Downside Up

by Richard Scrimger

  “He’s a kind of mutt,” I said.

  “Great. My favorite breed of dog. You love Casey, hey, Fred?”

  I nodded.

  “Course you do. You’d hate to lose him, hey? Be the worst thing that could happen.”

  I nodded again.

  “Course it would. Now I want you to become Casey for our story, Fred. Does he sometimes put his head on one side, like he’s thinking? Yeah, my dog does that too. Do it now please, Fred. Good. Very good. Now put your paws up, like this—watch me. There you go. Good. And maybe pant a bit? Fantastic. Fantastic.”

  Ralph had me under a spell. The idea of being Casey really grabbed hold of me. I had my head on one side and my tongue out. I looked stupid, but so what? I was making Casey more real. He sometimes closed one eye when he panted, so I did that. Ralph said, “Fantastic,” again.

  “Now, guys,” he said to the crowd in the gym, “our story is going to be called, Fred Loses His Dog. It’s a sad story—something’s gone wrong—that’s why we’re telling it. No one wants to hear a story about things going well, Fred and Casey playing happily all day long and going home to dinner. That’s not a story. But even though you’re telling this story because it’s sad, even though you’re thinking of Casey’s death before you start the story, that isn’t how the story starts. We have to get to know Casey before we can lose him. The story does NOT begin with Fred watching a traffic accident, a truck running into Casey, crushing him flat, and then—”

  A red fog blurred my vision. Time passed in thick, slow seconds. I didn’t know what I was doing. I saw horrified faces, heard shouts from far off. Coffee went everywhere. My hands were far away from my body, clenched into fists, waving, waving.

  “So you…attacked this author? Is that correct?”

  I nodded. “I tackled him. Hit him in the stomach and brought him down.”

  Dr. Nussbaum never laughed, but I wondered if he might have smiled a bit at this.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me what you can remember.”

  Blood pounding in my ears. Screams. Ralph the author lying on the floor, coffee all over his shirt and a look of total surprise on his face. Lisa Wu grabbing me from behind, pulling me away. My footsteps echoing in the hallway. The long wait in the office. The principal shaking her head and saying she had no choice. Mom’s grim face.

  Suspended. We left the school in silence. Mom called Dr. Nussbaum’s office on our walk home.

  —

  “What was this author talking about when you attacked him?”

  “I told you. My dog. Casey.”

  “Talk some more about that. What did he say about Casey?”

  I told Dr. Nussbaum about the stories Ralph the author made up—Purvis losing his leg, me losing Casey.

  “So he talked about your dog dying. And his story made you so upset that you attacked him?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “But Casey died months ago. Why are you angry now? What’s bugging you?”

  I shook my head. Casey was fine. I saw him most days. I came home with his smell on my clothes, the sound of his panting in my ear. So why was I mad? Why did I fight with my sister over the bathroom? Why did I attack a stranger over a made-up story? It made no sense.

  Besides, Casey had died at home. It wasn’t a traffic accident.

  Huh? I was on my feet, with my fists clenched. Dr. Nussbaum was round and wise, a toad in a loud sweater. I liked him. But I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to know.

  “You still have that keepsake of Casey’s?” he asked. “The tennis ball he used to play with. You still have that in your pocket?”

  “Yeah.” I patted my front right pocket.

  “Why don’t you give it to me.”

  “What? No!”

  “There comes a time when you want to let go of the past. Let go of Casey, your sadness and anger.”

  “I need the ball.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “No,” I said. “I can’t.”

  —

  We sat at his round table together. He got out the dolls. He watched as I put on a show. He wanted me to replay the scene Ralph was talking about in the gym, where Casey is run over. He even found a toy car for me. Start playing, he said, and see where the scene goes. I thought it would be funny to change Ralph Brody’s story. Dr. Nussbaum didn’t get it. He asked me who the doll under the car was.

  “That’s the author,” I said. “Ralph. Instead of the truck running over Casey, it ran over him. Pretty good, eh?”

  The doctor’s eyes gleamed. He had me do the scene again. And again. I got bored and said I didn’t want to play with dolls anymore. He nodded and said we were out of time, anyway.

  “Are you sure,” he asked, “that you still need Casey’s tennis ball?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said.

  I was loading the dinner dishes into the washer when the phone rang. It wasn’t my turn to clean up—it was Izzy’s. But Mom said I had to load and unload the dishwasher while I was suspended from school. It wasn’t punishment, she said. She didn’t believe in punishment. It was a way to make me think about my behavior so I wouldn’t do it again. Who was she kidding? It was no big deal, but it was punishment.

  Izzy ran for the phone. “Hello?” she said, bright and breathless, then her face fell and she dropped the receiver on the table. “It’s for you,” she said to me.

  I dried my hands and picked up.

  “Hey, Fred, how are you doing? At home, huh? I thought you might be in jail!”

  Lisa Wu. Her laugh was like trash cans falling over.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Yeah, I thought they might book you for assault. I checked the news for headlines. SIXTH-GRADE BOY ATTACKS AUTHOR. You know? Pretty funny. Hey, you still angry? You want to kill anyone else? Toronto has lots of authors. You can find out where they live. You can go to their houses and attack them.”

  She laughed some more.

  “So what did the principal say? What happened to you?” she asked.

  “I got suspended for three days.”

  “Okay. I’m coming over.”

  “What? No. I—”

  “On my way!”

  And she hung up.

  —

  Lisa shook my mom’s hand, waved to Izzy and dragged me up to my bedroom. “It’s about the project,” she said.

  “The—”

  “The water cycle project. For science. We all have to do one. Do you know the water cycle?”

  “Uh, yes. As a matter of fact—”

  “Miss Pullteeth assigned the project this afternoon. It’s due in three days, so there’s no time to waste. There’s a visual part and a written part of the project. The class is divided into groups of two. You and me are one group.”

  “But how did we—”

  “The teacher drew names out of a hat for partners. You got Velma Dudding, but she didn’t want to be with you. You know, I never liked Velma. She’s mean.”

  “Uh—”

  “Sure she’s pretty. Got the hair and all. But those eyes of hers. Mean! She said she was scared to work with you in case you got violent, you know? So I put up my hand and said I wasn’t scared of you, and that we would work on the project while you were suspended. And Miss Pullteeth said great. And here we are, together.”

  She looked at me. Her eyes were shiny black beads.

  “Violent?” I said.

  “So do you want to do the writing on the project, or the drawing? I think you should do the writing, and do you know why? I am a fantastic drawer. And do you know what I draw best? Water. Get me a pencil and I’ll show you a drop of water. I get the point at the top and everything. Here, I’ll do it for you. Where’s a pencil? Oh, there’s a pen on your desk. That’ll do. And a piece of paper. There’s one. Now, watch…”

  She drew with her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth.

  “I don’t know if you have noticed, Fred, but we seem to be b
ecoming friends. Have you noticed?”

  “I—”

  “Yes, me too. Getting you out of the sewer, and now working together on the project. But I don’t want you to think that there’s anything, you know, romantic about this. I like you, but that’s it. Unless you want there to be. Okay?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Notice that I’m not calling you Mouse anymore. You’re not a mouse. You tackled that author pretty good. And down he went. He was so mad! He read from one of his books, and then we got a chance to ask him questions. I asked if he’d been in a lot of fights when he was a kid, and had he won any of them? And he got all red, and said, ‘Next question!’ Now watch while I draw this drop of water. It’s good, isn’t it? Here’s the way I see the project going…”

  She was still talking when she left, a half hour later. I stood at the front door and watched her walk down the street. The air smelled nice after the rain. Lisa’s voice carried back to me, getting fainter as she walked away.

  Dear Mr. Brody,

  I am sorry for tackling you. It was dumb. I don’t know why I did it, except that my dog, Casey, died a while ago and I am still pretty upset about that. Casey was a good dog, and I didn’t like you laughing at him. Not that you were, but you might have been. Anyway, I am sorry.

  Yours truly,

  Fred Berdit

  PS—Your book about the cave family was really interesting.

  That was my letter. The principal said I had to write it. It was true, except the part about the cave family story. I mailed it to Mr. Brody at his publisher’s address and forgot about it.

  Felt weird, being home but not feeling sick. Mom stayed with me the first two days because—I don’t know. Because she was worried about me, I guess. She spent a lot of time on the phone talking to her office. I worked on my water cycle project, alone during the day and with Lisa in the evening. Freddie and Velma had got a B on their water project. The class participation part had gone badly, Freddie said. I still thought it was a good idea. I asked if I could borrow it. He wished me luck.

  The third day of my suspension Mom had an appointment at nine o’clock in the morning and meetings all afternoon, so I was alone. I got a bowl of cereal and watched TV. A mixed-up day, gray and windy for a moment, and then the sun would burst out from behind a cloud. At the end of a Simpsons rerun, I had this sudden feeling that Casey was beside me. I looked over, and when he wasn’t there, I punched the couch. Then I started to cry.

  Huh.

  I went back to the water cycle project, but I couldn’t concentrate. I looked up dragons. A site called Draconology had a picture of a dragon that looked a lot like the one I saw in the park. The parts of the animal were labeled with notes. SCALES: FIVE-SIDED, WARM TO TOUCH.

  The site didn’t say anything about dragons carrying off old ladies and nobody caring.

  I smelled Casey. I jumped up from my desk and looked around the room. Of course he wasn’t there.

  My hands were shaking. What was wrong with me?

  I realized it was almost lunchtime at school. I went downstairs and thought about all the people I was mad at. I was bouncing around, all jittery. I had to get out of here. I grabbed Casey’s ball and left the house.

  —

  Classroom 6D was on the ground floor. I ran across the empty playground and peered in the window. There was my class. There was Miss Pullteeth, pants flapping around her legs, walking up and down and gesturing. Everything was exactly the same, except for the water cycle posters on the far wall. Freddie sat where I did, pretty much in the middle of the room. He looked over once, and I waved, but he acted like he hadn’t seen me at all.

  The bell rang for lunch.

  “Let’s have a cheer for the basketball team,” said Miss Pullteeth, who was as cheery upside down as she was right side up. I could hear her okay, but I couldn’t hear the class at all. “Way to go, 6D!” said Miss Pullteeth. “Good luck to all of you!”

  The weather was better upside down. A bright, clear day today, with a bit of wind. I was searching the sky for dragons when I heard Freddie’s voice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He leaned on the corner of the school, in his basketball shorts, eating a tuna sandwich.

  “I saw you in the window,” he said. “What’s up? Why aren’t you in school?”

  I told him. His jaw dropped far enough for me to see tuna.

  “Expelled for hitting Ralph Brody? Wow. He’s, like, really famous, isn’t he? We read one of his books in school. Is it true that he lives around here?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Wow,” he said again. “You are one bad dude, hey? Fred, Fred, Fred. So what do you want to do now? You’re still all wired up. I can see it. You’re jumping around. Want to beat up someone else? We’re playing 6A again today in intramurals. Lance Levy was bragging about how many points he was going to score. Want to—”

  He stopped.

  I think we both got the same idea at the same time. His eyes lit up like flares. I could feel a rush of anticipation.

  “Lance Levy, eh?” I said.

  We smiled at each other, the same smile, except that his had a piece of tuna stuck in his front teeth.

  “We really shouldn’t,” he said.

  “But we’re going to, aren’t we?”

  “It’s not fair to Lance, and the rest of 6A. Mind you, they are undefeated. And we’re…unvictoried.”

  “When does the game start?”

  “Five minutes.”

  As we ran to the bathroom, I was slipping out of my hoodie.

  Miss Stapleton blew her whistle and the two teams lined up around the center circle. Lance Levy flexed his shoulders and sneered at the team from 6D. My team. We wore white undershirts over our regular T-shirts. The 6A team had blue undershirts, except for Lance who wore a blue basketball jersey with his name on the back. He played in a league downtown.

  Miss Stapleton tossed the ball in the air. Mike and Lance leaped together, but Lance got up a bit higher and tipped it back to Olga. She dribbled down court. Lance ran down the sideline, waving his arms. “Here!” he shouted. “Over here!” Olga fired a pretty good pass.

  To me.

  “What the—” said Lance.

  I was in front of him, holding the ball intended for him. I should have been guarding big Rob, but I knew that most of the play would go to Lance.

  “Where did you come from, Berdit?” Lance said.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  I passed to Mike, and took off. Two strides later I was ahead of everyone. Mike saw me and threw the ball. I was all alone. I did an easy layup and jogged back. The whole thing took about six seconds.

  Miss Stapleton gaped. The other team shook their heads. The ball bounced on the pavement a few more times and rolled to a stop.

  Mike had a funny smile on his face. “How’d you do that, Freddie?” he said.

  “I got up on the right side of the world this morning.”

  There wasn’t much of a crowd. Miss Pullteeth, clapping. Purvis, picking his nose. A few kids from the other sixth-grade classes. Freddie was over by the doors. He had my green hoodie up to cover his face. His hoodie, originally.

  Lance led 6A down court. He pointed to where everyone should go, faked a pass and drove for the basket, beating Mike, who was guarding him. Paulie, our other forward, came over to help out. Lance should have passed off, but he was a better shooter than anyone else on his team, and a hog. He pulled up for a jump shot.

  I was waiting for this. I was five feet away, but the moment his feet left the ground I gave a real good leap. I ended up right in front of him, my chest on level with his head. He never got the shot off, and landed holding the ball. The whistle blew.

  “Up and down,” said Miss Stapleton. “White ball.”

  Lance swore. “What is going on, Berdit?” he whispered in my ear. “You can’t jump that high.”

  “You are such a dork,” I whispered back.

&n
bsp; Dupont threw in for our team. He was a quiet kid who moved here last year from Romania or someplace. He had an accent and missed days of school at a time. He got the ball to Mike. Lance was guarding me now. Mike dribbled up court. “Fast break!” I called.

  Freddie was right—this wasn’t fair. I reached the basket while Lance was still at half court. Mike threw me the ball. I stuffed it.

  Someone on the sidelines went, “Holy crap!” Miss Pullteeth cheered.

  Jogging past Lance, I fist pumped, slow, deliberate.

  “Yesss­sssss­sssss­sssss­ssss,” I said. “How does that feel?”

  His face worked. “I bet you can’t do it again,” he said.

  But of course I could, and did. The sky was that clear blue that looks like glass. Puffs of wind made little bitty clouds fly. And I…well, I was flying too. I blocked shots, snared rebounds, stuffed the ball. And every time I scored, I ran past Lance and pumped my fist. I wasn’t usually this much of a jerk, but I was feeling all messed up inside.

  The score mounted: 8–0, 12–2, 18–4. People stopped playing whatever they were playing at lunch recess. The crowd grew.

  I was not a total hog. I passed too. It helps to be better than everyone else, you know? I’d draw the whole blue team toward me, leap eight feet in the air and dish the ball to someone under the basket. Mike scored almost as many points as I did. Paulie and Tina scored a bunch. Even Dupont scored—an easy layup. Afterward, he strutted down the court with his hands clasped over his head like an old-time boxer. People cheered.

  Lance tried to cheat, grabbing me, tripping me. He got so frustrated that one time he threw a punch at my face. I vaulted over his shoulders, landing behind him. Everyone laughed. By now the playground around the basketball court was full of people. Lance’s face got redder and redder with every one of my fist pumps.

  It should have been a wonderful twenty minutes. Life doesn’t give you enough chances to take down the bully in a truly satisfying way. But my revenge wasn’t as sweet as all that. I was so—I don’t know—so grrrrshhh inside, that I wasn’t having as much fun as I thought I’d have. I couldn’t get rid of my feelings. They sloshed around like a skin full of water. I called Lance names and told him to leave Purvis alone, and it wasn’t him I was talking to. I was getting my worlds mixed up. My mom. My sister. My piano lesson. My suspension. My dog. My doctor. My dog. My mess. It all poured out of me like vomit, and there was still more inside.