“He’s staying in today!” I holler.
“Yes!” Everyone’s pumping their fists, and kids who never played before are lining up to take a turn at bat. Everything’s just better when jerks aren’t around.
“Can I be backup third base?” Derek asks. Even though I definitely don’t need a backup because I never let anything by me, I still sometimes let Derek play backup because it’s the only way he’ll join in the game.
“Sure.”
He slaps my shoulder and steps backward three big steps, close enough that I can still hear him breathing his excited breaths. “I got your back, Robbie,” he says. And even though I don’t need it, it feels pretty OK knowing he’s there.
chapter 12
It’s weird seeing Alex after he sobbed in Group Guidance yesterday, but we’re sitting in a circle around Ms. Gloria’s table for the third day in a row and Alex is acting like nothing ever happened and like he’s the king of the world again.
Ms. Gloria asks us to share our check-in number, then comment on how things are going for us in school.
Alex goes first. “Today I’m a ten because my mom’s letting me skip school tomorrow,” he brags. “So I’ll be thinking of all you losers while I’m sleeping in.” He’s smiling a big annoying smile and nodding his flowy blond head.
“That sounds like a pretty dumb way to spend a day off,” I say, because what kind of loser thinks about school when he’s not at school?
Ms. Gloria shoots me her no-nonsense look because I talked without the talking wand. And I wish I had the wand because I want to ask why such an amazing king of the world sobs his eyes out, then acts like it never happened. And even if it makes me a bad person, I kind of want him to cry again. I want to watch him break down once for every mean thing he’s ever said or done. The room would be full to the ceiling with his salty baby tears.
He doesn’t even answer the question Ms. Gloria asked about how things are going for him at school before he passes the wand to Oscar.
“I’m a three,” Oscar whispers. I’m expecting him to pass the wand right away like he always does, because he never really says more than three words at a time. But he just sits there with it, not saying anything at all. He rolls the wand between the palms of his hands and stays quiet.
Alex starts to laugh under his breath, and I’m feeling all weird too with Oscar just stalled there. The silence is awkward, so I shift my weight and hope it kind of snaps Oscar out of it.
Then he says in his real quiet voice, “I don’t want to do that stupid family tree project either,” and passes the wand to Candace.
“Me either,” she says. “And I’m a five.”
Then I have the wand. “I’m a seven, I guess.” I was planning on saying a four, but having Oscar and Candace agree with me that the family tree project is pointless makes me feel three whole points better. I pass the wand off to Ms. Gloria before I remember to ask sissy Alex why he was sobbing yesterday, and now I have to wait until it circles all the way back around.
Ms. Gloria says she’s a nine and wants to hear more about this family tree project and passes the talking wand back to Alex.
“It’s a project Ms. Meg is making us do,” Alex says. “We have to create our family tree. And for the record, I think it’s stupid too.”
I can’t believe that I have any single thing in common with Alex. And even though it makes me feel better to talk crap about the project, it makes me feel kind of worse to be on Alex’s team.
“We have to write about the important people in our families and it’s such a waste of time,” he goes on.
For a second it seems like he’s about to sob again like he did yesterday. I can see his chin quiver like the vibration of a hard hit ball off a metal bat, and he’s blinking his eyes fast and not looking at anyone. But right before I think he’s going to crack, he bites down hard on his teeth and his jaw gets all wide and square with knots and I know that feeling.
“The whole thing stinks” is all he says, then passes the wand to Oscar.
“My family tree is splitting in two, right down the middle,” Oscar says, and he says it so quiet that I’m not sure he actually wants us to hear him. I can’t believe he spoke so many words in a row, and I wonder if I’m the only one who heard him because he whispered it under his breath and to his shoes and maybe I heard him wrong.
“Seriously? Speak up! We can never hear you!” Alex shouts, and I reach across the table and smack him in the arm because no one said any crap when he was getting all quiet and quivery and sobby.
“She hit me!” Alex screams.
And Ms. Gloria stands up and says sharp as Grandpa’s ax, “This is not about you right now.” She’s looking back and forth between Alex and me. “We are listening to Oscar and what he wants to share with us. Your job is to listen.” She’s tapping her finger on our signatures at the bottom of the group norms chart.
I hate Alex so much. He’s always getting me in trouble when really he’s the jerk and I’m the only one doing anything about it.
“Do you want to say more about that, Oscar?” Ms. Gloria asks.
He shakes his head no, because who would want to share anything after bully Alex Brat Carter laughs at you, then calls you out in front of everyone? He quickly hands the talking wand to Candace.
She rolls it between her palms. “Are you sure you don’t want to say more?” she asks Oscar. “We’re listening. Even Alex.” She shoots a fastball of a glare right at Alex that I didn’t know good kids like Candace had the capability of shooting. Then she hands the talking wand back to Oscar.
He holds it like he did before and doesn’t say anything. Then he takes a deep breath, and I can tell he’s getting up the courage to speak. He starts to whisper, but he’s not looking up at any of us, his eyes are locked right on the talking wand in his hands.
“My mom probably wouldn’t want my dad on my family tree,” he says. Then he turns the wand over and lets the glitter fall to the bottom. “And I bet my dad would be pissed if I put my mom on it.” He turns the wand over again in his hands. “They hate each other.”
The words pissed and hate seem all wrong coming out of Oscar’s small, quiet mouth.
“That’s why the project is stupid,” he finishes and hands the wand back to Candace.
“That sounds like it really sucks.” And now I can’t believe that Candace said sucks, because that doesn’t seem like a Candace word either.
“And you’re right,” she says. “The family tree thing is hard because sometimes it’s hard to think about your family. It’s hard to think about my sister right now because I’m pretty sure she hates me.” She taps her chipped purple-painted fingernails on the talking wand. “So you’re not the only one.”
She hands the wand to me, and I can’t believe that there’s anything wrong or hard about Candace’s family and I’m wondering if that’s why she puts her head down sometimes.
I’m about to say pass and hand the wand back to Alex, but before I know it I’m spilling my guts. And maybe it’s because Ms. Gloria was right and that stupid talking wand holds lots of power or maybe it’s because whatever happens in Group Guidance stays in Group Guidance or maybe it’s because no one here is acting like their normal selves because Alex sobbed and Oscar said pissed and Candace said sucks so I don’t feel so weird anymore.
“I don’t have a mom or dad or sister or even a dog, so how does Ms. Meg expect me to make a family tree?” I was going to say that the only branch I have is my grandpa and his memory’s getting more and more tired and he snaps into someone kind of scary at night, and I don’t even know if someday he won’t know my name anymore or why he even named me Robinson. But I take a deep breath and think about Alex’s mom raising her eyebrows like adults do and thinking Grandpa isn’t fit to raise me. And if Ms. Gloria finds out about Grandpa’s memory she’d have to tell Principal Wheeler and then someone might come separate me from my only branch.
The bell starts to ring anyway, which means it’s reces
s and I can go play third base, but I almost kind of wish we had time for the talking wand to go around one extra time. I want to hear more about Candace’s sister and maybe Oscar would say something else about his splitting-in-two tree.
I grab my book bag and head for the door when I hear Ms. Gloria’s voice. “Robinson? Can I talk to you for a second?”
Alex laughs out loud and I tell him to shut up—at least I don’t cry like a baby.
After everyone leaves Ms. Gloria says, “Robinson, I thought you could help me out with something.”
She stands right next to me, looking out the window at everyone running outside to recess. Alex is jogging to home base, nudging kids out of the way so he can be first at bat.
“It seems like everyone in this group is having a hard time with the family tree project. What do you think we can do about that?” she asks.
I’m watching Derek, who is watching the door, waiting for me to come outside so he can be backup third base and cheer me on as I scoop up Alex’s weak grounders and throw him out at first.
“You could tell Ms. Meg we don’t have to do it.”
Derek gives up waiting and sits down on the sidelines to watch the game.
“Something realistic, Robbie. Let’s come up with something that could help,” she says. “What would help you?”
Derek keeps looking toward the door and I wish I could just bang on the window and tell him I’ll be there in a second and not to let Alex mess with him because I can’t punch anyone today or else the school might find out how tired my grandpa’s memory is and then who knows what will happen.
I want to tell Ms. Gloria that nothing can help me, including her, so can I just go play third base now? But because we’re standing side by side and looking out and she’s not making me spin my Dodgers hat around backward, it feels OK. Then she hands me the talking wand and I think about how I want to find out everything Grandpa knows about my mom before it’s gone from his brain.
“It would help if my grandpa would tell me about my mom and what happened. It feels weird putting someone I don’t know anything about on my family tree.”
“Have you tried talking to him?” she asks.
“Yeah. More when I was little, but he kept saying, ‘Not now,’ until I knew he never wanted to talk about her.” I can’t tell her that I know it stresses him out and makes him sad and makes him worse. That’s why he doesn’t even have a picture of her. “Sometimes I still try to ask about her, but it doesn’t matter.”
“We could brainstorm some ways you could try talking to him again,” she offers.
I nod my head OK, but really I’m watching Mr. Danny toss extra pop flies to the outfielders for practice.
Ms. Gloria’s saying that maybe I could use the family tree project to start the conversation with Grandpa. I could say it’s for school and think of some questions ahead of time.
I keep my eyes on Derek the whole time she’s talking because it helps me not cry while I’m thinking of Grandpa and how if I ask him about my mom I’ll make him shake his head and feel sad, and that I’ll make his memory worse.
I nod again and say OK but now I want to play third base.
“Have fun at recess,” Ms. Gloria says. I hand her the talking wand and head for the door.
Then I think of something to tell Ms. Gloria before I leave. “Maybe we could work on the project in Group Guidance instead of in Ms. Meg’s room. That might help.”
She nods and smiles. “I think that’s a great idea, Robbie.”
Then I’m out the door to pull Derek off the sidelines so he can back me up at third base.
chapter 13
When I get to the garage after school, Harold’s not there again.
“His baby was born this morning!” Grandpa says. “Little girl.”
He sounds happy when he tells me, but when he thinks I’m not looking he squeezes his temples and rubs his fingers across his grooved forehead. Maybe he’s worried about running the garage without Harold for a few weeks, or maybe he’s thinking about my mom and when she was born. Or when I was born. I hope it’s just that he’s nervous about running the garage, because I can help with that. I know cars.
Or maybe I do hope he’s remembering my mom, even if it hurts and makes him rub his forehead, because then maybe he’ll change his mind and decide it’s not so hard to tell me something about her, like what her name was, and I can put it on my family tree.
“I brought the truck so we can drive over to the hospital and visit them before we go home,” he tells me.
“Fine,” I say, “but I’m not holding any baby.”
“Deal.” Grandpa chuckles and nods his head. “Up for an oil change?”
I toss my book bag and my baseball glove onto the wobbly stool and follow Grandpa to the 2013 Toyota Camry that’s already parked over the lifts and ready to be raised up. I pop the hood and open the oil tank so the airflow will help drain the oil from the bottom of the car, then close the hood.
Grandpa waits until I push the button that lifts the car above our heads, put on my work gloves, and set up the funnel and drip pan before he heads back to the next bay, where he’s replacing brake pads on a red Honda.
I crank the wrench to open the fuel pan under the car, and the old oil starts draining out fast. Changing oil might be my favorite because I like the idea of letting all the bad pour out and getting a fresh, smooth start right out of the unopened bottle.
While the old oil rushes out into the drip pan, I watch Grandpa working on the Honda. He’s sliding out the old brake pads and putting antisqueal gel on the new ones, and he seems to be good today and following the right steps and not looking like a deer we caught in the headlights.
When the old oil stops dripping, I get the new filter ready by smearing some clean oil around the gasket ring with my finger, then I install it. I close up the oil pan and lower the car back down. Then I pop the hood, pour the new, clean oil in, close it up, and I’m done. And it feels good.
The man pays Grandpa in cash and drives out his clean-oil, fresh-start Toyota Camry.
“A-plus work, Robbie,” Grandpa says. “Now come pump the brakes for me on this Honda.”
I climb in and have to slump way down to reach the pedals because I hate adjusting someone else’s driver’s seat. I pump the brakes with my right foot like Grandpa taught me, and I know the bad brake fluid is bleeding out from under the car and we’ll get to fill it up with brand-new, fresh-start brake fluid and the car will run good as new.
“What do you say?” Grandpa asks. “Go check on Harold?”
Even though I want to see Harold because a day at the garage without him feels a little weird, I don’t really want to go to any hospital or see any baby. I’d rather do another oil change or headlight replacement.
But I take off my work gloves anyway. “Yeah,” I say. “We better go check on him.”
The hospital smells too clean, and I feel like I’m messing it up just by walking in.
Grandpa talks to the nurses at the desk and we sit in the waiting room until Harold comes to get us. For some reason I’m feeling nervous to see Harold and Paul’s new baby because maybe she won’t like me or I’ll make her cry and won’t be able to get her to stop and she’ll spit up on my Nike Air Griffeys.
“Robbie! Charlie!” Harold’s hurrying down the hall and his brown hair is sticking up all over his head like it usually does and he’s smiling really big. I stick my fist out for a fist bump, but he pulls me in for a hug, and I’m not really a hugging kind of person but it’s OK because it’s Harold and he knows that, so he makes it quick. “Sorry,” he says, tapping the brim of my Dodgers hat. “I’ve just missed you and I’m so happy you’re here.”
Grandpa starts standing up slow, pressing down hard on his knees. “Let’s go see this body,” he says. But he means baby. And I’m glad Harold’s too busy being excited to notice Grandpa’s jumbled words.
Harold pats Grandpa’s arm. “OK, boss. Follow me.”
Harold w
alks with his arm around me and asks how school was and how things at the garage went today. I tell him about changing the oil of the 2013 Toyota Camry and that Alex Carter is still a jerk but I didn’t hit him today. He laughs and pats my shoulder and says, “Well now, that’s an improvement.”
Then we stop at this big window and inside I can see little tiny plastic cribs with the teeniest babies in them. They’re so small they don’t even look real, like they could all just be dolls. There’s one nurse who’s wearing all blue and she’s leaning over one of the babies, writing something down on a clipboard.
Then I see Paul sitting next to a plastic crib and holding one of the tiny babies. He has his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the baby is wrapped in a pink blanket and wearing a little pink hat. “Want to go see her?” Harold asks.
I want to say no because the babies are way smaller than I thought, but before I know it Harold is slapping an identification sticker on me and squirting hand sanitizer in my palms and saying that he can’t wait for his daughter to meet me. Grandpa gets his sticker and sanitizer too, and we follow Harold in.
Paul stands up slowly and whispers, “Robinson, Charlie. So glad you guys are here.” Paul and Harold hug each other with one arm so they don’t crush the baby.
“Meet our little May,” Harold says, pulling the pink blanket back a little.
May is sleeping, and her face is kind of red and squishy and blotchy.
“You want to hold her?” Paul asks.
I shake my head no, but he says, “Oh, come on. Sit down.” And before I know it I’m sitting in the chair next to her plastic crib and her hot little body is pressed into mine. I make my arms into a strong, stiff cradle and I don’t even breathe or anything because I don’t want her to start crying. I jiggle my knee by accident and she kind of wakes up and I can feel her little body squirm in the blanket, but she doesn’t start crying because I kind of rock her back and forth.
“You’re a natural, Robbie,” Harold says.
Just Like Jackie Page 7
