Me and Jake

by Boo Riley

  I smiled at him and said, “Hi,” but he didn’t pay us no mind.

  Jake put his nose to his leg and gave him a sniff. He looked down, shook his leg and Jake let him be.

  Cameron nodded at him. “Kind of reminds you of Randy Jordan ’fore he got sick and lost his hair, don’t he? Kind of uppity. I wonder what’s stuck in his craw.”

  “There’s no telling, Cameron. Maybe he just likes his music and don’t want to be interrupted. Dad ought to get him one of those things. We wouldn’t have to listen to his old country whining all the time. Must be one of them players everyone has.”

  Cameron eyed the kid up and down and talked loud, like he didn’t care if he heard or not. “Got to be a new kid. I don’t remember him from last year.”

  The squeal of brakes echoing through the woods sounded familiar, the bus picking up the Thompson kids just over the hill. After a minute, it lumbered into view, a yellow beast trailing a cloud of black smoke.

  Mrs. Adams, the driver, found someone to fix her blonde hair for her, or she got up early enough to do it herself. Most times she looked like she slept with her head under the pillow, jumped out of bed and got in the bus. She’d pulled it back into a braid and even had on a smearing of red lipstick and eye stuff, black and thick, with a shade of blue on her eyelids.

  She was all business and didn’t put up with nothing. “Good morning, boys. Come on, we don’t got all day. Take a seat, we’re running behind.”

  I gave Jake a pat on the head. “You go on home, boy. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  Cindy sat toward the middle of the bus. John Hillman, a kid who fancied himself a cowboy sat with her. She smiled. I gave a little wave and sat down in an empty seat that matched my heart. My day was ruined.

  Cameron started to sit in the seat across the aisle from me, but the new kid pushed by him and sat down in it himself, as if he owned it or something.

  Cameron looked at him and sat next to me. “You believe what he just did?”

  “Just leave it be. Don’t get in trouble.”

  My brother’s jaw flexed. Not a good sign.

  The kid removed his earphones, turned, and stretched his legs across the seat, so no one could sit next to him. The next group of kids had to push by his feet to get down the aisle.

  He eyed me and Cameron. “Looks like you two just got them clothes out of the package and put them on. Stupid looking if you ask me.”

  I looked straight ahead, Cameron too, but I knew it wouldn’t last. If the kid didn’t keep his mouth shut, there was going to be a down-home fist-a-cuffing.

  “Don’t you hillbillies …?”

  Uh-oh, the fuse was lit now. Cameron and the kid stood at the same time.

  Mrs. Adams screamed, “Hey!” She knew what would happen next. She slowed and pulled over to stop.

  Cameron spoke calm, like he was talking about everyday things. “Take it back.”

  “I’m not taking nothing back, hillbilly.” The kid stuck his nose out and made a show of sniffing. “Why don’t you take a bath before you come to school? You and your brother stink. I smelled you five minutes before you got to the bus stop.”

  “Take it back.”

  The kid hit Cameron square on the nose. The smack silenced the bus. You could have heard a mouse squeak. Not a kid moved. Even Mrs. Adams stared at them. The first time I remember her tongue getting stuck in her mouth. She always had something to say.

  Cameron never blinked. Then he done something I couldn’t believe. He smiled and said, “Is that all you got?”

  Cameron went nuts. Blood and screaming the likes I’ve never seen. The bus erupted in yells. Mrs. Adams ran back and tried to pull Cameron loose, but she’d pull and the kid screamed all the more. His ear stretched, long and thin. Cameron had the lobe between his teeth and wouldn’t let go.

  I finally got hold of Cameron and yelled in his ear something about Dad going as nuts as he was when he found out he’d been fighting.

  Cameron spit him out, pushed away, and shook me off. “Let me go.”

  Mrs. Adams unloaded on him. “Cameron Ray, you sit in that seat and don’t you move.” She guided him by the shoulders and pushed him into the seat behind me, next to another kid I didn’t recognize. The boy moved against the side of the bus like crazy was a disease he could catch.

  The big kid held his ear and moaned, rocking back and forth.

  “Son, what’s your name?”

  “Jason, Jason Morris.” He pointed at Cameron. “He’s crazy.”

  Mrs. Adams stomped and screamed, “Enough, all of you! Be quiet! I don’t need this on the first day of school. You two.” She pointed at Cameron and the other kid, Jason. “Don’t you move, not a twitch out of ya, you hear me?”

  Cameron was cool as anything. He acted like nothing had happened. He even shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

  I whispered to no one, to anyone, “We’re in big trouble.”

  Mrs. Adams spun and pointed her red fingernail again, right in my face. “That means you too. Don’t say a word.”

  Just behind Cameron, Cindy’s face came into focus. She mouthed, “Be quiet,” and put a finger to her lips.

  22

  Mrs. Adams pulled to the curb in front of the school, shoved the lever to open the door, and stood to face us. “All right, have a good day. Cameron, you and Jason keep your seats.

  “Ty, you can go to class. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “No, ma’am, I’d just as soon stay with Cameron.”

  “Suit yourself. You’ll be counted tardy if you don’t go.”

  Being counted tardy was the least of my worries.

  Everyone took a good look as they filed down the aisle and out of the bus. Cindy gave me a grimace, then followed it with a weak smile. I almost changed my mind and followed her. She might ask me some questions. If I stood close enough, maybe a whiff of the flowery stuff she splashed on would come my way.

  Some kids ran to the front of the school. Small groups formed and they pointed, blabbing about what they’d seen for sure.

  I’ll say one thing for Cameron. He got the big boy to keep his trap shut. Just stared at the floor and never uttered a word about us stinking hillbillies. I couldn’t blame him none really. After what I saw, I wouldn’t want Cameron biting on my ear neither.

  Mrs. Adams parked the bus and led us to the principal’s office, a dreadful place. The front office was one thing. The ladies were nice, even when they gave you a tardy slip. And that’s where they announced over the loudspeaker what was for lunch. The microphone stood on the head-lady’s desk.

  The office no one wanted to enter was in the back. The door into that place was closed. It was like looking into the woods in the dark of night, wondering about the noises—scratching and breathing and eyes looking at you that you couldn’t see. Who knew what went on in there?

  The door was closed, so maybe someone besides Cameron was in trouble. Maybe the principal had to go somewhere. Could we be that lucky?

  People gawking bothered me. They couldn’t mind their own business and go about their chores. One lady, when Mrs. Adams told her what happened, puffed up like a sitting hen, like her kid got the licking.

  Mr. Ellis’s deep voice followed a stamping of feet, “No running in the hall,” just before he walked in and gave me and Cameron a quick eye. His walk and smile reminded me of Mr. Jordan. He had on a blue suit with a white shirt and yellow tie. If he hadn’t been the principal, I might have felt comfortable.

  After a brief conversation with Mrs. Adams, he looked in our direction. “Gentlemen, would you come with me, please?”

  Jason jumped to his feet first. I knew he was going to open his mouth just as quick as he could. “Sir, do you know what he—”

  A quick, firm hand waved and cut him short. Mr. Ellis opened the door to his office, “Please sit.” Then he used the same hand to offer us one of the four chairs in front of a large wooden desk.

  Me and Cameron took a seat, leaving the empty chair betw
een us and Jason.

  To our left, nice, neat frames with fancy writing hung on the wall next to a piece of white notebook paper with a stick-dog, a smiley face, and i luv DAD written in blue crayon. Below, a frame with a picture of a lady and three kids stood on the corner of a smaller desk, to the right of a computer screen.

  Mr. Ellis took his seat and folded his hands on top of the desk. “All right, young man, you’re new. I’m Brett Ellis. What’s your name?”

  “Jason, Jason Morris. This guy is plum crazy and he—”

  “Whoa.” Mr. Ellis held up both hands this time. “Slow down, and give me the facts. Tell me exactly what you said and did, nothing more.”

  Jason clammed-up and never said a word. His face turned red. He just sat there like a bump on a pickle.

  Mr. Ellis looked at Cameron. “Mr. Ray. What did you say?”

  “Take it back.”

  “Excuse me. Take what back?”

  “He said we were hillbillies and needed to take a bath before we came to school. Said we stink. He could smell us five minutes ‘fore we got to the bus stop. I told him to take it back. That’s all I said.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I stood up.”

  Mr. Ellis’s eyes flashed to Jason, but the kid wasn’t looking now. Not so eager to open his big mouth neither.

  “How did the fight start? Ty, you want to tell me, please? Did you get involved?”

  “Me? No, sir. This kid hit Cameron square on the nose, but Cameron laughed at him. I didn’t do a thing because it was a fair fight, one on one.”

  Mr. Ellis eyed the three of us. Then he grinned at Cameron. I had something to hope for in that smile, because if he called Dad, our goose was cooked.

  “Mr. Morris. I’m going to give you some advice. These hillbillies, as you called them, work. They do chores, cut wood, buck bales, tend hogs and cattle, no telling what else. I hear you got a licking, but you don’t look too much the worse for wear. You got Cameron by twenty pounds and six inches and hit him on the nose first. I suggest you keep your mouth shut and keep your hands to yourself. I’m going to leave this among us men this time. I better not hear of another incident. Go to class. Now, go on and welcome. You have nothing to prove here, you understand?”

  The kid’s head couldn’t have gotten lower and stayed attached to his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Mr. Morris. ‘Yes, sir’. Not ‘yeah’. You’ll find it’s ‘Yes, ma’am’ too. Save yourself some embarrassment and use it from the start. Off you go.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cameron and I stood, but Mr. Ellis held us with a headshake.

  “Please close the door behind you, Mr. Morris.”

  When that big door clicked closed, my heart jumped up there in the back of my throat where Dad kept it all the time. I thought we’d got off free and clear, but now I wasn’t so sure. To add to my feelings of dread, the bell rang for school to start and we were tardy.

  Mr. Ellis hemmed and hawed once and cleared his throat. “Men, I need to give you some advice too. How do I say this? You’re getting to the age where your bodies are starting to change. Well, do you know what deodorant is? Do your mom and dad…have they bought you some to use or suggested that you use some?”

  Cameron looked at me like “What?” I couldn’t fathom what in the world he was talking about.

  “Mr. Ellis, I’m afraid I, we,” Cameron indicated me, “don’t know what you mean.”

  “Boys, it’s for body odor.”

  I could only think of one thing. “Well, sir, Momma Ray keeps baking soda in the icebox, but she told us to leave it be.”

  23

  The paper Mr. Ellis gave me to get into class felt nice in my hand. I had an excuse, a good one and from the man himself. I stepped light. It could turn out to be a good day after all.

  Me and Cameron checked our schedules. We didn’t have one class together. Brothers weren’t supposed to sit in the same room during school, or so it seemed.

  My schedule would sour milk. Math, then science for my first two classes and they were my worst subjects. Miss Betty Sue, the math teacher, was famous for her tests and her sense of humor. Humor I liked, but tests were sure to give me trouble. Dad didn’t like C’s, and D’s would get the tar beat out of you.

  Miss Betty Sue stopped mid-sentence, and heads turned my direction when I walked in the room. So many eyes trained on me made my baggy pants, cinched belt holding them up, and wrinkled shirt all the more uncomfortable. Tomorrow, Cameron could wear this stuff.

  Cindy sat toward the middle of the row of wooden desks, close to an outside window, and next to her, smirk smeared all over his face, sat John Hillman—Mr. Cowboy himself.

  Heat stoked deep inside me and pushed the blood up to my face, like the red stuff in the thermometer hanging outside our back door.

  “Ty, are you going to stand there all day, or come in and join us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you’re going to stand there?”

  The class snickered and got a look from Miss Betty Sue that could melt crayons.

  Mr. Cowboy shook his head and glanced at Cindy. He made me want to poke him a good one on his right eye and bite his ear.

  Miss Betty Sue took the excuse slip. “Thank you, sir. Please be seated.”

  Only two chairs remained and both of them were in the front of the class. Just right for the way my day was going. Miss Betty Sue wouldn’t be wasting time. She’d jump into math ciphering right off, and I’d be the first one she’d see to ask a question.

  I sat and Miss Betty Sue got on with it. “As I was saying, we’ll begin the year…”

  Class passed in a blur, without having to answer math questions, then science was next. By the time history ended and the lunch bell sounded, my belly moaned.

  Cameron had his tray and sat with a couple of guys who lived down the road a piece from us. When I walked by, one of them mentioned coons. I could sit and talk about Jake and chasing coons most days, but I had my heart set on visiting with Cindy. She sat with another girl, Becky something, and had her own lunch she carried in a small, brown paper bag. Her mom made good sandwiches with real ham and cheese. Always had a box of raisins or a peach. She shared some with me once.

  “Hi, Cindy.”

  “Hi, Ty.”

  Her voice, sweet as apple pie, had all of my attention. “Can I sit here?” I put my tray down and pulled out a chair. “Hi, Becky.”

  “Hi.” Becky snapped her lips together and turned her shoulders away from me. She didn’t want me to sit, but I didn’t care.

  Cindy placed her sandwich on the paper bag and put her hands in her lap.

  Silence between us didn’t feel uncomfortable with the rest of the kids clanking silverware and glasses and telling stories. Someone always talked too loud.

  You’d think that no more words than I knew, they’d be easy to remember. Her green eyes made me forget even the little ones. I stared like it was my first time to sit next to her. She took a deep breath, put a hand to her cheek, near some freckles, and moved a strand of yellow hair. A golden heart earring rested on each lobe.

  Her eyes darted to my left and above me. Mr. Cowboy walked up and plopped his tray down. He didn’t even ask if he could sit at the table with us. Good thing for him he didn’t, because I’d have told him he could sit in the parking lot for all I cared.

  Cameron gave me a nod. He was done with the coon talk. He focused on lunch. Today was fish stick and tater tot day, with tartar sauce in a little paper holder. I didn’t care for the sauce. Cameron liked it a lot.

  I daubed mine with catsup.

  Cindy ate like she talked. She took her time, one bite, hands in her lap—chew, swallow, then another bite. “Ty, how was your summer? Did you do anything?”

  Her words were just for me.

  “Well, not much. Work mostly, cut and baled hay.” My mind went blank. “I went with my dad to sell some pigs.” Oh, of all the things to say.

&n
bsp; Mr. Cowboy jumped in. “That’s not fun. That’s work. What did you do for fun? Who would say they went to sell a pig? I went fishing with my dad, and we camped for a whole week. I caught a fish ‘bout this big.” He spread his hands apart, long as the lunch tray, his eyes locked on Cindy.

  “Oh, I went fishing too,” I said. “We took our boat down to the slough and put out a trotline with minnows on it. We caught a cat my dad said would weigh thirty pounds.”

  “You didn’t either. No fish is that big.”

  Cowboy’s tone came with the same smirk I’d seen in math class. He burned me to the bone and caused the blood to rise again until I could see red. “Yes, they do. I barely got it in the boat.”

  Cowboy shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “Un-uh, I don’t believe it. We were going to go shoot my dad’s deer gun. He had to load some bullets, but didn’t get a chance. But we were going to.”

  Becky let out a big huff. Apparently, boy talk wasn’t to her liking.

  I wouldn’t mind having a gun to shoot coons with. One like Mr. Jordan gave to Randy. Wouldn’t need a deer gun to do that. Just a little shotgun would work. Cowboy was trying to change the subject. “You weren’t there and didn’t see the fish.”

  Cowboy looked down his nose. “I been fishing my whole life and never seen or heard of a fish that big, not no catfish around here for sure.”

  “I worked for Mr. Jordan,” I put in. Almost forgot that one. “He’s a judge, puts bad folks away. We bucked bales and took them to a lady’s house and unloaded them. We ate at The Burger Stop when we got through.”

  Cindy perked up when I mentioned Mr. Jordan, but Cowboy opened his big mouth before she could speak. “I picked up hay for Mr. Jordan. He’s a good friend of my dad’s. I didn’t see you there.”

  “I was there, just two days ago, and I didn’t see you neither.”

  Cindy picked at her food and glanced back and forth between us. Becky looked like she’d caught a case of the flu.

  Then I threw in what I thought was sure to silence him. “Mr. Jordan taught me how to drive his pickup. Me and Cameron both.”