“Blos wants to print a photo of us.”
“I think you suggested it,” he said.
She stared at Salman for a few seconds. “I forgot!” It had been her idea. She had told him to take a picture of the two of them, together.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
Salman touched the edge of the bump with the tips of his fingers. The bruise made his dark skin even darker.
“I ran into Rob Puckett and some of his friends,” he said.
“This morning?”
“No. Last night.”
“Does it hurt?”
Salman smiled. “Not too much.”
She reached up with the tips of her fingers and sensed the heat of his face without even touching it. She wished that she could make the hurt go away with a touch or a kiss, the way her mother did when she was little. She let her hand drop.
“Lu …,” he said.
The bell interrupted him. He stared at her. He didn’t continue. She saw that he couldn’t. That was okay. He had said enough.
“We’ll talk at lunch?” Lu said.
Salman nodded, relief in his eyes.
“That sounds good.”
She smiled.
She remembered the warmth in his voice all that morning.
21—Salman Page
Without him with someone else
Salman seated himself in Ms. R’s classroom before he stashed the forms he still carried from the meeting into his pack. Ms. R had said they were supposed to be signed by a parent or guardian. He wondered if anyone was going to be around to sign his.
He found his Language Arts notes, printed today’s date, and copied down their newest writing homework: “Describe a place you know well, and whether this place is important to you and why.” Ms. R always gave strange assignments.
At lunch, the line moved slower than usual. Lu had already started eating by the time Salman made it to his seat across from her. Blos sat next to her, stiff with his bag unopened on the table, watching Salman the way a cat watched a bug before pouncing on it. Blos pulled a photo from under his bag.
“Ms. R says I need your permission to print it. Will you give it to me?”
Salman took the photo from Blos’s hands. He noticed how shy Lu appeared in it, with her put-on smile. Her light brown hair shone, reflecting the shine of Bird’s feathers. He almost laughed at the expression in her eyes that said, “Let’s get this over with quick, please.”
“Okay with you?” Salman asked Lu.
She shrugged and nodded at the same time. He slid the photo back to Blos.
“You have my permission, but I’ll have to get Bird’s first before you put his picture in the paper.”
Blos exhaled. “Okay.” He then emptied the contents of his sack, lined them up, and devoured them. He was set to run.
“I’ll need a copy to show Bird,” Salman said.
Blos paused.
“Take this one. I will print another one.”
Lu waited until Blos had left before asking, “How are you going to get Bird’s permission?”
“I’ll ask.”
She thoroughly chewed a bite of her sandwich before nodding.
Salman allowed himself to relax. He could be himself here.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. No one bothered him today. But his ankle continued to hurt whenever he walked on it too long, and he was grateful for the bus ride home.
His heart sank when he saw Ozzy’s old pickup in front of the trailer. Although the Royals’ absence had worried him, he had also enjoyed the respite from Ozzy’s vigilance and Tina’s chores. Besides, he was in no shape to work the garden.
But when he entered the trailer, he realized no work was planned for today.
Tina was sitting alone at the table, a glass of water, half drunk, in front of her. Her light hair flew every which way. Her shirt was wrinkled and stained. And when she lifted her head from her arms to look at Salman, he saw dark rings circling her bloodshot eyes.
“I’m going to crash,” she said. “We’ll talk later.”
Ozzy wasn’t there. As far as Salman could tell, he and Tina were alone on the property. Now, more than ever, Salman wanted to know what had happened.
As the afternoon slipped into evening, Salman grew hungry. He fixed a pot of rice on the stove, and a second pot to heat stewed tomatoes he’d found in the fridge. He was breaking a couple of eggs into a bowl when Tina ambled in from her bedroom, still wearing the same clothes, her eyes bleary but not as red. She took Salman’s slim hand in her large ones.
“Don’t you worry. The surgery went well.”
“Surgery?”
Salman wasn’t sure whom Tina was talking about. Did she mean Ozzy?
“He broke his leg—two places. They had to put a metal pin in.”
Ozzy broke his leg? How? When? Tina walked over to the stove, lifted a pot cover, sniffed, and stirred.
“The tomatoes are bubbling,” she said.
“The rice’ll need five more minutes.”
“Very good.”
Salman felt crazy. He still had no idea where Ozzy was, Tina looked a total mess, and here they were, discussing dinner.
“What happened?” he asked.
Tina replaced the pot cover.
“He drank too much yesterday.”
Ozzy drank too much every day, but Salman knew better than to say so.
“We had an appointment at the clinic. But when we got there …”
She paused and wiped a tear with the back of her hand.
“He stepped out of the truck and stumbled.”
Salman glanced out the window at the truck as if it could confirm what had happened yesterday.
“He tried to catch himself, and twisted …”
She wiped her eyes again with her other hand.
“He screamed and screamed. The attendant called the ER. And they had to take X-rays. And they wouldn’t operate until he was soberer.”
If they had operated on Ozzy and they had placed a pin in his leg, that meant he wasn’t going to be coming home right away.
“How long is he going to be there?”
“A few days,” Tina said. “They want to be sure there’s no infection. And they want to start him on rehab.”
Tina set the table. She laid out three settings. Salman watched her befuddlement as she stared at the extra setting and then put it back.
“Never been without him with someone else,” she said.
They ate in silence. Tina cleaned up, shooing Salman away when he tried to help.
“Do your homework or something,” she said.
Salman headed to his tiny room. He shut the door, grabbed his backpack from under the bed, and fished out the binder. He had the weekend to complete his homework, but there was nothing else to do—he didn’t dare turn on the TV while Tina was in the main room. She had made it clear that she wanted to be alone.
Salman reread Ms. R’s essay question. He had to think it through before he wrote—he didn’t have room for rewrites. Ozzy’d be back in a few days—once they started his rehabilitation.
Salman printed his name, the date, the class, and thought some more.
22
My bedroom is paneled with dark wood
Salman Page
October
Language Arts
TOPIC: Describe a place you know well, and whether it is important to you and why.
My bedroom is paneled with dark wood. The window, small, comes more than halfway up the narrow wall. It opens only a little, by sliding a panel sideways. Through it I can see treetops and the sky. Tonight I see the moon, cut down to the thinnest sliver.
My bed is narrow. But the sheets are clean and the comforter warm. The pillow is a little lumpy—but I don’t mind. My bed serves as the place where I sleep at night, the desk I work upon, and a storage cubicle for my shoes and pack underneath.
Against the opposite wall is my dresser. It has three drawers. It’s made of wood, a shade lighter than the
paneling. The finish is scratched, and two of the six handles are missing. But the drawers pull open smoothly, and in them I keep everything else I possess. The dresser isn’t very full.
On top of the dresser is a lamp. I like the lamp. It is small, about the length of my forearm if you laid it sideways. It has a plain, white shade. But someone worked hard putting the base together: with clear plastic and a silver metal, he (or she) made it look like part of a chandelier. Stacked over an imitation-marble base are large, crystal-shaped pieces separated by decorated metal rings. When the bulb shines down on the pieces, they reflect pink and green sparkles.
The lamp isn’t mine, nor is the bed, nor is the dresser. But the space within the room, when I shut the door and turn on the lamp, is private. The air I breathe, coming through the window, is mine. The quiet I hear is mine. The moments of solitude are mine. And so, although the furniture and walls and floor and door do not belong to me, my bedroom is important because within it, I keep me.
23—Puck
No sympathy
“So? Have you sown discord, Puck?”
I nodded. I had tried to avoid this audience. But King Oberon had sent a messenger, and I could not refuse.
“She is a target of bullies, milord.”
And so was the boy. But I did not tell milord. I had not told the queen, either, fear holding me silent.
“Excellent! And how does her relationship go with the boy?”
I was bound by the truth. “They are closer.”
“Ah.”
He was disappointed. The crow, on the other hand, had been thrilled. He thought the girl a noble creature. And his pleasure about their friendship should have given me some.
“Tell me more about the girl, Puck.”
I was careful with my words.
“She lives with her mother and father.”
He nodded. “Any siblings?”
“Yes, milord. Three brothers, and her mother is with child.”
“Really?”
I wanted to eat those words. His interest was too keen.
“Do not grow pale, Puck. How goes the brooding?”
No. No. No.
“The mother tires.”
“And the babe?”
No!
I did not respond. Oberon leaned forward.
“I asked you a question, Puck.”
“The babe is healthy.”
He was thinking. Thinking about the innocent babe in the womb. His thoughts would only bring ill. I had to distract him.
“Your Majesty, I have news from milady.”
“Queen Titania?”
“She knows that I report to you.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“And does she know you are betraying her?”
My voice almost caught in fear.
“I have not betrayed her.”
“She might not see your meddling that way, Puck.”
I had acted under his orders! He had meddled. Forced me to interfere. But this did not matter. Not to the king.
“And what, Puck, have you told her about me?”
His words were very quiet. Too quiet.
“Naught, Your Majesty.”
He nodded and stood.
“Very well. Then I order you, Puck, to tell the queen that if she does not leave this boy alone, I shall destroy what she holds most dear.”
’Twas the crow’s fault. A friend of my friend was also my friend. I had a duty to this boy. Oberon’s injustice overwhelmed me. And then I became foolish, a foolish Puck.
“The boy is innocent, milord. He has never asked for her attention.”
“But the queen showers it upon him. He must enjoy the boon her attentions provide….”
I shook my head. “He does not know she exists.”
“Then why?”
He clenched his fist. I was bound to answer, but I vowed silence. Any truthful answer would mean my end either by the king for its truth, or by the queen for my betrayal.
He took a step closer, and I wished to flee. But I could not. I had not been dismissed.
“Puck,” he said, his voice sharp, “the queen has no particular sympathy for this boy, does she?”
I shook my head. A truth that was not a betrayal. She had never told Oberon that she had sympathy. She only provided attention. Attention that drove Oberon to rage.
“He’s a tool,” Oberon said.
He looked at me.
“I shall not ask for confirmation, Puck.”
He turned, and in a flat voice he dismissed me. I fled in misery. My king and queen were at war, and I was torn between them.
24—Lu-Ellen Zimmer
It makes the coolest graphs
Lu was lonely. Lonelier than she’d felt since Frances had moved more than four months ago.
Something had changed, and she couldn’t figure out what or why. Other than at lunch when she ate with Salman and Blos, no one at school talked to her anymore. Even Ruthie seemed to be avoiding her. And now Lu had become the butt of jokes.
“Hey, Bird Tamer,” Bethany said that afternoon, “you’ve gone and caught a loon.”
“Caught him a while back,” Rob said. “Now she’s writing stories for him.”
Ruthie blushed. She must have told them that Lu had volunteered to write the copy for Blos’s photo.
“Your crow’s turned chicken, though,” Sean said.
“She hasn’t been giving him the right kind of feed,” Rob said.
Kids laughed. Lu was relieved when Math started.
And home wasn’t much better.
She tried, really tried, to be patient with Ricky. But he just wouldn’t let up.
“Jimmy says you hang out with jerks,” Ricky said.
“Jimmy is clueless,” she said.
“His brother says your friends are dummies, and you’re becoming one, too.”
“That’s enough, Ricky,” Mom said. “Don’t talk about people that way.”
Dad, who had come home early, was at the counter making one of his power shakes for Mom. He gave Ricky a dark look. That didn’t stop him.
“But her friends are weird,” Ricky said. “You saw that Salman guy. Jimmy says he’s a loser.”
Ron walked in, ready to be driven to fencing practice. Ricky tried to enlist him.
“You remember Blos Pease?” Ricky said.
Ron thought for a moment.
“Nope.”
“You know: wild orange hair, total weirdo.”
“Oh yeah,” Ron said. “What about him?”
“He’s Lu’s friend!”
“So?”
“He’s weird.”
“Let’s go,” Dad said. “We don’t want to be late.”
Ron grabbed his helmet and began following Dad out the door. He stopped at the threshold.
“You know, Lu,” Ron said, “hanging with weird people can be tough.”
“Thanks,” Lu said.
Right—thanks. As if Ron were telling her something new.
When Dad returned, he organized dinner and made Mom lie down.
“You’re not as young as you used to be,” he told her.
At the table, Ricky started up again.
“Does Salman really caw like a crow?”
“That’s enough!” Dad shouted.
Everyone tiptoed around after that. Dad almost never blew up. He really must have been concerned about something. Mom went to bed soon after.
When Lu tried to sleep that night, she tossed and turned. She felt exhausted, yet her mind raced. School sucked. Ricky was a total pain. And what was wrong with Mom?
Lu needed to calm herself somehow, so she decided to try a trick she had once overheard Dad tell Ron. She imagined the letter A, huge and bold, jet-black. Then she imagined it shifting from black to gray to white, then slowly fading until it disappeared entirely. Now the letter B. As C moved from black to dark gray, it sprouted wings. She noticed its eyes and beak—the eyes were friendly, inviting. They were telling her to follow.
She drifted into deep sleep.
A crash of thunder woke her.
She sat up—the house shook as the rumble of thunder continued, on and on. The sky was so dark, she figured it was still night. Then she noticed her alarm clock—the numbers flashed 6:58!
She jumped out of bed and had finished dressing when she remembered that today was Saturday. She let herself plop onto the bed.
An engine started up at the side of the house, and wheels backed over the gravel driveway. She leapt to the window. Who was driving the van at this time on Saturday morning, in the middle of a thunderstorm?
She met Ricky on the landing, still in his pajamas.
“Where’re you going?” he asked.
She was fully dressed, she realized, as if she were about to go out.
“Nowhere. Who’s in the van?”
“I dunno.”
“But I heard it leave!”
“I don’t know!”
“Quiet out there!” Jack yelled from his room. “I’m trying to sleep.”
She went downstairs, Ricky close behind. All the hall lights were on. The door to Mom and Dad’s room had been left open—she saw their unmade bed. In the kitchen, they found Ron eating a bowl of cereal.
“What’s going on?” Lu said.
Ron put his spoon down.
“Dad drove Mom to the hospital.”
“Is she okay?” she asked.
“Not sure,” Ron said. “Dad said the baby was arriving too early and they wanted to stop it.”
Lu sat on a chair. If Mom delivered the baby now, it’d be a preemie. Lu had heard about premature births—babies who were kept in intensive care, with tubes and monitors and specially heated cribs. What a way to start a life.
And some of them had all kinds of problems that didn’t go away.
She wrapped her arms around herself.
And what about Mom?
“I want breakfast,” Ricky said.
“Get it yourself,” she snapped.
Ron looked up from his bowl.
“Toast or cereal?”
Ricky said “toast” in a quiet voice. Too late, Lu realized that he was scared, too. He walked over to the living room and turned on the TV, letting the frantic music of some cartoon fill the quiet. Ron popped two slices of bread into the toaster and eyed his sister.
Come Fall Page 9
