All she did know was that having Fiona now as her friend changed just about everything. It made her feel stronger to always have someone by her side and to share secrets and jokes with her. They gave each other looks throughout each class. About having another math quiz, about being bored, and about counting down the minutes until they were released for recess. They made scrunched-up faces, or rolled their eyes, or raised their eyebrows. Fiona was smart about things in a way Figgrotten had never known before. She had figured people’s personalities out and understood the way certain people interacted with other people. “Those girls are cliquey,” she’d say, pointing at a group of girls whispering together at the picnic table.
“They are?” Figgrotten would look at them and narrow her eyes a bit. In fact, Fiona was kind of like an anthropologist too! Plus she was funny. She made up names for different people, referring to Mr. Stanley as “Stan the Man.” And Gordie Horen was “Gordon Boring.”
For the past couple of days, Figgrotten and Fiona had gone into the bathroom together during recess and stood in front of the mirror and rearranged their hair. Fiona had long brown hair that hung down to her shoulders, but she didn’t do much with it. She just let it droop. Figgrotten pointed out to her that when she pulled it back, you could really see her pretty eyes and that the blue of them seemed even bluer. “Ick,” Fiona said, and made a face at herself in the mirror. Figgrotten knew the feeling. While she’d never thought much about her own looks before, now, most of the time when she looked in the mirror, the same thought went through her head. Ick. But once in a while, if she turned this way and that way, and if the light was a certain way, she thought that maybe it wasn’t totally ick. She remembered spying on her sister staring at herself in the mirror all those times, and she realized, sure enough, as her mom had predicted, now she seemed to be doing it too.
It was when she and Fiona were stepping out of the girls’ room that Wednesday that Figgrotten caught sight of James coming from the school library with a book in his hands. He looked like he always looked, unhappy, walking with his head down so that his hair hung around his face. Figgrotten suddenly stopped and waited for him to get close to her, then she said, “Hi, James,” in a super-cheerful casual voice. Like it was something she always did.
James looked up, startled, and then said, “Oh. Um. Hi.” And he paused for a second, not quite knowing what he was supposed to do next; then he continued past.
Once he had turned and gone outside, Fiona grabbed Figgrotten and said, “Oh wow! Wow! Why did you say hi to him?”
Figgrotten shrugged. “I don’t know. He seems kind of lonely.”
“But he’s such a smarty-pants,” Fiona said.
And Figgrotten shrugged. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”
But she didn’t tell Fiona that saying hi to James was something that she needed to do to make up for screaming at him. Besides, there was something she had started to see in him. And she was pretty sure it was plain old loneliness. And she now was starting to know, even with Alvin as her best friend, she had been a little lonely too for a long time.
The thing that surprised her was how just saying hi to James made her feel like a weight had been lifted off of her. And there was that little bridge again that went right up between her and him. And now she knew she could cross over.
* * *
—
That same afternoon, Fiona went over to Figgrotten’s house for the first time. They were to spend the afternoon together and Fiona’s mom was picking her up after dinner. As excited as Figgrotten was about having her, she was also nervous. She was mostly worried about what Fiona would think of her bedroom. “Prepare yourself,” Figgrotten said as they climbed the stairs after eating a snack in the kitchen.
“How come?”
“Oh,” Figgrotten said with a shrug, “I think you’ll see.”
Figgrotten swung open the door to her room and Fiona stepped inside. “Whoa,” Fiona said quietly. Then, “Holy moly.” She stood in the middle of the room with her hands hanging at her sides and her mouth open, and very slowly she turned, looking around, her eyes taking in the Lucy poster, the branches, the taped feathers, the new photos of Gandhi and Mead that Figgrotten had found on the Internet, printed out, and taped next to her bed.
Figgrotten was standing in the doorway, biting her lower lip. She figured this could very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back. She knew Fiona might see all the branches and just think, Too weird. After all, Fiona’s room was pink. Pink. Pink and more pink.
“Um,” Figgrotten said. “Yeah, I realize it’s a bit odd in here.”
Figgrotten’s voice seemed to snap Fiona back into the moment and she spun around with her eyes wide open and sort of shrieked with laughter. “Yeah, that’s for sure! It’s hysterical. I love it!” Then the laughing started and the two of them collapsed on the bed, trying to get hold of themselves. Once Fiona had pulled herself together, she wiped away the tears that were rolling down her face and began asking Figgrotten about everything. The feathers, the posters, the branches, her books.
“Where do you play music from?” she asked.
“I don’t really listen to music,” Figgrotten said, causing another eruption of hysterics, which ended only when there was a knock on the door and Christinia stepped into the room. Fiona immediately grew quiet and shy.
“What’s so funny?” Christinia asked. “Anyway, if you guys want, I’ll give you makeovers later.”
Fiona’s eyes widened again. “Oh boy, that would be so cool,” she said.
There was a time when Christinia’s offer would have irritated Figgrotten, but now, somehow, she welcomed it. After all, Fiona did have a very pink bedroom, so adding some girly stuff to the afternoon was probably a good idea.
It was another frigid-cold day, so a little while later, when Figgrotten took Fiona up onto the rocks, Fiona’s teeth were chattering. But she sat in the little rock chair and looked all around.
“Oh,” she said, quietly shivering, “this is so pretty.”
“I sort of live up here,” Figgrotten said. “I mean, I’m up here like all the time.”
“I’d be here all the time too. It’s like an outdoor house.”
“Exactly,” Figgrotten said. Then she explained about whistling for the crows.
“Do they come when you whistle?” Fiona asked.
“Well, honestly, they are here before I whistle. In fact, they’re always pretty much around now. You see?” Figgrotten pointed up to the trees behind her. “There they are!”
Fiona looked up. “Oh, cool!” she said. Then she dropped her head back farther and stared into the sky and took a big breath. “Wow, isn’t it just so weird to look out into space and think it goes on forever? I can’t even think about it at all.”
“Yeah.” Figgrotten was now looking up too. She was thinking about Alvin telling her about the discovery of the new planet. “I mean, we’re not even the size of a speck of dust in comparison to how big everything is.”
“Nope.” Fiona put her hands up to the sides of her head. “Can’t think about it. Brain too small!”
They both laughed.
They weren’t up on the rocks for long because of the cold and because, really, there wasn’t much to do up there together. In fact, for the first time, when Fiona was with her, the rocks were not as interesting to Figgrotten.
They went into the house and made chocolate chip cookies, which caused several bouts of hysterics. Especially when they realized Figgrotten had accidentally set the oven temp to 450 degrees instead of 350 degrees and the first batch came out smoking and black and then set the smoke detector in the kitchen off. Figgrotten melted onto the floor at one point and almost peed in her pants, and later, after Fiona went home, she realized her stomach muscles hurt like crazy from so much laughing and everything seemed a bit dull now that she was alone.
Christinia’s favorite place in the entire world was the Shanoosik Mall. So when the three of them—Figgrotten, her mom, and her sister—stepped into the vast echoing building, Christinia almost levitated off the floor with excitement.
She started talking very fast and broke into a full run, pointing at different stores she wanted to go into. Mrs. Pauley took a deep breath and told Christinia to cool her jets. “Limited funds,” she sighed. “So, limited fun.”
“Oh, Mom, you always say that!” Christinia moaned.
“Okay, okay,” their mom said. “You lead the way. We’ll let you shop for the first leg of this.”
Figgrotten, already sweating under her brown wool coat, was wishing she’d been allowed to stay home and spend the day up on the rocks. It was cold and clear and beautiful outside. But the fact was she had to go, as all three pairs of her shoes were getting too small for her and it had become a real problem. Even now, as she followed Christinia into a store that had deafeningly loud music and blinking lights, her toes were pressed up against the front of her sneakers and they were starting to hurt.
Christinia was moving through the racks at lightning speed, and Figgrotten and her mom exchanged glances. But then Figgrotten’s mom shrugged and started poking through the racks of clothes as well. Figgrotten had her hands clasped behind her back and she walked slowly around the store. Stores always made her feel super hot and weak-tired. For someone who never had taken a nap her entire life, Figgrotten always wanted one when she was in any kind of clothing store. She yawned and looked around and then something caught her eye and she went up to one of the racks and studied what turned out to be a large brown puffy coat with a fake-fur hood. It reminded her of the jacket she’d seen in the old photos of Robert Peary, the guy who had first explored the North Pole. Figgrotten unbuttoned her wool coat, placed it carefully on the floor by her feet, and slipped into the puffy coat, and instantaneously she knew it was for her. It was lightweight but warm. In fact, it reminded her of her beloved sleeping bag, which was one of her most prized possessions. She pulled the hood up over her head and cinched it around her face so just her nose was exposed, then she walked over to the full-length mirror and looked at herself.
She turned to each side, then stood facing herself.
“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” Christinia said. “I mean, you can’t wear the hood up like that unless you’re completely alone, but other than that, it looks kind of good. Those coats are in now.”
“Plus it fits you, unlike your old coat.” Her mom was now looking at her as well.
Figgrotten looked over at her wool coat on the floor and felt a surge of sadness. The coat was a friend to her.
“If I get this, I won’t have to give up my old coat, will I, Mom?” she asked.
Christinia and her mom chuckled at this. “Obviously you can keep it,” her mom said.
Figgrotten walked over and picked it up and gave it a reassuring hug, but she didn’t take off the new coat and each time she caught a glance of herself in a mirror she felt excited. The way she’d felt when she put the clip into her hair. It was different and new and it looked good. Almost pretty.
Things didn’t go as smoothly in the shoe store, however. The shoes Figgrotten chose were what Christinia referred to as “man shoes.” And she became enraged at one point about them.
But Figgrotten didn’t give a hoot. The shoes were a cross between a sneaker and a hiking boot, and they had massive treads that she imagined would cling to the rocks so perfectly she wouldn’t have to use her hands going up and down.
“But they don’t look good!” Christinia practically wailed.
“So!” Figgrotten snapped. “They feel good. It’s not all about looking good, you know.”
“Ugh,” Christinia said, and turned and walked out of the store.
But Figgrotten got the shoes anyway, and when they sat down for slices of pizza in the food court, she had on both her new coat and her new shoes, and she was beginning, for the first time, to understand why the mall was sort of okay. Mrs. Pauley was going over her list of things they still needed to get when Christinia suddenly sat up and said, “Hey, look, there’s Mr. Stanley!”
And sure enough, there he was, standing out in front of Barnes and Noble, looking into the window. Figgrotten set her pizza down. She was thinking she’d run over to him and say hi, but she hesitated. She felt a little familiar stab about him. He looked so alone there, on a Saturday, at the mall. But then, just as she was thinking this, a man came out of the store and it was clear that Mr. Stanley had been waiting for him. They spoke to each other and laughed and walked on.
Figgrotten now had forgotten about her pizza. There was something about the way the two of them walked together, a kind of familiarity with each other, that made her suddenly think. She glanced over at Christinia and her mom and they both looked the same way.
“Oh wow.” Christinia sat back in her chair. “I think Mr. Stanley maybe has a boyfriend! Cool!” she said.
“You know, it’s possible,” Figgrotten’s mom said.
But Figgrotten hadn’t moved. Her mind was all topsy-turvy, as a new thought had flown in. Maybe Mr. Stanley was gay. She knew about people being gay from her Life Studies class, but she’d never known anyone who was, in fact, gay.
“Frances,” her mom was saying. “Honey, there are many people who are gay. You know that, right?”
“I just had no idea,” Figgrotten said. “I’m just so…” She paused and looked at her mom. “I’m just so relieved he’s not alone. I mean, maybe that was his husband.”
Christinia made a soft noise and Figgrotten turned and saw her sister’s eyes had teeny-tiny tears swimming around the edges. Christinia leaned over and threw both her arms around her sister and sniffed.
“Aww, that’s so nice,” Christinia said softly.
* * *
—
Thinking that Mr. Stanley might be gay made Figgrotten like and respect him even more than she had before. Now, not only was he smart, he was courageous because he was being himself. She knew firsthand this was never easy. It was nothing she hadn’t known already about him, but this just proved it even more.
Figgrotten’s mom told her she thought it might be better not to tell everyone that Mr. Stanley had a boyfriend. “Sad to say, people can be unkind.”
“The word is also prejudiced,” Christinia said through a bite of pizza.
Figgrotten didn’t need to be told any of this. She knew about unkindness. The two girls making the gagging sound at her in the bathroom came into her mind. And, horribly, her yelling at James was another example. Yes, she thought, she knew all about that sort of thing.
Figgrotten stood in her new coat and big clodhopper “man shoes” in the cold air. Off in the distance she could hear the bus approaching, and the sound of it roaring and grinding made her heart sink yet again. These were just more reminders that Alvin was no longer at the wheel. She’d found out that the new bus driver’s name was Kevin Plank, and she’d also found out that he worked at the service station in town during the day when he wasn’t driving the bus. That explained why his hands were so black and greasy-looking.
Figgrotten decided she would never get used to him. He was the complete opposite kind of human being from Alvin. Alvin: interesting, smart, kind. Kevin: boring, dumb, mean. Well, she thought, to be honest, he wasn’t exactly mean; he was just a dull person who drove badly and sat expressionless under his orange hunting hat. And the fact that he’d taken Alvin’s place made her unable not to hate him.
As the bus pulled up with a dreadful shudder, Figgrotten stood feeling disgusted, then climbed on without even looking at him. She plopped into her seat and took the position of most of the kids—slumped, staring out the window, watching the town go past. She knew the route so well she could ride with her eyes shut and still somehow know exactly where they were: whose house
they were passing, which pothole they were about to hit. For years the ride had been the highlight of her day, but now it was dull and endless and painful.
Today when they drove out of town and up onto Prunick Ridge Road, the bus started shuddering in a whole new way; then, suddenly, after a kind of cough followed by a loud high-pitched noise, the thing died right in the middle of the road. Figgrotten sat up and fixed her eyes on the orange hunting hat. It didn’t move for a minute. It just sat there. Then it leaned forward and the orange hat’s hand turned the key, but there was absolutely nothing coming from the engine but a soft clicking noise. Then silence. Then a loud cheer from the kids in the backseat. “Woooo-hooo!” one of them hollered. “Stranded!”
But Figgrotten had leaned forward and was watching Kevin. He was moving just as slowly as ever, it seemed. He leaned to the side and opened the door, then stood up and stepped down off the bus. She’d never seen him standing and it was a bit of a shocker. He didn’t seem to unfold normally. He was almost as short standing as he was sitting.
The hood of the bus opened and there were small squeaky noises, then some clanging, then silence. Then the orange hat came back up the steps, sat down, paused, turned the key again. This time there was a soft whining noise, then the same dead click. The hat went back down the steps with what looked like a toolbox in his hands this time, and for five minutes there was all sorts of banging and clanging. Then back up the steps the hat came. It sat down, leaned forward, turned the key, and after a few whines the engine bloomed into a roar and it was running.
The Heart and Mind of Frances Pauley Page 11
