Jelly Bean Summer

by Joyce Magnin

She stares at me through her thick glasses. “Oh wow,” she says when I’m done. “Oh wow.”

  I feel my eyes burn with tears. I sniff them back the best I can.

  “Elaine loved that pig more than…more than she loved you, I think.”

  “That’s why I have to buy Elaine a new pig.”

  “How you gonna do that?”

  “I just told you. The UFO exhibit.”

  Linda tries not to laugh, but she can’t help it.

  “Don’t laugh. It’s one of my best capers ever. It will work. And Brian needs our help. And I need your help…for Elaine.”

  “I don’t know anything about flying saucers,” Linda says. She flips a page of her magazine. “But I feel bad about the pig.”

  “Yeah, I feel so bad, I don’t think I can stand it. That’s why I need your help.”

  She smashes her glasses into her face. “I don’t know.”

  “Look, I think Brian and I can build the thing by ourselves all right. What I need you to do is round up some kids…lots of them to come see the exhibit.”

  Linda laughs a little. “You’re cracked. How am I supposed to do that? With a lasso?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Tickets. You can make tickets and sell them. Fifty cents each.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just write on pieces of paper. UFO Exhibit. 5136 Crestview Drive. It’s easy.”

  “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

  “Because you’re a much better artist than me. I’ll give you the ten red licorice whips, and I’ll throw in a box of Dots.”

  “OK, but if I get in trouble—”

  “Never happen,” I say on my way out the door. “Just make the tickets.”

  Fifteen

  As I round the corner near the park, I see Bubba sniffing near some chokeberry bushes. I freeze. I’ve never been afraid of him before, but now my entire body shakes. “Bubba,” I call, even though I’m so scared.

  He looks my way and then goes back to the bush.

  “Bubba,” I call again.

  This time he darts toward me.

  I back away.

  He stops and sits on his haunches, his tongue lolling out to the side. His eyes are wide and black. He pants.

  “Why did you do it? Why? You stupid, dumb dog.”

  I want to kick him. But then I remember something my mother said one day after Polly chewed her way through an entire Easter ham. She said, “She’s just a dumb animal. She didn’t know that was our dinner.”

  “You just a dumb animal? Is that why you killed my sister’s Jelly Bean? I hate you. Go on. Get outta here.” I pick up a rock and…and I’m about to throw it at him when all of a sudden, I throw it down the street. Bubba runs after it.

  “Go on. Chase the stupid rock. Chase it.”

  • • •

  Brian’s garage is open. He is standing near the workbench holding the flying saucer. It looks almost exactly like Elaine’s drawing.

  “I found the stuff in the alley. Elaine must have dropped it when…you know, she heard Jelly Bean.” He holds the UFO up for me to see. There is a small dent in the bottom. “I did the best I could. Like it?” he asks.

  “It’s really neat. You built it by yourself?”

  “Uh-huh, I had to…you know, for Elaine. So you can buy a new guinea pig.”

  “What about the carburetor?”

  “Maybe that too, but if not, I can take the bus.”

  “But I’m going with you, remember? You have to fix the truck.”

  Brian sets the saucer on the workbench. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  “About what?”

  “Going to Arizona with me. I’m…I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I could… We could get into trouble.”

  “But, Brian…” I start to feel scared again. Scared or something. “I have to go.”

  Brian nods.

  “I got Linda Costello making tickets to sell,” I say.

  “Good idea. Now we just need to set up the display.” Brian glances around. “My father thinks we’re nuts, but he said we could have the display here in the garage.” Brian picks up the flying saucer.

  It really is nice. He even put lights on it.

  “I couldn’t make the eyes though,” he says. “And we’ll need to plug the lights in to get them to work, but I figured maybe we can hide the wires somehow.”

  “Sure,” I say. “We can figure out something.”

  Brian snags a wrench from the wall and slaps it into his palm. “Is she OK?”

  “Elaine? Yeah, well, sort of. She cries a lot. I think she hates me. No, I know she hates my guts.” I kick at a stone and send it flying out of the garage.

  We set a black backdrop up against the wall. Brian had painted a large piece of plywood with black spray paint. “It’s supposed to be the night sky,” he says. “I was hoping Elaine would paint stars and planets on it to make it look even more real.”

  I shrug.

  Then we hang the flying saucer from the ceiling using fishing line. You can’t even see the line. The UFO looks like it is actually flying…well, as long as you use your imagination. Next, Brian exchanges the regular white lightbulb in the garage for a black light, and that makes the scene look even eerier and more bona fide. Not that I know what a flying-saucer scene should look like. But I can use my imagination.

  The whole time we work, my heart’s desire grows stronger and stronger to not only help Brian but to make everything better for Elaine.

  “We’ll need some kind of music,” Brian says. “It will help with the illusion.”

  “Yeah, but not the Monkees.”

  “No, something classical. My mother used to listen to it all the time. I bet we can find something in her records. Come on. Let’s go look.”

  Brian’s house smells funny, like the trash hadn’t been taken out in weeks. I see piles of newspapers and laundry. Dirty socks strewn around and dishes with dried-up food.

  On the coffee table is a picture of a guy in uniform. He looks like Brian, only older. It is the only thing in the house that isn’t covered in dust. I imagine Brian’s father wiping the dust off the picture with his hand and then placing it back on the coffee table like it is a priceless work of art. I guess maybe it is.

  I run my finger around the frame. Someone killed Brian’s brother. I wonder if before he died, he killed someone else’s brother who killed someone else’s brother and it goes on forever.

  I wonder if Bud has killed people—not because he wanted to but because that’s what soldiers do. Like dogs kill little pigs.

  A small cloud forms as Brian blows about an inch of dust off a stack of records. “Berlioz,” he says. “Now this is some strange music.”

  “Never heard of him,” I say, moving a stack of newspapers to sit at the dining room table, which is covered with dishes and laundry and mail.

  “Hold on,” Brian says. “This is perfect.” He shows me a bright-blue album. “My mother loved to listen to this guy…Gustav Holst.”

  “Gustav.” I laugh a little. “That’s a funny name.”

  “No, he’s great. Mom loved this. The name of the album is The Planets.”

  “Wow, guess that’s it.”

  “Yeah, listen.”

  Brian opens the lid on an old portable record player with built-in speakers. “This was my mom’s too—the record player, I mean. She carried it around the house and listened to her music in every room.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Sure I do. What kind of lame-brain question is that?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  I guess it is a dumb question, but I think I just wanted to know if he misses his mom like I miss Bud or he misses his brother…or something. Sometimes, you just want to know that someone
else has the same feelings as you.

  “It’s OK.” Brian lifts the record player’s needle arm. It looks like a small snake with one tooth. He sets it down gently on the record. “This part is called ‘Jupiter.’”

  The room fills with sound. It’s weird and wonderful at the same time. It starts out bright and starry, and then it sounds far away. But the music comes rushing back like the notes are leading a thousand flying saucers toward Earth. When I close my eyes, I can see them just as Elaine describes them—spinning and spinning and zooming through the Milky Way. Now the music is marching, and I envision the aliens marching toward Earth. They are happy. Very, very happy.

  “It’s exactly what we need,” I say.

  I look at Brian. His eyes are closed, and he is swaying a little with the music and tapping his fingers on the wall in perfect rhythm.

  “I’m sorry about your mom and your brother. I’m sorry about your dad and how he has to send you away. I’m sorry you need a carburetor.”

  Brian opens his eyes. “Thanks. I’m sorry about the pig.”

  Sixteen

  After Brian and I set up the record player in the garage, I say, “I better go check and see how Linda is doing with the tickets.”

  “Hold on a sec,” he says. “Let’s light her up first.” He plugs in the Christmas lights and the saucer lights up. You can see the cord, but Brian says with the lights off, no one will notice.

  “I hope so,” I say. “It’s gotta be lifelike.”

  Brian smiles. “Lifelike? You do remember it’s fake.”

  “I know, I know. But it still needs to fool everyone.”

  “No problemo,” Brian says. “It’ll do the trick.”

  On my way to Linda’s, I stop at my house first to use the bathroom and…and maybe I want to check on Elaine. Maybe I want to tell her I’m sorry again. Maybe I want to stand in the yard on the spot where Bubba killed the pig. I don’t know why I want to do all that, but I just do. And so I run.

  The wind is kicking up as I make my way down the street. I think it could rain every day this summer. Something about the mixture of humidity and heat and stuff makes a perfect recipe for thunderstorms.

  I look for the sun behind the clouds. It’s already on the other side of our maple tree. Sheesh. That means it’s getting near suppertime. Brian and I worked a long time. But I can still stop at home and then check on Linda.

  I sprint through my front door and up the steps—but stop cold when my foot hits the hallway floor. I hear Elaine crying. I peek around the corner. Mom is holding Elaine’s head against her shoulder and petting her hair. “It’s OK, honey. These things take buckets of tears sometimes. Buckets.”

  Buckets of tears. I suck in a deep breath as my own tears threaten, and then I tiptoe past the room, wishing for the gazillionth time that I had checked the gate.

  “Joyce Anne?” Mom calls.

  “Just going to the bathroom.”

  But instead of going to the bathroom, I run out of the house. I run like crazy all the way down the back alley to Linda’s house.

  She is standing near her garage door, which is painted like a giant purple-and-white checkerboard. She is wearing purple and white also—purple shorts and a white shirt. She blends right into the garage.

  “Did you get them finished?” I huff and puff.

  “Yep. Got ’em in this shoe box. Where’s my licorice?”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your licorice. After the display. And after I see the tickets.”

  “And Dots.”

  “Only if there’s enough money left over.”

  “Hey, that ain’t fair,” she says. “You promised me a box of Dots.”

  I lift the lid off the shoe box. Inside are a bunch of little pieces of paper. I pull one out.

  FLYING SAUCER EXHIBIT

  50 cents

  The real thing

  5136 Crestview

  “They’re OK.” I riffle through them. “Some are drawn better than others.” Maybe her hand got tired.

  “What do you mean? They’re all great. I worked really hard on them.” Linda puts her hands on her hips. Guess she really meant it.

  “They’re not Dots worthy,” I say. “But thanks.”

  She punches my shoulder.

  “Let’s go,” I say. “I think we should start at the park.” I put the lid on the box.

  “Hold your horses. I gotta tell my mom I’m leaving.”

  “Did you tell her what you were doing?”

  She socks me in the shoulder again. “’Course not, dummy.”

  I stand under the maple tree with the shoe box, waiting for Linda to get back, when Joey Patrillo rides past on his bike.

  “Hey,” I holler, running after him.

  He screeches to a stop. “What gives?” he asks.

  “Want to buy a ticket?”

  “A ticket to what?” He keeps riding but slow enough that I can walk beside him.

  I show him a ticket.

  He stops pedaling to read it. Then he laughs. “Is this one of your sister’s gags? She’s so weird.”

  “No, it’s not a gag. We found a flying saucer down by Indian Rock. It must have crash-landed.”

  “Yeah, right. Were there any little green men?”

  “No, they must have gotten another ship to pick them up.”

  Joey laughs. “You’re cracked.”

  “But it’s true. We have the saucer, and we’re gonna put it on display tomorrow at two o’clock at that address. In the garage. Won’t know for sure unless you come. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “I ain’t afraid of nothin’. ‘Specially some dumb, fake flying saucer.”

  Joey reaches into his pocket and pulls out a quarter and a dime. “All I got is thirty-five cents.”

  “I’ll give you a discount.” I drop Joey’s thirty-five cents into the shoe box and hand him a ticket. “Tell your cousins. Nobody gets in without a ticket.”

  Joey pedals away. “OK, OK,” he calls.

  Wow, our first sold ticket. This is going to be a breeze. Who could pass up an opportunity to see a bona fide flying saucer?

  Linda comes out her front door. “Ma says I gotta be home by supper.”

  “Just sold our first ticket,” I say.

  “To who?” Linda asks.

  “Joey Patrillo—but for thirty-five cents.”

  “But we’re charging fifty cents.” Linda walks on ahead.

  “I know. It was all he had, and I figured thirty-five cents was better than nothing. And besides, he’ll tell all the other kids.”

  I skip to catch up with her. “I think we should go to the playground first.”

  “OK.” Linda jumps and smacks the stop sign at the end of our block. “Guess we’ll find kids there.”

  Most of the kids in Westbrook Park go to the playground on summer days for recreational activities—that’s what they call the games and stuff they have us kids doing during summer vacation. I usually play box hockey or basketball. Elaine likes the swings. Ever since I fell off the sliding board and cracked my front tooth, I keep to the ground.

  Linda and I take our time walking to the park. There’s a baseball game going, which means there’ll be parents hanging around. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to sell tickets while the moms and dads look on.

  “Yeah,” Linda says. “We’ll get arrested for selling tickets to a fake exhibit. I think it’s called fraud.”

  “Nah, never happen. But we could get in trouble. I say we go up to the playground and sell to the kids on the swings and playing basketball.”

  As usual on a muggy summer day, the playground is chockful of kids. I figure this is gonna be a snap. But it turns out to be a little harder than I counted on. For one thing, not many of the kids
have extra money. At most, they might have a few nickels or quarters for the candy store. The ice cream truck comes by every day after supper, and that wipes out allowances pretty quick. So buyers are scarce. The littler kids aren’t interested, and the bigger kids kind of laugh.

  Still, we manage to raise four dollars there. Not nearly enough for a carburetor, but it’s a start.

  Nicky DeLuca bought two tickets: one for himself and one for his brother. Scott Worley bought a ticket, but he laughed harder than most of the kids.

  “I guess we’ve sold all we’re gonna sell here,” Linda says.

  “Yeah, and seven bucks and seventy-five cents ain’t enough. We need to wait for word of mouth. They’ll be lined up down the block to get in. But let’s go to Brian’s,” I say. “Tell him the news. And maybe word of mouth will start up.”

  “Word of mouth?” says Linda. “What’s that?”

  “You know, it’s when one kid tells another kid and that kid tells another and so on down the line.”

  “Oh, like whisper down the lane.”

  “Kinda,” I say. “I bet we get a hundred kids to come to the display.”

  I grab Linda’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  We run through the playground gate and start up Crestview. That’s when we see Beezo and Rat, Joey Patrillo’s cousins riding down the street on bikes.

  “Hey,” Beezo hollers, “where’s the fire?”

  “No fire. We’re going to finish getting the display set up.”

  “Display?” Rat says. “What display?”

  Beezo punches Rat’s shoulder. “You know the one. The one Joey told us about. The flying saucer they got holed up in a garage. They say it crash-landed down by Indian Rock.”

  “Not just any old flying saucer,” Linda says. “A bona fide one.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Beezo says. “So if it crash-landed in the woods, how’d ya move it? Flying saucers are pretty heavy.”

  “The little green men helped them,” Rat says. Then they both laugh.

  “Look,” I say. “Do ya wanna buy tickets or not?”

  Beezo digs into his pocket. “I was savin’ this for the candy store, but—” He drops three quarters into my palm. “For both of us.”