Little Skinny walked slowly over from the shelter. He still had his shoes on and he slipped, almost falling, waving his arms like a bird to catch himself. “I’ll race you,” he said. “But I don’t have any skates.” He looked over at me.
It was like he was challenging me to see if I’d be nice to him at school, in front of the others. I took the dare.
“I’ll loan you mine,” I said. I pulled off my skates and gave them a little push so they glided across the ice to Little Skinny.
He smiled and put them on quickly, almost without looking at the laces. “Three times around the pond?” Little Skinny suggested.
Eddie nodded. “Fine with me.”
They both skated over to the charcoal line we’d been using as a starting mark. There was a large ring of stones around the middle of the pond. The other boys and I had placed them there when we’d first arrived, creating a makeshift lane around the edge for racing. That way the girls could skate in the middle without getting in our way.
“Here are the rules,” I said. “Stay in the lane, three times around, no funny business—no tripping, pushing, stuff like that.”
They nodded.
“On your mark,” I said. “Get set. Go!”
During the first lap, Eddie and Little Skinny stayed pretty even. I was surprised. Little Skinny was actually a good skater, moving smoothly across the ice. By the time the second lap was done, Little Skinny was slightly ahead.
“Come on, Eddie!” Luke called.
I wasn’t sure who to root for.
Eddie skated faster, really giving it his all. But Little Skinny did too, pulling ahead a little bit more. By the final turn, it wasn’t even a contest. Little Skinny was a full body length ahead. A moment later he crossed the finish line first and raised his hands in the air. “I won!”
Everyone, on the ice and in the shelter, was looking at him.
Angry, Eddie purposely crashed into the lane, sending the rocks flying. “You can skate!”
Little Skinny grinned. “Ever since I could walk,” he said proudly. “I can ski too. Everyone can, where I’m from. There were lots of mountains.”
“You tricked me!” Eddie said.
“What’s wrong, Eddie?” Little Skinny taunted. “Did I embarrass you in front of your friends?”
“You little communist!” Eddie yelled, and took a swing at Little Skinny.
Little Skinny ducked and stumbled on the ice, but he didn’t fall.
“He’s not a communist,” I said quietly.
“Well, his dad sure is,” said Eddie. “I heard my father talking about it.”
I grabbed Eddie’s arm and pulled him a couple of steps away from Little Skinny. “Take it back!”
“No, I won’t,” he said. “And why do you care, Tommy?”
“It’s not true,” I argued. “You shouldn’t be spreading lies about Mr. McKenzie!”
“But everybody knows he’s a communist. It’s why no one shops there anymore,” said Eddie.
“It’s not true!”
“How do you know?” asked Eddie.
My stomach hurt like I’d been punched. “Because I was the one who put the copy of the Daily Worker in his store.”
“What?” said Eddie. “The one you found on the paper drive?”
I nodded. “Didn’t you figure it out?”
“But I thought Mr. McKenzie was the communist?”
Luke and Peter stood watching us, taking in every word.
“It was just a joke,” I said. “I didn’t know everyone would take it so seriously!”
The nuns rang a bell then, signaling it was time to return to school. I started obediently back to the bank, but Eddie stood there in the center of the pond.
So did Little Skinny. And something had snapped in him, because his eyes were no longer sad, they were mad.
“One time,” he said. “I got the best of you one time. And you had to go and ruin it!” He took a deep breath like he was going to start crying. Instead, he punched Eddie in the stomach.
I was so surprised, it took me a moment to react. By that point, Little Skinny had his full weight on top of Eddie and was pounding away. One hit after another. I could see the blood spurting out of Eddie’s nose.
Eddie was yelling and I tried to pull Little Skinny off, but he threw me aside, like a bear with a dog. For the first time, I could see Mr. McKenzie’s toughness in Little Skinny. He kept pounding Eddie, but maybe Eddie deserved it. For the coal. And the candy. And all the ways we’d hurt Little Skinny. Maybe I deserved to be beaten too.
The nuns were gathered around the edge of the pond, yelling. None of them had skates on and they kept slipping as they tried to venture onto the ice. Then there was a loud cracking sound, almost like thunder.
“Stop,” I yelled. “Sam, stop!”
Little Skinny stopped pounding Eddie and turned to look at me. The pond rumbled again.
Eddie scrambled to his feet.
“The ice!” cried a girl from the bank.
Everyone scattered, Eddie and I reaching solid ice just in time. But Little Skinny stood still for just a moment too long. By the time he started to move, there was another crack, even louder this time, and the ice broke up beneath him. He fell into the water.
The pond was only three feet deep, so it wasn’t like he was going to drown or anything. But when Little Skinny stood up, he just looked so cold and miserable with the water running down his face.
Peter started to laugh. I pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Eddie. He pressed it against his nose to stop the bleeding.
Little Skinny tried to pull himself onto the solid ice, but his weight was too much and the ice kept cracking as he tried to scramble out.
The nuns screamed for someone to find a rope. Peter kept laughing. I had another idea. I ran to the shelter and grabbed the fire poker. Then I ran, sliding without my skates, back onto the ice. When I got close to the hole, I lay down on the ice and held out the poker.
“Grab it,” I said.
Little Skinny did. With a huge effort, I managed to pull him onto the ice. He followed me, crawling almost all the way back to the bank before daring to stand up again.
Peter was laughing so hard, he was doubled over, clutching his stomach. I knew he expected me to join in too, play it off as a huge joke, but I just couldn’t. Luke wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t helping either.
The nuns came running over. “Are you all right, Samuel?” Sister Ann cried.
“Cold,” he choked out. He was shivering so badly, I thought his skeleton would shake right out of his body. I grabbed my coat from the bank and handed it to him.
Sister Ann ushered Little Skinny over to the fire. But once he warmed up a bit, she started to lecture. “Samuel,” she said sternly, “we saw you hitting Eddie. Fighting is strictly forbidden at St. Joe’s. I’m afraid you’ll—”
“No,” I said suddenly. “It wasn’t his fault. Eddie hit first.”
Eddie looked at me, surprised and bewildered. We didn’t rat each other out. We kept each other’s secrets.
But I went on. “Eddie provoked him,” I said. “Called his dad a communist.”
Sister Ann sighed. “Even if Eddie was teasing him, that’s no reason to—”
“No,” I insisted. “His dad is going to lose his store because of those rumors. And it’s my fault too because I was the one who started them.”
Everyone was suddenly quiet and staring at me. Even Lizzie was looking at me with a little half smile on her face that made me think maybe she didn’t hate my guts quite so much anymore.
Sister Ann, however, looked exhausted. “Eddie, are you hurt?” she asked.
“Yes!” He held up the bloody handkerchief.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” Eddie admitted.
“Good.
Samuel, are you okay?”
“Cold.” Little Skinny’s teeth chattered and he was shivering violently.
Sister Ann nodded decisively. “Tommy, take Samuel home and get him some dry clothes. Everyone else, back to school!”
32
THE APARTMENT
The store was closed when we arrived, but Little Skinny had a key. “Dad’s probably at the hospital,” he said. And he didn’t have to say the rest: because Mom’s not doing so well.
The dark, empty shelves gave the store an eerie feel. Little Skinny marched right through it, heading for the stairs. I’d never seen their apartment before, but I followed him up the narrow staircase.
There was a simple living room at the top, a couch, a table and an armchair. The furniture was well-worn, but everything was neat and tidy.
“Wait here,” said Little Skinny. “I’ll go get some dry clothes.”
While he was gone, I looked around. In one corner, there was a small table with a funny metal machine on top. It had a round drum and a handle.
“What’s that?” I asked when Little Skinny returned.
“A mimeograph machine,” Little Skinny said, drying his hair with a towel.
“Where’d you get it?” I asked.
“The church was throwing it away,” he said. “I fixed it myself. I’m good at things like that.”
“How does it work?”
Little Skinny sighed. “You put this special sheet, it’s called a stencil, in the typewriter and type out what you want to say. Then you can run off as many copies as you want. My dad writes family letters every month, and I make copies of them so he can send them to all his relatives. He lets me use the extra stencils.”
“For your stories?”
“Yeah.”
“Going to let me read one?”
“No.” But this time he said it with a smile. It was odd to think he had secrets, a whole other life, one where he wrote stories and was good at skating and could fix things.
“Ready to go?” Little Skinny asked.
“What about your wet clothes?”
“What about them?”
“Don’t you need to wash them?”
He shrugged. “I’ll do it when I get home.”
“I’d be afraid my mom would beat me if I left wet clothes lying around,” I said without thinking.
Little Skinny laughed.
But I wasn’t joking. And I guess after a minute Little Skinny realized that, because as we were walking back down the stairs, he asked, “Your mom hit you a lot?”
I shrugged. “She always used to yell, but since Mary Lou has been in the hospital, she’s . . . gotten worse.”
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I peeked over, expecting to see pity in Little Skinny’s eyes, but he just looked surprised. As if he hadn’t realized I had another life too. “You always seem so confident, Tommy. Like nothing ever bothers you.”
“Ha!” I laughed, short and bitter. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”
“But you do stuff,” said Little Skinny. “I’ve wanted to go out and steal a bunch of yo-yos more than once.” We walked back through the dark store. “I just don’t have the guts.”
Was he saying he admired me? For stealing yo-yos? “Nah,” I said. “Guts are overrated.”
Little Skinny laughed, then looked embarrassed.
“We’d better get back to school,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. Then, right before we went inside, he said, “You called me Sam. Before the ice cracked.” It was almost a question.
I nodded. “Isn’t that your name?”
He smiled. “Yeah, it is.”
That afternoon, I was a few minutes late leaving the building after school. I had to finish the math assignment I’d missed when I was with Sam. And I wanted to make sure I didn’t run into Eddie. So by the time I made it outside, Mom was waiting by the car. She was leaning against the hood, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked like a mess. Her hair was uncombed, her dress wrinkled. Her eyes were wide and a bit unfocused, as if she’d taken one of Dr. Stanton’s pills and then drunk a whole pot of coffee to stay awake. “You’re late.”
“Little Skinny, I mean Sam, fell through the ice.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Mom sneered.
“I’m not.”
Mom slapped me.
The sound seemed to echo across the school yard. Everyone turned to look at us. Sister Ann stood in the school doorway, watching. I thought I would be embarrassed, but maybe, like Sam, I’d just had enough.
I turned the other side of my face toward her. “Go ahead,” I said. “Slap the other side.”
She did.
Sister Ann walked up to our car then. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Wilson?” she asked, her wimple blowing in the wind.
Instantly, Mom was all smiles. “Of course, Sister Ann. Tommy was just being disrespectful.”
“I see,” said Sister Ann. She looked at me, but I didn’t say a word, just got into the backseat with Pinky.
My sister climbed into my lap and gave me a big hug. “Mommy’s in a bad mood.”
“I know.”
“I wet my pants this morning,” she admitted. “I’m almost five! I’m not supposed to do that.”
“It’s not your fault.” But Pinky still didn’t let go.
Mom got into the driver’s seat, and I was surprised when Sister Ann climbed into the front beside her. Mom said, “We’re ever so grateful, Sister, that you’re coming to the hospital to tutor Mary Lou.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Sister Ann said.
I guess Father Miskel had approved of the idea. No one had bothered to tell me.
Mom drove way too fast, skidding on the ice when she turned. No one said a word all the way to the hospital. As soon as we arrived, Sister Ann and Mom went up to see Mary Lou. They were gone a long time.
When I finally got to see Mary Lou, my sister chattered on and on, about how great it felt to do her school lessons. “Sister Ann said if I worked really, really hard, I might even be able to graduate with the other eighth graders!” She grinned. “And it’s all thanks to you, Tommy!”
But it didn’t feel great. It felt like everything was falling apart.
I sat in the chair next to her bed and looked out the window as I listened.
“Is something wrong?” Mary Lou asked. “You’re quiet today.”
I just shook my head. I didn’t know where to start.
33
THE COMMUNIST
Later that evening, I was in the kitchen doing the dishes. My whole body hurt from falling on the ice and I could still feel the sting on my cheeks from where Mom had slapped me, even though they weren’t red anymore. I was about halfway done when Dad came in and tapped me on the shoulder. “Can I help?”
I shrugged and Dad took that as a yes. Oh, I knew he was trying to be nice, but I needed help with Mom, not with the pots and pans! Still, I washed the plates while Dad did the glasses.
“I heard Sister Ann came to tutor Mary Lou today,” he said, wiping a smudge of lipstick off a water glass. “Mom said it was your idea.”
I shrugged again.
“It was a good one, Tommy. We should have thought of it before.”
That sounded almost like a compliment. I scrubbed a bit of dried food off a plate, kind of embarrassed.
“I also heard that Eddie got into a fight at school. Something about him picking on—”
“I didn’t hit anyone!” I said.
“I know,” he said. “Just making sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Dad!”
“Well, you sometimes act impulsively. Like you think you really are a cowboy.”
“I like cowboys.” Dad said it like there was something wrong with being one. “Cowboys are brave and strong and honest.”
“They’re also reckless, vengeful and independent to a fault.” Dad sighed. “Take your idea about ‘finding the communist’ and ‘clearing Mr. McKenzie’s name.’”
“What about it? You defended Mr. McKenzie at the card party.”
“I like Mr. McKenzie just fine,” Dad said, “but—”
“Then why don’t you want me to help him? I feel bad that I haven’t!”
“Tommy, it’s not—”
“I really should keep trying. That’s what a cowboy would do.”
“Thomas John Wilson, this conversation is over.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Oh, that’s a good reason,” I scoffed.
“Tommy!” Dad’s face was getting redder and his hands trembled as he washed the glasses. Any second now, I thought he was going to go get the belt and whip me himself. But I just couldn’t stop.
“Or maybe,” I said, “you just don’t like me!”
Dad froze, a glass in one hand. “Tommy, is that what you think?”
I realized I was breathing hard, my heart pumping as if I’d just finished a race.
“Yeah.”
Dad looked horrified. “That’s not true. I . . . I don’t want you pursuing this anymore because I already know who the ‘communist’ is.”
In the harsh glare of the kitchen, every line in my dad’s face stood out. He looked as tense as Gary Cooper heading to the final shoot-out all alone. “Who?” I asked.
“Me.” He whispered the word so softly, I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard him.
“You?” I asked. “You’re a communist?” Part of me wanted to laugh, but his face was tight and pinched and it certainly didn’t look like he was joking.
“No, of course not. But the paper came from me.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “When I was in college, I attended a meeting or two. Maybe I bought a few papers. I was curious. There was a professor I admired who invited me and . . . it doesn’t matter. I never joined anything. Everything is packed up in some old boxes in the attic. Your mother took it upon herself to get rid of one of the boxes without asking me, and I guess one of the old papers got mixed up with the new ones.”
The Paper Cowboy Page 16
