“Oh, good week. Good week. I’ve been having a really wonderful time! When you’re with good people, good things happen.… Do you know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said. Sort of.
“Life can be inspiring when you’re with the Perfect Person.”
Here we go again, I thought. Alan’s girlfriends were always Perfect Persons.
“And what’d you do that’s exciting this week, Cal?” Captain Alan asked.
Hmm. Did he want to hear that I’d had a haircut on Saturday … aced a history test on Monday … and then been shot down by the coach today for being flat at basketball practice?
“Not too much, Alan. Ordinary week. Wait a minute, Alan.” I yelled for Garo. He was upstairs. “Hold it, Alan. I’ll get him.”
I banged on the bathroom door. Garo was probably mournfully looking at his hair, or what had been his hair. I opened the door. I was right. “It looks good, Garo. It’s already growing in.”
“I’m not paying any attention to my bald head, Cal. I’m checking out my zits.”
“You haven’t got any zits. You’ve got a complexion like a baby’s butt. Your father’s on the phone. Move.”
He picked up the phone upstairs in his father’s room. I went downstairs and hung up. I poured milk and sat down to read the newspaper while I ate. I liked the letters from readers because people got so excited over such stupid things. Dear Editor, Concerning Daniel Hawley’s letter of the 16th about Kimberly Barnes letter of the 13th referring to your article on woolie bears of the 10th and the question why woolie bears cross the road, I have it on good authority …
“Cal!” Garo called down. “My father wants you to say hello to Diane.”
“Who?”
“Diane.” Garo came to the top of the stairs. “Cal! Get the phone.”
I pushed away from the table. “Hello?” I said.
“Hello!” the Perfect Person said. “You don’t know me, but I feel like I know you.” She had a little, almost squeaky voice. I wondered what she looked like. Maybe like Angel Hayes, who had the same sort of squeaky voice. “I’ve heard so much about you from Alan.”
“Eaah …” My all-purpose grunt came in handy.
“I know you’re like a second son to Alan.”
“Eaah …”
“Can I call you Cal?”
“Sure.”
“Cal, short for Calvin, right?”
“Right. Calvin Miller.”
She laughed.
Was it funny? “You want to talk to Garo again?” I asked. And then I thought that if my father was ever inspired to call me, this would be exactly the way I’d feel—sort of overcome with muteness and slightly panicked.
Would this be the way my father would do it? Call me out of the blue and introduce a girlfriend? Did he even have a girlfriend? Maybe he’d taken a vow of celibacy. Or was he married again? I didn’t know anything about him. He might even have another son. That thought made me feel really weird.
Later, when Garo and I were talking in our room, he said his father had been in a great mood because of Diane.
“Maybe he just likes Atlanta,” I said.
Garo laughed his Eddie Murphy laugh. Heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. He was sitting on his bed, clipping his toenails.
“So what do you think, is Diane going to be for real? What’s your opinion?” Garo asked me.
“My opinion is …”
A Garo toenail popped off, arced into the air, and landed on me.
“… that your father always has more than one girlfriend.”
Another toenail came boomeranging over. I scooped them up. “Keep ’em coming, Garo. I’m saving them for your cornflakes tomorrow morning. Add a little crunch. Did your father say anything?”
“He said the next time he goes down to Ft. Lauderdale, he’s going to bring me back a lemon you can eat like an orange.”
“Exciting.”
“Yeah … so what do you think?”
“About lemons?”
“Get real. Did you hear anything that Diane said that made you think Dad’s more, you know—serious this time? Does he mean business, do you think? When Dad and I were talking, I could hear her laughing in back.”
“So what?”
“I don’t know. She told me she’s from this little mountain town in northern California. Redfield.”
I lay back on the bed, my hands behind my head. “Well, there was something different, Garo. He’s never asked me to talk to his perfect person before. That’s new. And why would he tell her about me?”
“If he gets serious, he’ll marry her.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me last time he was home that he’s looking for the right person.”
I whistled. “What would happen to Mom and me?” I asked, and then I answered myself. “We’d have to leave.”
“Leave? You’re not leaving! Don’t be dense. Even if Dad got married, you wouldn’t have to leave. Diane’s got her own job. She’s not going to stay home and wash dishes. She’s a flight attendant.”
“Excellent,” I said, “your father’s girlfriend is an airhead.” I felt definitely relieved. This perfect person wouldn’t last long. Alan was stuffy but too smart to marry someone dumb. Which led me to think about Angel Hayes and then Leslie Branch. Both of them would probably end up being airline flight attendants, too, or models, or something equally dumb.
“She’s chairman of her union committee.”
“Who?” I was still thinking about Angel and Leslie. Maybe I should kiss Leslie, since she was so interested, and at least find out what it was like.
“Diane,” Garo said. “She’s head of her union committee. I guess she can’t be that much of an airhead, Cal.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I grunted. Grunts can be useful.
Chapter 7
Friday night, our team, the Drumlins Hawks, had a home game against Martin Luther King Junior High. “You want me to come to the game tonight?” Mom said at supper.
“No. Why waste your time?”
“I don’t mind, hon.”
“Mom, we have a six-year unbroken record of losing to King. They’re going to beat us; they always do. And I’m going to sit on the bench; I always do.”
“You shouldn’t be talking that way, Cal. You never know. Tonight could be your night to shine.”
“Mom, in seventh grade, no matter how good you are, and I’m not that good, you always sit on the bench.”
And that was the way things worked out. We lost and I sat on the bench. The two most memorable moments of the evening, for me, had nothing to do with the game, and both happened at halftime.
That’s when I left the locker room and went out in the hall to get a drink of water. You weren’t supposed to do that, you can get a drink in the locker room, but I just wanted to be by myself for a few minutes.
There was nobody in the hall. It was quiet and empty. Behind me I could hear the clatter from the locker room, and over my head, a muffled boom boom boom of a drum in the gym. Something moved at the end of the hall. I thought, my father. It was always at moments like this, when I was alone in an empty hallway or on a dark street that I thought of my father. And I’d somehow expect to see him coming around the corner. The feeling was so strong this time, I walked down to the end of the hallway.
That’s when I saw two kids standing near an open locker, kissing. The boy was wearing glasses and a dark blue parka. The girl was wearing a red jacket. I bent over the fountain and water splashed up on my face. They were so engrossed in each other they didn’t even notice me.
They kissed, then separated. The girl took two steps away, then reversed and went back to the boy, and they kissed again. They leaned toward each other and kissed, just their lips touching. Their lips held them together.
They separated again and then came back. They kept doing that, moving away from each other, then coming back and kissing, as if they couldn’t bear to say good-bye.
My neck was hot.
What would it be like to have a girl feel that way about me? The girl was so pretty, with long dark hair falling over the collar of her jacket.
I was mesmerized. I guess I would have stood there looking for as long as they stood there kissing, but Ralph Santano came out of the locker room and yelled, “Hey, Miller! You’re wanted!” He had a towel around his neck. “Four more minutes,” he called and went back into the locker room.
Just like that, the kissers disappeared.
I walked back toward the locker room. A girl dressed all in black came running down the stairs. “Cal!” It was Leslie Branch. Where had she come from? Maybe she really was a witch.
“Hi, Leslie.” I wiped my mouth. I felt this … something … throbbing in my throat. I thought of the kissers. “What are you doing down here?” I asked.
She held up a lock. “You’ll never guess what I did today. I locked my key in my locker. They had to smash my lock to get it open.”
Did she still want to kiss me?
“You’d think they’d have a master key or something, wouldn’t you?”
“Do you want to kiss me?” I blurted.
She tilted her head to the side and seemed to consider it. Her profile was like a cutout—those thin lips, her thin nose. Then she came up very close to me and said, “Okay.”
Okay? Her face was right in front of my face. I felt a little crazy. Everything was banging and jarring in my body, like I had hearts pumping in my arms and legs and in the back of my head. I didn’t know what to do. Put my arms around her? Everything seemed so complicated. Should I say something? Or did you just do it? Just kiss. What would happen to our noses? Would her nose spike me?
While I was thinking, Leslie was doing it. She kissed me. She put her mouth against mine, fitted her face to mine, and kissed me. She had the whole routine down perfectly. I say that with respect and admiration. It was wonderful. She took care of every problem.
Her lips didn’t feel thin at all. It was amazing. She was amazing. It was nothing like the spin-the-bottle kisses I’d had at parties in grade school. I didn’t want to stop. I forgot everything. My hands were sweaty, and I tried to hug Leslie.
She pulled away. “Don’t you have to go back?” she said. “Sit on the bench some more?” She was smiling.
“Go back?” I asked dazedly. And then, overhead, I heard the whistle and the thud of guys running down the gym floor, and I realized the game had started again.
After the game, the coach called me into his office. “I’m sorry I was late,” I said, as soon as I walked in.
“I don’t think you’re really interested in this team, Cal.”
“I am.”
“Well, I don’t see it. You lack something.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not what I want. I don’t like to hear that word on the team. Sorry is not good enough. I want you there. I mean your body, and I mean more than that. I want something from inside you, and if you don’t have it, I can’t give it to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. How many times did that make? I wiped my hands down the sides of my shorts.
“What do you want to do with your life, Cal?” the coach asked.
I checked out my sneakers. What did my life have to do with this? I wanted to get my license when I was sixteen. That was all I knew about the future. Did I have to know more than that now? When I was still thirteen? Maybe if I had my father around, I’d know things. Sometimes I tried to talk to Mom about what I’d do when I got out of school, but she didn’t have too many ideas for me. “Go to college,” she always said. “Just go to college and then you’ll figure it out from there. Honest to God, Cal, that’s all I can tell you. I have enough trouble figuring out my own life.”
The coach was waiting. “So have you got anything else to say for yourself?”
I shook my head. “Okay, go on, then.” He waved his hand dismissingly. At least he didn’t boot me off the team.
Chapter 8
Alan held the back door of the car open for Mom. He was in civvies, but impressive-looking, anyway, in a pin-striped suit and vest. “I expect to hear some fine reports on you,” he rumbled to Garo. He locked the car, and we all walked across the parking lot toward the lighted school entrance. Mom and I were behind Alan and Garo.
“Funny being driven around,” Mom said. She was dressed entirely in red, except for her yellow pocketbook.
“Think we’ll ever have a car?” I asked. Even though Mom used Alan’s car all the time for shopping and stuff, it wasn’t the same as having our own.
“Maybe when you get your license, we can buy a junker.”
“I’m getting it when I’m sixteen,” I said.
Ushers with sashes gave Mom and Alan a floor plan of the school as we entered. The school was mobbed. Lights were on everywhere, and there was a big banner across the wall in the front hall. WELCOME, PARENTS! Garo and I steered them toward the Language Arts lab, which we took the same period.
“So what do we do when we get there?” Alan said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to one of these things.”
“I know! It’s a miracle that you’re home on Parents’ Night.” Garo snapped the green striped suspenders Alan had brought him. “A real cool miracle.”
“You have to sit in the seat and listen to the teacher,” I said.
“Then stand in line to talk to the teacher,” Garo said.
“I hope I don’t fail this course,” Alan said.
Mr. Pelter was in the doorway of the lab, holding his class record books under his arms. “Hello, Cal! Garo!” He held out his hand. He always reminded me of a stork. He was thin, with a large head, and stood sort of stooped over.
“This is my mother,” I said. Mom gave me a jab in the back. “Mrs. Nina Miller,” I added. Another jab, and I added, “And this is Mr. Pelter, Mom.”
Mom’s hand shot out. “So glad to meet you, Mr. Pelter,” she said melodiously. “And this is Garo’s father, Captain Alan Vitulli, Mr. Pelter.”
I could see Mr. Pelter trying to work out who belonged to who, exactly. “You have, er, two very nice, er, sons,” he said, looking somewhere between Mom and Alan.
What if Mom’s friend Tom Lustig showed up? He was divorced and had a daughter in ninth grade, Sharon. What if Tom went up to Mom and put his arm around her? It would really confuse the situation.
“Alan goes with Garo,” I blurted, “and Mom and I go together.” Then I felt stupid.
But Mr. Pelter looked relieved and said, “Cal could be one of my star pupils, Mrs. Miller. Except he doesn’t try hard enough. He doesn’t push himself. He gets good marks, but he could be so much better.”
More parents appeared, and Mr. Pelter transferred his attentions to them. Mom and Alan went into the classroom, and Garo and I went out in the corridor to wait for them.
“Star Pupil,” Garo said.
“I don’t know where he gets that stuff.”
“You’re good at writing.”
I shrugged. “I’m okay.”
“I could see Dad hoping Pelter would boast about me, too.”
“He didn’t boast, Garo. He complained.”
“I might fail history this section.”
“History? You’re going to fail history? That easy class?”
“I hate dates.”
“So don’t eat them.”
Garo stepped on my foot. “Leave the jokes to me.”
“Is Alan going to be mad about you failing? I could help you out, if you want me to.”
“I didn’t say I was definitely going to fail. I said I might. Mr. Aketa said, ‘You have a choice, Garo. You can work or you can goof off …’” He got Aketa’s voice down pretty good. Then he gave his laugh. Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh!
The door of the lab opened. Parents streamed out. Mrs. Jones-Barbarra, the Second Vice-Principal, was walking down the hall, greeting people and shaking hands with parents. Mrs. J-B is fairly beautiful for an older person. She was wearing a gold and white striped dress an
d her eyes were made up with greenish gold stuff on the eyelids. She’s about as different from the First Vice-Principal as peaches are from poison. The First V-P is Mr. Stark, a total hair shirt. He does all the discipline stuff. He never shows up at functions like this, just when something unpleasant is happening.
Mrs. Jones-Barbarra stopped as Mom and Alan came out of the lab, and I did the introductions again. “Calvin Miller’s mother,” Mrs. Jones-Barbarra said. “How nice to meet you.” She looked like a model next to Mom.
“Calvin’s ma,” Mom said. “You can always tell me. I’m short and fat, and I carry a yellow purse.”
Why did she have to say that about herself? It was corny. It was a put-down. I walked away.
“Where’re you going, hon?” Mom called. They must have heard her all over the building.
“I saw Fern Light,” Garo said. He was trying to sound casual, but he was excited and grinning. “I saw her with her parents.” Then he seemed to realize he was talking a lot about Fern. “I saw a lot of kids,” he said sort of lamely.
Garo and I were in the gym with Mom and Alan, our last stop, when Leslie Branch tapped Garo on the shoulder. “Hi, Curly,” she said.
She didn’t even speak to me. Didn’t she remember the kiss? I’d been thinking about it a lot. If I concentrated, I could almost make it happen again in my mind.
“Garo, did I tell you I lo-o-o-ve that haircut,” she said. “Very cool.” She winked at Garo and went off.
The drill team came out on the floor, and we stood around and watched. I was sorry right away, because the coach was right there, in his white shorts and white T-shirt, his arms crossed over his chest. He checked out our whole group, then his light blue eyes landed on me.
“Isn’t that your coach?” Mom said. “You should introduce us.”
“Mom, he’s busy.” I sort of steered her toward the seats. Every time the coach looked our way, I slid down on my spine. I should have looked him straight in the eye, held up my head, the sort of thing you read about people doing in books. I knew he was right about me. I didn’t have enough drive and purpose. I liked the idea of being on the team, but I didn’t go out for it with my whole heart like some guys did. It was a depressing thought.
C, My Name Is Cal Page 4
