True (. . . Sort Of) (9 page)

S
unday, Brud Kinney was up with the birds.

He rode down the River Road, listening for the sounds of a boy and a ball. When he heard the
thump, thump, thump
, his legs pedaled like they were nuclear powered. He dropped his bike in the ditch and ran to the drive.

The boy heard him. He stopped and held the ball to himself.

Brud had bought a small pad and a pen at the IGA. He took them out of his pocket.

Want to play? he wrote.

The boy got his pen and pad. H-O-R-S-E, he answered. No Touch.

How about M-O-N-K-E-Y? Brud's paper asked.

Now Brud Kinney was no fool. He'd made M-O-N-K-E-Y up, so he could play one letter longer.

The boy looked at Brud. There was something different in his eyes, like a laugh. He walked away, dribbling the ball.

Brud didn't know what that meant.

The boy stopped where the foul line would be. He raised his arms and sent the ball through the air. It was beautiful. It was a basket.

He stood to the side of the drive. He was waiting for Brud.

Brud was so happy his legs wanted to jump and his mouth wanted to wh-wh-whoop. Just shoot the ball, his head said.

So he went to the spot. But Brud had too much happiness in him; he was wild with it. His shot went up, up into the sky, like a satellite. It landed on the garage roof and bounced into the woods.

Brud fetched the ball. Then he ran behind the garage to unleash some of the happiness. He jumped ten times. He shouted, “Whoooowee!” into his hands.

That'll do, his head decided.

His feet were still bouncing, though, as he walked back to the drive. He passed the ball to the boy.

Ferris Boyd shot from the same spot and sank it.

Brud tried again. The ball thunked against the backboard and clanged through the hoop.

“Y-Yes,” he whispered, and his feet did a little dance. This time his head didn't try to stop it.

It was longer till Ferris Boyd finished him off. Not just because it was M-O-N-K-E-Y, but because Brud was better.

Still, that basketball-loving Brud wanted more. As soon as the game was over, he sprinted to the boy. He stuck his pad in front of him. Again? it read.

The boy stopped at the stoop. He looked at the note, then at Brud.

It was a while waiting. Brud didn't mind. He'd wait forever, if it meant more basketball.

Finally, Ferris Boyd turned to the drive.

Brud knew what that meant now. He was too happy again. He bolted behind the garage. “Y-Yahoo!” he hollered into his hands.

When he came back, his smile was so big the two teeth were beaming. Ferris Boyd had to squint to see him.

Quit that, his head said, but Brud couldn't stop.

After he got M-O-N-K-E-Y, Brud raced to the stoop to try for one more game.

Just like before, though, Ferris Boyd had vanished. There was nothing but birds and that black cat around.

That was all right. Brud'd had all morning playing ball with the boy. He waved once at the door, See you next Sunday.

He rode into town grinning. The two teeth gleamed, almost blinding anybody who looked at him.

M
onday morning, Delly packed two extra sandwiches. She put the hammer and nails in her bag, and she carried a couple of boards.

“Those for your project?” RB asked.

“Yep.”

“Hmm,” he said.

At school, Ferris Boyd still kept to herself, and Delly didn't push it. She could take being alone and counting at school if she had her friend and the hideawaysis after.

Plus Delly was busy. She did her work; she wrote lists of supplies they'd need for their place; she drew diagrams of it all fixed up.

She counted when other kids were around, but now the numbers danced to a tune: “I got a friend, and a hideawaysis, too. After school I'm going there, so ya-ah-hoo.”

At recess she went to Alaska. She brought paper and a pencil. I'll design a Dellyvator, she decided.

It had been awhile since Delly and Danny Novello had gone at it. Too long for Novello. He missed her torturous touch.

He circled Alaska. “Dinky,” he sneered, “I could smell your stink from the steps.”

She set the paper down and started counting, “One, two, three—”

But Novello would have her. “I'm going to build you an igloo. I'll call it Smelly's Alaskan Stinkhouse,” he shouted.

Even with the counting, Delly's fingers curled into fists. She glanced at the Dellyvator drawing. All the plans would be finished with one fight.

She searched the playground for something to save her. Ms. Niederbaum was nowhere. But there was Ferris Boyd.

Delly leaped off Alaska. She raced toward the girl who'd shown her a world without trouble.

And he followed, like a giant gnat buzzing after her.

When they were ten feet away, Ferris Boyd glanced up and saw them hurtling toward her. Her arms flew in front of her. STOP, they said.

So Delly did. She flung herself on the ground beside her. “Help,” she begged.

Ferris Boyd's arms dropped, and she stared at Delly. She was telling her something, without words.

Delly couldn't catch it, though, with him screaming, “They got a chair for you in detention. It's called Stinky Dinky's seat.”

She threw her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. She had one second till she pounded him into tomorrow.

Then she heard it, under all the noise. She felt it, pinching in her pocket.

She jumped to her feet and faced him. “Novello,” she hollered, “do you want me to hit you?”

He was so surprised by the question he could only tell the truth. “Yes,” he howled. “Hit me!” Then he remembered his meanness. “I'd like to see you try, pipsqueak,” he sneered.

But it was too late, now Delly knew. He wanted her to pummel him.

“No,” she told him.

“No?” he shrieked. “You afraid, Smelly? Because you know you can't do it. You can't touch me.”

Delly wasn't afraid, though. She was free. She walked back to Alaska.

He trailed her, taunting, “Try it. Come on, Smelly.”

There was more yelling, then, from Ms. Niederbaum. “Novello, to the steps!” she commanded.

Delly sat on Alaska, smiling. Not because Novello was imprisoned, although that was nice. Because, for once, she was free of the fight.

All afternoon she Dellybrated at her desk. If the questions could keep her from pounding Novello, maybe she didn't need the numbers at all. She banished them to the back of her head. In their place, she had a song: “I don't need counting; I got questions, instead. And I don't fight. Yep, I'm doing all right.”

After school Delly ran to Ferris Boyd. “Hey,” she said softly, and fell in beside her, like they'd been friends forever.

She waited till they were at the bridge to ask, “Ferris Boyd, did you see? I didn't fight.” Then she told her, without saying a word, I heard you.

Ferris Boyd stopped and turned to Delly. Her eyes were still sad, but there was something else in them. Something like a smile.

It was only a second. Her head went down again, and she was shuffling along the road.

It was all Delly needed. Ferris Boyd had heard her, too. “All right then.” She grinned.

A
t the old Hennepin place, Delly was still telling Troubletales. Every afternoon, she'd take her spot on the stoop while Ferris Boyd got the bowl and the ball, and that bawlgram cat came running.

“Hey, Ferris Boyd,” she'd ask, “how about we skip basketball and go straight to the hideawaysis?”

But Ferris Boyd wouldn't hear it. She'd go to the drive and start making magic with that ball.

“Okay,” Delly'd say, as if she'd warned her, “Troubletale Twenty-two: the Nocussictionary,” or, “Troubletale Thirty-six: the St. Eunice's spitting contest.”

And her friend would keep playing, as if Delly could say, I got three heads, and a horn growing out of my back end, and it wouldn't change anything.

Later on they'd head to the hideawaysis. Ferris Boyd would settle into her corner with her book and the cat curled beside her.

Delly'd bring out the food she'd brought to fatten up her pale, skinny friend. She set two sandwiches between them. “Ma says I got to eat more, so I'll grow,” she told her, which was sort of the truth. She'd eat half of one and groan, “I can't fit another bite. Ferris Boyd, will you eat it? Or I'll get in trouble.”

The girl would stare at the food, then at Delly.

“Please,” she'd beg, and push it toward her. “Now I got to get to work.”

While Delly hammered, she'd glance over, and Ferris Boyd would be eating behind her hands. “All right then,” she'd whisper.

That first week Delly fixed the rails around the hideawaysis. “So no
people
fall out,” she told the cat, and it flicked its tail at her. She nailed the piece of metal on top of two branches, and Ferris Boyd had a roof. “Now you won't get wet,” she said. She put the cooler in a corner. She brought a box with a lock, and a blanket. “Oof,” she grunted as she hoisted them up the tree.

Friday, when she was finished, Delly walked slowly around the place. She touched the rails, the roof, the bark, and the branches. She sat in the corner across from her friend. “What do you think, Ferris Boyd?” she asked softly.

The girl gazed at all Delly had done, and her eyes were not sad; they were smiling.

Delly leaned back against the rail. “All right then,” she rasped.

The cat walked over to her. It turned in a circle and lay down with its soft back against her leg, like she belonged.

And Delly Pattison, finally peaceful, fell asleep.

She woke to the cat's tail whapping her. “Huh?” She yawned.

She heard the whistle from the other world. “Chizzle,” she sighed, and crawled to the ladder.

“See you Monday, Ferris Boyd,” she said. She didn't ask, because now she knew: she belonged there, too. “And I'll see you,” she told the cat.

The cat turned away like it didn't care, but its tail flicked twice at her.

Then she was running, through the woods, down the road, and into town, smiling so the wind whistled through her teeth.

S
unday morning, Brud Kinney's pad was already open as he walked down the drive. He held it up to the boy. G-I-R-A-F-F-E, it read. No Touch.

Ferris Boyd nodded.

Brud's happiness ran him behind the garage. “Y-Y-Yes!” he hollered into his hands. His fists pumped the air five times before he could begin.

And Ferris Boyd whooped him.

As soon as he got the
E
, Brud sprinted toward the boy, trying to get another game before he vanished.

But the boy wasn't running away. He was standing in the drive with his pad flipped open. Again, it read.

Brud's teeth flashed bright white.

After he got trounced, Brud turned to the house, expecting to see the door slamming for his good-bye.

Instead, Ferris Boyd was sitting on the stoop.

So Brud walked over. He pointed at an empty spot.

The boy nodded.

Brud sat down beside him.

Brud was used to sitting with someone and not talking. He wasn't used to the other person not talking, too.

He liked it, a lot.

Because people were always talking at him, like it was nothing, and wanting him to talk back. But it wasn't nothing to Brud. It was hard, and he hated it. He hated sounding wrong and feeling stupid. That never happened with Ferris Boyd.

They sat like that for a long time.

In the quiet, Brud could hear the birds. He could see them, too, swooping around the stoop. That's a lot of birds, he thought.

And one flew straight at him.

“H-H-Hey,” he hollered, and ducked. He glanced over at the boy.

The bird was perched on Ferris Boyd's shoulder, like it lived there. “Whoa,” Brud breathed.

Ferris Boyd and the bird were staring at each other. Neither one of them made a sound, but Brud could feel it: those two were telling each other things.

“Wh-Wh-What the . . . ,” he whispered.

The bird gazed at Brud and started chirping. It was telling him something, too.

Brud heard it, in his head. My friend, it said.

Brud looked at the boy. Mine, too, he thought.

Ferris Boyd turned to him, as if he'd talked. The blue eyes were surprised, then settled into softness.

Mine, too, Ferris Boyd told him, without saying a word.

The bird flew off.

But those two stayed, sitting in the warmth of the day and all the things they didn't have to say.

R
B Pattison had had enough.

He'd walked home every day with Cletis. He'd watched Delly stash things away, then haul them to school. He'd seen her be happy without him.

He'd given her all kinds of chances to come clean. “When's your project going to be done?” he asked.

“For the one hundred twenty-second time, RB,” she hollered, “I don't know.”

But mostly, he missed her. He wanted her back.

Monday morning, before they left the house, RB told Delly, “You go ahead. I'll catch up.” Then he smiled with just his lips, no teeth showing, which was wrong.

Delly was too busy thinking about the hide-awaysis to notice. She took off.

He caught her at the corner. He didn't speak all the way to school.

At his classroom door she started to say, “RB, you'd better keep walking with C—”

But he cut her off. “I know. Walk with Cletis. You got your project.”

That struck Delly as strange, but not enough to stop her. “See ya,” she said.

“Yes you will.” He smirked.

At three o'clock RB ran to Delly's class. He hid beside the garbage can in the hall. He waited till Delly passed him, then fell in silently behind her.

He followed the copper curls as they bounced to the back door. Outside, he saw her sprint toward that pale, skinny girl. He watched them go on together.

He could see Delly's arms waving. He could tell she was having a good time. With somebody else. “You,” he whispered to her so far away, “you got a friend.” He'd never been so lonely.

Then RB tailed them, across the playground, over the bridge, to the River Road.

Those two were moving so fast, they didn't notice the tiny boy tearing after them.

Delly was telling how Novello had tried to trap her again. “He was dogging me, Ferris Boyd, calling me Little Delly with the Big Smelly. So I asked him, ‘Do you want Ms. Niederbaum to send you to the steps?'

“‘Ms. Need-a-Brain?' he says. ‘She'd have to grow one first.'”

“And there's Ms. Niederbaum, right behind him.” Delly was laughing so hard she had to quit walking. For one second she was standing in the road.

The next second she was flying.

RB'd built up so much speed chasing those two, he couldn't stop himself. He plowed into her.

The Pattisons bounced off each other like rubber balls. RB landed on his behind. Delly ate dirt.

“What the glub?” she muttered. She flipped over to see what had slammed her. “WHAT . . . THE . . . GLUB?” she hollered at him.

RB was stunned, but not sorry. “What the glub?” he shouted. “What the glub you!”

They came at each other, yelling so loud their lungs hurt, “You're supposed to be with Cletis!” and, “You said you had a project!”

Still, Delly heard it: a scream without a sound. She turned, and there was Ferris Boyd, eyes bugging and ready to bolt.

“Stop,” Delly told RB.

He followed her gaze to the scared girl and was quiet.

Delly only had a moment. “Ferris Boyd,” she said gently, “this is my brother RB.”

The girl's eyes were wild, but she stayed.

“Sometimes we get mad,” Delly explained. “It doesn't mean anything.”

Oh yes it does, RB wanted to wail. It means you lied, and left me . . . But he didn't, because of the girl.

“We hardly ever fight.” She went on. “I . . .” Delly didn't want to say it, but she would for her friend. “I love him.”

Delly put her arm around his shoulders, and now RB's eyes were bugging. “We're sorry,” she said.

Ferris Boyd looked from one Pattison to the other. They had the same skin and smallness. There was a softness between them. She relaxed a little.

And with Delly's arm around him, the anger ebbed out of RB.

Till she said, “RB's going home now, so we can get to our project.”

“I am not going home!” he roared.

Delly glanced at Ferris Boyd; she was getting skittish again. “Bawlgrammit, RB.” She glared at him. “What do you want?”

“I just want . . . ” He started, but it was too hard to say. Because under all the angry, he just wanted her.

He turned to Ferris Boyd. “I want to come with you,” he whispered. In his eyes was all the sadness of knowing that even if Delly could be without him, he couldn't be without her. Ferris Boyd saw it.

Delly did, too, but she knew two Pattisons would be too much for her friend. So she said, “RB, you can't. She doesn't like people being close and . . . ”

RB couldn't hear her. He and Ferris Boyd were staring at each other, having one of those silent conversations.

Then he asked, out loud, “Can I come with you?”

Ferris Boyd looked deep into him. She nodded once and started walking again.

“Huh?” Delly about dropped over.

“She said, ‘All right,'” RB cheered, and went to follow her.

“Hold it.” Delly grabbed him. “You got to know the rules.” She wasn't going to let him wreck it.

“Okay.” He smiled.

“First, she doesn't talk.”

“Hmm,” he said, because Ferris Boyd had already told him something.

“And no touching.”

RB looked at Delly as if she were teasing.

“You can't touch her. She goes wild.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“And what I say goes.”

He pursed his lips, like that was too sour to swallow.

“What I say goes,” she warned.

“And Ferris Boyd,” he replied.

“She doesn't talk,” she reminded him.

“Yes she does. Just not like you.”

Delly couldn't argue with that. “All right then,” she said, and they ran to catch up with the girl.