to test me, Philip?”

“No sir. I just want to be clear.”

“Okay, listen,” Mr. Springthorpe huffs, now addressing the entire class. “As Philip has already explained, you can define colour in
physical
terms, such as the wavelength of a particular colour of light, or in terms of
perception,
the way our brains interpret a given wavelength within a particular physical context. So, fine, fair enough, because we
perceive
the colour brown as a modified version of the
physical
colour yellow, then brown is in fact a colour. I stand corrected on that point.” He lowers his voice, like a stage actor delivering the climactic line of a dramatic soliloquiy. “Black, however, is a different story. In
physical
terms, black refers to a
total absence
of visible radiation. It has no wavelength. And if there is no
physical
stimulus, there can be no
perceptive
response. No
response
equals no
perception
equals
no colour
. Therefore, I can assure you all, with absolute certainty, that black is
not
a colour.”

It is the most succinct lesson Mr. Springthorpe has given all year. He sits down at his desk again, and is finally able to read his
Sportsweek
in peace.

Adeline takes this opportunity to glance back at me and smile. Her colour exists on the spectrum, and even if no one else perceives it, I do.

“Hey, Caitlin,” Adeline whispers, “you'd better not let Lara or Carrie find out that black isn't a real colour, eh?”

For a moment, when I see the expression on Caitlin's face, I feel bad for her. While Lara and Carrie continue to shine in 8-A, she's been sent down to 8-C, the Reject Class. While the other two live like princesses on the compound interest from generations-old natural gas money in their Victoria Park mansions, Caitlin lives in Cardboard Acres and qualifies as an Old Weller by lineage only. She's the one who most wants to be a Little Colour Girl, and she's just discovered that, scientifically speaking, her name isn't a colour at all. Perhaps, for just a moment, Caitlin wonders if she'll soon be in her underwear, running out through the cellar door of Lara's house.

But her black cat expression returns, and she hisses, “I don't give a shit what your
boyfriend
says, Adeline. Black
is
a colour, and I
am
a Little Colour Girl.”

Adeline shrugs and says, “
Know thyself
, Caitlin.”

The hallways reverberate with laughter and excited conversation. Christmas Holidays have officially begun. The idea of two whole weeks without school fills even the most Atheistic heart with a certain spiritual joy.

Adeline catches up with me as everyone surges toward their lockers. She passes, without looking at me, and says, “Want to walk home with me today instead of taking the bus?”

Keeping my eyes focused straight ahead, I say, “Okay.”

She whispers, “Let's wait until the halls have cleared out.”

Thanks to alphabetical order, Michael's locker is right beside mine. “Hey, Little Brother,” he says.

“Hey, Big Brother,” I say.

This is an inside joke we share. We both find it funny that he gets to be the Big Brother, despite me being the same size and weight as he, because Michael is four hours and thirty-two minutes older than me. Still, in the traditional sense of the term, Michael really is my Big Brother at school; my advocate, my protector, my advisor.

“Jake and Brian and I are going over to Toby's place to watch the Leafs play the Senators tonight. You want to come, too?”

“Did Toby invite me?”

“He won't mind if you come along.”

“I think I'll wait until I'm invited.”

“You impressed the guys in gym class today. You took a big step forward. Don't take two steps backward by meeting up with Adeline Brown.”

“Have fun at Toby's,” I tell my brother. “I'll come when I'm invited.”

He sighs and shrugs. “I can't help you if you won't let me, Philip.”

“I know you're trying to help, Michael, but I want to be welcomed, not just tolerated.”

Michael nods and says, “Fair enough.” He wanders away to meet with his buddies.

I linger at my locker, pretending to re-organize the stuff inside. When all the other kids and most of the teachers have fled the building, Adeline appears beside me.

The air temperature outside has warmed since recess. The thin layer of snow has mostly melted, and the playground is spongy and moist, making sucking sounds under our feet as we walk. We both leave our coats unbuttoned.

“Thanks for what you did in science class, Philip,” Adeline says. “How did you get to be so smart? You must have a genius IQ.”

“I'm not sure my intelligence is much above average,” I say, “I just
know
a lot. Not in the biblical sense of the word, of course.”

Adeline blushes and giggles. “Well, how did you get to
know
so much, then?”

“I read through several sets of encyclopedias while I was being home schooled. I just have a good memory for facts, I guess. But you know a lot about the Bible, Adeline. A lot more than I do. It's impressive.”

“I've read it a few times,” she says.

“I'll bet if you read through an encyclopedia set, you'd wind up knowing more than I do about
everything
.”

“We don't have any encyclopedias,” she says.

“You can borrow mine if you want to.”

“The only books allowed in our house are the Bible, and books about the Bible. Why do you think I still carry
this
around with me?” she says, holding up her
Bible Stories for
Children
. “At least it gives me something to open in front of me during silent reading time, while I think about other things.”

“Listen, Adeline,” I say, “I'll bring Volume A of the
World
Book
for you when we get back from holidays. Just keep it in your locker and read it at school. And when you're finished with Volume A, just give it back and I'll bring you Volume B.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Sure. And when you get to the last volume of
World Book
, I'll start bringing you my
Brittannicas.
”

A sunbeam breaks through a gap in the clouds, illuminating a patch of ground in the distance.

“Look!” Adeline says. “It's a Jacob's Ladder!”

“Is that what they call them?” I say.

“In the Book of Genesis – 28:12, I think,” she says, “Jacob had a dream where he saw a ladder extending toward heaven. Sunbeams are supposedly a reminder of Jacob's Ladder.”

“I always wondered where the name came from,” I tell her. “We've got something called a Jacob's Ladder in my dad's collection of science junk in our basement. It's basically a bunch of high-voltage transformers connected to a couple of long copper wires aimed upward in a narrow V-shape. When you turn on the power, these huge arcs of electricity climb the wires and snap at the top of the V. In old black and white movies about mad scientists, there's always a Jacob's Ladder snapping away in the background. It's kind of cool.”

The clouds shift, and the sunbeam gets brighter. Adeline sighs, and her smile melts away in the light. The mud makes a
glitch-glitch
sound under our feet as we continue walking. “According to my church, a Jacob's Ladder is supposed to be symbolic of a Christian's struggle to resist earthly temptations on the long climb to Heaven.” She sighs. “That's the big thing at our church. Resisting temptation. Avoiding fun. Every time I see a sunbeam, I'm reminded not to enjoy it.”

“You can come over and check out the Jacob's Ladder in our basement sometime if you want to,” I say.

“Philip, that would be . . .
SWEET MOTHER MARY!
” she yelps, as the mud in front of our feet explodes.

“You wanna be BROWN, Adeline?” A voice hollers from inside the fence at the other side of the school yard. “We'll MAKE you brown!”

The voice belongs to Sam Simpson. Turner Thrift and Brandon Doggart are with him, as are Lara Lavender, Carrie Green and Caitlin Black, who are posed with their hands on their hips like a set of fashion dolls.

“And you can be brown, too, Monkeyface!” Lara Lavender screeches.

Another burst of muck detonates a couple of feet behind us. Sam, Turner and Brandon are lobbing mud bombs at us.

“
Nail
them!” Carrie Green coaxes Sam, as he cocks back his mud-filled hand like a catapult.

“
Plaster
those fucking freaks!” Lara Lavender giggles, bouncing up and down beside Brandon.

Caitlin, whose honour they're defending, stands off to one side.

Adeline turns toward them, stretches her arms out wide. Has she lost her mind?

“Adeline, what are you doing?”

“
If thine enemy strikes one cheek, offer the other
,” she says.

My face is splattered with bits of mud-shrapnel as I bend to scoop up a handful of sticky mud. “
God helps those who help
themselves
,” I say. I press the mud between my palms into a tight, aerodynamic sphere. I hurl it hard. Turner Thrift yelps as it explodes against his chest. He loses his balance and tumbles backward onto his butt.