My Cousin's Keeper

by Simon French

  “It’s mean, Kieran. Are you that mean to anyone else?”

  I stopped abruptly and faced her, wanting to ignore those pale-blue eyes, but knowing I couldn’t. “No,” I admitted.

  “I didn’t think so,” Julia said quietly.

  She turned away then. I looked down at her riding boots, watched them stepping away and standing beside Bon’s sneakers, bought new by Nan. Bon’s eyes found mine before he walked away with Julia.

  She had just done exactly what I’d seen her do ever since the day she came to our school: be both defender and peacemaker. She was behaving as though she were Bon’s older sister, or even — I realized, blinking with surprise — as though she were his mother. That thought was interrupted by my group walking over to me.

  “Hey, Kieran,” Mason was the first to say in his loud, listen-to-me-everybody voice. “Rapunzel’s cousin, huh? How lucky are you!”

  “That’s old news,” I muttered.

  “Hold his hand, Kieran.”

  “Make sure he wears his pretty hat in the cold weather.”

  “Make sure he remembers his manners. Please and thank you.”

  “Give him a kiss to make him feel better.”

  “And a hug. He likes a hug.”

  I didn’t answer any of these comments, because my stomach was suddenly full of butterflies. Julia had told me another uncomfortable truth, and I wished she had said something completely different. I wished that I could be somewhere else.

  The bell rang for the end of recess.

  Mason used a silly girly voice to repeat one of his dumb comments, so I gave him a shove, hard enough to make him stumble backward.

  “What was that for?” he said loudly. “You can’t take a joke all of a sudden?”

  On the way to class lines, nobody spoke to me. Trying to shrug off what had happened, I joked around a bit with Lucas and Mason. “He might be my cousin, but he’s still a loser,” I told them. Lucas agreed, although Mason was still in the process of forgiving me for shoving him.

  I felt caught up in the group that gave Bon a hard time, tripping him or calling him names away from where teachers could see or hear. Whenever Lucas and Mason and the others decided it was time to bother Bon for fun, I hovered at the very edges of the teasing, keeping my hands and feet to myself, staying silent and hoping that my friends wouldn’t notice the difference. I wanted to imagine myself invisible and so went on ignoring Bon at school as much as possible, saying nothing whenever I saw him being chosen last for a team during gym, and pretending not to hear him when he said, “Hi, Kieran.” Which was every single morning when our paths happened to cross on the playground or on the way to class.

  I heard from Mom that Bon and Aunt Renee had left the trailer park and now had a hotel room in the center of town. How much better that was I couldn’t be sure, but there had been little differences I noticed about Bon over only a few weeks — the new sneakers, matching school clothes, and a winter jacket, all replacing the frayed, faded clothes he had first arrived in. I knew that Nan and Mom were the ones giving Bon all these things, all this attention. In the meantime, I went to birthday parties he wasn’t invited to and was part of playground games he would always be left out of.

  But I couldn’t ignore the fact that Julia was his friend and protector. He went on hanging around her friends and their conversations. She walked him around the playground, the two of them nodding, talking, and, I guessed, sharing secrets. At the end of some lunch breaks, I’d see them coming out of the school library, along with the other kids who liked books or chess.

  “Hi, Julia,” I’d say whenever we passed each other on the way to class lines, or were waiting near each other in the cafeteria to buy snacks. It was always an effort to say anything else to her, and I found myself hoping she would say something more in return.

  But she’d always reply, “Hi, Kieran,” and give me a look I read as, I’ve seen how you and your friends treat Bon. You’re still not looking out for him, are you?

  And at the end of some school days, I’d often see Julia and Bon stopped somewhere short of the school gates, sitting on the grass near the school office. If they weren’t talking, they’d simply be sitting and watching everyone else walk by. Now that Julia often rode her bike to school, I didn’t see her mom at the school gate anymore. So Bon and Julia taking their time was as though they were putting off their journeys home, to a trailer park and a hotel room.

  “We should wait for Bon,” Gina would sometimes say at the gate. “He can walk with us some of the way home.”

  I would shake my head. I didn’t want Bon to get the idea that he was welcome to walk to or from school with us anytime he liked. Having him with us for some of the time already was more than enough. So I chose different ways to get home, along the other streets that would lead us to our own. I tried to ignore Gina’s complaints about the extra hill to walk up and the scarier dogs that lived at several houses along the way. Bon could find his own way to his own home.

  “I can see Bon over there,” Gina said.

  “He’s with his friend Julia,” I told her. “He’ll be a while yet. Come on, let’s go.”

  “But I want him to walk with us,” she insisted.

  “No, Gina. Come on,” I urged, watching as Julia took off on her purple bike.

  Gina sighed, disappointed. “All right.”

  I hurried her along a bit so that Bon wouldn’t spot us and want to catch up. I led Gina the longer way, down the hilly sidewalks to the Sheridan Street shops.

  “I want a snack,” Gina announced as we came to the supermarket. “Chips or gummy worms? I can’t decide.”

  “Only if you share,” I told her. “And it’s not one of Mom’s workdays, so you’ll have to spend your own money.”

  Gina dropped her school backpack on the sidewalk and triumphantly pulled out a coin purse. “I’ve got spending money.” She grinned.

  “Aisle six,” I reminded her as we walked inside.

  “Chips or gummy worms?” she repeated to herself as she disappeared into the aisle. “I still can’t decide.”

  For Gina, these decisions were never quick, so I had time to wander around a little. I stopped to look at the magazine racks.

  Then I heard the voices.

  “You are not getting your photo taken,” said a hushed, annoyed voice that I recognized.

  “I am.” This time it was Julia’s voice, not quite as hushed. “I haven’t had a school photo for two years. You can’t stop me.”

  They were in the aisle right next to where I stood, and I peered along the gaps in the shelves until I could catch a glimpse of them. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could see the top Julia had worn to school that day, and I recognized the silver bangle on one wrist.

  Her mom wore jeans and a black jacket. “I’ll keep you at home,” she said in an urgent voice.

  “Huh! Home — a filthy camper!”

  “I’ve told you the rules before. You shouldn’t —”

  “I’m going to school that day and every day.”

  “You shouldn’t even be there. I was stupid to listen to your complaining.” And her mom added, in a voice like a little kid’s, “‘Oh, I’m lonely. I’ve got no one to play with.’”

  It felt strange and unexpected to be hearing all this. From aisle six, Gina said loudly, “I’m choosing gummy worms, because the red ones are still my favorite.”

  And at that very moment, I heard Julia say, “I shouldn’t even be with you!”

  I found Gina at the checkout, and I helped her with the coins for her gummy worms. “Wait for me outside,” I told her, and she walked out to where we’d left our schoolbags beside the supermarket doorway.

  I hovered a moment more at the checkout before Julia appeared from a nearby aisle. She was empty-handed, pale with anger, and looked surprised and embarrassed to see me there.

  “Hi,” she managed to say. It wasn’t the confident voice I was used to hearing.

  “Hi, Julia,” I said awkwardly. B
ehind her was her mom, who was no taller than I was. Her eyes were still hidden behind dark glasses. She held a small basket of groceries, and I probably stared at her a bit longer than was polite.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Kieran,” I replied quickly, feeling as though I was in trouble for something. “And that’s my sister, Gina,” I added, pointing to the doorway.

  “They’re Bon’s cousins,” Julia said.

  “Oh.” It was a reply loaded with recognition. “Nice to meet you.” But her voice was flat and unconvincing.

  “I have to go,” I said, knowing how nervous my own voice suddenly sounded. “See you tomorrow, Julia.”

  “Yeah, see you. At school.” The last word came out with emphasis, and Julia said it to her mom rather than to me.

  It was a relief to get outside again. I was glad it wasn’t one of Mom’s shifts that afternoon. I could still feel Julia’s mom glaring as Gina handed me a gummy worm and we set off for home. Whether the glare was meant for me or for Julia, I couldn’t be sure.

  I shouldn’t even be with you.

  I wondered why Julia had said that.

  The following week, we had our annual class photographs taken. The photographers set up bleachers in the back playground, and, class by class, we lined up and watched the groups ahead of us get organized and pose. I knew that the photographer would have every group of kids saying something like Vacation! or Candy! so that everyone would be smiling as the camera clicked. The class ahead of mine was Miss McLennan’s, and I spotted Bon in the second row with some other boys. He was wearing his clean, new school clothes. His hair was brushed and neatly parted, and his braid was hidden from view, except for whoever had to stand behind him.

  As the photographer started giving last-minute instructions about feet together and facing this way, I suddenly realized Julia wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I looked carefully along each row of kids in Miss McLennan’s class, but couldn’t see her. Until I turned and looked behind. Julia was by herself on one of the playground seats beneath the shade trees, watching her class being photographed. Somehow she sensed I was watching her, and she met my concerned frown with a shrug that could have meant, I’m OK. Everything is fine.

  Julia was not being photographed.

  Miss McLennan called out to her.

  “I’m not wearing the right clothes,” Julia called back, and at first refused Miss McLennan’s encouragement to join in.

  “Everybody wants you here, Julia,” she said. “You’re very much a part of this class. Come on.”

  I saw Julia shake her head again, uncomfortably remembering the argument she’d had with her mom in the supermarket. It had been about this, the school photo. About Julia staying away from the camera.

  And then, just as the camera began clicking, Julia stood up and strode over.

  “I’m in!” she announced, and some of the girls cheered. She wriggled her way to a standing position in the middle row and her face lit up. I really liked that smile. Below her in the second row, Bon smiled as well. The two of them looked pleased and content, as though there had been no bullying on the playground, no arguments in the supermarket. I saw their happy faces and swallowed — hard.

  When it came to our turn, I made sure I got into the back row, along with Mason, Lucas, and the cool kids. I figured that somebody was bound to make a face for the camera, or make rabbit ears with their fingers behind someone’s head. It was another of those moments where I told myself it was easier hoping to be friends with Mason and Lucas, and all the other kids I’d ever known. Staying friends with them meant not being left out of things.

  It seemed to take forever for the photographer to get our class just right, to have everybody standing just so. I watched as Miss McLennan gathered her class together and led them to the library for the individual portrait shots. Of course, Julia and Bon walked away together, and I could see them smiling and talking to each other. I wondered all over again about Julia’s mom disliking the idea of school photos so much, and about Julia changing her own mind when it had nearly been too late.

  I couldn’t get Bon’s happy face out of my head.

  He’s going to be here for a long time, Nan had said.

  Then I thought about Gina and how I’d sometimes see her run up to him on the playground and take his hand, smiling and talking to him in a way she never seemed to do much anymore with me.

  “When can Bon come to our house for another sleepover?” she had asked Mom more than once.

  But the next time would be a lot more than a sleepover.

  “Kieran’s got his flame hat on,” Gina said. “His head is on fire! Help, help!” She and her friend Emily fell into helpless giggles.

  “Ha-ha,” I replied in a bored voice. “It was only funny the first time, Gina. This is about the twenty-third time I’ve heard you say it.” And I turned my attention back to soccer practice.

  I had been asked to look out for Gina, and also for Bon, while Mom and Nan had dinner out with Aunt Renee. It seemed like a strange way for Mom and Nan to spend a Thursday evening, and I wasn’t happy at all about Bon arriving at the soccer field, the taillights of his mom’s hatchback bumping away onto the road that led back to the center of town. She had not even gotten out to walk Bon over and say hello; he found his own way to where we were all gathered to watch my dad and his team prepare for the weekend game. Bon looked a bit lost and unsure of where he was, but for a while, Gina and Emily took charge of him with their talk and laughter. And I was left alone.

  The sun had fallen behind the western hills, and the playing-field floodlights flickered on. Even with the warmth of my wool cap and winter jacket, I could feel the night chill beginning to rise from the damp ground.

  Dad and his teammates ran and dodged in patterns around one another. They stepped quickly to the left and right, before breaking into sprints from the halfway line to the goal zone. They called instructions to one another as each part of the practice unfolded. We watched from the sidelines: kids, wives, and girlfriends in talkative groups, little clouds of breath from us beginning to show as the air turned cold and the evening darkened.

  I kept most of my attention on Dad, but also watched Ant and Split Pin, Terry, Ray, Jacko, and all the other guys I knew. I watched their moves and techniques, especially when the soccer ball was kicked onto the field and they played quick, five-a-side practice games. I wanted some of the skills to drift across in my direction. I wanted to be a talented player, too.

  Bon had watched Dad and the team for a little while, but then wandered away with Gina and Emily to the kids’ play area near the changing room, where he now sat on one of the swings. It moved very slightly to and fro.

  There were some other kids from school, boys and girls, who had turned up with their dads. As usual, we waited impatiently to be called onto the field to join in a bit of a game with the team.

  At last, one of the guys called out, “Come on, you kids! Get over here, pick a team, and show us old fellas how to play.”

  I peeled off my winter jacket and ran across the damp grass, joining the side that Dad was on. Kickoff was the signal for grown-ups and kids to chase the ball in puffing, crazy groups across the field. The wives and girlfriends called out from the sidelines, and there were jokes and laughter from the players as we fought for control of the ball and the crucial passes and kicks that might lead to a goal.

  Someone — I wasn’t sure who — kicked the ball completely wide of the opposing goal, so that it skated and bounced off the field and across to where Bon sat on the swing. He got a bit of a fright as it breezed past him, but stood up and retrieved it. Everyone on the field was calling to him.

  “Kick it back here, kiddo!”

  “Don’t kick it to him; he’s ugly! Send it over here!”

  “Come on, give it a whack!”

  Bon wasn’t quite sure what to do. He trotted over toward the sideline, clutching the ball to his chest, while everyone shouted to him to send it their way. Then Dad j
ogged across toward him. “Here, Bon,” he called. “Throw it this way.”

  Which Bon did, before retreating to the play area once more.

  “Who’s the girly-boy?” I heard one of the guys ask Dad. “I’ve seen him — or her — around town.”

  “Him?” Dad replied as he jogged back into the thick of the game. “That’s Bon — he’s my nephew. A good kid.”

  Girly-boy. I smiled at that. It suited Bon, I thought. A good kid. My smile dropped.

  Dad’s friend Split Pin was on our team, and at one point, he neatly hooked the ball and found a gap through to run with it. Finding myself parallel and within kicking distance of the goal net, I called, “Sam! Pass!”

  I didn’t know why I’d called him by his real name. Those gold letters on the sports record board at school, maybe. At any rate, I had my goal kick foiled by Jackson Anderson.

  “Jacko’s a great goalie,” Dad told me afterward. “You did well to get that close.”

  After practice, when everyone was drinking thirstily from water bottles and putting jackets and sweatshirts on, ready for home, Bon came over and said, “Sam. Which one is Sam?”

  I looked at him. His face was set and serious.

  “How come you need to know?” I asked him.

  “I just need to. I heard you call out to him when I was over there.” He pointed back at the play area, then repeated, “Which one is Sam?”

  “The really tall guy putting on the black jacket. What, you know him?”

  Bon looked over at where Split Pin stood. “That’s Sam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t know him, do you?”

  “No.” Bon sighed. “I don’t know him. He’s a different Sam.”

  Bon was very quiet for the rest of the evening, enough for Dad to ask in the car on the way home, “Are you all right there, buddy?”

  “I’m tired” was Bon’s only reply, but I heard him in the darkness of our car, murmuring to himself. I stared at him as though he were a crazy person, and he abruptly stopped.

  His mom was waiting for him in her car. It was parked right outside our house, and Mom stood by the driver’s window talking with my aunt for the minutes it took for Dad, Gina, and me to unload ourselves out of our own car and get inside, away from the evening chill.