The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle

by Leslie Connor

  Calvin looks at those too. He gets up. Taps a finger on one. The paper crackles. He says it slowly. “Hey, Mason, isn’t it hard for you to read these poems?” Calvin gets that about me. Already.

  I say, “Yeah. I don’t read them. Not so much. Just know them by heart. They are old poems. Third grade. Brought those up from my room downstairs when Shayleen moved in. They are acrostics.”

  Calvin nods. He is reading.

  I think this: The letters don’t slide around or swell up for Calvin Chumsky. He does not think about wanting pincher eyes. And he sure doesn’t need me to do it, but I say the first poem out loud anyhow.

  MASON

  Mammoth in size

  Always with Benny

  Sweaty

  Only a little bit smart

  Not very organized

  Then I say the second poem.

  BENNY

  Born and adopted

  Early riser

  Not afraid of the dark

  Not as big as Mason

  Yippee

  Calvin taps that last word—the yippee—with his finger. He grins.

  I say, “Yippee. That’s what Benny said. ‘Yippee! I am done writing this darn acrostic poem. Time for recess!’ Then he dropped his pencil on his desk and out we went.”

  I remember the color of that. The air turning pink all around Benny. That color floated with him when he ran to the cubbies for his hoodie. I don’t tell Calvin about me seeing pink. That part is too hard to get. Even for someone smart like Calvin.

  But Calvin is smiling. He says, “Yippee.”

  I say, “That was a pretty long time ago.” Then I tell Calvin, “Don’t know if you heard about him. But Benny Kilmartin is a boy from here. From Merrimack. He was my best friend. And . . . well . . . it is horrible-sad . . . but Benny is dead.”

  Calvin is silent.

  I say, “Lieutenant Baird comes to me. Asks about what happened. Because I was there. I mean after. And before.”

  Calvin listens. He holds one fist in a ball under his chin.

  I say, “You know something? There is a worry of mine . . .” I wipe my hands on my knees. “You should know. There has been a lot of bad luck. Around me. Like, it follows me. I think. Maybe.”

  Calvin says, “What do you mean? Like a curse?” He shakes his head. He says, “I don’t believe in stuff like that.”

  chapter 19

  THE NEW PART

  In the SWOOF, the Dragon computer is free. I find Ms. Blinny. She is on tiptoe. Roll of masking tape clamped in her teeth. She is trying to flatten a new poster to the wall. The poster wants to curl up. She uses both elbows, one shoulder. She tears a strip of tape. It floats back into her hair. Sticks. She says, “Mmm . . . mmm . . . mmaw!” Then she says, “Oh! Dropped the tape!” She leans out to watch it roll over my foot. Then . . . pop! The poster snaps up like a window shade. Hits her in the nose.

  Her eyes close tight. Then she laughs a big laugh.

  I dry my sweaty hands. Pick up the tape and help Ms. Blinny. We get that poster on the wall right. She says, “Here’s to teamwork!” She shakes my hand. Ms. Blinny does not seem to mind my sweat. Neither does Matt Drinker’s dog, Moonie. He kind of likes sweat.

  I ask Ms. Blinny, “Is it okay if I talk now? I mean write? If I talk out my writing? Or write out my talking? On the Dragon?”

  She says, “Yep. Clear schedule.”

  I have figured out the best way for me to talk to the Dragon. I take two tissues. Tuck one under each earphone so I don’t sweat those up. Then I stack my fists into two potatoes on the desk in front of me. I rest my forehead on them. Helps me to shut off from the rest of the SWOOF. I can guess that I am a strange thing to see. Mammoth kid. Face on the desk. Talking away. Tissue ears. But the SWOOF is a safe place. Say something to tease somebody and Ms. Blinny will send you out.

  Today I get a slow start. But then I tell this to the Dragon:

  Okay umm well. I have been waiting to say it. But there is a new part of my story now. And that is Calvin Chumsky. He has come over to my house. I mean inside the crumbledown. Three days now. We are friends. Heard him say it to his parents.

  So the way we got to be friends is this. Calvin came to my house. The first day was all by accident. Because of some chasing. The second day was not as much by accident. But still because of chasing. The third day well he came over on purpose. That was a day the lacrosse kids stayed to use the school field. Backseats of the bus were empty. So. All quiet at the cluster stop. And Calvin walked home with me anyway. He just wanted to. With me.

  The earphone pops off my one ear. Makes me jump out of my sweaty skin. I look behind me. There she is again. Annalissetta Yang.

  She says, “Hi. What are you writing today, Mason?” She pats one of her backward hands on my shoulder. Holds on to the Crocodile with her other. She says, “Looks like it’s going great on the Dragon, huh, Mason? Look at all your writing!” She swirls one arm.

  I nod. I see a tissue waving by my eye. It is still stuck on the side of my head. I peel it off. Use it to mop up.

  I tell Annalissetta, “Works pretty well for me. Talking to the Dragon. This kind of writing. Sorts it out for me. I guess I do have a story to—”

  Annalissetta laughs out loud. Points at the computer screen. She says, “Mason, you’re still typing!”

  I say, “Darn!” Then that word goes up on the screen. Big letter D there. I tell the Dragon to stop listening. Push the headset away from me. Annalissetta tilts her chin up. She has a sort of puh-huh-huh-huh kind of laugh. She gets that going. She is on and on about that.

  Ms. Blinny looks up from her desk. She says, “Hey there, Annalissetta.” She smiles with her big teeth. Annalissetta shows little teeth back at her. The crooked smile. Ms. Blinny says, “How about you give Mason some space while he’s at the Dragon?” Ms. Blinny closes one eye at Annalissetta like she is saying, You already know this.

  Annalissetta makes a circle mouth. She says, “Oh, oh, oh! Sure! Sorry I interrupted you, Mason.” She gives me another pat on the back. Then she shakes her hand. She says, “Boy! You sure are a sweater!”

  I think this: Better I am a sweater than a gross-out. Funny thing how Annalissetta Yang just says what she says. She won’t waste time at finding words that are not the ones she is thinking. She uses the ones that come right up front.

  Ms. Blinny says, “Annalissetta, you’re welcome to come back for the Dragon later. You have fifth period free, right? Will that work?”

  Annalissetta says, “Yep! Okay. I get it. Privacy, privacy, privacy.” She rocks her head while she says it. Then she cranks the Crocodile around and heads out the door. Then I can’t see her. But my brain makes a picture. She is scooting down the hall. Pretty fast. Tell you what. My brain is probably right about that.

  chapter 20

  APPLESAUCE

  The apple hits the side of the crumbledown. Bursts into pieces. Two more come. I holler to Calvin, “Duck! Run!” And there we go skittering close beside the house. This is how it goes. Every day except weekends and Wednesdays, when there is after-school lacrosse. I’m sick of it. Calvin too. The next apple loops in. Another rides the wind by our ears.

  Calvin says, “Aerodynamic apples! Who knew?”

  Tell you what. Matt Drinker and Lance Pierson do not get tired of it. Calvin says it is because they have two targets now. I think this: Two targets again. I remember. They used to get at Benny and me up in the tree fort. Get us stuck up there like a couple of pigeons.

  Calvin and I run. Dash around the corner. Get onto the front porch. We crouch low behind the old stuffed armchair. Calvin fits. Me, not so much. I hug my knees.

  I hear Matt Drinker calling, “Oh, Butt-head! Got some applesauce-y for ya! Come and get it!” Then he says, “You too, Fetus-face!”

  Calvin rolls his eyes at me. Not so fond of the nickname. He stands up and hollers, “Meathead Matty!” He ducks down again. Tucks both fists under his chin while more apples rain in. Calvin tells me, “I love this fat
chair. Nice fortress.”

  I tell him, “Used to be indoors. Saw a mouse come out of the stuffing one day. Uncle Drum had me move it out here.”

  We wait. No apples flying. I stick my head out for a look. No Matt. No Lance. But there is Corey McSpirit. Coming up the hill. He looks all around. He calls out, “Matt! Lance! Hey, are we going to play? Come on! Guys?” He pops a lacrosse ball straight up in the air. Traps it back in the basket of his stick. Swishes left and right. Then don’t you know, Matt’s dog, Moonie, comes up behind Corey. Tail wagging. Body wiggling. Nose sniffing.

  Corey calls again, “Hey! Guys! Where are you?” I wonder the same thing.

  Calvin pokes one finger into a hole in the chair cover. He whispers, “Here, mousey, mousey.” No mouse comes.

  But Moonie does. He bounds onto the porch. Into the chair. He bounces in circles. Blur of black and white. He leaps over the back. Finds me. Calvin too.

  Calvin says, “Uh-oh.”

  I pop up tall. Big shower of apples slam the porch. I see Matt and Lance behind the trees. Reloading. Three at a time. They swing back to fire again. Matt will shoot right where his own dog is standing. It’s how he is. Apples spatter across the deck boards. Moonie jumps and twists. He would catch the apples. Eat the pieces. But they are coming in too hard. Too fast. Poor dog. He ducks behind my legs.

  I say, “This is it, Calvin! We gotta get inside! Dog too!” I holler, “Go!”

  Calvin moves. Slips his skinny self out from behind the chair. His shoes slap down on the old porch planks. He dives on the doorknob and turns it. He is in. Then Moonie. Then me.

  I hear Matt Drinker holler, “Hey! That’s my dog, Buttle!”

  I slam the door.

  Moonie turns himself round and round on the old carpet inside the crumbledown. He stops on his elbows. Wags. Shows eye whites. He circles again. Makes us laugh. Best dog ever.

  Shayleen marches out of the room that used to be my room. Goes right to the door. Same one I just slammed. She hauls it open. She steps onto the porch and screams, “That’s right! Beat it, you little jerks! Beat it!” Then I know Matt and Lance and Corey must be running away. Then, even louder, Shayleen roars, “Quit disturbing the peace!”

  She slams the door hard. Harder than I did. Moonie freezes. One paw held in the air. Looks at Shayleen. She hops on one foot. Kicks apple chunks off her boot. Stamps her feet. She says, “Mason, do not bring those bad boys to the door like that! My window is right there!”

  I say, “You think I asked them to come, Shayleen?”

  Calvin says, “You sent engraved invitations as I recall.” He looks at Shayleen. “He didn’t. You do understand that, right?”

  I say, “Yeah, I even told them to aim where Shayleen is. She loves smashed apples, is what I said.”

  Uncle Drum laughs in the indoor armchair. Just quiet.

  Shayleen keeps crabbing. She says, “By the way, I tried to open that window to speak to them. But it’s stuck. Again.” She gives Uncle Drum the stink eye. Like that will make him fix it. He’s sitting way deep in the soft chair. But he hangs his arm over the side. Clicks his fingers to call Moonie over for a pat. Shayleen huffs. She says, “I’m only asking for a little fresh air.”

  I say, “The fresh air is outside, Shayleen.” It is no wisecrack. True thing. I say, “Trouble is, you are always in the house. Except for just now when you went out there to holler.”

  Shayleen says, “Speaking of in the house . . . I see you let that rambunctious dog in again.”

  I say, “Yeah. Well. You got eyes then.”

  She says, “Drum! Do you hear what he’s saying to me?”

  My uncle doesn’t blink. He rubs Moonie’s ears.

  Shayleen grunts. “Ugh!” She stomps away. Back to the room that used to be mine.

  Moonie scarfs up the apple pieces Shayleen brought in on her feet. He is the kind of dog who eats like he hasn’t seen food for days. And will never see any again. But I know he’s got a whole good bin full of kibble at his own house. Yellow dog chips for snacks too.

  I know I should take him home. I will not just put him outside because tell you what. Swaggertown Road is right out front and that’s not a safe place for dogs. I figure he can stay awhile. He has before.

  I clap once. I say, “Come on, boy!”

  He heads up the stairs. Turns around at the top and sits. He waits for Calvin and me. Tail wagging so hard it swats the dust up off the floor. I laugh. I tell Calvin, “Look at that dog. Broom for the Buttle house.”

  chapter 21

  BRAMBLES AND LOPPERS

  So the good part is Calvin is here and Moonie is too. The bad part is we are kind of stuck in the room upstairs again.

  Calvin pokes around on his tablet. I sit by the window with my arm around Moonie Drinker. Scratch him under the chin. When I stop he bumps my hand for more. Love that.

  Calvin calls the upstairs room our vantage point. From the window we can see into the Drinkers’ yard. It is the way the shape of the land works. We are high up. It’s a double hill. First is the short hill. Kind of grows off the back of the crumbledown. Right close at the back of our house. This window looks down on that. Mess of brambles and thorns because Uncle Drum quit mowing it years ago. Next is the long hill. Where I rode the sled across the rows of apple trees and into the Drinkers’ basement that time.

  Calvin says, “Are they playing yet?” Sometimes he doesn’t look up from the tablet.

  I check the yard. I say, “Won’t be long. They have Corey McSpirit today. He always gets it going.”

  Calvin says, “Yeah. Lacrosse is probably his favorite thing about Matt and Lance. Corey is in it for the game.”

  That’s all we are waiting for. When they get a good game going down there, they don’t care a crumb about chasing Calvin and me.

  I watch and wait. I do some thinking about the old tree fort. I have an ache to be making a plan and hammering on boards again. Like I did with Benny. We made our own place to be. Outside. Sky and leaves over our heads.

  Well, I saw that the yellow police tape is down. Finally. Maybe Lieutenant Baird would say I could go back there now. But not so sure I want to. Truth is, I stood pretty close one day. Looking at the place where the ladder used to be. And then at the grass below. It was the lieutenant who took the ladder away. Back when Benny died. He told me it is part of his puzzle. Something about the way the rung snapped. Gets me in the gut. Because I just think this: Missing ladder. Missing Benny.

  Sometimes I think it: I could build another one. Start new. But it puts a fly in my head thinking that I could do something wrong. Build a bad ladder again. And I am not so sure Calvin would like a tree house. Been in the orchard with him plenty. I pull myself up into the trees. Just some. But Calvin stays below. He doesn’t say. But I know. He is not a climber.

  I look out down the hill. I nudge Calvin. I say, “Lacrosse game! They’re playing. Come on.”

  Calvin packs up the tablet. I clap for Moonie to follow.

  We are out the door heading to the back of the crumbledown.

  There is a pretty good spot to be. Right between the short hill and the long hill. Calvin calls it the dip. And it is one. Low spot. Close behind our house.

  We get down there. Got Moonie hopping around. Running little circles and looking for something to pick up in his mouth. He finds an apple. Drops it at my feet. I roll it like a bowling ball. He chases.

  The whole time Calvin faces the short hill. Right close at the back of the crumbledown. He likes to measure things with his eyes. I know he is thinking something.

  He says, “Hey, Mason, what’s with the way the hill is cut there? How come it drops off so flat? Like a wall? And what’s behind the brambles?”

  That is a lot of questions. I try to think what to answer. It is a bit mixed up in my brain.

  Calvin knows. He says, “Oh, sorry. Just wondering out loud.”

  He steps up to the wall of thorns and brambles. He is curious about it. Same way he is for chimneys and laundry
chutes. He studies it up with his eyes. Moonie comes back with the apple. Drops it. He stands beside Calvin. Sniffs along the ground. He picks up a paw. He scratches at the hill.

  I look at Calvin. Calvin looks at me. Then Calvin sticks his skinny hand right in there behind the thorns. He is careful about it. I hear taps. A sound like wood under Calvin’s little knuckles. Then a rattle. Like metal.

  He says, “Whoa! This is a door, Mason! I just found a latch!”

  I say, “Holy cow!” I turn to run.

  Calvin calls, “Wait! Where are you going?”

  I call back. I say, “Going to get the loppers! Cut the thorns! So we can get in there!”

  All the way to the shed, I hope like heck I can find them. Trouble is our shed is a mess. But good luck comes. I do find the loppers. Hanging up. Little bit rusty. But I think they will still cut.

  When I get back Calvin is grinning. He says, “Mason. I have an idea.”

  He wants me to cut through the brambles all around the door edge. Side and top. But not the side with the hinges on it.

  He says, “When we open the door it will be like a blanket of thorns swinging with it.”

  I say, “Camouflage!”

  Calvin nods his big nod. “Nobody will ever know.”

  I like this idea. I hold my elbows high. I stick the tip of the loppers into the pricker canes. Cut along like I am using giant scissors. Tell you what. Tougher than I thought. The canes are thick. The loppers are lousy. Keep getting them stuck.

  Calvin tells me how great I am doing. But all I think is this: Wrong tool for the job. I stop to wipe sweat. Then go at it again. I turn the loppers this way. That way. Tell you what. This is giving me blisters.

  I try to think what would work better. Pruners. Maybe. We have an orchard. So we sure have pruners. Somewhere. But even if I find them, it will be tons of snipping. Bare hands in the thorns. One cane at a time. We will be forever, and Calvin has to be home before dark. In time for supper. That is the rule.