I eased up against the tree trunk and rested my forehead against my arm. My tree was covered with spongy Spanish moss that smelled fresh and good, but I was glad to see Ginger’s tree had a rough, scaly trunk. Served her right, the little whiner.
And as for Mama, well, if I had been bratty to her, I figured I had a right. She’s the one who had dropped the whole Vanessa Rose thing on me. What a dumb name. Not anywhere near as good as the one Daddy had given me.
Ben headed back over to the Mustang and started clanging around again. He wore a blue tank top, and you could tell how far down the sleeves came on his prison guard uniform because his arms were a shade browner below. I remembered how he’d called us ‘two year olds,’ and it made my face heat up all over again on account of I knew he was right. I didn’t understand what made me like Ginger one minute and want to kill her the next. Maybe it was because she was only my step-sister and not my real one.
Two tiny ants scurried across my elbow before disappearing into the moss. I peeled away a chunk of bark looking for them, but they were gone. I dug a little U-shaped trench with my bare toes on both sides of the tree until a fuzzy tickle distracted me. Mowgli brushed past my ankle.
“Hey, boy,” I whispered. “Hey, Mowgli.” I reached out my toes to touch him, but he moved just out of reach and sat down to lick himself. Ben dragged the garden hose past a few minutes later, and I peeked around the tree to watch him spraying off engine parts. I wondered how long he’d make us stand there.
It brought to mind a poem by Shel Silverstein. I couldn’t remember the title, but it was about a boy who got sent to the corner for fidgeting too much in class. But the teacher forgot he was there, and the next day summer break started, so he stood there all summer. And then in September, they closed the school down, so the boy stood there for decades, all alone and forgotten in a boarded up building.
I figured Ben would be more than happy to stick me away in some boarded up, abandoned building. What reason did he have to like me? All I did was make his life harder. Sure he loved Mama, but I wondered if he ever regretted marrying her on account of me. And the thought made my eyes smart with tears.
I closed my eyes and pretended I was back home again in our old apartment. I could see my bedroom with my toys spilling out from under the bed, and the way the fan made my blue curtains ripple. I could hear the radio playing in the living room, and I could see Mama and me sitting together on our old green couch, just the two of us — with no Ben and no Ginger and no thought of any future baby in the picture.
But after awhile, a bee buzzed my ear and made me open my eyes. A rainbow of water droplets sprayed from Ben’s hose, and Ginger scratched her leg, and I knew that no amount of wishing or daydreaming could make things like they used to be.
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Ramsay was late for school again. He slid into his seat ten minutes after the bell, one of his pant legs caught in his sock, and papers spilling out his backpack. I turned away, embarrassed. Too bad his desk was so close to mine.
Mrs. Holloway twisted around from her white board. “Good morning, Ramsay. Glad you could join us. Do you have a late pass?”
Ramsay swept the bangs from his eyes. “Uh, no ma’am.”
Angela snickered.
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll need to go to the office and get one. And hurry back because I’m about to assign reading partners.”
Ramsay turned my way as he stood, but I looked away real fast. It made me feel a pinch guilty, as most of the kids ignored him. But there was no way I was giving Ginger any more fuel to add to her fire from last night.
“All right now,” Mrs. Holloway said, “where were we? Oh yes, here’s how our first quarter reading assignment will work, boys and girls. I’m going to pair each of you with a partner and assign each pair a different book. For one hour each morning, y’all will read and make notes on your book. Then at the end of the month, you’ll each write a book report. One of which will be read to the class as an oral report.”
A noisy groan filled the air, but our teacher only smiled and started pointing. “Robert and Clarice, you’ll be a pair. Brian and Jacob.”
I white knuckled my chair, waiting to see who’d I get stuck with for a partner, and praying it wouldn’t be Ginger.
“Kinsey and Ramona. Ginger and Angela. Piper Lee and … Ramsay.”
Ramsay!
I gritted my teeth so hard I was afraid my jaws might crack.
Ginger and Rowdy started twittering behind me, and a fire storm rushed my face. But Mrs. Holloway didn’t seem to notice a thing. She just kept naming names ‘til everybody was paired up, then she started walking around, passing out books.
Ramsay made it back to class just in time for our teacher to hand both of us a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. He flashed me another half-second smile—just like when I’d picked up his pencil—but my jaw was still clenched too tight to even think about smiling back.
“Oh, n-o-o-o!” Angela shrieked. “I hate this book, Mrs. H.”
Even though Mrs. Holloway had given permission to call her Mrs. H, it was the first time anybody had actually done it. And it sounded mighty strange … daring almost. We all whipped around to see Angela holding up a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, looking at it like it was some big disgusting tomato worm.
“You’ve read it?” Mrs. Holloway asked.
“No, but I hate Mark Twain.”
Our teacher flinched. “Samuel Clemons is one of the greatest story tellers ever, Angela. Why would you hate him?”
“Because it takes him twenty pages to describe somebody’s front yard. I can’t stand lots of details like that. I want another book.”
“And what kind of books do you like to read, Angela?”
“The kind they make into movies.”
Ginger’s giggle rang out above the rest of the laughter. “Huckleberry Finn is a movie, silly,” she blurted. “Don’t y’know?”
Everybody really cracked up then—except for Angela. She didn’t even smile. She slowly swiveled Ginger’s direction with a dirty-eyed scowl that wiped the grin right off Ginger’s face.
“I believe Ginger is right,” Mrs. Holloway said, “there is a movie version. But even on the printed page, I guarantee the story has plenty of action. Give it a try.”
Angela shrugged. “I’ll fall asleep if I try to read a book like this. Just give me a zero.”
Mrs. Holloway seemed to suddenly grow taller the way she drew herself up, and all the snickering and smirking skidded to a stop. Ginger’s eyes darted back and forth between Angela and our teacher, kinda like a mouse with a hawk circling overhead.
“The book report will be a significant part of your grade,” Mrs. Holloway said, “so I think you’d regret getting a zero, Angela. But aside from that, our reading time takes up an hour each morning, it’s something we do as a class. So, you can either take part along with everyone else, or you can spend that hour in detention each day with our principal, Mr. Hoffmeister. I’ll leave the choice up to you.”
I didn’t know much about Mr. Hoffmeister, aside from the fact that his belly hung over his belt and he liked to wear bowties. But I could tell from the delighted hub-bub from the class he wasn’t somebody you’d want to spend time with.
Angela crossed her arms. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said.
“Yes,” Mrs. Holloway said, “that’s a good idea.” Then she continued around the room, chatting about classics and how it was good to stretch your mind with a challenging book. I took a closer look at To Kill a Mockingbird. It looked pretty challenging all right. It was thick and heavy, and there weren’t any pictures.
“It’s easy,” Ramsay whispered. “I already read it.”
I’d been trying my best to ignore him, but my ears perked up when I heard that. “You read this whole thing?”
He nodded. “Over the summer.”
I gave him a suspicious look. “Who’s the main character? Girl or boy?”
; “Eight year old girl named Scout.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. There’s a boy named Gem too. Scout’s his little sister.”
Him saying little sister moved my thoughts away from the book and over to Mama and her ultrasound. I wondered what exactly an ultrasound showed. It didn’t seem like it could show a whole lot this early on. I didn’t figure the baby could be bigger than a button or something.
And then right that very second, as I stared at my copy of Mockingbird, something flashed into my mind, as bright as a pie tin in the sun. Something big and unbelievable—and yet so cotton pickin’ simple I couldn’t believe I hadn’t gotten it before.
Mama had said they liked to do an ultrasound at sixteen weeks. That was four months. But she and Ben hadn’t even been married one month. Mama must have gotten pregnant almost three months before she got married! The notion caught me so much by surprise I had to suck in a breath.
I recalled the two long, scary days Mama and Ginger and I had spent during the prison riot Ben had been involved in, worrying over whether he was gonna be okay, and fearing the worst. Mama had been terrified something might happen to him. No wonder! Not only would she have been stuck with Ginger and me—she’d been expecting a baby on top of it.
I propped my elbow on my desk to keep from falling out of my chair. Mama always said children were somethin’ special—a gift from God—but only for married folks. That you had no business having babies if you weren’t married. And it made me almost giddy to realize that I now had a perfectly good reason for thinking she shouldn’t be having this baby.
I looked over at Ginger. She was thumbing through Huckleberry Finn and still looking scared. I wanted to rush over there, drag her outta’ the room and spill the beans. But as soon as Mrs. Holloway finished handing out books, she moved right on to explaining what made a classic a classic, and there wasn’t any chance.
It wasn’t till we got on the bus that afternoon that Ginger and I were finally alone. She scooted in beside me, propped her knees against the green vinyl seat in front of us and hugged her backpack.
I was all ready to bust out with my news, but the pinched, pale look on her face made me hold off. “What’s goin’ on with you?” I asked. “You look all put out about something.”
She drew her shoulders up tight. “I don’t wanna be Angela’s partner. I don’t like her.”
“Why not? She’s a kick in the pants.”
“Not when you’re alone with her. She’s not very nice.”
“She say somethin’ mean?”
Ginger nodded. “When we were in reading groups.” She dropped her voice real low so I almost couldn’t hear it over the rumble of the bus. “She said I have to write both our book reports, or she’ll beat me up.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “No way! You’re kiddin’ right?”
But Ginger didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. She just gave a tight-lipped shake of her head.
“Aw, she’s just blowin’ wind,” I said. “You don’t have to listen to her.”
“But I think she’s serious, Piper Lee. She sounded real serious.”
“So tell Mrs. Holloway.”
“I can’t. She’ll give her detention or something, and Angela will know I tattled.”
The fear in Ginger’s voice threw me for a loop. It wasn’t like her to give in to threats. She sure never gave in to my threats anyhow. It seemed odd she’d be scared of Angela. But then again, Angela was a pretty big kid, and not afraid to shoot her mouth off to grownups either.
“So what are you gonna’ do?” I asked.
Ginger hugged her backpack closer. “Don’t know yet. I gotta think.”
“You could tell your daddy.”
“No. Promise you won’t either … or Mama for that matter.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Scout’s honor, Piper Lee?”
“Scout’s honor,” I said, which made me think of To Kill a Mockingbird, on account of the girl character named Scout. “Hey, that reminds me,” I added, “I thought of a new boy’s name for the kid. Boo Radley.”
A smile tugged at one corner of Ginger’s mouth. “Boo?”
“Yeah, it’s in that book Ramsay and I have to read.” I studied her face, ready to pounce if she teased me about Ramsay again.
“Boo Hutchings,” she said. “I kind of like it. Huckleberry Finn is about a boy from Missouri. Maybe we could call the baby Huckleberry.”
I grinned. “Maybe he’ll come out purple.”
“Daddy says most babies come out all red and ugly lookin, not like they show on TV.”
I sat back in my seat. I’d made the sudden decision to hold off sharing my big news about Mama. For one thing, it didn’t seem quite as big a deal as when it first occurred to me. And second, I thought it might be kind of fun to spring it on Mama when we were alone.
Chapter Nine
Mama was taking sheets off the clothes line when Ginger and I hopped off the bus. A strong breeze billowed the sheets around her like a parachute.
“Hey, girls,” Mama called. “How was today?”
I took a quick glance at Ginger. “It was okay,” I said. “Did you have your appointment?”
“Sure did. Wanna see?”
“See what?” I asked.
Mama’s eyes danced. “The baby, that’s what. The doctor gave me a DVD of the ultrasound.”
My stomach took a dive. Pictures? I wanted to see pictures of the kid about as bad as I wanted a plateful of slimy okra.
“Come on in and get yourselves a snack,” Mama said, “then I’ll show you.”
Ginger bounded ahead, but I didn’t feel much like bounding. The thought of seeing the baby made me feel all funny and nervous, like I was in trouble for something.
Mama scooped up the laundry basket and trailed behind us. She waited while Ginger and I slathered some of Miss Claudia’s plum jelly on Graham crackers and then motioned us to the living room. I nibbled a cracker while she slipped the DVD into the player and turned it on. A grainy gray and black picture filled the screen.
I leaned forward and squinted. That wasn’t a baby. It was a big blob of pancake batter. “What in the world are we lookin’ at?”
Mama knelt beside the TV and traced her finger around the middle of the blob. “Right here,” she said, her voice full of wonder. “Now look close. See, here’s the back, and here’s its head, and here’s …”
“Oh, wait,” Ginger squealed, “now I see. There’s a foot, right?”
Mama beamed. “Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s a foot. Can you see it, Piper Lee?”
I about gagged on my cracker, because even though I didn’t want to admit it, I did see. And I couldn’t look away from the fuzzy, whitish outline of a baby. “I think so,” I said.
“There it is,” Mama said. “Your first glimpse of your little brother … or sister. And I got to hear the heartbeat too.”
“What’s it sound like?” Ginger asked.
“Oh, a baby’s heart beats real rapid, a lot faster than ours.” Mama made a loose fist and started opening and closing it real fast. “It makes a hush-hush, hush-hush, kind of sound.”
“Do me and Piper Lee get to be there when you have it?”
Mama’s eyebrows peaked. “You mean at the hospital?”
“No, I mean in the room.”
I stared at her in horror. It was the craziest idea I’d ever heard. Who’d want to see something as disgusting and gross as that?
Even Mama seemed a little caught off guard by the question. “Uh, I’m not so sure you’d want to be there, honey. It’s not all nice and pretty like they show on TV.”
“Is Daddy gonna be in there?”
“Yep. He’ll be my labor coach.”
“What’s a labor coach?” I asked. “Sounds like a sports team or something.”
“It’s kind of like a support person—someone to hold your hand, maybe rub your back, help you breathe.”
“Help you breathe?” Ginger an
d I both echoed.
Mama laughed. “When you take birthing classes they teach you how to use breathing techniques to help with labor pains. Your coach helps you focus on what you learned is all.” She took the DVD out and turned the TV off. “Okay, enough of that for now. Tell me about school.”
“Nothin’ much to tell,” I said, thankful for the change of subject. “Mrs. Holloway is making us read the classics.”
“Classics, hmm?”
“I have to read To Kill a Mockingbird. Ginger’s is different.”
“Huckleberry Finn,” Ginger said, quickly. Then she stuffed a big ol’ bite of Graham cracker in her mouth.
“Oh,” Mama said, but she was looking down at the DVD in her hands, like her mind wasn’t really on the classics.
Ginger swallowed her mouthful a minute later and announced she was going out to jump on the trampoline. I started to follow, but then let her pass on ahead and turned back. Mama slipped the DVD into its paper case. It irked me to see how careful she handled it, like it was so important, when it was really nothing more than some dumb blurry pictures.
“Hey, guess what?” I said.
She glanced up with a smile. “Hmm?”
“I figured somethin’ out today.”
“Oh, yeah, what’d you figure?”
“That you were already pregnant when you married Ben.”
Mama froze—one hand in the air and her mouth in a big O. Then the very next second her cheeks turned as red as a fire truck. “Oh, Piper Lee,” she said.
I crossed my arms. “It’s true, huh?”
She rolled her eyes and rubbed at her cheeks like she was trying to rub some of the fire from them. “Yes, it’s … true. I just didn’t expect you to figure it out quite this soon, is all.”
“Thought you said it was wrong for unmarried folks to have babies.”
“I did … I mean, I do … I do think it’s wrong. But sometimes accidents happen, and we are married now.”
A Sliver of Sun Page 6
