He kicks me under the table
I sneak candy bar sales throughout the day between classes, but I’m nervous and my stomach feels sick from worrying about getting caught.
When the day is over, I still have ten left. Not bad, but I know I could have sold more if I wasn’t so worried.
I decide to try Toothpick’s idea.
On my way home from school, I walk up to a house and knock on the door. A huge guy wearing a tank top answers. He smells sour, like he hasn’t showered in a few days. I feel like running away but force myself to say, “Hi, I’m selling candy for school.”
Slam!
I knock on the door of another house on the next block.
“Hi, I’m selling candy for school.”
Growl! Bark! Bark! Bark! Snap!
Looking up at the gray, swirly clouds, I decide I can’t give up.
I knock on another door, sure this will be the one. When a woman wearing curlers opens the door, I think maybe I’ll get lucky and unload all ten candy bars.
“Hi, I’m—”
Slam!
I give up!
I return home with ten candy bars and vow to sell 110 candy bars at school on Monday to make up for it, but I’ll have to be careful. Really careful.
Why is everything so hard?
Saturday, in his room, Toothpick and I talk about Halloween. Actually, Toothpick mostly talks.
“How about if we go as conjoined monster twins?” Toothpick asks. “We can sew the sleeves of two shirts together so it looks like we’re attached. Then I can deck us out with really cool makeup. It’ll be awesome.”
“Sounds great,” I say with zero enthusiasm, because I’m thinking about last Halloween.
“What?” Pick asks, kicking my sneaker and twirling around in his chair.
“Nothing.” Dad was so sick last Halloween that I didn’t go trick-or-treating.
“What?” Toothpick stands and pushes his chair under the desk. “We have to go trick-or-treating before we get too old. I’ll make a really cool costume for us. You have to!”
I don’t say anything.
“I mean, you didn’t go last year.”
We’re both silent, until I say I have to leave.
Sunday I call Toothpick and tell him I’m sorry, that his conjoined-monster-twin costume idea is great. I guess I don’t sound convincing, because Toothpick says he has to help his dad with something and hangs up. He’s probably still annoyed that I’m not as excited as he is about going out trick-or-treating. I can’t help how I feel. Halloween brings up difficult memories for me—how much Dad loved the holiday and how sick he was this time last year.
Zeyde reads and naps most of the day.
After her shift at work, Mom studies.
I try to do homework, but mostly I think about Dad and wish he were still here.
I’m so bummed I can’t even muster the energy to pull out my Sweeps-a-Lot newsletter and enter a few contests. I eat one of my leftover candy bars and feel guilty about it. Even Barkley looks at me like I did something wrong.
“It’s only one candy bar,” I tell Barkley.
“Huh?”
For a moment, I think Barkley answered me, but then I realize it was only Zeyde, who I thought was napping. “Nothing, Zeyde,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”
“Okay, Mary.”
Terrific!
The only good thing about the whole weekend is Mrs. Schneckle comes over Sunday evening with a pot of warm vegetable soup and homemade sourdough bread that’s delicious.
Monday, October 12, Pick’s waiting at my locker. He gives me a fist bump, and I know everything is okay between us. Too bad I’m so worried about selling 110 candy bars today (minus the one I ate over the weekend). I wish this stupid month was over and Mom was working as an accountant and I didn’t have to sell these things anymore. I wish the Grand Plan was already in place. But at least I’m stashing the candy bar money in my underwear drawer, so I’ll be able to give Mom a big pile of cash when she’ll need it most.
Still, I think Delaney will show up and scream, “Caught you!” or Mr. Sheffield will put his abnormally large hand on my shoulder and drag me to his office to call Mom and suspend me. I tell all my customers they have to keep it on the down low, but I know it takes only one person, one mistake, to get me in a world of trouble.
I sell all 109 candy bars by the end of the school day, and it does feel good to have money in my backpack again. I can’t wait to add it to the money in my secret stash in the underwear drawer.
Tuesday, October 13, I return to school with another hundred candy bars, ready to do battle. I feel a great sense of relief the moment I sell the last one. Kids are coming up to me now, and it’s going more quickly. I can’t believe I haven’t gotten caught. Maybe this will work out after all. Maybe dumb Angus Andrews isn’t so dumb—just smelly. Maybe Mr. Sheffield won’t do anything to me after all.
Wednesday, Delaney Phillips is absent, so I don’t have to be quite as careful. I manage to sell out before lunch is over.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whisper, because I’m sure he has something to do with me selling the candy bars and not getting caught. Somehow he’s enabling me to help Mom stick with the Grand Plan.
In two days, on Friday, October 16, when school lets out, I plan to hand Mom all the money I’ve made. I’m sure that when she adds my money with the money she’s made from working, we’ll be able to pay Mr. Katz the five hundred dollars we owe. Then Mom won’t even have to go to court.
Maybe we’ll actually have enough money left over to celebrate at the Country Club Diner again.
In the locker room on Wednesday, Angus Andrews asks if I have any candy bars left.
“Nope,” I say. “Sold them all.” But inside, I’m thinking, Please don’t tell. Please don’t tell.
“Cool,” Angus says. “Make sure you have some tomorrow. I’ll buy ’em from you.”
“Okay,” I say, but I’m worried about having anything to do with Angus Andrews.
But I guess there’s no harm in taking the guy’s money.
After school, I touch Dad’s nameplate and check the mail, hoping for a contest win.
The only thing in the mailbox is an envelope from the Common Pleas Court of Philadelphia.
Gulp. Mr. Katz kept his rotten promise.
I consider throwing the envelope away but know I can’t do that. I think of hiding it but won’t do that either.
Inside our apartment, I put the envelope on the table, where Zeyde’s reading a thick book.
He slams it shut when he sees me. “That Styron is a great writer,” Zeyde says, tapping the cover. “I think I read this before but can’t remember, so it’s new to me.” Zeyde gives me a big smile with his fake white teeth.
I still get grossed out every morning when I see them in a glass in the bathroom, but it’s way better than drinking them!
“Mrs. Schneckle brought over a mushroom noodle casserole for dinner,” Zeyde says.
My mouth waters.
“I think we should make a salad to go with it, boychik.”
I drop my backpack. “That’s a great idea, Zeyde, but I don’t think we have anything to make salad with.”
Zeyde waves a twenty-dollar bill. “Your mom left this for us to get some food.”
I walk with Zeyde all the way to the ACME supermarket to pick up lettuce, carrots and tomatoes. We also have enough money to buy a melon and a couple frozen pizzas for tomorrow’s dinner.
When Zeyde jokes around with our cashier, I know he’s having a good day.
Inside the foyer of our apartment, Mrs. Schneckle’s at her mailbox.
“Another junk-mail day,” she says, waving a couple envelopes. “Why can’t they put something good in my mailbox, like George Clooney?”
Zeyde laughs.
Old-people humor.
“At least it was a good day at the center,” she says. “They had a woman come in and sing the oldies. Everyone was in such a good mood, there wasn’t a si
ngle argument all day. Maybe you’d like to come there sometime, Jake.”
Zeyde waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, that’s for old people.”
Mrs. Schneckle shrugs. “It’s fun.”
“Yeah, it’s fun,” I say, even though I have no idea what it is.
“You gentlemen take care of each other.”
“Will do,” I say, slinging my arm around Zeyde’s back. “And thanks for the casserole, Mrs. Schneckle. It looks delicious.”
“It was one of Marvin’s favorites,” she says, then shakes her head. “You guys enjoy it. I need to go sew a couple beanbags for a game they’re playing at the center tomorrow.”
When we get inside our apartment, Mom’s already there, her head in her hands.
I see that the envelope on the table has been opened, so I go over and touch Mom’s shoulder.
She jerks up. Her eyes are red-rimmed. “November second,” she says.
“What?” I sit beside her while Zeyde puts away our groceries.
Mom pushes curls off her forehead and smoothes out the letter.
After Zeyde puts away the food, he comes over, kisses Mom’s cheek, takes his book and heads down the hallway. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Mom leans close and whispers, “The court date is November second.”
“We’ll have enough by then,” I say, knowing that between my candy bar money and Mom’s pay and tips, we’ll have that five hundred dollars paid well before the end of the month.
Mom leans her forehead into mine and makes a noise like a hiccup. “I got laid off.”
I pull back, feeling like I was punched in the gut. “What?”
Mom puts a finger to her lips. “I don’t want Zeyde to worry. They laid me off today. I told you things were slow at the restaurant.”
“Yes, but—”
“I was the last hired, Ben. First to be let go. That’s how it works sometimes.”
“But …”
Mom sinks in her chair, like her bones are dissolving. “We just have to make it till I pass that test. In the meantime, I’ll look for another job, but things are hard out there. No one seems to be hiring.”
I think of Dad’s galaxy on my bedroom ceiling. Of not going to sleep under it anymore. “Mom, we just need five hundred dollars before the end of the month. Right?”
“Right. But how am I going to do that with no job?”
I pat Mom’s wild hair and channel my inner Dad. “We’ll find a way.”
Mom looks at me and smiles, but tears are slipping down her cheeks, like when it’s raining but the sun’s shining.
“It’ll work out,” I tell Mom, thinking of the candy money I plan to give her Friday—three hundred dollars. When she sees that, she’ll know I’ll be able to earn the other two hundred the following week, and we’ll be okay until she can pass the test and start working at Mr. Daniels’s accounting firm. It’ll give us plenty of time before the November 2 deadline to pay what we owe. And, who knows, maybe I’ll win the grand prize in the Royal-T contest for my slogan, and we won’t have to worry about money again.
Zeyde comes back and sets the table for dinner.
I make the salad, and the three of us eat Mrs. Schneckle’s noodle casserole and salad in dead silence.
Thursday, October 15, in the locker room, Angus Andrews buys three candy bars, but something doesn’t feel right. I’m uncomfortable when he watches me put his three dollars into my backpack.
Something also doesn’t smell right, but that’s just Angus’s BO.
I manage to sell out by the end of the school day and not get caught.
I’ll be so glad when I hand the money to Mom tomorrow and see her face, when she realizes we’ll make it after all. Three hundred this week. Two hundred next week, and we’ve got it made until Mom comes through by passing her test with flying colors.
I just have to get through tomorrow—Friday—and I’ll be done selling for the week.
I can’t believe this is actually going to work out!
Friday, October 16 …
Besides the hundred candy bars in my backpack, I’ve stashed all the money I made so far in a secret pocket in there as well. It felt great to take the money from my sock drawer and put it in my backpack. The stack of ones is too thick to keep in my pockets. By the end of the day today, if all goes according to plan, there will be three hundred dollars in the secret pocket in my backpack.
Three hundred beautiful, crumpled dollar bills to hand to Mom. I can’t wait to see her face when I give it to her. My plan is to ask Toothpick to borrow his phone so I can text Mom and ask her to meet me at the Country Club Diner after school. I know when I give her all that money, she’ll be okay with us using a little of it to have another celebration meal. We’ll order all of Dad’s favorite foods and talk about how awesome it is that we’ll be able to pay Mr. Katz in time so we won’t get kicked out.
Mom and I are a team—Team Epstein—and I know Dad would be proud.
I pat the place on my backpack where I’ve hidden the money. I want to kiss it for luck, like I do with my sweepstakes entries, but I’m in school and there’s no way I’m doing that!
By the time I arrive at the locker room, I feel terrific, because between my morning classes and lunchtime in the cafeteria, I’ve sold all but twelve candy bars.
The locker room is noisy as kids yell to each other across the rows and locker doors slam. It smells like BO, but that’s probably because Angus Andrews is near me. I mean, it smells anyway, because it’s a locker room, but Angus’s odor eclipses everyone else’s. He must bathe in garlic or something worse!
As I work the combination on my lock, I wish someone would buy all twelve candy bars right now so I could be done for today and forget about it for a while. It would be nice to go through the rest of the day without worrying about getting caught.
Standing in front of my open locker, I take off my glasses and put them on the bench while I yank off my shirt and hang it inside. Before I can pull on my PE T-shirt, I feel someone right next to me. Or should I say I smell someone.
I put my glasses back on and turn.
Angus Andrews plants a foot on the bench next to me and my stuff. His thighs are as thick as Toothpick’s whole body. (Of course, that’s not saying much.) Without meaning to, I take a step backward, away from Angus. Away from my stuff.
“So,” Angus says. “Do you have any candy bars left for me?”
“Sure,” I say. I hope he wants to buy all twelve. But I don’t like him standing so close.
I notice fewer locker doors slamming. The large room feels too quiet.
Angus moves close enough to me that I notice the odor of onions on his breath. It smells like cologne compared to his overwhelming BO.
I force my stomach to settle from the noxious odors. Vomiting on Angus’s sneakers would probably be bad form … plus then he wouldn’t want to buy the rest of my candy bars. A lone locker door slams, and I wonder if Toothpick is still in here. I barely keep from calling out his name.
Angus inches forward. “So?”
A bad feeling washes over me. Something tells me to get out, to run like my tuchis is on fire. I wonder if the warning feeling is somehow coming from Dad. I look up but see only dirty ceiling tiles and some wads of dried toilet paper stuck up there. I have to ignore the feeling so I can sell the rest of the candy bars and make it to the gym before Coach forces me to run humiliation laps again.
Besides, if I tried to run away now, Angus could catch me in a nanosecond by reaching out his massive, hairy arm. And I’d look like an idiot running off when nothing has happened, especially when I’m not wearing a shirt. Angus is just standing there. Too close, but just standing. That’s what I tell myself to feel better about this sensation rushing over my spine, like an unexpected wave at the beach near Aunt Abby’s condo. Absolutely nothing has happened. Yet.
Besides, there’s no way I’m running off and leaving my backpack behind.
I glance at my backpack, which is clo
ser to Angus than it is to me.
Sweat prickles in my armpits, and soon I’ll probably smell as bad as Angus does. He just wants to buy some candy bars, I tell myself, but thinking that doesn’t make the panicky feeling go away.
I take a baby step toward my backpack when I hear sneakers flapping against the floor and the door to the gym creak open. That’s the last noise I hear in the locker room, other than my own heartbeat, which sounds as loud in my ears as Zeyde’s seismic snoring.
“Um, I think we’re going to be late, Angus.” But I know he doesn’t care. He’s usually late for gym. “So, I’d better, um, get going.” I almost add “Okay?” but don’t want to appear like I’m asking his permission. Because I’m not. I just want to get to the gym. Safely. I don’t even care if I have to run humiliation laps at this point.
Then I tell myself to knock it off, because nothing is actually wrong. It’s all in my head. Or my gut, because that worried feeling’s settled there.
Angus smiles. A scary smile. An I-should-be-in-a-horror-movie-because-I’m-about-to-annihilate-you-and-enjoy-it smile. I think Toothpick should cast Angus as the supervillain in one of his films. He’d be totally believable.
My legs feel weak and wobbly, like wet kugel noodles. “So,” I say, pointing feebly to my locker. “I’ve got to get my stuff.”
In one quick motion, Angus slams my locker door and snaps and spins my combination lock.
Something clicks in my heart. “Um, Angus, I need my, um, shirt.” I hate the whiny way my voice sounds.
“You got any of those candy bars left?” Angus asks.
It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll— “Sure,” I say, inching closer to my stuff lying on the bench. I pull a candy bar from my backpack.
“Thanks,” Angus says, grabbing the candy bar and going back to his locker.
While I have a little breathing space, I send a mental message to Toothpick to find some reason to come back into the locker room. Two against one has got to be better than just me and Angus. Anything has got to be better than just me and Angus.
Toothpick must not receive my mental message, because he doesn’t come back. I even try thinking to Coach that I’m still in here, but he must be too busy teaching his new Fun and Fit Workout (not fun) to notice. I don’t hear a door open, a toilet flush, a locker slam closed. Nothing.
Death by Toilet Paper Page 9
