On My Honor

by Marion Dane Bauer

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Clarion Books

  a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003

  Copyright © 1986 by Marion Dane Bauer.

  All rights reserved.

  For information about permission to reproduce

  selections from this book, write to Permissions,

  Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10003.

  Printed in the USA

  Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

  Bauer, Marion Dane.

  On my honor.

  Summary: When his best friend drowns while they are

  both swimming in a treacherous river that they had

  promised never to go near, Joel is devastated and

  terrified at having to tell both sets of parents the

  terrible consequences of their disobedience,

  [1. Obedience—Fiction. 2. Accidents—Fiction]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.B3262On 1986 [Fic] 86-2679

  ISBN 0-89919-439-7

  MV 30 29 28 27 26

  For the Mason family,

  whose lives formed

  part of the fabric of my childhood

  Chapter One

  "CLIMB THE STARVED ROCK BLUFFS? YOU'VE gotta be kidding!" Joel's spine tingled at the mere thought of trying to scale the sheer river bluffs in the state park. He looked Tony square in the eye. "Somebody got killed last year trying to do that! Don't you remember?"

  Tony shrugged, popped a wheelie on his battered BMX, spun in place. "Nobody knows if that guy was really trying to climb the bluffs. He might have fallen off the top ... or even jumped."

  Joel bent over his Schwinn ten-speed and brushed imaginary dust off the fender. "Well, I'm not going to ride out there with you if that's what you're going to do. It's dumb." He tried to sound tough, sure of himself. Maybe, for once, he would be able to talk Tony out of one of his crazy ideas.

  "You don't have to climb if you're scared, Bates," Tony said.

  "Who's scared?" Joel licked his lips, which seemed to have gone dry. "I'd just rather go swimming, that's all. It's going to be a scorcher today. Or we could work on our tree house. My dad got us some more wood."

  "We can do the tree house later," Tony said, "after we get back. And I don't feel like swimming."

  "You never feel like swimming," Joel muttered, seeing in his mind the shining blue water of the municipal pool. The truth was, Tony rarely felt like doing anything that Joel wanted to do. Joel wondered, sometimes, why they stayed friends. There had to be something more than their having been born across the street from each other twelve years ago, their birthdays less than a week apart.

  Mrs. Zabrinsky, Tony's mother, started babysitting Joel after his mother went back to work when he was six months old, so he and Tony had spent their baby years drooling on the same toys. Now Joel just checked in with her during the day, let her know where he was going, things like that. But he didn't know what kept him and Tony together except that, after Tony, other kids seemed boring.

  "Come on, Joel," Tony said. "Ride out to the park with me today, and tomorrow I'll go swimming with you."

  Joel thought of the long, curving, watery slide at the pool. He sighed. Tomorrow it would probably rain. Or Tony would have some other plan ... as crazy as this one. He would pretend he had forgotten he promised to go to the pool. Joel resettled his lunch in the saddlebag behind his bicycle seat. It wasn't much fun to go swimming alone, but still it would be better than getting killed on the park bluffs. There were signs all over warning people to stay on the paths, and Tony wanted to climb from the river side, no less.

  The front door of Joel's house opened and his father came out with Bobby, Joel's four-year-old brother. Mrs. Zabrinsky was Bobby's baby-sitter now, and their father was always the one to give Bobby his breakfast and take him to the Zabrinskys' house because their mother had to leave for work earlier than he.

  Seeing his father and the firm grip he maintained on Bobby's hand gave Joel an idea. He would ask for permission to ride his bike out to Starved Rock. He wouldn't mention about the bluffs, of course. He wouldn't have to. His father was sure to say that the ride to the park was too far, too dangerous. His dad always worried about things like that. Tony would be mad that he had asked, but they were supposed to ask, after all. At least Tony wouldn't be able to say that Joel had stayed home because he was chicken.

  "Hi, Dad," Joel called. This was going to be easy. "Can I bike out to Starved Rock with Tony?" He turned his back slightly to Tony to avoid seeing what he knew would be a dirty look.

  His father stopped and squinted against the morning sun that had just risen above the houses across the street. "All the way out to the state park?" he repeated, as though there were some other Starved Rock in Illinois.

  "Yeah," Joel said. "It's not so far. Probably only ten or twelve miles."

  "More like eight or nine, I think," his father said, approaching with Bobby in tow, "but it's still a long ride."

  "I wanna go, too," Bobby announced. "I wanna go to the park. Can I, Daddy? Can I, Joel?" His voice reminded Joel of the hovering whine of a mosquito. Their mother said whining was a stage all four-year-olds went through. Joel thought a year was a long stage.

  "It's a hot day," his father continued, ignoring Bobby's plea, "and that road is awfully narrow ... hilly and winding, too."

  "Can I, Daddy?" Bobby's voice rose in volume and pitch. "Can I go with Joel?"

  "No." Their father shook his head. "I'm not even sure these two are going anywhere. Now, you run across to the Zabrinskys. But be careful, Bobby! Watch for cars!"

  There were almost no cars to watch for on their quiet street, but their father always said things like that anyway. Bobby went, his lower lip sticking out like a shelf.

  "We'll be careful, Dad." Joel could hear the whine in his own voice. He sounded almost as bad as Bobby. He sounded as if he really wanted to go.

  "We will, Mr. Bates. Honest!" Tony pleaded. "The park's not that far ... and there's not much traffic during the week."

  Joel's father ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "I know the traffic is sparse, but with all those hills ... it'll seem like a lot farther."

  "If we get tired, we'll just turn back," Tony said.

  Joel didn't say anything more. To win this argument would be to lose. He was sure, though, that his father wasn't going to give permission.

  His father surveyed their bikes, frowning slightly. Joel wondered if he was going to ask why Tony was carrying a rope looped over his handlebars. To tie ourselves together when we climb, Tony had announced. But Joel's father merely said, "You have lunches packed already?"

  "Sure," Tony answered, patting the lunch he had tied to his handlebars with the rope.

  Joel's father turned back to him. "You know you have your paper route to do this afternoon, Joel."

  Joel nodded. He knew. Maybe that would be an excuse.

  "What if you boys get too tired to ride back? Tony's mother doesn't have a car, and I don't want anybody to have to leave work to come after you."

  Tony was looking at Joel, obviously waiting for him to play out his side of the argument.

  "We won't get tired," Joel said automatically.

  His f
ather's eyes seemed to know better, but he turned to Tony and asked, "Does your mother know what you're planning to do?"

  "Sure," Tony answered cheerfully, and Joel knew, without even checking Tony's face, that he was lying. He never told his mother anything if he could help it, and she was so busy with the littler kids that she didn't ask many questions.

  His father merely accepted Tony's word with a nod—grown-ups could be really dense sometimes—but then he almost redeemed himself by suggesting, "How about trying the county road that goes out of town the other way? It's flat and would be easier riding."

  "It doesn't go anywhere," Tony complained. "Besides, it's boring. Nothing but cornfields on every side."

  No bluffs to climb, Joel added silently.

  Joel's father sighed, buttoned his suit jacket, and then unbuttoned it again. The sigh gave Joel's stomach a small twist. His father wasn't actually considering giving permission, was he? Tony's father would have answered in a second. He would have said, "No!"

  "What do you think, son?" his father asked. "Do you really think you can make it all the way to the park and back without any trouble?"

  Joel could feel Tony watching him, waiting. "Sure," he said, though his throat seemed to tighten around the word. "It'll be a cinch."

  Joel's father shook his head. "I doubt that, but I guess it won't hurt you boys to be good and tired tonight."

  Joel's knees went watery. His father was going to say they could go!

  "We'll build up the muscles in our legs," Tony announced, jubilant.

  Joel's father didn't take his eyes off Joel's face. "On your honor?" he said. "You'll watch for traffic, and you won't go anywhere except the park? You'll be careful the whole way?"

  "On my honor," Joel repeated, and he crossed his heart, solemnly, then raised his right hand. To himself, he added, The only thing Til do is get killed on the bluffi, and it'll serve you right.

  His father looked at him for a long moment; then he nodded his head. "Okay," he said. "I guess you're old enough now for a jaunt like this."

  "Put her there, man," Tony exclaimed, holding a grubby palm toward Joel, and then he added, "I get dibs on the Schwinn!"

  Joel gave Tony five, taking in his friend's face as he did. Tony's dark eyes were bright with laughter, with fun, and he was grinning like a circus clown. Joel shook his head. "How can you get dibs on my bike?" he asked, though he knew how. When you were Tony, the outrageous seemed natural.

  His father was still watching him, so Joel added, automatically, "Thanks, Dad." He tried to sound as though he were really glad. He even forced a smile, though his mouth felt stiff. "Thanks a lot."

  His father nodded again, his face remaining serious. "Remember, son," he said one last time, "you're on your honor."

  "Sure," Joel replied. The least his father could have done was to remind them about staying off the bluffs. "I know."

  Chapter Two

  JOEL WATCHED HIS FATHER DRIVE AWAY. HE felt betrayed, trapped. How could he explain to Tony that he had been kidding, that he had never had any intention of going with him to the park once the idea of climbing the bluffs had come up?

  "Can I ride your bike, Joel?" Tony begged. "Can I, huh?"

  Joel sighed. Tony was like a kid expecting Christmas, not someone about to risk his life. "Just for the ride out," he said. When they came back—if they came back—he knew he would be glad for the gears on the Schwinn to make the ride easier.

  Tony's bike was a hand-me-down that had belonged to three older brothers before it had come to be his. There were no fenders, no handlegrips, and only a few flecks left of the original red paint. It was perfect for wheelies, though, and for going off ramps. Joel's silver ten-speed could be ridden fast or it could be ridden slowly, but it wasn't good for anything else.

  Joel reached over to take hold of Tony's bike, supporting his own for Tony at the same time. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

  It took only about ten minutes to reach the edge of town. On their way past the school, Tony stuck out his tongue in the direction of the sixth grade classroom where they had spent last year. Joel, deciding he might as well get into the spirit of the day, followed suit, though he liked school well enough.

  The sun sizzled in a sky so blue it could have been created out of a paint can. When they left the town behind, they rode between stands of tall, whispering grass rising on each side of the highway. Meadowlarks called from the ditch banks.

  Tony's exuberance knew no bounds. He rode in figure eights or in circles that occupied both lanes of the nearly deserted highway. Once he tried a square and nearly toppled off Joel's bike.

  Joel moved ahead, and when he started down the hill into the Vermillion River valley, he leaned forward and pumped, pushing Tony's old bike until it hummed. This was the first of many valleys they would encounter, and Joel knew going up the other side would be tough. Maybe, he thought, with a sudden rush of hope, Tony would get tired before they got all the way to the park.

  Soon the bike was going faster than he could pump, so he had to let it coast. Still it gathered speed. He tried, once, to glance over his shoulder to see how close behind Tony was following. His front wheel wobbled dangerously when he turned his head, though, so he kept his eyes forward, concentrating on keeping the wheel still. His tires buzzed against the smooth blacktop, and the wind swept through his hair, holding it back from his face as if by strong fingers. It forced his eyelids open and made his eyes feel dry and crackly.

  By the time Joel got to the bridge, the lowest point between the two hills, he would be flying. With the speed he had built up, he figured he could be halfway up the other side before he had to get off to push.

  Joel reached the bottom of the hill and shot across the bridge so fast that he didn't get even a glimpse of the river below. He knew exactly how it would look, though, muddy red with lazy, oily-looking swirls. As soon as the bike's momentum slowed enough that his legs could keep pace with the spinning wheels, he started pumping, measuring his distance on the upward side, standing when the pumping began to get hard so he could force each pedal down with all his weight.

  When his legs began to feel rubbery, he climbed off and started pushing. Tony would probably pass him, still riding the Schwinn.

  "That was some hill, huh?" He tossed the words over his shoulder. Getting no answer, he turned around to see where Tony was.

  Tony was at the bottom of the hill in the middle of the bridge, the Schwinn leaning carelessly against the fat iron railing. He was hanging a long way out over the railing, peering down at the river.

  "Bummer!" Joel said and, glancing up and down the highway to check for cars—even when he was mad at his father he couldn't help doing things like that—he U-turned, climbed back on, and began coasting again. Next time he wouldn't get more than a few feet trying to start up from a dead stop at the bottom. He would have to walk the entire hill. But of course Tony didn't think of things like that. Maybe it was time they traded bikes back again.

  "What're you looking at?" he asked, as he popped a wheelie and spun next to Tony.

  "The river," Tony replied, leaning out even farther. "I'm looking at Old Man River."

  "No, you're not. Old Man River is the Mississippi. That's nothing but the Vermillion down there."

  Tony didn't answer. Joel knew his correction didn't matter to Tony. If he wanted to call the Vermillion Old Man River, he would. He was that way in school, too ... even on tests. He drove the teachers nuts.

  Looking at Tony leaning over the railing like some kind of acrobat on a trapeze, Joel suddenly had to turn away. He wished Tony would be more careful.

  Beyond all reason he also wished, as he often had before, that Tony were his brother. They could be twins ... the kind that didn't have to look alike or be alike either. With so many other kids in the family, the Zabrinskys wouldn't miss Tony. If they needed a replacement, Joel would gladly trade Bobby-the-Whiner.

  "You realize," Joel said, "that it's going to be a long walk up that hill."


  Tony straightened up and grinned, his teeth bright against his already tanned skin. "We don't have to go to Starved Rock," he said. "Maybe I've got a better idea "

  "Better than Starved Rock?" Was there a chance he wasn't going to have to argue with Tony about climbing the bluffs?

  Tony did a little jig next to the bridge railing as if he could explain himself that way. "We've got lots of time. We can do anything we want."

  "Sure we can!" Joel agreed enthusiastically.

  "We could even go swimming."

  Joel couldn't believe his luck. "All right!" he exclaimed, holding out the flat of his palm for Tony to slap.

  Tony ignored the gesture and instead bowed, extending a hand in the direction of the reddish brown water slithering far beneath the bridge. "It's a great day for swimming," he said.

  Joel stared. "In the river?" he demanded. "You want to go swimming in the river?"

  Tony shrugged elaborately. "Where else?"

  "You might as well go swimming in your toilet."

  "Who says?"

  "My dad says! That's who."

  "'My dad says,'" Tony mimicked, his voice coming out high and girlish.

  Joel decided to ignore the taunt. He decided, also, not to remind Tony of the promise he had been required to make to his father before they left. "You know we're not allowed to swim in the Vermillion. Nobody is. It's dangerous ... sink holes and currents. Whirlpools, sometimes! Besides being dirty."

  "Alligators, too, I bet." Tony was suddenly solemn, though his eyes still danced. "The red in the water probably comes from all the bloody pieces of swimmers the 'gators leave lying around."

  "There's no alligators in the Vermillion! Do you think I'm stupid or something?" Joel could feel his face growing hot, despite the fact that he knew Tony was only teasing. "And the color just comes from clay, red clay."

  "That does it!" Tony said, crossing his arms and pulling his T-shirt over his head. "If there's no 'gators and no blood, I'm going swimming for sure."

  Leaving Joel's Schwinn still perched haphazardly against the railing, he went whooping the length of the bridge and crashed through the underbrush along the side of the road. He was swinging his pale blue shirt over his head like a lasso.