by Gwynn White
I sit at the poetry table next to Colton. He mines for some gold and sticks his finger in his mouth. Gross. I have to remember to wash my hands after sharing his space.
My word is “read.” I try to write my poem while listening to Tessa and Sophie.
“You haven’t seen it yet,” Sophie is saying. “My grandpa painted it white and pink, my favorite colors. And my mommy sewed pink curtains to match.”
“Do you have furniture for it?” Tessa asks.
“I got a bed for the mommy and daddy, and a couch and a lamp and a table, and the kitchen has stuff. Like a frigerator and an oven and a clock.”
“I have some things from my old doll house,” Tessa says. “I got a bunk bed, and a potty, and a cat. I could bring them over.”
“Okay. You could bring them over today,” Sophie says.
What is in your face I read, I write on my paper.
“I can’t today. I’m going to see Thomas.”
“Thomas?” Sophie says. “You mean him?”
“Yeah, Thomas in our class. He’s over there.”
I assume she’s pointing at me across the room.
“Do you like him?” Sophie asks.
“Yep. He’s my new friend,” Tessa says loyally.
“But he doesn’t play dolls, does he?”
“No, he’s a boy. He plays stuff like my brothers, except he’s way smarter.”
“Is he nice?”
“Pretty nice. He taught me about mummies. And he’s nice to my mommy, too.”
“He’s nice to your mom? I didn’t know that boys were nice to moms.”
Tessa laughs. “That’s ‘cause you don’t have brothers. You don’t know anything about boys.”
“Maybe I could come over to his house, too,” Sophie says. “He sounds pretty good.”
“You can’t just invite yourself over,” Tessa says. “My mommy says that isn’t nice.”
“Well, you could ask him.”
A thought forming, a sprouting seed, I write.
A longing born of want and need,
“Maybe we can play together at recess,” Tessa says. “You can talk to him.”
“He might think I’m dumb,” Sophie says. “I don’t know about boys or brains or any of that stuff he knows.”
On your friendship let me feed.
I finish my poem and hand it to Mrs. Gardener. She is silent a few moments after she reads it.
“This is beautiful, Thomas,” she says.
“Thank you. May I…would it be okay if I had a conversation with Sophie? I know we’re not really supposed to talk during centers.”
“Sure,” she says. “Just keep your voices down and try not to disturb anyone.”
I walk over to the computers and pull the nearest desk chair up next to the girls.
“Hello, Tessa. Hello, Sophie,” I say.
“Hi, Thomas,” Tessa says. Sophie stares at me, mute.
“How is the computer going?” I ask them.
“Pretty good,” Tessa says. “I shot all the silent Es, and I’m on long Os.”
“Cool,” I say. “What about you, Sophie?”
“Uh,” she says.
I scoot closer to her so I can see what she’s doing. “You’re on S with the H brother. That’s awesome.”
“It is?” she asks.
“Sure. When I first learned to read, I had a tough time with those. I was reading to my mom out loud about the Bishop of Canterbury. I didn’t say bishop, though. I said biz-hop.”
I laugh. The girls just look at me.
“Guess you had to be there,” I say.
“See?” Tessa says to Sophie. They share a secret smile.
I give myself a little spurt of adrenaline and take a deep breath.
“You know, Sophie, Tessa is coming over to my house today after school. Would you be interested in joining us?”
Tessa raises her eyebrows at Sophie and nods her head furiously.
“Um, sure. I have to ask my mommy.”
“Wait a sec,” I say. I run back over to the poetry table where Colton is staring at his word card (“pin”) and a blank piece of paper. I grab another piece of paper and a pencil and run back to the girls.
“Here, I’ll write down my phone number and address, and your mom can call my grandma after school.” I scribble the information and hand it to Sophie.
She stares at it, open-mouthed.
Tessa pokes her with her elbow. “I told you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dad and Grandma and I settle into a routine. Dad sleeps in, and I usually don’t see him in the mornings before school, but he’s always there when I get home, and we eat dinner together, and he checks my homework, and he gives me hints on cool things to study. The pyramids. The ancient Greeks. Rene Descartes. The microwave.
None of his suggestions include the human body.
I’ve become something of a celebrity at school. Maybe celebrity is the wrong word, but I’ve become—dare I say it?—popular. The girls love me.
For some reason, every girl in my class has become my buddy. They all want to hang out with me and with Tessa, and they want to see the mummy book and the marble contraption and make cupcakes with Grandma. And strangest of all, they want to hang out with Dad.
He’s a good-looking man, I know. But he’s also pretty scary. If he were walking toward you on the street, you would cross over to the other side just to be safe. The aura of danger around him is visible.
But the girls don’t see it. They see a man who will challenge them to play Wii Fit and will often lose. They see a man who licks the cream filling out of an Oreo without eating the chocolate cookies. They see a dad who’s around.
Initially, Dad was a little concerned about having all these girls over to the house. I mean, the potential for him to be labeled “that creepy dad hanging out with the little girls” was definitely there and something he was conscious of. But without expecting it, the girls’ moms began to hang out at our house, too. They have tea with Grandma, laugh at all my conversations with the girls, and even join in on the Wii Fit challenges. Destiny’s mom and Sophie’s mom are divorced. They seem to hang out the most.
At night I go to bed listening to Grandma and Dad talk. It reminds me of the times when Dad was home on leave, and he and Mom would chat for hours, late into the night. I miss Mom the most then. During the day I’m busy and don’t have a lot of time to think about her. But every night as I start to fall asleep, I listen hard for the sound of the running faucet and Mom’s soft voice.
My birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. April 25th. It occurs to me that I could have a birthday party, with actual friends in attendance. I have friends now, lots of them. They might even bring me a present.
Grandma is making another cup of tea. I hear her spoon clink on the cup as she stirs.
“So how’s the new schedule working out?” she asks Dad.
“It works,” he says. “The place runs itself pretty well. Good men are there. I just don’t feel very productive during the day. I don’t know how Trish did it.”
“You have enough responsibility,” Grandma says. “And you’re raising Thomas. You’ve earned the downtime.”
I hear Dad take a swallow of whatever he’s drinking. Probably coffee.
“Money’s not an issue, I know, but I have to do something.” He pauses. “You remember Bill? Bill Hanlin?”
“In the SEALs with you?”
“Yeah. He’s got a security firm. They’re working with the Iraqis.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Grandma says.
“No joke. But I’m not thinking of going to Iraq. He does stuff local, too. Celebrity events. Bodyguarding.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Grandma says.
“Not really,” Dad says. “Bill’s been pushing me pretty hard.”
“Because he knows you’re the best. I don’t see how that will make you feel more productive, though. Being a bodyguard sounds pretty boring. In between the dangerou
s stuff, of course.”
“It’s good money,” Dad says.
“You said money’s not an issue.”
Dad sighs. “No, it’s not.”
“Then why don’t you start your own company?” Grandma asks. “You could ask Thomas to help you. He’d be a whiz at business.”
Dad pauses, probably to think about it.
“There are lots of things I could do, but nothing I really want to do,” Dad says. “Nothing else I’m passionate about. I’m still…figuring it all out. I’m not sure I want to tie myself down to one thing, day in and day out.”
“Then be the seed money. Do something that Thomas is passionate about. What a great project it would be for the two of you.”
Dad sips again. “Like what?”
Grandma tsks. “You know your son now. You tell me.”
Dad laughs. “The Wii, though I’m not sure how we’d make money off that. Sculpting. Kind of tough to break into the art world when you’re six.”
“But he could do it,” Grandma says, and I smile into my pillow.
“Yeah, he could.”
“How about cakes? Like Tessa’s mom?”
“Erica struggles enough with her own business. I wouldn’t want to compete against her,” Dad says.
“Why not partner up?” Grandma suggests. “You could open a storefront bakery. Erica could run most of it, and Thomas could help with decorating and accounting.”
Dad laughs. “Jesus, Mom, what would the guys say?”
“Who cares?”
Chapter Thirty
Sophie and I are making kites. It’s a windy day, and though we ask Dad if he’ll go buy us one, Grandma immediately chimes in that we are old enough to make our own. I’m dubious about getting the physics of a kite correct, but Grandma says that as long as it’s light, it will fly.
She gives us glue, plastic straws, and an assortment of tissue paper from her Christmas wrapping stash. I choose green tissue paper with little candy canes all over it. Sophie chooses white tissue paper with blue snowflakes. We cut out large diamond shapes and glue straws on the back. Sophie rips her first two diamonds just trying to lay them flat on the ground.
“Fail,” she says the second time, selecting a piece of plain red tissue to try again. “We need something stronger.”
The glue on my straws is causing my tissue paper to bleed green all over my hands.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “Any ideas?”
“How about foil? I think the shiny silver would look cool flying in the sky.”
“The foil would conduct electricity,” I say. “What if lightning struck? We’d be crispy fried.”
Sophie looks at the playroom windows. “I don’t see any clouds.”
Wow. That was actually a smart thing to say.
“Just to be on the safe side, maybe we should use something else.”
“How about Kleenex?” Sophie offers. “We could tape them together, then tape them to the straws. This glue stuff is a fail, too.”
“Okay. Be right back.”
I run to the bathroom and grab the box of tissues. Then I run to the kitchen to get the tape out of Grandma’s junk drawer.
“Dad, I need some tape!” I yell as I run into the room.
And then I stop.
Sophie’s mother is sitting in Dad’s lap at the kitchen table. I cannot see what they’re doing—I only see her back—but I have to assume they’re kissing.
“Sorry,” I say, covering my eyes and inching toward the drawer. “I only need some tape.”
Mrs. Barone stands up a bit too quickly and turns away from me.
“Thomas,” she says. “We didn’t hear you. Is Sophie okay?”
“She’s fine,” I say. And I think, You might not have heard me, but he did.
I get the tape and go back to make our kites.
I tried not to put too much tape on my kite, because I knew tape would weigh it down. That which makes the kite stronger also makes it incapable of flying.
We stand out in the backyard holding our kites in one hand and a yo-yo in the other. I had two old yo-yos, and I was never able to make them work, so I sacrificed them for this. We taped one end to the middle straw on our kites, and I’m hoping we can let out a bit of string at a time as the kites climb. Sophie’s yo-yo is red; mine is purple.
“You go first,” she insists.
I stand at one end of the yard and run as fast as I can. I let go of my kite and give some slack on the string. The kite catches in a gust of wind and soars. I don’t let out the string fast enough, though, and as I continue to run, I pull the kite straight into the back of my head.
Sophie laughs. “You gotta give it more string,” she says.
“Thank you, Einstein,” I say, glaring at her. And them we both crack up. “You go.”
Sophie positions herself at the edge of the grass and starts to run. She cradles the yo-yo, watching it instead of the kite. As the string begins to go taut, she rolls the yo-yo in her hands and lets out more string. The kite sails above her head until all of the string is out. Only then does Sophie slow her steps and look up.
“I did it, Thomas. Look!”
I look. The kite is flying merrily. One corner of tissue has come loose and flaps along in the breeze. When the wind blows through the hole in the loose tissue, the kite seems to do a jig.
“Were you paying attention?” she says without taking her eyes off the kite. “Do exactly what I did. Your way didn’t work.”
Obviously. Cheeky girl. And then I grin to myself as I prepare for another run. No one else has ever dared to tell me I didn’t do something well.
I run. I pump my legs and run as fast as I can. And when I reach Sophie, I run right into her and tackle her to the ground.
“Oof,” she says.
And before she can say another word, I kiss her.
She smells like glue and sweet sweat, and she tastes like the peanut butter apples we ate after school.
Then she shoves me off her. “What are you doing?”
I roll to my side and sit up. Sophie is standing over me. It happens so fast, I don’t even see her move.
“Kissing you,” I say.
“Why?”
I think about that. I don’t want her to know that my dad kissed her mom.
“You’re nice to me,” I say. “And you told me I should fly the kite like you.”
She gives me a funny look. “You ruined my kite.” She holds up the shreds of what was once a kite and now looks like a sad pile of mummy wrappings.
“I’m sorry. I’ll make you another one.”
“Nah. Are you my boyfriend now?”
I raise my eyebrows. “If you like me, too.”
She holds her hand out to me and I take it and stand up. We walk back into the house, Sophie kind of pulling me along behind her. We stop in the kitchen. Dad and Sophie’s mom are sitting in separate chairs at the table.
“Thomas is my boyfriend now,” Sophie announces.
“Oh?” her mother says. She gives my dad a knowing glance. Dad smiles at her and then looks at me. I glare at him. He starts to cough.
“Thomas, uh…cough, cough, maybe you, uh, cough…I think it’s time for Sophie to go home.”
“Oh, Mom,” Sophie starts to whine. I drop her hand so she can gesture dramatically.
“It’s okay, Sophie,” I say. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Maybe tomorrow night us girls can cook you two men some dinner,” Sophie’s mom suggests.
Dad stands up and walks them out. “I may have a meeting. I’ll call you in the morning, Leah.”
“Great!” she gushes.
Ugh.
I’m mad at Dad but I don’t even know why. I usually have a better handle on my emotions than this.
Dad closes the door behind them and turns to me.
“So, Sophie, huh?”
I shrug.
“What about Tessa?”
Oh yeah. Tessa. I feel my stomach squirm.
<
br /> “It happened kind of fast,” I say.
Dad chuckles. “Same here. One minute we’re talking about movies, and the next thing I know, Leah’s sitting on me.”
“Spare me the details,” I say.
Dad searches my face. “Are you upset with me?”
“Yeah, but I have no right to be.”
“That’s the funny thing about emotions,” Dad says. “We can’t control them. We can change how our bodies respond to them, but only after they’re there.”
“I guess I’m not really mad,” I say. “It’s just weird. And it kind of makes me sad.”
Dad scrubs a hand through his hair. “Me, too.”
We walk into the kitchen and Dad gets a beer while I get some orange juice. We sit down at the table.
“Why would kissing Sophie’s mom make you sad?” I ask him.
“It just means that Mom is really gone. I wouldn’t be kissing someone else otherwise.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I say.
“So are you sure about Sophie?” he asks.
“No. I like her, though. She has a lot of common sense. And common sense isn’t something a lot of first graders exhibit.”
“Common sense is good,” Dad says.
“I agree,” I say. “But I didn’t even think of Tessa until you brought her up. Now I can’t un-think her.”
“Do you think you betrayed her?” Dad asks.
“Not exactly. I mean, I’ve never kissed Tessa.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean you kissed Sophie?”
“Yes. It was sort of an experiment,” I explain. “Then it got out of hand.”
“Kissing experiments have a way of doing that.”
“Why is that?” I ask him. “If I’m conducting an experiment, I control all of the variables. I decide what steps to take next.”
Dad laughs. “Kissing is the ultimate experiment, with so many variables you can’t possibly control them. How can you control how the other person will react? How can you control your emotions?”
“Not very well, apparently,” I say.
I’ve read that the male sex drive is the most powerful force on the planet. When I hit puberty, it will take on a life of its own, forcing me to plant my seed in any fertile ground within reach.
