by Beth Vrabel
I felt the corner of my mouth pop up. “Thank you!” The words sounded funny in this room. Mr. Anderson nodded. He seemed to have a hard time fighting a smile, too. He cleared his throat. “But listen, if I hear from the janitorial staff that you’ve been putting food in the woods again, you’re in serious trouble. Suspension trouble.”
I squirmed. I didn’t think anyone had seen me. “It was just a couple apples. Some beef jerky.”
Mr. Anderson narrowed his eyes. “Don’t feed the bear, Noah.”
Landon brought the soft football to school again, tossing it in the hall to Mike, who passed it to someone else, on and on. I blended into the crowd after leaving the office, watching out of the corner of my eye as the ball sailed back and forth across the stream of students.
“Go, Bruins!” someone shouted, and soon everyone was chanting. “Bruins! Bruins! Bruins!”
Before football games last year, this is what every Friday was like. Funny how my heart hammered faster, keeping beat with the chant. Like it didn’t know it wasn’t part of the team anymore. Like there was a team.
I saw the ball sailing toward me. Everything in me knew not to catch that ball. Everything but my hands, I guess. I caught it, pulling it in to my chest. Suddenly the chant stopped and the hall quieted. It was just me and the ball. Drop it, I ordered my hands. Drop it and walk away. Stupid hands didn’t listen.
The bell rang, the hall emptied, and I still held that stupid football. When teachers closed doors and I knew I was late, I still couldn’t drop the ball. At the end of the hall was a big, black trash can. Could I still do it? Could I still make the shot?
Stupid hands took over. I reared back and let loose, the ball twirling as it slid in a graceful arc, sinking right into the middle of the open trash can. Stupid mouth smiled.
I whipped around, ready to hustle to English comp, and smacked into Landon. His face was twisted and red. “The trash, Sneaks?” He shoved me with two hands, and I landed with a thud at his feet. “I hate you.”
It didn’t hurt. Not really. I mean, my tailbone sort of throbbed where I hit the tiled floor, but it wasn’t a real hurt. I could’ve bounced right back up. But I didn’t. I stayed there, eyes closed, listening to the squelch of Landon’s sneakers against the floor as he rushed the trash can to get back his ball (or maybe just to put distance between the two of us).
When I couldn’t hear him anymore, I opened my eyes. Back on my feet, I walked the wrong direction and headed toward the nurse instead. The last time I had been there was for the obligatory vision test at the end of last year. I don’t get sick much. But she knew me. “Noah,” she said, looking up from her computer screen. “Your face is flushed. Are you feeling all right?”
I shook my head, and she gestured to a cot. I lay on it and closed my eyes.
A few seconds later, I felt her cool fingers on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” she murmured. “Does your stomach hurt?”
I nodded, even though it didn’t.
“Well, you rest a bit, okay?” She pulled shut the curtain around the cot.
Rest. That sounded good, a caramel to melt slowly on my tongue.
But I couldn’t. I rolled onto my side and squeezed shut my eyes. All I saw was the bear, thrashing out of the woods. I flopped to my back. I smelled lavender, and I closed my eyes to picture Mom leaning in to whisper a story in my ear. But that made my stomach boil more, so I rolled onto my other side, and somehow heard Landon’s steps moving farther away from me.
Finally, I spit out the soured idea of rest all together.
I lay back on my back and stared at the thick ceiling tiles. A piece of green grass was wedged between the grating holding up the drop tiles. How could that have happened?
I bit my lip, hard, when a baby whimper leaked out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” the nurse called out from behind the curtain. “Do you want me to call your … your guardian?”
I shook my head, forgetting for a moment about the curtain, then mustered out, “No, thank you.”
I was tired—too tired to push away memories. So I didn’t. I let myself remember. The scenes came in flashes. Once I let in the first, the rest lined up, vying for their chance.
First, tryouts. I had thought Jeff would drop me off, but he parked instead, hanging out by the fence and watching Coach Abrams put us through the drills. When it was my turn to throw, I glanced over at Jeff. He pushed off the fence, standing straight. He winked at me and nodded. I let the ball rip from my hands. Coach Abrams whistled, long and low, and slapped his hand on my shoulder. “Quite an arm you’ve got there, Brickle.”
Next up, celebrating after the first game. Mom, Jeff, and I went to Sal’s Pizza. We were going to get a pizza to go, head home, and watch a movie. But Landon and his mom, Mike and his folks, even Brenna and a couple other cheerleaders, filled up the restaurant. They called my name as we entered, Landon pushing us to stay. Mom shared a booth with Landon’s mom, talking about how they’d get the grass stains and mud out of our uniforms.
Coach Abrams sat next to Jeff. Everyone was laughing. The fifteen million different conversations zipped around and over us but somehow included us, too. Abby filled a glass of beer from a pitcher and handed it to Mom. She winked at me and took a tiny sip. I shook my head at her and Mom pushed the glass away. Micah, his uniform spotless, came in with his mom. In that full throttle way of his, he fell into the seat across from me. “Good game, guys!” Micah said. Landon high-fived him and elbowed me under the table to do the same. An hour later, Mom’s glass was empty. She sang a little too loud as Jeff drove us home, but in the morning she was drinking coffee and smiling, so it wasn’t like before, when it was just the two of us and she used to drink.
A flash of the scoreboard. Bruins ahead by twelve in our third game of the season. Coach Abrams put his arm around Micah. “Head in and have some fun, kiddo,” he said. Coach winked at me. By now I knew what it meant: let Micah play. Coach only put Micah in when we knew we’d win. The bigger kid’s hands and feet didn’t work like the rest of ours. He’d stumble over his cleats. Even the other team always seemed to sense it, no one tackling him even though he was the biggest target. I tossed a light ball his way.
Another flash, this one of me and Jeff eating at his kitchen table. Mom was in the living room with a bunch of other moms, having a booster club meeting, talking about how to raise money for better bleachers. “Enough of this!” Brenna’s mom called out. “Let’s go have a drink at Sal’s.” Mom shot a look our way, and Jeff smiled and nodded back. “I’ll give you a lift home,” he whispered when she pecked his cheek on the way out the door. I thought about telling Jeff about before, about when Mom used to get in trouble. About how that’s why Mom doesn’t talk to her family anymore. About how I used to dump bottles of liquor down the drain when she was in the shower. But I didn’t say anything. Mom winked at me. “Just one glass of wine,” she promised.
My heart thudded faster, wanting the memories to stop there. But they kept running.
The playoff game now. Just one image: Landon in front of the end zone, arms up. The ball leaving my fingers from across the field, arcing like an arrow straight into his open hands. The touchdown. The scoreboard. The team, rushing me. The splash as Coach Abrams dumped the bucket over my head. The cheering. Jeff’s grin. Mom’s rosy cheeks. “My boy,” she said, again and again. “My boy.”
My rabbit heart thumped harder now. My stomach churned. I curled onto my side, trying to stop what comes next. But I couldn’t.
Mom coming home, face shining, thrusting a huge shoe box toward me. I tore it open to see candy-apple-red sneakers, brand name. “Just in case you weren’t cool enough.” Mom laughed. “An early Christmas present!”
Coach Abrams’s party—the night before the championship game. Jeff promised to meet us there; he had to close the Shop first. Mom ruffled my hair and told me to sit up front next to her in her car. Coach Abrams hugged me when we arrived. The other moms, standing around the kitchen
island, cheered for Mom, and held up their wine glasses. Landon and I, and the rest of the guys, threw the ball in the backyard. Jeff’s truck pulled up much later. He waved at me on his way into the house. A few minutes later, he was guiding Mom to the car. She pushed him away, telling him he’s no fun, her words slurring.
Jeff slammed the truck door shut and pulled away alone. Other people left, trickling out one by one.
Mom leaned in the doorway. Landon’s mom invited me to spend the night at their house. “No,” Mom, eyes too bright, words melting into each other. “My boy’s coming home with me.” Mom dropped her keys. She smelled sickly sweet. Drunk, just like before.
In the nurse’s office, I whimpered again. But the flashes wouldn’t stop.
The stop sign, a blur of red on the right. Lights, too fast, too close. My hands pulled the wheel, jerking it right. Mom’s scream was shrill. A siren pierced the night behind us.
Blue lights flashing in the side mirror. “Don’t tell them, Noah!” Mom crying. “Don’t tell them I’m drunk.” An officer barked at me to stay in the car, to keep my hands up.
Mom, in handcuffs.
Mom being pushed into the back seat of the cruiser.
Mom! Mom! Mom!
In the nurse’s office, my stomach boiled. Heart hammered. I felt sweat bead on my forehead even though my arms were covered in gooseflesh. The nurse pulled back the curtain. “You seem peaked,” she murmured. “I’m calling your guardian.”
I shook my head, but couldn’t scatter the images.
“All right,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone fight this hard to tough out a day of seventh grade. But since you’re not feverish or actively throwing up, I can’t make you leave. Just rest for another few minutes.”
I couldn’t leave now. Not when the worst memory had finally pushed to the front of the line. It flashed like an explosion.
The championship game, the next morning.
The game, just me and the ball and my team. Touchdown after touchdown. Fury flooded me again and again, despite the score.
The countdown. Two quarters left. One quarter. Five minutes. Three. When the time ran out, that’d be it. The game would be over. Season over. And what would I have left?
Coach Abrams gave Micah the go-ahead to head out. “Simple Pitch play.”
I took the snap. Tossed the ball to Micah. And he just stood there. Doing nothing. Nothing.
So I rushed him.
Hit him with my shoulder.
Absorbed the crunch as the defensive tackle rammed Micah into me.
Heard his strangled cry but ripped the ball free from his fingers anyway.
Ran to the end zone.
Scored the touchdown.
Heard how loud silence can be.
And me, alone.
“Noah?” the nurse asked. “Are you ready to go back to class?”
I nodded, still staring at the ceiling. “I’m feeling better now,” I said, even though my whole body wanted to sleep.
The nurse frowned down at me. “Why don’t you rest a little more, Noah?”
I must’ve fallen asleep right away. The light was different in the room when I woke. As the nurse left to write my excuse back to class, I stood on the cot and nabbed the stray piece of grass wedged in the tile.
CHAPTER TEN
Coach Abrams used to make us watch video of games. We’d go through each and every move. “You don’t know what to do next until you know what you’ve already done,” he used to say.
Funny how lying there in the nurse’s office, watching the play-by-play of my life, helped me form a plan.
I couldn’t change anything. I had messed up a lot. If Mom and Jeff stayed together once she was out, that was up to them. I couldn’t change it and I hadn’t made it easier, considering the times Jeff had to come pick me up at school. So Jeff was either going to let me stay or kick out me and Mom next month. I’d still have to face Mom eventually. The Bringing Back the Bruins thing wasn’t going away, and wasn’t going to push the spotlight off of me.
But I could, maybe, change something.
Maybe I could save the bear.
“Hey,” I said to Rina, who stood by the lockers at the end of the day. She jumped about six inches off the ground and dropped a book onto her foot.
“Ow, ow, ow!” She jumped on one leg. “What are you thinking, scaring people like that?”
“First of all,” I said as I bent to pick up her book, “it was a simple ‘hey,’ not ‘boo.’ Secondly, you did the same thing to me this morning. Third, what are you doing carrying around such a massive tome?”
Rina cocked an eyebrow. “Tome?”
I shrugged, feeling my face heat. How could I tell her that being around her made me want to sound smart? Luckily, she smiled. “It’s Grimm’s Fairy Tales, the complete collection.”
“It’s the size of a cinder block.”
“Hence the complete part.” She grabbed it from me, our fingers brushing, and zipped it into her backpack. I had this crazy urge to grab the bag from her and carry it instead. Not because she was weak or anything. Just because I didn’t like the idea of it cutting into her shoulder.
So, of course, I said something dumb. “Aren’t you a little too old for fairy tales?”
Rina sighed. I didn’t need to look up from shoving my own books into my backpack to know she threw an eye roll in there, too. “Did you know there’s a fairy tale in here about a girl whose dad makes a mistake and she ends up having her hands chopped off by the devil? Doubt Disney’s going to make a movie about that.”
A snorty laugh slipped out at that. Very smooth.
“So what’s up, Noah?” Rina crossed her arms and stared at me.
“Uh, nothing.” I closed my locker door.
“Come on.” She sighed again. “You’re so full of crap. One day you don’t talk to me at all, the next you’re using words like ‘tome’ and being all gentlemanly.”
“Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
Rina’s hand floated toward me, like she was going to touch my arm. I didn’t mean to, but I sucked in my breath. Her hand fell to her side. “I know you’re a nice guy, Noah.” She cocked her eyebrow at me again. “What do you want?”
I swallowed hard, not knowing where to start. “It’s just. There’s this thing. And I was wondering … I mean, you know how to … ”
The bell rang. “Are you taking the bus today?” Rina asked.
I shook my head. “I’m heading to Jeff’s shop.”
“Cool. I’ll meet you there in a half hour. Maybe you’ll be able to string words into sentences by then.”
As soon as I got outside the school, I looked up the Department of Natural Resources on my phone. I cleared my throat and dialed. It was dumb to be nervous. I mean, it was just a phone call, right?
“Department of Natural Resources, how may I direct your call?” the person on the other end said and I almost hung up.
But instead, I croaked out, “Yeah, um. I’m calling about a bear.”
“Okay,” the person said. “Where is the bear now?”
“Um. I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling super stupid. I didn’t even know how to make a phone call. I cleared my throat again. “It’s the bear, the one with the, um, bucket on its head.”
“Oh, right. Bucket Bear. I’ll connect you with Ron, the officer handling that case. I can give you his direct line, in case you’re disconnected.”
“Cool,” I said. “Hang on.” Quickly I pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from my backpack. Holding the phone wedged against my ear, I copied down the number and then was transferred.
“Officer Ron speaking. What’s your issue?”
The warm, cozy feeling from the first part of the call vanished. Officer Ron had a voice like he guzzled rocks for breakfast—deep and gravely. I cleared my throat again. “Yeah, I’m calling to see if you’ve caught the bear yet.”
“The one with the bucket on its head?” I heard crinkling sounds, probably a wrapper being r
olled up and tossed in the trash. “The bear is still at large.”
“Any spottings?”
The officer sighed. “No. These things take time. Give me time.” More munching sounds came through the line.
And suddenly I stopped being nervous and just was annoyed. Couldn’t he wait until he was off the phone? How seriously was taking the bear if he could eat a Tastykake through talking about her?
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re real busy and all.”
Officer Ron’s voice deepened even more. “I’m heading out now to check the traps. All right?”
“Yes, thanks,” I said. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“These things take time,” he said again.
“Right. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Noah. Noah Brickle.”
“All right, Noah Brickle. How about you let the grown-ups handle this?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, sir.”
Officer Ron sighed as I hung up.
As soon as the call ended, I ran to the Shop, waved to Glen and Jeff, then cleaned off the counter. I even fed the vending machine a few quarters for a couple pops and bags of chips. Of course, Rina probably only ate organic juice and free-range tortillas or something like that. I worked through the words in my head until they actually were sentences. I’d play off calling the DNR as no big deal. Like I had loads of experience calling government offices. But the first time I tried to talk, it was to Jeff, and I still stumbled.
“I’m, uh … A friend is meeting me here. For a project. I mean, to start a project. Maybe a project.”
Jeff and Glen stood behind a laptop, ordering parts. Glen pursed his lips and chewed on his cigarette. Jeff crossed his arms and stared at me, his mouth twitching. “A project, huh?” he said.
“This project … ” Glen rolled the cigarette along his mouth. “It involve a girl?”
