Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment

by Sundee T. Frazier

  This is your chance.

  My thoughts whirled. I jumped, spun, and extended my leg behind me—pow!—just as Khal rushed in for a punch.

  I had jumped higher than I knew I could. My heel crashed into his face. Crunch.

  Khal collapsed. “Aaah!” He covered his nose and mouth with both hands and curled in on himself. Blood poured down his arms. It was all over the front of his do bok and on the gym floor. And it didn’t seem to be slowing down.

  I reached out to help him up. He jerked away, moaning.

  “Oh, man, I’m sorry, Khal. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’ll be all right.”

  The head referee nudged me out of the way. He and Khal’s dad lifted Khal and walked him to an empty chair at the judges’ table.

  Everything in the gym had stopped. The bleachers were silent. All eyes were on the main ring.

  I stood frozen, staring at the bright red puddle at my feet. A corner judge came over with a towel. “I’ll do it,” I said and kneeled to wipe up my friend’s blood.

  I kept my distance while they worked on getting Khal’s nose to stop bleeding. Khal swiped at his eyes, but it was obvious he was crying.

  Dad said something to Mr. Jones, then motioned for me to come over. Was he angry? What would he say? No doubt Mr. Jones was mad at me. And Khalfani, too.

  What had happened? Why hadn’t I pulled back?

  “His nose is probably broken.” Dad peered at me, his eyes two slits. “What were you thinking? Were you thinking?”

  I couldn’t even begin to tell Dad all that was going on in my head when I’d delivered that kick.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Dad said gruffly. “His dad’s taking him to the ER.”

  “Can I go with them?” I asked.

  Dad shook his head. “You need to stay here. Support the others from your dojang.”

  “But I want to go!” My chest throbbed as if I’d been the one who’d gotten kicked. The stinging behind my eyes came up on me so fast I didn’t have time to blink the water away. I turned my back to make sure no one saw. “It was an accident,” I mumbled. My plan had been to prove I was tough, and here I was, crying like a complete chump.

  The head judge called Dad over. Mom came up and put her arm around me. “You okay?”

  I planted my face in her shoulder. I didn’t care if it wasn’t the brown-stripe-warrior thing to do.

  When I looked up, Khal and his dad were walking toward the exit.

  Dad came back to where Mom and I stood. “The ref says technically Khal forfeits. You advance to the next round, but with a strong warning.”

  Mom’s forehead crinkled. “Sam, I don’t—”

  “It’s Brendan’s decision.” Dad waited for my response.

  “I don’t want to.”

  Dad’s face was still as stone. He walked over to the head ref to tell him I was done.

  I strode past the bleachers and headed outside. Morgan called my name, but I kept on walking. I pushed through the front doors of the Y into the bright, cool air. Khal’s dad and stepmom helped him into the front of their silver Mercedes. Dori climbed into the back. When she saw me out the rear window, she stuck out her tongue.

  I blinked and squinted against the sunlight, harsh even with the solid cloud cover, and stood there shivering, long after they had driven away.

  I called Khal first thing Sunday morning to see how he was, but his stepmom said he didn’t feel like coming to the phone. I told her six times how sorry I was. “Will you tell him?” I asked. “That I’m sorry.”

  “He should probably hear that from you, don’t you think?” Mrs. Jones said. Her voice snipped like the lab scissors we’d been using in Mr. H’s class to dissect sheep eyes. “You’ll see him on Monday.”

  My family had gone to Shari’s after the tournament as planned, but as far as I was concerned there wasn’t much to celebrate. I’d laughed a little when Gladys told Grandpa Ed about the time she got invited onto the stage at a Tina Turner tribute concert, but other than that I’d stayed quiet.

  Mom must have been able to tell I was still worked up about the whole thing. She came into my room Sunday night and asked if I’d gotten to talk to Khal. When I said no, she told me not to worry, that it would get worked out eventually. I said, “I know,” but I wasn’t sure how, especially if my best friend wouldn’t talk to me.

  Khal showed up to school the next day with a huge bandage sort of like an X over his nose. His puffy eyelids made him look sleepy and he had dark bruises under both eyes.

  I started to walk up to him to ask how he was doing, but he just glared and stepped around me. I glanced at the kids goofing off at their lockers, bit the side of my cheek, and kept on going.

  After homeroom, a group huddled around Khal, wanting to know what had happened. The rest of the week, everywhere I went I heard kids calling out things like “There goes Jackie Chan!” and “Don’t hurt me, Jackie!” Someone must have told an older brother or sister, because even some of the seventh and eighth graders started calling me Jackie when they saw me coming into school.

  The one person who wasn’t saying anything to me was Khalfani, my former best friend.

  Morgan was encouraging. “It’s not like you meant to do it,” she said on our way to Mr. Hammond’s class.

  I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye.

  “Did you?” We stopped outside the room.

  “No!” I bit the side of my cheek again. A bump had formed where I’d been chewing on it all morning.

  “I’m sorry. I knew that.” She looked at me sheepishly. “He’s still your best friend, isn’t he?”

  I felt my forehead wrinkle even as I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” It was time to change the subject. “Our report is due next Monday. Do you want to come over this Saturday to finish it? You could stay for dinner.” I had already checked with Mom.

  Morgan practically vibrated—I guessed from excitement—like a quartz crystal in a watch. “Definitely! I’m sure my parents will say yes.” The bell rang and we hurried to our seats.

  Whoa, I thought, realizing what I had just done. Gladys could never find out.

  Log Entry—Thursday, November 1

  Went trick-or-treating with Oscar and Marcus last night. I was Albert Einstein. Oscar was a magician. Marcus was a football player. Mom frizzed out my hair and put in flour to turn it white. I wore a bushy mustache, a lab coat, and goggles, and carried around a smoking beaker full of dry ice. It was my best costume yet.

  Didn’t see Khal. We’ve trick-or-treated together for the last two years, ever since meeting at Tae Kwon Do, but we didn’t even talk about it this time. Technically, we haven’t talked about anything since I broke his nose. I overheard him bragging to Cordé that he and Dwight David trick-or-treated at the army base, dressed like commandos with camouflage paint on their faces.

  Are Khal and I still best friends? The last few days it’s seemed more like we’re enemies. Like we’re the ones at war.

  Saturday, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror trying to get my hair to lie down. Maybe Dad’s pomade would help. I snuck into Mom and Dad’s bathroom. I couldn’t find the pomade, but I found Dad’s bottle of cologne.

  Excalibur?

  Dad was in the living room watching a football game. Mom was busy in the kitchen. I unscrewed the cap on the dark brown bottle and took a whiff. Not bad. I double-checked to make sure no one was around, then splashed a little in my palms and slapped my face, like I’d seen Dad do. I sniffed my pits. Better to be safe than sorry. I dabbed some under each arm.

  I went to my room to see what my lizard was up to. He was totally chill. Just hanging out on his vine. I wished I could be that relaxed, but my insides were jumping around like the contestants on this dance show Khal and I used to watch on BET … back when we were friends. “Turn on the charm for me tonight, okay, Einstein? Let her hold you without turning brown. Impress her with your dewlap. You know, that kind of stuff.” Einstein stared off into the distance, not paying any at
tention to me at all.

  When the doorbell rang, I took my time. I didn’t want to look too much in a rush. I took the stairs slowly, ran my hand over my hair one more time, and pulled open the door.

  Morgan waved to her dad, who waved back and then drove away. “Hi,” she said. She smiled.

  “Hi.” Something was different.

  “Umm … were you planning to let me in? It’s kind of cold out here. Not to mention it’s raining.”

  “Oh. Right.” I stepped back and she came inside, toting her backpack. “Where are your braces?” I asked, finally realizing why she looked different.

  “Gone!” Morgan beamed, except now the only thing that sparkled were her white teeth. “I’ve been counting the days for the last two months—basically since school started.”

  Dad yelled from the living room. “Brendan, shut the door! We’re getting a draft up here.”

  I shut the door while Morgan took off her shoes. Her teeth looked … nice. But I didn’t say so because compliments can be tricky. I’d learned that from listening to Dad compliment Mom.

  If I said I liked the change, then she might think I didn’t like the way her teeth looked before, but honestly, I’d never thought at all about her teeth—only her glittery braces. But now that I could see her teeth, I thought they were nice—straight and perfectly spaced, not too big or too small, like polished pieces of squared-off chalcedony.

  She sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  “My mom’s making pizza.”

  Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head. “It’s spicy, but not like pepperoni. More like perfume.”

  Uh-oh. The cologne. I jammed my elbows into my sides and shrugged as best I could with my arms glued to my body.

  “It’s not a bad smell.…”

  I turned with stiff arms and took the stairs two at a time, trying to get away from Morgan’s nose.

  “Hi, Morgan,” Mom called.

  Morgan followed me into the kitchen. She waved at Dad as we went by. “Hello, Mr. Buckley,” she said.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine, thank you. Hi, Mrs. Buckley.”

  Mom held out a platter of veggies with hummus dip. “I made a snack to hold you over until dinner.”

  Morgan took a celery stick. I passed. I just wanted to get to work on our report—and get away from my parents.

  Morgan crunched her celery, then ran her tongue over her teeth. “Wow! Nothing for the strings to get stuck in. It feels so weird!” She leaned against the counter as if she planned to stay for a while.

  Mom pushed the dough this way and that on the pizza pan. “So, how are things going for you at Eastmont? Do you miss being homeschooled?” Mom asked.

  “Not really … although I guess being in public school is kind of hard sometimes.”

  Morgan thought something about school was hard? I had just been about to go scrub off the cologne, but now I was curious to hear what else Morgan would say.

  “How so?” Mom asked.

  “Don’t tell my parents this … I don’t want them to have any reason to pull me out, because I want to be there, I really do … but sometimes—maybe a lot of the time—I don’t feel like I fit in.”

  “That is hard. Why don’t you feel like you fit in?”

  “I’m a geek!”

  At least she knew it.

  Mom laughed. “I don’t know about—”

  “No, I am. And it doesn’t even really bother me.”

  Wow—she didn’t mind being a geek?

  “When kids start talking about popular bands or songs or TV shows, I have no idea what they’re talking about. Sometimes I laugh and nod as if I do, but I don’t, and I don’t like being fake like that.”

  “Have you made many friends? Surely there must be some other girls who don’t care whether you know about that stuff.”

  “Honestly?” Morgan paused. She stared at the back of Mom’s head. “Brendan is my best friend.”

  What? Had she just said what I thought she’d said? I gulped. Blood pulsed in my ears.

  “Oh?” Mom was trying to sound casual, I could tell. “Well, he is a great kid.” Mom looked over her shoulder and smiled.

  I rolled my eyes. Morgan’s face had gone all gooey, like one of Grandpa Ed’s maple donuts. I got seriously interested in the hummus and carrot sticks.

  “How does your mom like her new job?” Mom asked.

  I interrupted. “We should probably get to work.”

  Morgan acted as if she hadn’t even heard me. “She loves it. She’s taking me out on her research vessel the first weekend in December. I am so excited!”

  “That sounds like fun,” Mom said.

  Geesh. Had Morgan come over to finish our report or to talk to my mom? “Hey, do you want to see Einstein?” Maybe I couldn’t get Morgan’s attention, but my anole surely would.

  “Actually, I was wondering if you’d let Brendan come with us.” Morgan looked at me. “I mean, if you want to.”

  My stomach flipped.

  Morgan’s gaze returned to Mom, which was a good thing because I was about to pass out. Morgan wanted me to stay with her, on a boat, for a whole weekend? And I’d thought pizza with my family on a Saturday night was a big deal!

  “Go with you?” Mom asked.

  Morgan nodded. “Yes. On the boat.”

  Mom glanced to where I stood stiffly in the doorway. “That sounds like a pretty big imposition on your mom while she’s trying to do her job.”

  “She already said it was okay. Believe me, she’ll put us to work. ‘Academic enrichment,’ she calls it. She loves teaching. She taught science for our homeschool group—that was seven kids. Two of us will be a piece of cake.”

  “Is that something you’d like to do, Bren?” Mom looked at me again.

  Uhh, yeah! I pulled my lips down, shrugged, and nodded, playing it cool.

  “Mom loves what we’ve been doing with our science project. She thinks Brendan is brilliant.” Morgan glanced my way, then looked at her hands.

  I buzzed from head to toe. I crossed my arms tightly and tried not to let the chain reaction that had been set off in my body show.

  “Well, I’ll talk to Brendan’s dad, and I’d like to talk to your mom about it, too.”

  “No problem!” Morgan flashed her big smile again. Her nice, big smile. She turned to me. “Ready to finish our report?”

  I was and I wasn’t. The whole time we sat in front of my computer (after I’d ducked into the bathroom to scrub off the cologne), all I could think about was me and Morgan on a boat, being scientists, together.

  On Monday, Mr. Hammond had reserved the computer lab during third period for our science class. We spent the hour filling out the online application, attaching our various photo and video files, and submitting our projects for consideration for the grand prize of five thousand dollars.

  “We should know who the finalists are by early next month,” Mr. H told the class.

  I was confident Morgan’s and my entry could win something, in spite of the big poo-poo-palooza in my basement. We had submitted a really good report based on our findings, with lots of practical ideas for methane collection and recycling that would definitely make the world a better place. That could save the world, really. I just hoped the judges would agree.

  Log Entry—Thursday, November 22 (Thanksgiving)

  Waiting to find out about the contest is torture! Also counting the days until I get to go out on the research vessel with Morgan and Dr. Belcher. It’s going to be awesome!

  I hold Einstein every once in a while now. He doesn’t turn brown. I think he actually kind of likes it. The other day, he climbed onto my hand all by himself. Today, I caught a spider in Mom and Dad’s bedroom and fed it to him. I figured it could be sort of like his turkey, since it’s Thanksgiving and all. It was gone in about three seconds flat. Mom was happy to know he eats spiders and said Einstein can help himself any time. I’ll probably give him one every now and then as a special tre
at. Spiders are a lot easier to catch than Einstein was!

  Khal and I are still not talking much. More and more it’s him, Dwight David, and Cordé sitting together at lunch and Oscar, Marcus, and me sitting somewhere else. Sometimes Morgan joins us. Marcus and Oscar seem cool with it.

  Finally, the big weekend for the marine expedition arrived, except I would only be on the boat for the day. Dad didn’t want me sleeping over with a girl.

  I’d wanted to tell him it was a research vessel, not some romantic cruise, but I kept my mouth shut. One day was better than nothing. Morgan’s mom was willing to come back in just to drop me off at the pier, which made me feel sort of embarrassed, but I wasn’t about to turn down the offer.

  In the car on our way to the marina, Dad asked how school was going.

  “Good,” I said.

  “Older kids giving you any problems?”

  “Nah,” I said. We passed the Tae Kwon Do studio.

  Dad spoke again. “Everything all right with Khalfani?”

  I felt as if I’d been injected with cola. I fizzed from head to toe. Not really, I thought.

  Khal’s nose was back to normal, but our friendship sure wasn’t. I’d tried to apologize to his face a couple of times. The second time, he just said, “Forget it, man,” but if he really meant it, then why didn’t he ever want to be my sparring partner at Tae Kwon Do anymore? Why hadn’t we gone trick-or-treating together? And why, when he’d shot off his launcher with Dwight David, had he invited Oscar and Marcus but not me?

  I had no idea how to make things right with Khal, and even less of an idea how to talk about it with my dad, so I just said, “Yeah,” and nodded my head. “Everything’s fine.”

  We pulled up at a stoplight. “He hasn’t been around much lately.”

  “Neither have you.” I hadn’t meant it to come out so strong. I sat stiffly, worried I’d crossed the line into backtalk territory.

  The car rolled forward again. Dad kept his eyes straight ahead. “I’ve been tied up, I know. But I’ll get a break over Christmas. We’ll spend more time together then. All right?”

  I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and nodded, but I wanted to say I wished he’d never gone back to school. I wanted to say I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep going in Tae Kwon Do.