The Graham Cracker Plot

by Shelley Tougas

  “I don’t want to go yet,” I said. “We just got here. Why’s Grandma crying? And what happened to your face?”

  “Baby, it’s all good. Grandma’s freaked out about nothing. It’s how she gets. But you got no worries, okay?”

  “What happened?” I tried to sound like my school principal, who I see when I forget my manners and talk back. She’s Mrs. Tell-the-Truth-or-Else.

  “Just a disagreement between gentlemen.”

  “You hit him back?”

  “You don’t think I’d just lay there and take it? Of course I hit them back. You should see their faces. Pepperoni pizza, baby.”

  “Them? More than one?”

  “Hell, they were small. Like Muppets.”

  “Did you see a doctor?”

  “It’s Club Fed! Free medical care. Dental, too.” His smile was swollen.

  “Dental?”

  He pointed in his mouth where a tooth was missing.

  I gasped. “Does it hurt?”

  “Truth?”

  “Yes. Complete and total.”

  He shrugged. “Not much.”

  “How can you get hurt in Club Fed? There are guards! Are they napping or watching cartoons or what?”

  “You ever see someone get bullied at school? You know, right under the eyes and ears of the teachers and janitors?” I nodded. That happens to Graham all the time. At recess Jesse Ellman yells, “Graham Cracker is a total slacker!” Sometimes he pushes Graham, too. That’s when I pretend to be looking at the sky. So do the playground supervisors. I’d say something to Jesse, but I’m just a kid! The adults are supposed to take down the bullies. Plus Graham acts so stupid sometimes. If you don’t want to be a bully magnet, then comb your hair and chew with your mouth closed and don’t wear the same shirt three days in a row.

  The Chemist said, “Club Fed’s no different than school. It happens. But it’s all good.”

  “It’s not all good. It’s bad!” I felt my chin shaking. This means I’m going to cry.

  “Well, there is one bad thing.” He leaned forward and whispered, “A terrible thing.”

  I was afraid to ask, but I did. “What?”

  “The Tooth Fairy. She’s not allowed in Club Fed. No special passes for fairies.” He pretended to be all serious; then he laughed.

  I rolled my eyes. “Right. Whatever.”

  “Can you smile for me? Please? It’s my once-a-month Daisy smile. You know what I do with it?”

  I shook my head and tried to hold my chin steady.

  “I make a picture of you in my head. Your perfect face. Today it’s gonna be your beautiful smile with your big brown eyes and those pretty braids Grandma put in your hair and your nails all done up. I memorize it all. Red sweatshirt. Little hoop earrings I gave you for Christmas.” I touched my earrings. “I put that picture in my head and file it away. Then when I need to feel good about something, I pull it out and look at it. So smile for me, okay?”

  I smiled. It was fake. It was lame. It was dumb. But it was for the Chemist.

  Grandma put her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go, baby.”

  That’s when I broke my first prison rule. I sat on the Chemist’s lap and eased my cheek against his swollen one. And I gave him the tightest gentle squeeze I could. He was so skinny.

  “It’s fine, baby,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

  I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to let him go. If I could just stay there, sitting on his lap, nobody would hurt him because they’d have to pry me off first. And nobody in Club Fed needs the extra trouble of pulling an almost twelve-year-old girl off her dad’s lap.

  “No extraneous touching and no lingering!” Aaron called.

  Grandma patted my head. “Let’s go, Daisy. We’ll get fries and a shake today. Carbs be damned.”

  “No.” I said it loud, but my face was buried in his shoulder. The Chemist gave me a squeeze and said, “We’ll talk Wednesday, okay?”

  “I want to know what happened.”

  “Daisy, you’re super chill, but Grandma’s a mess,” he whispered. “She needs to get out of here. You take care of the old lady today. Go shopping. Hey, if you act cute, she’ll probably buy you something. That’d be fun, huh?”

  “No lingering!” Aaron’s cheerful voice was less cheerful this time.

  The Chemist put his hands up to show he wasn’t the one lingering. I squeezed him tighter.

  “Let’s go,” Grandma said.

  “No!” I turned my face away from the Chemist and shouted at Grandma and Aaron. “I can hug my dad if I want! I’m not doing anything wrong. You can’t stop me!”

  Everyone was watching. Luci and the other kids shook their heads at me, and even Juan stopped picking his nose. Aaron pointed his finger and marched from the vending machine toward us. “Daisy, if you don’t release your father, I’m going to have to write you up. And that means you’ll be banned from visiting for six months. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “This is not school!” Grandma hissed to me. “Here you have to listen!”

  By now, everyone was watching, even the fed-mates. The Chemist tried to push me off his lap, but I hung on tight. “Time to be a big girl,” he said.

  “No!”

  “Daisy, this is your final warning.” Aaron hovered over the Chemist, and there was no danger of his buttons popping off his shirt from jelly-belly laughter. “You’ve got me on the edge of a cliff, here. Don’t push me over. Stand up now or I’ll have to write a report.”

  So I stood up, to show I was listening, but I kept my arms around the Chemist, like my hands were glued to his back. Grandma pulled on me while the Chemist pushed. They were both telling me to stop and let go and listen and be good. As the Chemist talked to me, all I noticed was how half his face couldn’t move. And the empty spot that had been home to a tooth.

  I thought about how Mom kicked him out before I was old enough to have memories, how she yelled at him for money and called him deadbeat, how his own dad left and never took him out for mozzarella sticks, how a judge didn’t care the explosion was a mistake, how fed-mates clobbered him for no reason, how the clerks at our visiting-day McDonald’s stop knew to give Grandma extra napkins because she’d cry instead of eating a cheeseburger, hold the bun.

  Aaron was going to give me the six-month visiting ban. I could see it in his mean eyes. Right then and there I decided to help the Chemist.

  I pulled away from Grandma and the Chemist and climbed on the table. And I screamed, “If any of you creepers hurt my father, I will come after you! I will take a stick and poke out your eyeballs and play marbles with them! And I will fill your empty eye holes with … with … worms! And crickets! My dad shouldn’t even be here! You’re all mad because you’re guilty and he’s not!”

  That’s when the other security guards poured into the room.

  DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

  I’m supposed to say I’m sorry I linger-touched the Chemist and threatened those guys and their eyeballs. So, here you go: I’m sorry I linger-touched the Chemist and yelled about eyeballs and worms. Okay?

  I am COOPERATING!

  You know what happened next: I got the six-month visiting ban, and the prison people called the County, and the County sent a social worker to see me and my mom. He said the County could help me cope with my troubles by paying for counseling, but Mom said the County just wants in our business again. We’d had enough of the County.

  After we got the papers for the visiting ban, Grandma and I drove back to her house. I couldn’t erase what I’d done at the prison. But I wondered if the prison people might forgive me.

  “Can you call the lawyer who gave me to you once a month? Maybe he can fix this mess.”

  She sniffled and said, “Please see if there’s a napkin in the glove compartment.” I found one, and she drove with one hand and blew her nose into the napkin. Then she said, “Daisy, I’m afraid he’s going to get hurt, really hurt. He’s not like them. He’s a sweet boy.”

  “Eithe
r tell me what happened or stop talking about it.” My chin was shaking again.

  She sighed. “Some of the men there don’t like him. Your father can be a smart talker, you know. He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “They cornered him and beat him up.”

  “But why?”

  “Because they’re a bunch of thugs!”

  “It’s Club Fed.” My voice turned into a yell. “You said killers and stranglers and stabbers don’t go there! You said it’s like getting a time out in your bedroom.”

  “It is. But it’s also for people who committed drug crimes. And they’re not always the nicest.”

  My heart flopped around because I’d been tricked. Grandma and Mom said he could take classes and work out and see movies on Friday nights. They left out the part about not-nice people and drugs.

  Grandma squeezed my hand. “He’s got you and he’s got me. We’re his family. We have to take care of him. I know that’s what you were trying to do today. You were brave. It wasn’t the smartest plan, honey, but it was brave. And I love you for it.”

  “You’re not too mad?”

  “No. Just incredibly sad. But we’ll think of something, right?”

  I squeezed her hand back. “We’ll think of something.”

  * * *

  So Grandma didn’t exactly order me to break the Chemist out of prison. But she told me I was brave and that we had to take care of him. That translates, don’t you think?

  DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

  I will tell you three things about Graham Hassler aka Graham Cracker.

  Number one: He is a pain in my butt! Our moms have been friends since Graham and me went to the Head Start preschool. They’ve always wanted us to be buddies, too, but he drives me crazy, and we argue all the time. You know how when moms get together, they make jokes about their kids going to prom and getting married? Well, our moms joke about our future divorce.

  Number two: Graham wanted to run away. He hates school. He hates wearing thrift-store jeans that don’t cover his socks. He hates the extra hours his mom works on account of their electricity getting turned off. When we stood at the bus stop, if Graham wasn’t talking about football or snakes or cowboys, he was always making plans to run away. Living in the mountains, by the ocean, or in Australia. Working as a samurai, singer, or horse trainer. He always had a new plot; always something better than here.

  Number three: Graham is a pest to me, but he’s a big chicken with everyone else. He puts stuff in my desk like wrinkled carrots and spitballs and even stinky socks! Then he laughs and laughs. But he hides from Jesse Ellman, the jerk who yells, “Hey Graham Cracker, you forget your deodorant today? Cuz you smell like trash. Oh, wait, you are trash!” Graham should kick him in the shins; that’s what I’d do.

  Security Guard Aaron says I pushed him over a cliff, and that’s why he gave me the visiting ban. Well, I got pushed over a cliff, too. You could say Aaron took me to the cliff when he banned me from visiting for six months, and Grandma walked me toward the edge when she told me to help the Chemist. But Graham pushed me. Don’t yell about taking responsibility until you hear the whole thing. You’ll see.

  * * *

  The next week, I was sitting on a swing at the River Estates playground, which is no playground. The slide is metal. It soaks the sun and burns your legs in the summer. You scoot fast at the top, but you slam to a stop because the bottom is sticky. I scrubbed that spot with soapy water, and it’s still sticky. There’s also a teeter-totter that gives me splinters, three swings that creak and moan, and a sandbox without any sand. I refuse to say playground. I call it a play dump.

  It’s like calling the prison Club Fed. Giving something bad a nice name or a funny name doesn’t change it. Defecate is a fancy word for poop—the Chemist told me that—but it doesn’t cover up the stink. Take River Estates Mobile Home Park as an example. To me, estates says a neighborhood with brick houses that have shiny grills on the decks and people who take down their Christmas lights before June. But it’s not. The places here are saggy and rusty and embarrassed. There isn’t even a river by River Estates Mobile Home Park!

  There I was, swinging and waiting for Mom to finish work. I heard a door slam behind me, and a few seconds later Graham was on the swing next to me singsonging, “I know something you don’t know!”

  I pumped my legs faster and ignored him. Why did his trailer have to be next to the play dump? I couldn’t get a second alone on that swing.

  “I know something you don’t know.” He was louder and more sing-y. “And it’s about yooooouuuu. So do you wanna know? Do you?”

  “I don’t care.” If I acted like I wanted to know, he would stretch it out forever.

  “Do you wanna know?”

  “Not really. But whatever.”

  Graham pumped his legs to keep up with me. For a moment there was nothing but the sounds of the swings creak-squeaking. Then he said, “You’re going to stay with us for a week because your mom’s going on vacation!”

  I made stiff legs and dug my feet into the ground. My swing groaned and stopped. “What?”

  “Your mom asked my mom if we’d watch you for a week. Alex is taking her to a resort in Mexico. I guess they want some kissing time.” He made lip smooches. “And you don’t get to go.”

  “You better be wrong!” I shouted.

  Alex is ancient. He’s at least forty, and he’s got a little ring of black-and-gray hair around his head. He’s been dating Mom for a year. Her other boyfriends treated me like a pest. Mom always said I’m more important than men, but that was bull. She’d hang on them, they’d both ignore me, and then Mom would send me to bed early.

  But Alex is different. He calls me his buddy. Alex doesn’t have kids, so he said he’s counting on me to teach him how to be cool, which is our joke. So why wouldn’t they take me on vacation, too? His buddy? Mom’s more-important kid? Hah.

  “Hey, don’t blame me. Blame your mom and her stupid boyfriend. I’d be pissed off, too. I’d run away to the resort and get a job as a surfing instructor.”

  “You don’t know how to surf.”

  “Duh. I have to learn first.”

  “You probably got it wrong. You never listen, Graham Cracker!”

  He stopped swinging and kicked dirt at me. “I listen. I’m not deaf, you know.”

  Graham started talking about horses and snakes. My head burned. Mom on vacation without me! To a beach! She never went swimming with me because she said her legs look like sausages. I guess Alex likes sausage! Come to think of it, they go to the stadium theater without me on account of the R ratings. They probably pick R-rated movies so I can’t go. And Mom always asks Alex what he wants for supper. Chili. Lasagna. Italian beef. Doesn’t matter—she’ll stay by the stove until it’s done. But me? She just slaps fish sticks on the table whether I want them or not.

  Fish sticks, Judge Henry, fish sticks! They must always be on sale.

  DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

  Sure enough, Mom told me Alex was taking her on a trip because they needed some “alone time.” I wanted to tell her I was alone all the time and it wasn’t so great. I wanted to ask her what would happen if their alone time was amazingly fabulous and they stayed in Mexico. Would Mom ask the County to take me? A long time ago, the County threatened to put me in a foster home, which is a place for kids when their parents need parents. But Mom got her act together. She started going to the alcohol meetings with Kari, and Kari became her sponsor. That means Kari is the parent of Mom not drinking anymore.

  Then Mom got a job at the nursing home, and in the fall, she’s going to school to be a real nurse and I get a trampoline from her first paycheck. I reminded her that River Estates bans trampolines because they probably hate fun. Alex smiled all big and said, “Hey, buddy, there’s no ban on trampolines at my house.”

  Buddy? Whatever.

  I didn’t act sad or mad or anything when Mom told me about the trip. I
said, “Whatever.” And she said, “Is that your new favorite word?”

  I shrugged and turned on the TV.

  “You need a positive attitude,” Mom said. “You’re acting like a teenager and you’re not even twelve! Can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Whatever.”

  “You know, I’d like to talk to you, but talking involves two people actually talking. Not just shrugging and eye-rolling and whatever-ing.”

  “Why can’t I stay with Grandma? Why Graham Cracker?” The question was a waste of time, but I asked just to see Mom’s face crinkle up. That’s how mad I was.

  “Use his real name, Daisy.”

  “Why do I have to stay with Graham Hassler instead of Grandma?”

  “Because she lives thirty minutes away, and there aren’t any kids by her town house for you to play with.”

  “So? Kari works all day. It’s spring break. We’re gonna be home all day with nothing to do.”

  “You’re staying with Kari because she’s my best friend, and it’s easy. If you need anything from home, all you have to do is walk fifty feet. If you need any help while Kari’s working, Mrs. Mundez is six trailers away. She’s a sweetheart,” Mom said. Then she acted like she just thought of the best reason ever. “And you’ll have someone to play with!”

  “Great. A whole week with Graham.”

  She was still yackity-yacking when I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Mom sighed and texted something on her phone. Probably to Alex. Probably something like, Can’t wait to be alone!

  And me with Graham for a week. A person could go crazy in a week, you know.

  DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

  Everything fell apart the day Mom and Alex left.

  Graham and I were on spring break, so we had to hang out at his place all day. With nothing to do. Nothing! His mom told us to watch movies and make a frozen pizza for lunch while she worked, but Graham can never sit through an entire movie.

  “You wanna go outside?” he asked every fifteen minutes. His bangs were greasy and hanging past his eyes. He’d brush them aside, and they’d fall into his eyelashes again.