Egghead

by Caroline Pignat

  "Em, your sandwich," I call. That kid would spend forever down there with that dumb rabbit.

  I sit at the table and bite into my sandwich, but I can't eat. I feel like I've already swallowed a ball of dough. It's just rolling around in my gut. I dunno why the ant farm bothers me so much. After Katie shot me down, I wanted them to lose, more than anything. But not this way.

  What would have happened if I had been with Shane this morning? I don't have to think about that too long to know I would have been holding Egghead's wrists, or wrapping the tape, or taking a shot. It makes me sick to think it.

  Katie looked so sad during the fair. I'd never seen her like that. Egghead managed, but I knew the truth. I'd seen it in his eyes when he was lying on the ground.

  He hurt. A lot. And it wasn't just from getting his butt kicked.

  I take the medal out of my pocket and look at my bronze reflection. I'd won lots of medals for sports but

  never for science. I should be proud. But I'm not. I know we don't deserve third. Egghead and Katie's project should have won first. It was the best one, before it got trashed. That would have bumped us down to fourth. And fourth placers don't get medals.

  "What's that?" Em asks, sliding into her chair. Salt lines mark her cheeks where tears dried. Looks like she didn't have such a great day either.

  "Just an award," I say, getting up to toss it, and my sandwich, in the trash. But I stop. "Here, Em." I slip the red and white ribbon over her head. "For being the best rabbit owner. Congratulations."

  Em smiles so big, she looks like she might burst. She can't take her eyes off the medal. She can hardly chew with that big, goofy grin on her face. Even I feel a bit better.

  Funny how something little can make such a big difference.

  William James Reid

  Salty Peas

  "Pass the peas, Will."

  He can reach the china bowl, but I pass it.

  Tick-tock

  Tick-tock

  The clock seems so much louder

  Since Mom died.

  Mom knew I hated peas.

  I'd get two scoops of potatoes,

  Slathered in hot gravy,

  Just the way I like it.

  Tick-tock.

  "How was your day?" he says, not wanting to know.

  His face is closed.

  Cold.

  Wooden.

  Like her casket.

  Tick-tock.

  "Fine."

  I open my mouth hungry for answers.

  Should I hurt this much?

  Did you love her too?

  Do you love me?

  He raises his eyebrow.

  And all I can say is:

  "Pass the salt."

  I eat my cold, salty, peas in silence.

  Just the way he likes it.

  Katie

  After the day I'd had, I thought things couldn't get worse. When I opened the front door and saw Granny's expression, I knew they could.

  Much worse.

  "Your father's in the hospital," she said, grabbing her coat. "C'mon now, I'll take you to see him."

  Granny was always matter-of-fact about things. If you got a bad haircut, she'd tell you. If she didn't like your friends, she'd tell you. She even told me when my armpits got sort of smelly this summer. She took me to Quinn's and bought me deodorant that smelled like baby powder. Although, after twelve years of proving I'm not a baby, the last thing I wanted was to smell like one.

  That was just Granny. She always spoke to me like an adult and never said "I'll tell you when you're older." But, as we walked to her car, something in her face made me think I didn't want to hear what she didn't want to say.

  My stomach sank as we came to the hospital doors labeled ICU. If Dad was in the Intensive Care Unit, I knew things weren't good. Granny squeezed my hand as we walked past Room 107 where Grampa had stayed. It must have been hard to see her only son grow sicker with the same thing six years after her husband had died. I squeezed her hand back. We understood. Neither of us wanted to be here, but both of us were glad the other was.

  Dad had been in and out of hospital most of the summer. During his last stay, the head nurse, Maureen, made me an honorary nurse. I learned how to take Dad's vitals: nurse talk for heart rate, temperature, and blood pressure.

  My shoes squeaked on the shiny floor as we traveled the long hall, passing one room after another. Each one held its own story, but the only one I was concerned about was in Room 112. I pushed the door open expecting to hear Dad's old, "Hey kiddo!" But he just lay there, hooked up to all kinds of machines, eyes closed.

  "Dad?" My voice sounded loud and strange, like it wasn't even coming from my body. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at me. He said something, muffled under the plastic mask on his face.

  Granny told him not to worry about me. That she had moved her stuff to the house and I'd be fine. My head was spinning.

  Why did she say that? Was he going to be in here long this time?

  Maureen came in on her silent shoes, checked a beeping machine and left. She didn't even say hi.

  Dad has been like this before. It's just another bad spell. Why is everyone acting so weird?

  Granny pulled up a chair beside Dad's bed and put her hand over his. Grampa's black rosary beads wove in and out of her old fingers like knitting wool.

  A sure sign that life was unraveling.

  With each bad spell, Dad's recoveries were worse. Slower. Longer. He hardly got the chance to get back to his old self before the next one hit. But he never gave up. He reminded me of a little kid trying to run up a slide, climbing and slipping and climbing and slipping. Never noticing how close they really were to the end.

  "Oh, honey ... the science fair. How was it?" Dad said weakly, starting to wake up a bit more. I wished I had a first place medal to show him. I even considered lying. After all, we should have won.

  "What happened?" he asked. He could tell something wasn't right. I couldn't lie to him. I just couldn't. So I told him. All of it. About the science fair, about Will and how people always picked on him, and how I always had to stand up for him or no one would, not even himself. I told him about Jenna, Shane, and I even told him all about Devan.

  "Why does it all have to change?" My voice cracked, but I did everything I could not to cry. "Why can't it just stay the way it was last year?"

  Dad smiled. "Katie, nothing ever stays the same. That's life, honey."

  "But I want it to," I said. I knew I sounded like a sulky little kid, but I really felt scared. My friends. My old teachers. My old school. My old life. I loved those things. I didn't want to let go.

  Maureen came in with her arms full of supplies. She unhooked the plastic bag hanging up behind Dad's bed and replaced it with a new one.

  "See?" Dad joked. "Even I need a change?'

  Maureen smiled. "I think your Dad needs to rest now." Nurse talk for: he is not doing too good. "Why don't you come back in about an hour or so?"

  Granny patted Dad's hand. "We'll be back in a bit, John. Try and get some sleep." Dad squeezed her hand and nodded.

  "Don't worry, Katie-girl," he said, stroking my hair as I kissed his cheek. "It'll all be just fine. I promise."

  How can he promise that? I thought, following Granny down the hall to the elevators. I wanted to win and make Dad proud. I wanted to protect Will from Shane. I wanted to save the ants. And I couldn't.

  We stepped into the elevator. Granny put her arm around my shoulder and my tears came as the door closed.

  Wanting something doesn't make it true. I know. Because more than anything, I wanted my dad to be okay.

  Devan

  Stopping at the table where Egghead is eating lunch alone as usual, Shane picks up a hard-boiled egg.

  "Let me help you with that:' He shoves the egg, shell and all, into Egghead's mouth and jams his jaw shut with the heel of his palm. White guck oozes out of Egghead's mouth like a big zit. He's gagging and coughing egg shrapnel all over the table.
/>   "Hey, scrambled Egghead," Shane says.

  Brad laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Get it?" He elbows me. "Scrambled Egghead!"

  Yeah. I get it. But it's not funny anymore.

  "You know what goes well with egg, Dev?" Shane asks, taking a pudding cup out of Egghead's lunch bag. We all know who'll end up wearing it.

  Egghead looks at me. The same way he looked at me in the gym.

  Why is he looking at me like that? I'm not doing it. It's Shane. Shane's the one.

  But I can't get rid of the sick feeling in my stomach.

  I've got to get out of here.

  I cross the caf and shove the side door leading outside to the back steps. Bam! I slam into Katie, again, landing her on her butt.

  "Boy, you really have it in for me, don't you?" she snaps. She doesn't let me help her up. Instead she just turns and stays sitting on the top step.

  "Man, Katie, I'm so sorry." I feel like total crap. She gives me this dirty look, but then she gets this smile and looks away.

  "You have egg on your face."

  "Oh," I sit beside her and wipe my face. "Shane's feeding Egghead."

  "I know."

  "I'm surprised you're not in there helping Egghead," I say.

  She shrugs. "I'm surprised you're not in there helping Shane."

  We just sit for a few seconds.

  "I had to get out of there!" we both say at the same time, and then grin. It feels good.

  Big snowflakes float down and cover the empty football field. Everything is so quiet. Like there is no one else in the world at that moment but the two of us.

  "He's not your problem:' I say. "Will, I mean."

  She tilts her head and smiles at me. I guess I never called him by his real name before.

  "I know," she leans back on her hands and stares out at the field. "Nobody understands him. He’s just—different. Nobody knows what it’s like to be him."

  "Who knows what anyone's life is like, really," I say, thinking of Shane. No one knows what he's dealing with at home. Not that it's an excuse or anything. But no one really knows. "We all have our problems, right?"

  She looks away and chews on her bottom lip.

  Did I say something wrong?

  The wind blows up the steps and she shivers.

  "Here," I take off my sweatshirt and throw it around her shoulders. She wraps it around her. I wish my arms were still in it.

  "Nice project, by the way," she says, looking over at me. "I learned a lot about animation."

  "Thanks."

  "Third place, too." She looks impressed.

  "I'm not really a winner." I mutter.

  "Sure you are," she says, like I'm acting all humble.

  If only she knew. I'm not a winner. I'm the loser who stood by and did nothing.

  Katie

  "So I should wear the red dress, right?" Jenna asked, for the hundredth time. She had let me tag along with her and Isabella to help her pick the perfect outfit.

  "Yes. Red:' I said. Like it mattered either way. Tonight was the Christmas dance. And somehow she had gotten it into her head that she would be dancing with Mike Montana.

  "But Mike's favorite color is blue," Isabella said from under an armload of dresses in the corner of the tiny change room.

  Jenna whined. I groaned. I should have just stayed home. Go, Granny had said, practically shoving me out the door, girl fun is just what you need. Since when was an hourlong debate about Mike Montana's favorite colors fun?

  "Look, Jenna," I said, losing patience. "Mike also likes the Ottawa Senators but you're not going to wear goalie pads and a helmet to the dance, now are you?"

  Jenna looked at Isabella. Like it might actually be a possibility.

  "That's it." I grabbed my coat. "I'm out of here."

  "What's her problem?" Isabella asked in a voice loud enough for me to hear. "No date for the dance? There's always Egghead."

  I never liked that girl. Granny wouldn't either.

  They giggled as I left. Whispering to each other about how I wasn't helping my case with those clothes and that hairstyle.

  Yeah. Whatever.

  "That you?" Granny asked, surprised I was back so soon. She came down the front hall and caught me just standing, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  I had to be honest. The girls were right about one thing. I did look kind of grungy. From my frizzy hair to my salt-stained jean hems, I wasn't much to look at.

  "Granny," I asked, bracing myself for the truth. "Am I ... pretty?"

  "'Course you are, girl." She tilted her head. "Mind you, you could do with a bit of fixing up. Maybe a trim." She looked at her reflection beside mine. "I'm looking a bit haggard myself. What say we head out for some real girl fun, just you and me?"

  We spent the rest of the afternoon back at the mall only this time I had a blast.

  "Give us something new and exciting," Granny told Rhonda, the hairstylist. "Just not too exciting."

  Rhonda cut and colored Granny's salt-and-pepper bun into a cute little bob just below the chin. Granny looked like a new woman.

  I didn't get mine dyed. Rhonda said I didn't need to, that I had natural highlights. That people actually paid to get their hair my reddish color. We talked about school and shopping as she cut long strands of hair. I was a bit anxious when I saw all the hair on the floor, but by the time she finished drying it, I looked like a movie star. I never knew my hair could do that.

  "Now you're all set for the dance tonight," Rhonda said putting down the brush.

  "What?" Granny said. "A dance? You didn't tell me about that."

  I hadn't planned on going.

  "Yeah," Rhonda continued. "The Christmas formal. You should see the nice tie I got my Shane. He's about your age, honey. You know him?"

  I gawked at her in the mirror. Shane's mom? She didn't look a thing like him, maybe because she was nice and smiled a lot.

  "Well, you tell him I said to go on up and ask that Erin girl to dance," Rhonda winked. "Had a crush on her since September, only he's too shy to admit it."

  I nearly choked. Shane likes Erin?

  Granny paid Rhonda, gave her a nice big tip. Which was good. Anyone who has to live with Shane must need all the perks they can get.

  Granny insisted on "suiting me up" for the dance. She even bought me a new lip gloss and mascara. I kept telling her I wasn't going, but she wouldn't hear of it.

  I tried on the green dress. It wasn't like the things Jenna and Isabella chose. Mine was dark green velvet to just above the knee, with a scoop neck. Plain and simple.

  Granny clasped her hands together and brought them to her chin as I came out. Her eyes filled up. She looked at me for a moment, then took off her pearls and put them around my neck. The little balls felt warm and heavy against my skin.

  "There now," she said, turning me towards the mirror.

  I couldn't believe it. The dress. The hair. The pearls. The young woman in the mirror looked like someone from an old photo. Someone I always loved and never knew.

  "So Katie," Granny whispered in my ear. "Does that answer your question?"

  I looked at my reflection.

  "Yes." My eyes filled with tears. "I am pretty. I look just like Mom."

  Devan

  "Where'd you take off to at lunch today?" Shane asks after school. We're playing street hockey outside my house. He winds up for the shot.

  "I dunno," I say.

  He stops and rests both hands on the end of his stick and smirks at me. I dunno how he does it, but he can always tell I'm lying.

  "You went to see a girl, didn't you?"

  My cheeks burn. "No."

  "You did! I can tell," he runs around the back of the net where I can't see him. Then dekes in the back corner. "Score!! That's eight nothing, my man!"

  "Well, it's kinda hard for me to score when I'm always in nets, my man," I say flicking the ball out.

  "Who is she?" He asks, shooting high and left.

  I stop i
t dead in my glove. "You don't know her." This time it's really the truth. He doesn't know her.

  "Is she hot?"

  "I guess. She's nice."

  "Nice?" he says, like it's a bad thing. He scores on a slapshot then wipes his runny nose on the back of his mitt. "Well, whatever. So listen?' he chucks the stick on the top of the net and starts walking home. "I'll see you at 7:3o."

  "For what?" I ask.

  "For what? Listen to you, Romeo, like you didn't know. The dance, loser. Tonight's the Christmas Dance. Didn't you ask your girlfriend?"

  I shake my head.

  "Great!" he yells from halfway down the block. "We'll pick you up at seven!"

  And before I can say anything, he's gone.

  "You should have told me about it earlier, Devan." Mom complains as she rummages through my closet. I'm sorry now that I mentioned the dance. She's making a big deal of it.

  "This is fine. I'll just wear this." I say, stretching my arms out. I wore this shirt to Aunt Maureen's wedding this summer. But I don't remember it being this tight.

  "It's too small for you?' Em says, sitting on the edge of my bed. "It looks silly?'

  "Who asked you? Get out of my room."

  "If you'd told me about this earlier, I could've picked you up something." Mom pulls out another shirt. It's even smaller than this one.

  "I wasn't planning on going," I answer, for the tenth time. This collar is choking me.

  Dad walks in and leans on the door frame. "Going where?"

  "Do you even know how to dance?" Em asks me.

  "I thought I told you to get out of my room."

  "A dance?" Dad says. He starts shaking his hips and snapping his fingers. Mom tries to sidestep past him, only he keeps blocking her, pretending she's dancing with him and not really trying to escape. Laughing, Mom shoves his chest, pushing him out into the hall where he keeps dancing. "Oh, yeah," he goes, "I still got it."

  He looks pathetic and he knows how to dance. There's no way I'm going to embarrass myself like that. Besides, I don't even have something to wear.