Quinn rolled his eyes.
“Mickey, you’ve still got plenty of computer time left,” her father noted.
“I’ll share my time, dear brother. What do you say, sweetie?”
“Ah, foof! I don’t want to share it with you.”
“Quinn, you always complain about Mickey teasing you,” Ms. Lee said. “Now she’s being nice to you, and you’re acting snotty to her.”
“She’s calling me ‘darling.’ That’s not nice, Mom.”
“Even if she is teasing, those are endearing terms. What’s so bad about it?”
“I just don’t like it,” Quinn huffed. “It sounds like … like a husband.”
“Oh my,” Mr. Andrews said. “We can’t have that.”
“I’ll share my Christmas candy.” Mickey stuffed her hands into her pockets, withdrew her tightly clutched fists, and thrust her hands toward Quinn. “I have some mints left.” Candy wrappers were visible between her clenched fingers. “Click on one of these.”
“We’re raising cyber geeks,” Mr. Andrews sighed to his wife.
“No, thanks.” Quinn stood up. “Okay, I’ll share your computer time. Let’s check on Peppy, first. Show me what you mean about him not playing on the wheel.”
“My birthday’s coming up.” Mickey smiled up at Quinn as they walked down the hall towards the staircase. “Soon I’ll be three days older than you.”
“Actually, Mickey, I’m three years older than you,” Quinn said.
“Three years?!” Mickey sounded impressed.
“I’ll always be three years older than you. I was born three years before you were.”
“Wow,” Mickey said. “That was smart of you.”
19
IT’S A GROWNUP THING
Quinn waved goodbye to his mother and climbed into the backseat of Neally’s car. He ran his fingers over the worn leather of the driver’s seatback. It felt cool and smooth, like the skin of a lizard he’d caught in Sam’s backyard.
Last night on the telephone Quinn had eagerly accepted Neally’s offer of a ride, even as he wondered aloud whether the thing in her driveway was truly a car, and not a misplaced yard ornament. Neally didn’t mind Quinn’s teasing; it was she who’d pointed out the cobwebs in the car’s wheel wells to Quinn. She’d whispered into the phone that if her dad gave them a ride to school, it would be one of the few times in her life she’d seen him, or anyone, drive that car.
Quinn couldn’t imagine why anyone would have a car and not drive it. But Neally’s family didn’t seem to have much use for a car. Neally walked to school, her mother took the train to work, and her father rode his bicycle everywhere, even to the grocery store. But today was special: Mr. Standers had a load of supplies to take to school for their class’s field trip.
“This is a cool car. It’s so …” Quinn searched for a better word than ‘old.’ “It’s a classic.”
“He means it’s old. Yee-ow!” Neally feigned anger when Quinn shoved his book pack into her ribs. “Watch the seat belt!”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be on time,” Quinn said. “I didn’t think the car would actually start.”
“Me neither,” Neally said.
“Me three-ther,” said Mr. Standers. “I’ve only driven it twice since we moved here, but it started up like a charm. Right, Neally?”
Neally made hacking noises deep in her throat, as if she were a cat trying to bring up a hairball. “Sure thing, Dad. Just like a charm.”
“It’s a 1975.” Mr. Standers stopped the car at the street corner and adjusted the rearview mirror. “These cars are built to last. Change the oil regularly and they’ll run forever.”
“Translation: we’ll never get a new car in my lifetime,” Neally muttered.
“How will the class be divided up when we get to the Noble Woods?” Quinn hoped to be in Mr. Standers’ group, but didn’t want to ask. Field trip assignments might be one of those mysteries that adults weren’t supposed to disclose to students.
“I’m not sure, Quinn. The last I spoke with your teacher she couldn’t decide between choosing the groups alphabetically, having everyone count off one-two-three, or …”
“If she still hasn’t decided when we get there, don’t say anything about which group you want to be in,” Neally said. “If she thinks we want it a certain way, she’ll do the opposite.”
“Oh really?” Mr. Standers said.
“I wasn’t talking to the front seat.” Neally smiled innocently. “But yes, really.” She looked at Quinn. “It’s a grownup thing. They think it builds character, splitting us up and not letting us be with our same group of friends.”
“Being with different people is how you make new friends,” Mr. Standers said. “You get to see people in a new way when you’re outside of your usual setting. You might appreciate people you never cared for or thought much about when you work together outdoors.”
“Superb point, Dad. I can’t wait to appreciate Brandon looking for a bathroom pass in the middle of the woods.”
“All right.” Mr. Standers cleared his throat. “No smart remarks from the peanut gallery.”
“What’s the peanut gallery?” Quinn asked.
“It’s an elderly person’s expression,” Neally said. “The peanut gallery was in the back of a theatre, where the old geezers used to …”
“Where dey put dem young whippersnappers!” Mr. Standers hunched over the steering wheel, as if he were one hundred years old. He smacked his gums and spoke in a high-pitched creak. “Dang young’uns make too much noise! Dad-gummit, who stole my teeth?”
The 1975 Volvo’s peanut gallery wobbled with laughter.
“You can put me with the peanut gallery,” Neally declared. “I don’t care what group I’m in. I can work with anybody.”
“Me too,” Quinn quickly offered. “I don’t mind being with kids I don’t know, even if there’s some I’d rather not be with.”
“I read you,” Neally said. “Matt Barker, ditto that.”
“He’s not my first choice.” Quinn tried to sound detached, as if he were considering the respective merits of PB&J versus tuna sandwiches. “But it’s no big deal.”
“Matt is a classic example of what I was talking about. What’s that flapping sound?” Mr. Standers pulled over to the side of the street. “The tarp is loose.” He unfastened his seat belt, reached out the window, and tugged at the rope that secured a duffle bag to the car’s roof. “Okay, where was I? If you got to see a different side of Matt, perhaps by working together to help restore a trail, or …”
“Watch out,” Neally whispered. “He’s using his ‘make-the-world-a-better-place’ voice.”
“… You might be surprised.” Neally’s father glanced over his shoulder and shifted the car into drive. “Matt could be a good friend to you, to anyone, if …”
“If he were on another planet,” Neally said.
“If he had a personality transplant,” Quinn added.
“All right.” The voice was stern, but Quinn saw that Mr. Standers was trying not to laugh.
“If he wasn’t such a complete waste of chromosomes,” Neally continued. “And a total disgrace to human DNA, and a gross example of …”
“No.”
Quinn had never heard that simple syllable spoken with such quiet force. Mr. Standers stopped the car in the middle of the street without pulling over to the curb, and looked in the rear view mirror at his daughter.
“You do not talk about people that way, even if you think about them that way. Never. And if you find yourself thinking about someone that way, then you change the way you think.”
Quinn held his breath, waiting for Neally to give her father evidence about Matt. She could tell what happened at the four square court, and Quinn could add so many other things. Neally stared into the mirror. She said nothing, but never broke eye contact with her father.
“Matt’s a strong personality, no argument there. I gather he’s been a bully over the years?”
&nbs
p; Quinn looked at his shoes, at his seatbelt buckle, out the window, anywhere but in the rearview mirror. Mr. Standers had resumed driving and was speaking in his normal voice, but Quinn did not want Neally’s father’s caring, perceptive eyes focused on him.
“It’s a shame, about Matt. In my experience, people give what they get in that regard.”
Quinn didn’t know what Mr. Standers meant, but he wasn’t going to ask for an explanation. By the look on Neally’s face, she wasn’t going to, either. Quinn knew he shouldn’t talk until Neally did. She’d been chewed out by her dad, and when your buddies get in trouble in front of you, you let them make the next move. You wait for them to act like everything is fine.
Mr. Standers turned onto the street that led to the school. “I’ve graded Matt’s papers, worked with his reading group, and done some one-on-one with him. He’s academically bright, if somewhat rigid. When I compliment his work he’s surprised and grateful, though he pretends not to be.” Mr. Standers sounded as if he were thinking out loud. “I don’t think he often hears the kind of words he needs to hear.”
“What kind of words?” Quinn’s curiosity overcame his sense of buddy-honor.
“Simply that,” Mr. Standers said. “Kind words.”
“There’s Lily’s mom, Mrs. L’Sotho.” Neally pointed to the school’s main entrance, where a slender, tall African women stood. “I bet that’s our line.”
“I’ll drop you off here,” Mr. Standers said. “I’m meeting Ms. Blakeman in the faculty lot.”
“Do you need help carrying the stuff?”
“No, but thanks for the offer, Quinn.”
“I’ve seen my dad carry a tandem kayak all by himself, over his shoulder,” Neally bragged to Quinn as they exited the car. They joined Sam and Tay and the other students standing in line by the curb. It looked as if their entire class was there.
“Why is she here?” Quinn glanced at Ms. Barnes, who was pacing in front of the No Parking Bus Loading Zone Only sign.
“She can tell we’re waiting for a bus,” Tay said.
“She can smell it,” Sam added, “like how rabid wolves can smell fear.”
“She’s not our bus monitor,” Quinn groused. “Can’t she find some sixth graders to torture?”
As if she’d heard Quinn’s suggestion, Ms. Barnes raised her whistle and turned her attention to the playground, where a group of older students loitered by the chain-link fence.
SSSSSSSQQQQQQQQQQUUUUUUUURRRRRRK!
“Whose book pack is that by the gate?” Ms. Barnes strutted toward the fence.
“I love watching her hassle sixth graders,” Sam said.
“I love watching her hassle anyone but me,” Quinn said.
“Have you ever seen her from behind, when she’s walking away from you?” Tay asked.
“I love it when she’s walking away from me,” Sam said.
“Look,” Tay insisted. “She has the weirdest shape.”
Quinn studied Ms. Barne’s retreating form. “Yeah, weird. She’s not exactly fat …”
“Groooooow-tesque!” Sam said gleefully. “Her head and shoulders and stomach are skinny, and then everything puffs out. I suspect there are mutant pear genes in her DNA.”
“It’s all that marching,” Neally suggested. “Exercising a muscle makes it bigger.”
Lily, who was in line in front of Neally, clapped her hand over her mouth. Arturo and Janos turned toward the sound of Lily’s muffled giggles. “Da!” Janos joined in the laughter, shrugging his shoulders at Arturo, as if to ask what they were all laughing about.
“She’s big.” Arturo pretended to blow a whistle, and wiggled his hands by his hips. “La Señora, nalgas grandes.”
Janos’ eyes swelled as big as cow pies. “Da, da!”
“How inspirational!” Neally pinched her nostrils, sounding like the counselor who came to class once a month to drone on about how different cultures are good and different drugs are bad. “Unity in diversity! We’re all multilingual when it comes to dissing our fearless leaders.”
20
KA-WINN
Tay “knew” it would rain. Ha!
Quinn shaded his eyes against the vivid rays of sunlight that sliced through the canopy of towering Douglas fir trees. It was a good thing that the bus driver had known where to go. Now that his class was there, Quinn thought about how easy it was to miss the turnoff to the Noble Woods Nature Preserve. How many times had his family driven past the big grove of trees, forgetting that a forty-acre nature preserve was behind it?
Quinn wandered about the parking lot while the adults got organized. The bus ride had been uneventful, except for Brandon getting pelted by wads of paper and even someone’s pair of mittens when he wondered aloud where a person might go to the bathroom if a person—not him, but any random person—had to go to the bathroom. Brandon noted in his defense that even in the woods, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
A laminated map of the Noble Woods was posted on a bulletin board at the north corner of the parking lot. Quinn checked out the map, which had faded and was covered with water spots. He returned to the bus, where Ms. Blakeman and Mr. Standers were dividing large plastic leaf bags, gardening tools, and work gloves into three piles.
Lily’s mother began separating the students into three groups, calling out names from a list Ms. Blakeman had given her. Mrs. L’Sotho’s voice was high and melodic, like Lily’s. She had the darkest, most radiant skin Quinn had ever seen, like the surface of a deep, cool, and mysterious pond. Is it possible to see your reflection in someone else’s skin? Quinn wondered.
Mrs. L’Sotho called out his name, pronouncing it in two syllables. “Ka-winn? Ka-winn Andrews-Lee?”
Quinn waved his hand. Mrs. L’Sotho waved back and pointed toward a group of students standing by the front of the bus. “Ka-winn, you will be with Mr. Standers’ group. This group is complete. Now I will call the names for Ms. Blakeman’s group, and you will please wait over there.” Mrs. L’Sotho pointed toward a large oak tree by the park entrance trailhead.
“Ka-winn! Ka-winn!”
Quinn winced to hear Josh mimic Mrs. L’Sotho. He slumped toward the bus, thinking of something his father told him: be careful what you wish for because you might get it. Quinn had wanted to be in Mr. Standers’ group, but his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw that Josh and Matt were also in the group. He leveled his shoulders and tried to walk tall. What would Mickey do? Look on the brighted side.
There were three kids in his group that Quinn didn’t know well: AnnaClaire, James, and Kristen. Quinn thought about what Neally’s father had said: maybe, just maybe, he’d learn something interesting about them. All he knew so far was that they were three of the quietest kids in class. AnnaClaire always had her face in a book; James drew pictures of dinosaurs on all his papers, even spelling tests; Kristen hated to draw anything, and once had to stay after class when she’d refused to help color the elephant’s tail for a wall mural their class had painted after their field trip to the zoo.
Looking on the brighted side, Arturo was in the group, and also Lily. Where was Janos? Who split up the Three Musketeers? Quinn spotted Janos in Mrs. L’Sotho’s group. Janos looked like a lost puppy, slumped on the ground, holding his head in his hands, sitting between Neally and Tay, who were engaged in a spirited conversation. Quinn spotted Sam, who was in Ms. Blakeman’s group, standing forlornly—yikes!—between Kelsey and Teena.
Click click, click click.
“Fifth graders! Welcome to the Noble Woods Preserve.” Ms. Blakeman raised her hands overhead as if signaling a touchdown. “Your fearless leaders,” she pointed to Mr. Standers and Mrs. L’Sotho, “have your project lists. We’ll all start on the southwest trail. My group will go to the North Meadow; Mrs. L’Sotho’s group will take the turnoff to Baker Rock; Mr. Standers’ group will stop at the wetlands boardwalk and the Rock Creek bridge. All groups meet for lunch at North Meadow, eleven forty-five a.m. Fearless leaders, synchronize your watches.” Ms. Blak
eman checked her watch, and her glasses slid down her nose and clattered to the parking lot. “Whoa!” She retrieved her glasses and straightened the frame. “Maybe if I super-glued ’em to my earlobes …”
Click click, click click.
“Everyone should have a trash bag and gloves. Your leaders have the tools for each group’s task, which you’ll begin as soon as you reach your destination. Fifth graders, ho!”
“Our ‘destination’?” Quinn watched Mrs. L’Sotho’s group follow Ms. Blakeman’s.
“Sounds important, doesn’t it?” said Mr. Standers.
“What’s our group gonna do?” AnnaClaire asked.
“We’ll be removing an invasive, non-native plant from the boardwalk,” Mr. Standers explained. “That’s the wooden part of the trail through a small wetlands area, by the bridge over Rock Creek. Also, we’ll … hey, Josh? Let’s stay on the trail, so we don’t trample the vegetation.”
Josh tugged at a vine curling around the base of a massive Douglas fir tree that stood like a sentinel at the side of the southwest trail. “What’s an evasive plant?” Josh asked.
“Road kill for brains,” Matt muttered. “Invasive. It’s invading. And non-native means it’s not from here, so it’s not supposed to be here.” He smiled at Mr. Standers. “Right?”
“That’s essentially correct, Matt.” Mr. Standers removed a field guide from his pocket. “Invasive, non-native species are those that are not natural to an area and are taking over habitat from the naturally occurring species.”
“My mother’s not a native,” Kristen said solemnly. “She’s from Minnesota.”
“Dude!” Josh looked at Kristen as if she had an X carved on her forehead. “Sorry, but your mom’s gotta go.”
“Giant Reed Grass, here it is!” The students crowded around Mr. Standers, who showed them a picture in his field guide of a tall, brown-gray grass with fluffy plumes. “Funny you should mention Minnesota, Kristen. Some botanists believe the Giant Reed Grass was introduced here from the Midwest, specifically the Minnesota River Valley.”
Kristen looked nervously around the group, as if she were about to apologize for something, Quinn thought. Then she saw the twinkle in Mr. Standers’ eye, and her face relaxed.
The Mighty Quinn Page 9
