Josie jumps up and barks, ready to go if I am. And I am. I want to get away from Cam and her nosy comments about my life. What does she know about me, anyway? She can be really annoying sometimes.
14
WHEN I GET HOME, IT’S ONLY A LITTLE AFTER TWO, I’ve been so busy with Cam, it feels odd to have free time on my hands. I think about Dad coming home early, and decide to do something to surprise him.
I get out the weed whacker and trim the edges of the lawn. This is a noisy, boring chore that I avoid whenever possible, and Dad usually has to remind me three or four times. Josie doesn’t like the racket, either, and takes refuge under the porch until I’m finished.
As I survey my handiwork, I see my soccer ball lying in the grass next to the pile of lumber for the abandoned deck project, and I get an idea. I’ll build a goal in the yard, and tonight Dad and I will practice taking shots, just like I told Cam we were going to do.
I’m pretty excited as I pull out three of the boards from under the tarp and drag them into the garage. I get out the saw again and cut one of them in half. Then I nail the two short boards onto the ends of the longer boards to form a rectangle. I get two more boards, cut each of them in half, and nail them to the base of the frame in a triangular shape. Cool! The goal stands on its own, ready for action. It doesn’t look like much and isn’t regulation size, but that’s okay. It’ll serve the purpose.
I set it up at the edge of the lawn and take a few shots. This isn’t easy, as Josie seems to think I’ve devised this exercise solely for her benefit. She chases after the ball trying to bite it, and when that doesn’t work, she noses it along in front of her and pushes it with her paws. To her, the object of this fun new game is to keep the ball away from me. I figure it could actually be good practice to try to steal the ball from her, and I go after it, using my fanciest footwork.
We play for a pretty long time, until I’ve gotten a couple shots through the goal. I’m sweating like crazy and Josie and I are both panting, and I collapse on the grass. Josie comes over and flops down beside me, heaving, her tongue hanging out.
I lie there, picturing Dad’s face when he sees the goal. He’s going to be amazed. I check my watch. Quarter after four. I wonder how early he might be home. It’s possible it could be any minute. We’ll have time for some soccer before dinner. Afterward, we’ll sit on the porch and shoot the breeze.
I look at my watch again. Twenty after four. I’ve got to do something to pass the time, or I’ll drive myself crazy. When Dad told my new school that I’d be coming in the fall, they gave him a list of books my class was supposed to read over the summer. I have a couple of them in my room, and I look them over. One has a picture of a kid catching a baseball on the front, so I grab it and settle in on a lawn chair in the shade. Josie curls up on the grass beside me and falls asleep immediately, snoring softly.
The book is funny, even though the kid who is the main character loses his hand in a meat grinder in the first chapter, and when I look at my watch again I’m surprised to see that it’s five-thirty. My stomach growls, and I decide to check the refrigerator.
There’s a package of hamburger meat and a bag of buns, so I go back outside and put some charcoal on the grill, squirt it with starter, and light it. I always get a thrill—and a little bit of a scare—when it catches with that whooshing sound. It takes a while for the stinky stuff to burn off and for the coals to get to just the right temperature, and I figure the grill will be all set to go by the time Dad gets home. I make four hamburger patties and set them on a plate.
Then, thinking I’ll really surprise Dad, I make a salad. I get out plates, forks, napkins, ketchup, mustard, a bottle of dressing, the works.
I go back outside to read some more, but it’s harder to concentrate now that Dad will be home any minute. Every time a car goes by, I look up to see if it’s turning into our driveway.
At six-thirty, the coals in the grill are almost burned down to nothing, so I add more. By seven, I’m too hungry to wait any more, and I’m starting to feel grouchy, and ticked off at Dad. Why did he leave a note saying he’d be home early if he wasn’t going to be?
I eye the telephone. He gave me grief for not calling him last night, so why doesn’t he call me if he’s not going to make it home early? I’m sure not going to call him.
I cook myself two cheeseburgers and eat quickly, standing at the kitchen counter, barely even tasting what I’m chewing. Josie watches, not begging, but on the alert for any bits that might fall to the floor. I give her the last bite of my second burger, and we go back outside.
I read until it starts to get too dark to see, then I sit staring blankly out at the neighbor’s farm fields, feeling stupid. Did I really think things were going to be different with Dad, just because he was worried about me last night?
Josie climbs up onto my lap, and her warmth feels good in the evening chill. I look up at the sky and watch as one star after another appears. I think of Cam’s planet and imagine her parents, worried sick and missing her, waiting for the full moon and the signal.
The stars become blurry as my eyes fill with a sudden wash of tears. I hug Josie fiercely, burying my nose in the familiar smell of her neck, recognizing that Cam was right. Except for Josie, I am alone. My mother’s gone and I can’t even remember her face clearly anymore. My father is in his own world and seems happy to stay there. I don’t know any kids here, except Cam. And she’s leaving.
I look up at the sky, remembering all the things Cam told me about her planet. It sounds pretty darn great.
Her showing up is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. She actually knows me better than anybody, when I think about it. Life will be very dull when she goes. Then I’ll really be alone.
I try to think just what it is that I have to stick around here for. I ask myself: When you’re there waiting with Cam, and a spaceship actually comes for her, are you going to refuse to go on the biggest adventure of your whole life?
“They like dogs,” I say out loud, quoting Cam to Josie. Josie turns and licks my salty cheek.
“What do you think, girl?” I ask.
She gives the funny singsongy growl she makes when we’re having a conversation and she’s answering one of my questions.
“You’re right,” I say. “Only a person with a small view of things would pass up an opportunity like that.”
We get up and go inside. Josie heads for her corner in the living room, circles a few times, and lies down. I go to my room, close the door, and sprawl on the bed. I stare into the darkness for what seems like a long time. The longer I lie there, the more sure I am of my decision.
If a spaceship does land, I’m getting on it.
When I hear a car coming up the driveway, I get under the covers and curl up on my side, my face turned to the wall. I hear the door from the garage into the kitchen open and close. I listen to footsteps coming down the hall and stopping outside my room. The knob turns slowly, and a thin sliver of light shines on the wall. Though I’m facing away from the door, I close my eyes, feigning sleep, and remain absolutely still.
“Owen?”
I try to breathe evenly, like a sleeping person.
“Are you awake?”
I don’t answer.
“This audit is a nightmare. I was holed up in a meeting with an IRS guy and couldn’t get away. I should have called, I know. But we are right down to the wire on this thing.”
Ooh, your big audit, I think. Nothing’s more important than that.
“I couldn’t leave,” he says.
Yeah, I know.
There’s silence for a while. Just when it’s gone on long enough that I think he must have walked away without my hearing, he says in a barely audible whisper, “I’m sorry.”
I almost turn around then, but I don’t. What’s the point?
The door closes, and I take a deep breath. I fall asleep and dream of a spaceship landing in a wheat field.
15
I WAKE UP E
ARLY, BEFORE DAD, QUICKLY, I FEED Josie and eat some cereal. Then I pack food for Cam and me, along with some water, dog food, and Milk-Bones. I leave a short note on the kitchen counter.
Got some stuff to do. See you later.
Owen.
It’s vague, but offhand enough not to raise any suspicions. At least, that’s what I hope. I want him to think it’s just a day like any other.
I read it over and add the word “Love” before my name. I’m not sure why, but I don’t feel mad anymore. I guess I feel kind of sorry for him. He’s the one who’s going to be left behind.
If the spaceship comes.
I’m about to leave when I think about packing some stuff to take with me. I hear the words in my head: in case I never return. I put my two favorite World Cup soccer T-shirts into my backpack, along with a pair of boxers. I take a look around my room to see what else I might miss. I hate to leave my posters, the model airplanes I worked so hard on, and my rock and fossil collections. But they’re all too impractical to pack. Pinned to my bulletin board is a picture of me and Dad somebody took at an office Christmas party last year. It’s a dumb picture, because the photographer made us put on Santa Claus hats, but I grab it anyway and shove it between the folds of the T-shirts.
Then Josie and I sneak out of the house. I see my soccer ball lying in the grass where I left it last night, and after a minute of indecision I put it in my backpack. Any decent planet has got to have soccer, right?
Josie and I hit the road. This is very possibly my last day on Earth, I think with a sharp thrill. It promises to be a beauty, too.
Mr. Powers’s store appears to be open, even at this early hour, and I stop to buy a last bag of Tootsie Rolls for Cam. She said she wanted to take some back home with her.
I wonder again what the spaceship will look like.
When Josie and I walk into the store, Mr. Powers looks surprised. “What’s got you and the hound out and about at this hour of the morning?” he asks.
I smile, wondering how high his fuzzy eyebrows would shoot up if I said, Oh, we’re taking off tonight for another planet, and we wanted to say goodbye.
Instead, I say, “Oh, nothing much. Just an early morning bike ride.” I grab a bag of Tootsie Rolls and put them on the counter.
Mr. Powers commands Josie to sit, says, “Good hound,” and gives her a Slim Jim. He rolls me a jawbreaker before taking my money. Then he eyes me with interest. Too much interest. “You two are up to something. Don’t try to kid a kidder.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to look innocent.
He ignores my question. “Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with that big-neck fella. He’s bad news, you can take that to the bank.”
I don’t say anything and Mr. Powers shakes his head. “Every day, I see you out running around loose,” he says. “I ask myself, Where are that boy’s parents?”
I wish I’d skipped the Tootsie Rolls, given Mr. Powers a farewell wave from the road, and kept on going. I’d be edging my way to the door now except he hasn’t given me my change yet. “Oh, you know,” I say. “Working.”
“Hmmm,” he says. He holds out his hand with my change in it, and adds, “Well, whatever you’re up to, you be careful now, you and the hound. You hear?”
“I—we will,” I say. This last comment of his seems nice, rather than nosy, and makes me feel more kindly toward him. I realize with surprise that I will miss my visits to old Mr. Powers’s store. “And thanks for all the jawbreakers and the Slim Jims.”
He says gruffly, “More where they came from. Come get ’em any time.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I start to walk out, then turn back and say, “Bye, Mr. Powers.”
He gives me a long, penetrating look and then a nod. I leave, feeling his eyes following me.
On my bike again, I zoom down the rutted dirt path onto the trail, trying to shake off the feel of those knowing eyes.
Josie races beside me, and I think about the morning we discovered the torn, red-stained bits of a white T-shirt and followed the trail of the “bloody guy.” It was six days ago, though it feels much longer. I pedal along, realizing how many trips Josie and I have made up and down this path, and how odd it is to know this is possibly the last time we’ll do it.
Maybe that’s why everything looks and smells and sounds sharper than normal to me. Josie’s always excited when she’s free to race around in the woods, so it’s hard to tell if she recognizes that this is a special day.
Some painted turtles are out sunning themselves on the mossy, half-sunken logs in a pond, and their red-and-yellow throats look especially bright. They slip silently under the duckweed that floats on the pond’s surface. I don’t think I ever before noticed the incredible neon green of those weeds.
One by one, frogs hidden by the water’s edge croak and jump into the water with loud plops. This drives Josie wild. She races over to the edge of the pond, stares into the water, and then looks at me as if to say, You heard that, too, right? So where did they go?
A male wood duck takes off, making his squealing call. Then I see a hen with a string of ducklings swimming behind her. Her mate had flown off, trying to distract me from the babies. On the other side of the pond is a dead tree with a big hole in the trunk, where I bet she had her nest. I feel kind of sad to think I won’t be here to see the ducklings grow.
I brush off these misgivings, reminding myself that Cam said there are dogs on her planet. If there are dogs, there have got to be other animals, too.
Soon I get to the place where I know Cam’s tent sits right above me. I stop and look up, but I can’t see any sign of it. There’s nobody else on the trail this early, not even Ernie and Charlene, and I’m tempted to call out to Cam but decide not to take the chance.
I stash my bike extra carefully and start up the hill. “This could be the last time we have to climb this bugger,” I tell Josie. “Not that it ever bothered you.”
At the top, I walk along the edge, lean over where the tent sits below, and say in a cheery, singsong voice, “Rise and shine, Cam-per! Get it? Camper?”
After a few seconds I hear the sound of the tent door unzipping, and Cam crawls out. She blinks in the sudden brightness, yawns, and says grumpily, “Maybe it’s good you’re not coming with me. I don’t think my people are ready for your blazing wit.”
I grin down at her. “Well, they’re just going to have to deal with my sophisticated ways. ’Cause if they show up, I’m going with you.”
She peers at me, her mouth falling open in a little O. For once, I’ve managed to throw Cam off balance.
“You mean it?” she asks softly.
The hope in her voice makes my heart do a little flip.
I nod. “If that ship comes, I’m on it.”
“You’re sure?” Cam asks.
I nod again.
“What about your dad?” she asks.
“It might take him a couple days to notice I’m gone,” I say, “but then he’ll be fine.” I can feel her hesitation, and I give her another big grin.
She keeps looking at me. “Are you sure?” she says. “I don’t know …”
I laugh. “Cam! You’ve been bugging me to come with you, and now you’re going to try to talk me out of it? Come on.”
Suddenly she laughs, too, and her face turns to pure happiness. “If you change your mind once we get there, I’m sure they’ll bring you back,” she says.
“That’s good to know,” I say. “Now, would you hurry and get up here? We need to talk about building that signal.”
16
I TAKE A BOX OF STRAWBERRY POP-TARTS FROM MY backpack, but keep the bag of Tootsie Rolls hidden to surprise Cam with later. As we eat, I ask Cam to explain to me exactly how we are going to build a signal using only a board, a hammer and nails, some rope, and a tape measure.
“A board, a hammer and nails, some rope, a tape measure, and a stick,” she corrects me.
“Oh, a stick. That really clears things up.�
��
Cam rolls her eyes. “Come on. We need to find a fairly sturdy stick about five feet long, nice and straight.”
We look around until we find a dead branch that meets Cam’s specifications. When I ask her again how we’re going to make the signal, she says it will be easier just to show me. “And we can’t begin until late this afternoon. If we’re seen while we’re doing this, it’ll ruin everything,” she warns.
We sit under the sycamore tree and pass the time teaching Josie to balance a Milk-Bone on her nose. She does it, but looks at us as if to say, This is dumb. What’s the point? So we teach her to balance it, then flip it in the air and catch it. After a series of successful attempts, she loses interest, probably because she’s bored.
When we eat lunch, I look at the huge open field. “That wheat only stands about three feet high,” I say to Cam. “Anybody with eyes will see us when we’re standing out there.”
I don’t mention Ray’s name, but I’m sure she’s thinking about him, too.
“I know. That’s one reason we’re waiting as long as we can. But I think the wheat’s high enough to hide us if we crouch down. If someone comes, we should be okay if we hear them in time.”
A small plane flies over, causing Cam to frown with concern. “That’s our biggest worry. There must be a small airport over that way,” she says, pointing. “I’ve noticed over the past few days they keep coming and going from there. They’re flying low, too.”
“If one of them spots us, what do you think they’ll do?” I ask.
“It depends on how far along we’ve gotten with the signal, probably,” she answers. “If they look down and see an obvious design, who knows? They might think it’s interesting, and go on about their business. Or they might call their pilot buddies to have a look. Or they could call someone to report vandalism to a farmer’s field. Or, they could call it in to the media.” She makes a face. “That would be the worst.”
I picture the drive to the deserted farmhouse swarming with TV vans and reporters. “That would not be good,” I agree. “No spaceship will land if that happens.”
Signal Page 8
