We trudged downstairs while Dad wrapped him up with an ace bandage. That took until three-thirty.
Before eight the next morning, there was a knock on my door. It was James. “I’d like to go home now,” he told me as I gazed at him, bleary-eyed. “My shoulder hurts and I want my father to take me to the hospital.”
“Okay,” I muttered, tromping down the hallway like a zombie. “Let me call and see if they’re awake.”
The Hobarts’ phone rang and rang, but no one answered. Great, I thought. My brothers have burned their house to the ground, or blown it up, or something worse. I envisioned the phone bleakly ringing in the pile of rubble which once was the Hobart home. “No one’s answering,” I told James. “Why don’t you watch TV for a while.”
Looking put out, James went down to the rec room. On my way back to bed, I met Mathew and Johnny. They’d awakened and discovered that James was missing. “Did James go to the hospital?” Mathew asked me, concerned.
I shook my head. “He’s watching TV. Go back to bed.”
“We’ll watch TV, too,” Johnny said, continuing down the stairs. I headed for my bedroom, then thought I’d better watch the boys. The way things were going, one of them was bound to get into some trouble.
I’ve never been so tired in my life. I was nodding off in the chair when the Hobarts decided they wanted cereal. So I dragged myself to the kitchen and poured them each a bowl of cereal. Honestly, at one point I put my head down on the kitchen table and fell asleep. Johnny, tugging at my pajama sleeve woke me up. “Cereal,” he reminded me.
“Right. Cereal,” I said as I poured milk into the bowls.
The cereal was greeted with groans of disgust. My mother buys low-fat milk. Apparently Mrs. Hobart uses only whole milk. The bowls of soggy cereal were left uneaten.
Meanwhile, my own family was sound asleep. Usually my household is up and chugging by eight-thirty on a non-school day. Not today. Everyone was exhausted.
At ten, the phone rang. It was Ben. “You’re alive!” I said, relieved. “Was it too horrible for words?”
“It was no problem,” he said. “They were great.”
For a moment I was sure I had fallen asleep at the table again and was having some bizarre dream. “What?” I asked.
“No kidding.”
“They didn’t destroy your house?”
“No. Mom made a special dinner and we ate it in the dining room. They told my parents about school and the Zuni pen-pal program. Adam talked about the plight of the Zuni people. He was very interesting, really.”
“Adam was interesting?” I said in disbelief.
“Yeah. So was Byron. He told us how he came up with the idea to start his own lending library. Then, after supper, Jordan played the piano for us.”
“Jordan played the piano!” I shrieked. “Ben, is this a joke?”
“No. Jordan mentioned that he took lessons and Dad asked him to play. He was good.”
“I bet Nicky was a terror, though. Right?”
“Nope. Later that evening Dad showed slides of our home in Australia. Nicky was super interested. He asked all sorts of questions. Dad was thrilled with him. Most people yawn through his slide shows. The triplets asked him some good questions, too. Dad was in his glory.”
“Ben, did you and my brothers get together and dream all this up? If you’re playing some practical joke, I’m going to kill you.”
“This is what happened,” Ben said, laughing. “Honest.”
“Keep going,” I said, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “How was bedtime?”
“No problem. They went right to bed. Then this morning we went downtown for breakfast at Renwick’s.”
“Oh, that’s why you weren’t home when I called. I bet that’s when your parents saw the real Pike brothers. I hope they didn’t have a food fight in Renwick’s or anything.”
“No. They ordered fruit cups and oatmeal and ate it all. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mal. They have very nice manners.”
“Good manners? Fruit cups and oatmeal? I’m losing my mind. I can’t be hearing this!”
“Is now a good time to drop them home?” Ben asked.
“I guess so,” I replied. “Tell your parents James might have to go to the hospital. He may have dislocated his shoulder when he fell out of the top bunk last night.”
“Oh, wow! But he’s probably all right. James is a big baby when it comes to pain. He always exaggerates.”
“He does?”
“Yeah.”
“There are so many things I never knew about your brothers,” I told him.
“How were they?” asked Ben.
Somehow, I couldn’t bear to go into all the details. “They’ll tell you about it,” I said with a yawn. “See you in a little while.”
Still numb with shock, I trudged out of the kitchen and back to the Hobarts. They were busy shooting rubber bands at one another. James had found a way to do it with one hand. Suddenly I wasn’t too worried about him.
Not wanting Ben to see me in my pajamas, I went upstairs to get dressed. My bed looked awfully inviting. Vanessa lay snoring lightly in her bed. But I couldn’t go back until Ben got here.
As I dressed, I thought about what had happened. It was too weird. It must be something about my house that made boys act zooey. Just like something at the Hobarts’ house made boys behave.
Maybe just having so many other kids around made the Hobarts wild. They weren’t used to it. Perhaps it was the relaxed atmosphere at my house. There aren’t many rules here. The Hobarts probably felt like zoo animals who had suddenly been released. But why had my brothers been such darlings? I guess they just had the sense to put on their company manners. It was more sense than I would have given them credit for having.
Once they were dressed, I rounded up the Hobart boys. I was just helping Johnny tuck in his shirt when the bell rang. “Your brother is here,” I told them, surprised to hear how happy my voice sounded.
As we walked down the hall, my mother appeared in the hallway already dressed. She smiled when she saw me. “Rough night with the angels?” she asked.
I just sighed and shook my head wearily.
The triplets and Nicky tumbled into the house, happy and bubbling over with enthusiasm about their night at the Hobarts’.
“Did you have fun?” Ben asked his brothers as he stood waiting for them to pull on their jackets.
“We had a great time,” said Mathew. “They have bunk beds and you can do whatever you want here.”
“We played lots of games and told ghost stories,” Johnny added.
“I hurt my arm,” James said sulkily. “But it was okay.”
Ben looked at me. “I have a feeling they gave you a hard time,” he guessed.
“Let’s just say I discovered that they’re boys, not angels,” I admitted.
“Told you so.” Ben laughed.
I waved as they ran down the walk. Then I shut the door and pressed my back against it. “Hey, Mal,” said Nicky. “That was a great idea. When are we going to do it again?”
“Never,” I told him. “Never. Ever!”
On Monday I reached gym a few minutes early. Ms. Walden was in her office. “Can I talk to you?” I asked nervously.
She nodded and waved me in. “What’s up, Pike?”
Taking my mother’s advice, I told her I’d like extra help in volleyball.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t want to pull a player out of the games at this point.”
“Okay,” I muttered. Why did I ever think I could talk to Ms. Walden? Feeling foolish, I turned to leave.
“Wait, Pike,” she said. “I’m glad you came in because I wanted to talk to you.”
“You did?” I asked, worried.
“Yes. I was going to offer you a deal. If you’ll play volleyball and try your hardest, I’ll ask Mr. De Young to talk to the boys on the other team and ask them to let up on you. I think it’s that Brooks kid who’s giving you a hard time,
isn’t it?”
“Kind of.” I was surprised — happily surprised. I’d tried to approach Chris Brooks several times in the lunchroom to talk to him, but I couldn’t get up the nerve. I didn’t know him, and anyway I felt dumb.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Ms. Walden continued. “Brooks is doing the right thing in terms of the game. He’s found the other team’s weakest point and he’s playing to it. That’s good strategy. So we’re only asking him to do this as a favor to you.” She looked at me and, for a second, her face softened. “It’s rough getting clobbered all the time. I can understand that.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Ms. Walden got up from her chair. It was almost time for class. “I’m meeting you halfway. I expect the same from you,” she said.
“Okay,” I agreed.
That was how I survived the next four sessions of volleyball. I tried my hardest, as I’d promised, and the other team (especially Chris Brooks) stopped targeting me as their key to easy victory. I did not grow to like the game, but I actually returned the ball twice. (Okay, so one time I returned it into the net. The other time I got it to teeter on the top of the net and then fall to the other side. It was something, anyway.)
Then, one glorious day, I arrived at gym to discover that volleyball was over!
“Don’t change into your gym suits,” Ms. Walden told the class while we were still in the locker room. “We’re going outside today to begin the archery unit.”
“Swell,” I grumbled to Jessi. “Now I don’t have to worry about being hit with a ball anymore. I only have to worry about being shot in the heart with an arrow.”
Jessi laughed and shook her head. “Hey, I’ve never done this before, either. I know I’m going to be terrible at it. I don’t care, though. It’s exciting. It’ll make me feel like Robin Hood.”
“Boy, you see the bright side of everything,” I said as we walked outside to the soccer field.
I was disppointed to find that although volleyball was gone, the boys were not. I didn’t even want to think about them armed with bows and arrows. The very idea terrified me.
Ten targets had been set up on the field. Ms. Walden told us to line up in groups of eight in front of each target. Each kid was supposed to shoot six arrows and then hand the bow back to the next kid in line.
After Mr. De Young delivered a big, long lecture about safety, it was time to start. Jessi and I ran to the back of one line together. Ms. Walden gave the command to clear the field (so no one would accidentally get shot), and then she gave the command to fire. Arrows flew through the air.
“Look, Mallory,” Jessi said as the shooting continued. “Everybody stinks at this. We won’t be alone.”
She was right. Arrows were flying everywhere — and most of them were not hitting the targets. It was a little frightening to see those arrows zooming around every which way.
When the flurry of arrows was over, and Ms. Walden had given the command to cease firing, the few arrows on the targets were mostly on the outer rims. Helen Gallway, who had been first on our line, didn’t have a single arrow on the target. “It’s nice not to be alone,” I agreed with Jessi.
Then Ms. Walden gave the command to retrieve the arrows. (Everything had to be done by command so that no one was still shooting while someone else was looking for his or her arrows. You can imgine how disastrous that might be!) Retrieving the arrows took forever. The arrows were all over the field. Some arrows disappeared altogether. I didn’t mind. I was in no hurry for my turn.
A good thing about being last in line is that you have a chance to see what the other kids are doing before your turn comes. Surprisingly, I discovered I was pretty interested in watching. There is something romantic and adventurous about shooting with a bow and arrow. It appealed to the writer in me. (Which is not something I can say about most things we do in gym.)
When Jessi’s turn finally came, she shot one arrow squarely onto the target.
Next to her, Robbie Mara couldn’t even shoot the arrow. It kept tumbling from his fingers onto the ground. “You’re squeezing it too hard,” Mr. De Young coached him. “Don’t hold the arrow with your fingers. Just let it rest there. Use your fingers as a guide.”
It was hard not to smile as that arrow kept tumbling out of his hands. He couldn’t get the hang of shooting. What a shame.
From three rows away, I heard Chris Brooks yell. One of the feathers had sliced his left hand as the arrow passed, giving him a silver of a cut. I know how much paper cuts hurt, so I could sympathize.
“Good luck,” said Jessi with a smile when she handed me the bow and the leather armguard which protected your arm from the bow string as it snapped back.
The minute I was holding the bow I knew I’d need luck. It was heavy! I strapped on the guard and then loaded the arrow as Ms. Walden had showed us. Like Robbie’s, my arrow at first kept popping off, but I loosened my grip as Mr. De Young had suggested and then it was fine.
Standing straight, I aimed and tried to draw back the bow. The string of that bow wasn’t going anywhere. It barely drew back a fraction of an inch and I was really pulling. Besides, I needed all my strength just to lift the bow.
I was struggling with this when Ms. Walden approached me with a slim bow made of green plastic. “Try this one, Pike,” she said. “It’s lighter and has a little more give in the string.”
I tried it and the string drew back easily. What a difference!
Ms. Walden gave the command to fire. I pulled back slowly, letting the arrow rest on my fingers, studying the target, trying to keep my arm steady. Zing! The arrow sailed from my bow … and flew right over the top of the target.
“You’re jerking the bow up at the last second,” Ms. Walden remarked. “Either stop doing that, or if you can’t, compensate.”
The next time I fired, I tried hard not to jerk. The arrow sailed over the top once again. So, the next time, I tried plan B. I compensated. I aimed below the center.
Whap! I hit the top of the target.
“Crook your elbow, don’t lock it,” said Ms. Walden.
“All right,” I replied. This wasn’t like volleyball. It was precise and concentrated, and I was in control. And there was something about that soft thud when the arrow hit the target that made me want to hear it again.
With my fourth arrow I aimed further down the target. This time I actually hit one of the colored lines on the top. Arrows five and six clustered by it.
Ms. Walden gave the cease-fire command, and then the retrieve-arrow command. “Nice shooting,” she said to me out on the field as I pulled my arrows from the target. “But you’re still locking your elbow, and next time compensate even more.”
Next to me, Glen Brown pulled one arrow out of the very bottom of the target. “Wow, you got three,” he commented, surprised that I had done better than he had. “How’d you do it?”
“Well,” I said slyly as I twisted my last arrow out. “It helps if you keep your eyes open.”
With that, I ran back to my line. I handed the bow and arrows to Helen Gallway. Ms. Walden advised her to use the heavier bow. “Did you see how Pike drew the bow all the way back under her chin, almost to her ear?” I heard her coach Helen as I trotted toward the back of the line. “Give it a full stretch like that,” she continued.
All right! I thought gleefully. Helen had to watch me! What a switch that was.
“Hey! Way to go!” said Jessi when I was standing behind her. “You’re a natural at this.”
“Not exactly,” I said modestly. “I was just lucky. It’s not like I hit a bull’s-eye or anything.”
“Give yourself a break,” Jessi scolded cheerfully. “That was the first time you ever shot. You really look confident, like you know what you’re doing.”
“I do?” I asked, pleased.
“Absolutely. If I didn’t know, I’d think you’d done this before.”
When my turn came to shoot, I remembered what Ms. Walden said. Concentrating on keeping my elbow bent, I
aimed below the target. The arrow hit. So did the next one and the next one. Each time I aimed lower, to compensate for the way I jerked up at the last second. Each arrow hit closer to the center. With my sixth arrow I aimed into the dirt.
It hit the bull’s-eye!
I’m not kidding. Dead center!
Ms. Walden gave the cease-fire. “Well done, Ms. Pike,” she said in front of the whole class. “It seems a shame to pull it out. Too bad we don’t have a camera.”
A small ripple of applause rose up. Everyone was looking at me. “Thanks,” I said to Ms. Walden, trying not to look too goofy as I stood there smiling.
Class ended before I got to shoot a third time. I was a little disappointed, but glad to end the period with a bull’s-eye to my credit.
“Pike,” Ms. Walden called to me as we were heading back into the school.
I didn’t know what she could possibly want. I hadn’t done anything wrong this class.
“Pike, I’d like you to try out for the archery team this Tuesday,” she said to me. “You have a lot of potential.”
Me? Try out for a team?
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”
For the rest of the day, all I could think about were the archery tryouts. On the one hand it seemed absurd. I didn’t belong on a team. Mallory Pike and teams were like oil and water.
But I kept seeing this picture in my head. It was me, standing straight and tall with the bow and arrow in my hand. It looked so right. I really, really wanted to make that team.
When I arrived at the Monday BSC meeting, Jessi had already filled everyone in on what had happened during gym. “It’s Mallory, the huntress!” cried Dawn as I came into the room.
“I don’t believe you’re trying out for the archery team!” Kristy cried happily. “That is so cool!”
“I probably won’t make it,” I said. “I just got lucky today.”
“Think positively,” said Stacey. “You can do it!”
“Sure you can,” added Mary Anne.
Mallory Hates Boys (and Gym) Page 8
