They turn in their clubs at Blackbeard’s Souvenir and Snack Shack. “That was fun,” Caddie says.
“Maybe we should play again before you go home,” Mike says.
“That would be great,” Cooper says.
“Maybe,” Caddie says.
“Look,” Cooper says. He points at the shelves of souvenirs. Points at a flag that reads “Blackbeard’s Bounty.” Thinks of Tom and Huck playing pirates. “Is there money left over?”
Caddie shakes her head. “Just a few dollars. Not enough.”
“I’ve got it,” Mike says. “One Jolly Roger,” he says to the clerk.
Cooper does not want the Jolly Roger flag. Does not like the skull and crossbones. A flag of death. He doesn’t say anything. He must be polite. The flag is a gift from Mike.
Mike waves the flag as he hands it to Cooper. “Argh,” he says.
“Argh,” Cooper says. He holds the flag very, very still.
From the corner of his eye, Cooper sees someone running. A boy. A boy running with long legs—like a frog. Running across the highway. Running into the parking lot of Blackbeard’s Bounty. He sees his blond hair bouncing. Knows who it is before he sees his grin.
“Hey, man!” The Grinner yells. Mike looks up.
Cooper freezes. He wishes his spaceship could lift off with Caddie and Mike on board. He reaches for Caddie’s hand, so she won’t be left behind. Mike looks at them with startled eyes. Looks back at The Grinner.
“I thought I saw your Jeep. Finally got your license. Cool.” The Grinner is out of breath. “Hey, I wondered . . .” The Grinner looks over his shoulder. Up and down the highway. His long blond hair twists and falls on his shoulders. The Grinner puts his arm around Mike. Pulls him toward the parking lot, away from Cooper and Caddie. “Could you spot me some money?” The Grinner says.
Mike opens his wallet. “How much?”
“Like maybe a couple hundred?”
“Dollars? Are you crazy? I don’t carry that kind of money.”
The Grinner whispers. Cooper hears the word “vacation.” Mike looks at Caddie. At Cooper. Holds up one finger. “Just a sec.”
Tall Boy and The Grinner. Together again. They walk across the parking lot. Get into Mike’s Jeep. Shut the doors.
Something isn’t right. Something is wrong. Very wrong. Cooper stomps his leg one, two, three . . .
“Cooper, don’t,” Caddie says. “We have enough money left for ice cream. I’ll buy you some ice cream. Just don’t do that.”
Cooper isn’t hungry. But That Boy is. That Boy is hungry to run. Hungry to touch. But Cooper can’t run. He can’t leave Caddie alone. Not by herself. “Okay,” he says. He doesn’t want to embarrass Caddie one more time, but he can’t help it. Mike is with The Grinner. Can’t help it. Can’t help it. Can’t help it. That Boy pulls Cooper’s hands into the air. He reaches for water. The clean everlasting water.
“Just don’t do that, Cooper. Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Cooper sits down on a wooden bench. With Tezornaut vision, he can see beyond the souvenir shack to the road. Can see the police cars—one, two, three, four, silent, like prowling cats—roll into the parking lot. He reaches into the air. Reaches and washes. Scrubs and scrubs.
Caddie comes back. “Don’t, Cooper, please. Here. It’s an ice cream sandwich. It’s all they had. Please, Cooper.” Caddie peels the wrapper. Grabs his right hand. Puts the ice cream sandwich in his fingers. “Eat it, Coop. Please. Everyone is looking at us.”
Cooper shakes his head.
“Yes, Cooper,” Caddie says with desperate eyes. “Just eat it.”
Cooper takes a bite of the ice cream sandwich. Knows Caddie is looking in the wrong direction. Over her shoulder, Cooper watches the policemen get out of their cars. Sees the tall policeman in a lime-green vest draw his gun. “Caddie,” he whispers.
“What?” she says. When he points, she looks in the right direction.
Cooper imagines his throat like a drain. Imagines all the ice cream he has ever eaten in his whole life. Clogged. He feels the oxygen sucked out of the air. The crowd closing in like deep water. He cannot breathe.
The police officers circle Mike’s white Jeep. One holds a megaphone. “Get out of the car! Keep your hands up and get out of the car. Now!” The powerful voice barrels through the universe.
Caddie squeaks like a million fretting mice. She squeezes Cooper’s hand.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight policemen surround Mike’s Jeep. The leaping fish is caught in the net. Can’t get away. Nothing you can do about it. Arms point guns like spokes in a bicycle wheel. “I repeat, keep your hands up and get out of the car.”
Cooper’s muscles clench from the inside out. He tries, but he cannot keep his swallowed food a secret. He heaves and coughs. Ice cream splats to the ground. Spit strings dangle and drip. The crowd steps back. “Oh, Cooper,” Caddie says. She takes what’s left of the ice cream sandwich. “I’ll get you a napkin.”
The Jeep doors push open. Two policemen grab The Grinner. Two grab Mike. Spin them around. Flatten them against the Jeep. Mike’s eyes are bigger and whiter than Caddie’s the night of the fireworks. Whiter than milk.
Overhead, the sound of the helicopter. Thup, thup, thup.
But Mike is not the foe.
Cooper thinks of Jack’s dead fish. The racing turtles. The minnows, the worms, and the lobsters. All things trapped and scared. Mike is in danger and he can’t get away. Cooper wishes he had his cape. His helmet. This time he cannot do nothing. He must save his friend Mike.
“No!” he yells. “No!” Cooper charges for Mike’s Jeep. Charges for the policeman with his hand on Mike’s shoulder. Grabs the arm with the gun. “Mike is not the foe!” he yells.
Cooper’s feet lift from the ground. A gunshot. A crack in the sky. Cooper hears the gasp of the crowd—the air of the universe escaping. Feels the thunder in his chest. The gravel in his cheek. A burn beneath his eye. His arm twisted behind his back.
From the ground, he can see Caddie’s pink T-shirt. She pushes through the crowd with a paper napkin. A white flag. “No!” she screams. “You don’t understand.” The napkin floats to the ground. Brushes Cooper’s nose. Lands next to the Jolly Roger lying on the ground. Cooper sees Caddie upside down. He cannot wash. Cannot stomp his leg. Cannot embarrass her one more time.
“What’s your name?” the policeman shouts in Cooper’s ear. The policeman pats his pockets. His legs. “What are you doing here?”
The spaceship has crashed into a million pieces. A short in the system. No way to reach his people. No way for his people to reach him. A whisper floats from Cooper’s mouth. “Meep.”
The policeman stands Cooper on his feet. Cooper wants to run. Wants to count. His hands are bound behind his back. Caddie is crying. He looks down. He knows he has embarrassed her one more time.
Car doors slam. Three police cars roll away. Mike has disappeared.
Caddie whispers, explains. Whispers and cries. Picks up the Jolly Roger flag. Covers her face with her hands.
The officer walks Cooper toward the police car. His partner opens the driver’s door. Talks on the radio. Nods. The policeman releases Cooper’s handcuffs. When his partner opens the back door of the police car, Caddie hands Cooper the Jolly Roger.
Caddie rides next to Cooper. Behind the black gate. She holds his hand. Stares out the window. Cooper stares at Caddie’s kneecap. He can’t see over the bump in his cheek. The flag of death is tight in his hand.
Meep, meep, meep.
No one says anything. Not one word down the highway. Not one word the whole way around the lake. Not until the policeman says, “Here?” and Caddie says, “No, the next one. The red one that says ‘Mills.’ ”
Cooper’s mother stands up from her garden in slow motion. Weeds in her hand. She stands small beneath the giant Norway pines. Puts her fingertips to her lips.
One policeman opens Caddie’s door. The other policeman opens Cooper’s door.
Caddie tugs Cooper’s hand, lets it go. “C’mon, Coop. We’re home.”
Their mother trembles. The weeds drop from her hand. “Caddie, what happened?”
Caddie opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.
His mother looks from Caddie to Cooper to the policemen in slow motion. Cooper’s heart pounds. His face throbs. His mother puts her arms around him.
“Yes, officer,” his mother says.
She doesn’t understand it. She can’t believe it. She is surprised at Cooper.
“No, officer.”
She is sorry. So sorry. Someone could have been killed.
Killed. Killed. Killed.
Killed. Dead. Nothing you can do it about it.
Cooper cannot escape that word.
The police car drives away.
“I’ll have to call Dad,” his mother says.
Surprises come out of nowhere. Like a fly swatter.
Splat.
And nothing is ever the same.
Heroes
“I’m never going on another date as long as I live,” Caddie says. Her stomps into the cabin are louder than the squeak of the door. “I’m going to be a spinster and take up knitting.”
Cooper runs to his room. Does not mean to slam the door. He is sick to his stomach. He knows he will never eat another ice cream sandwich as long as he lives.
Lives, lives, lives.
Dies, dies, dies.
Gone, gone, gone.
He rolls up the Jolly Roger flag and puts it under his bed. There is nothing jolly about it.
He wants it far away. But he cannot throw it away. It is a gift from his friend, Mike. He must keep it as a reminder. He has tried to save Mike and he has failed.
Someone could have been killed.
Now he must work harder than ever. Work to protect the people he loves. Work to be good. Work extra, extra, extra hard to be normal.
Cooper feels like the innocent bad guy on TV. Nobody understands. Nobody knows the truth. He wishes he could change the channel. Wants to push the remote control. Find the show where he is the hero. Heroes never die, but they can be killed. Killed, killed, killed. There is a difference.
He taps on Amicus’s aquarium. Amicus lifts his head. Cooper gives him a food nugget. “You are a good, brave boy. Braver than you know.”
Cooper lays out his rocks on his bed, one by one: one the size of his fist, two smaller ones, and the tiny one, flat, like a nickel. He misses the biggest rock of all. The grandfather rock. He touches the rocks one by one. Touches them again. And again. Three times three. And writes in his notebook,
Sometimes it is dangerous to be brave.
Cooper grabs The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and reads. Reads and reads.
He reads until the sun hangs low in the sky. Reads so the world does not catch fire and burn.
Tom Sawyer and his pirates go swimming. They smoke pipes. Pretend to be dead.
Sometimes dead is better than alive.
The pirates hide from the townspeople and go to their own funeral. Hide, hide, hide. Tom and Huck find buried treasure. Old Muff Potter is innocent. Becky cries. He’s gone now. He’s gone now. He’s gone now. I’ll. I’ll. I’ll. Never. Never. Never. See. See. See . . . I’ll never see him anymore. Becky is sad that Tom Sawyer is dead. Cooper scratches out his words.
Sometimes dead is better than alive.
No. Dead is not better than alive.
Not for the people who love you.
Cooper thinks of Grandpa, Mike, and Mr. Bell. Mr. Bell is dying. Mike has been taken away. Cooper feels how Becky feels. Full of grief for someone he will never see again. The funeral in Tom Sawyer is supposed to be funny. Like a practical joke.
Practical jokes are oxymorons.
He thinks of caddis flies and pretend fishing. He knows the police were not an illusion. They were not a joke. They were not kidding.
He does not answer the knock on his door.
“Cooper,” his mother says softly.
“I am sleeping,” he says. Now he must sleep to avoid the lie. He closes his eyes. He cannot sleep. His nerves are on fire.
Cooper reads through the ring of the telephone and the sound of low voices. Through the bray of the pump and dishes clanking. He reads until Caddie goes to bed. His mother too. He reads until the cabin is dark and silent. Reads until everyone knows that Tom and Huck are still alive. He reads until Tom and Becky are lost in the cave. Becky is hungry. And no one can find them.
He cannot sleep.
Cannot stop thinking.
He cannot stop thinking the boathouse is like a cave. A cave dug into the earth on the edge of the water. Cannot stop thinking about what Mr. Bell said. Logic, preparation, and caution.
Cooper gets out of bed.
First, he gives Amicus an extra food nugget. Then he packs his backpack with a flashlight, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, his notebook, a pencil, and his pillow. He tiptoes to the kitchen. Packs graham crackers and juice boxes so he will not be hungry or thirsty like Becky. Takes the keys with the leaping trout keychain, the one with PM, for Patrick Mills, for Grandpa, from its hook in the kitchen. The keychain no one has touched in two years. He folds the checkered brown fishing blanket under his arm. Tiptoes across the cabin. Does not let the screen door slam. Or even squeak.
Fireflies pop and glow in the tall grass. A breeze rustles the oak leaves. Tiny waves brush the shore. Lap, lap, lap. They echo like whispers. The sky is clear and dashed with stars. Sagittarius the Archer stands guard. Moonlight shines through the tall Norway pines. Shines on the lake. Still and smooth. The moonbeam guides Cooper to the edge of the water. To the boathouse. To Grandpa’s fishing boat. Dark and underground. Like a grave.
No, not a grave. Not a grave. Not a grave. Like the cave in Tom Sawyer. Cave, cave, cave.
Cooper puts the key in the lock. Smells the boat before he opens the door. Smells the bitterness of old rubber tires. Damp wood. The cold, wet sand. Sweet pipe tobacco. The door creaks. Sticks in the sand. It will not budge another inch.
Cooper pushes his backpack through the door. Sidles into the blackness.
He touches the boat. The smooth, rounded wood of the hull. Feels the raised letters of her name, Mills’ Muse. Feels his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder. “Slow and steady,” Grandpa says. “That’s my boy.” Cooper sees his grandfather’s arms reaching across the water. Hears the snap of the rod. The spin of the reel. Hears his grandfather collapse to the bottom of the boat. Cooper didn’t mean to stand up in the boat. He was trying to help Grandpa. He was only trying to help him.
Cooper kneels by the front wheel of the boat trailer. Digs with both hands in the slit of moonlight. Digs and digs. He digs until his fingertips scrape something hard and cold. With all his might, he pulls the rock from the ground. A rock older than Mr. Bell. The rock his grandfather gave him. The one with the trilobite fossil. The oldest rock in the universe. The grandfather rock.
Cooper buried the rock after Grandpa died. After they took Grandpa away. When there was nothing you could do about it.
He holds the rock like a baby. Hugs it and rocks. Rocks the rock. “I didn’t mean to,” Cooper says. “I’m sorry.” From now on he will keep the ancient rock next to the other big rock and the two small rocks and the little one, the size of a nickel. The rock family will be as whole as it can be.
Cooper sets the rock on the seat in the stern. He climbs into the boat. Lays his pillow next to the rock. Covers himself with the fishing blanket. Hears the loon calling and calling. Waits for a falling star. This dark place is better than Grandpa’s room. It is Grandpa’s favorite place in the world.
He opens a juice box. Takes a sip.
Sip, sip, sip.
Lap, lap, lap.
Sleep.
A giant bug sputters in Cooper’s ear. He opens his eyes. Squints at the bright sliver of sunlight. He does not know where he is until he breathes. Sniffs. No, there is no giant bug in his ear. The buzz is a jet ski. Cooper remembers where he is. And he is hungr
y. He thinks of Mr. Bell. Logic, preparation, and caution. Glad he prepared, he pulls graham crackers and juice from his backpack. He could live in this boathouse cave happily. Forever. Except he would like to use the outhouse.
The bite of graham cracker crunches in his ear. Crunches like footsteps. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Just like footsteps. Exactly like footsteps. He takes another bite. Does not know he hears true footsteps until a kick hits the boathouse door and the door pushes against the sand. Light fills the boathouse except for a tall, black silhouette. He has a visitor. Could it be Mike?
“Mike?” Cooper says.
“We’ve been looking all over for you,” the happy voice says.
No. The visitor is not Mike.
The visitor is The Father.
And his happy voice is fake. Like the caddis fly.
Cooper doesn’t answer. His mouth is full of graham cracker.
“You scared your mother. She didn’t know where you were. She even called the police.” The Father puts his hands on the bow of Mills’ Muse. “I told her not to worry. I told her I’d find you. And here you are.”
Cooper didn’t mean to scare his mother. Did not mean to scare anyone. Did not mean to do anything wrong. He can blame That Boy. That Boy complicates things. That Boy wants to stomp his leg. Wants to wash. Cooper holds his knees together. Sits on his hands. Feels the graham cracker break into a million pieces beneath him.
The Father slides his hands along the boat’s gunwales to the stern. His shadow slides across Cooper’s legs. He pats the antique motor behind Cooper’s head. “You miss her, don’t you?”
Her, Cooper thinks. Mills’ Muse. No. He does not have to miss her. The boat is right here. The boat is not an illusion. Cooper misses him. He misses his grandfather.
“Me too. Whaddya say we take her out? Do a little fishing. We’re lucky it’s such a beautiful day.”
Cooper does not feel lucky. He feels like Jack’s fish. Baited and trapped in the net.
“I can help you with all this, Cooper. Whatever’s going on. You just have to let me.” The Father sighs. “Talk to me.”
Cooper cannot talk to The Father. Cannot tell anyone his secret. No one will ever understand. Especially The Father.
The Notations of Cooper Cameron Page 14
