Always Dance with a Hairy Buffalo

by Lin Oliver

  But this time, they were doing the turkey trot.

  The next morning, Billy was awakened to the sound of things being thrown around in his closet. When he opened his eyes, he saw his baseball hats flying out of the closet door and landing on the rug in the middle of the room.

  “Hey, those are my hats,” he grumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Leave them alone.”

  “I’m looking for your Dodgers hat,” the Hoove shouted from inside the closet. “And by the way, you should really get your stuff organized in here. This is an embarrassment. Normal people do not keep their tighty whiteys on hangers.”

  “Normal people do not have ghosts in their closet telling them what to do before they’ve even opened their eyes. And besides, why do you need my Dodgers hat?”

  “I’m going to school today, remember. I want to blend in with you modern guys.”

  “Trust me, Hoove. Floating hats do not blend in. Just the opposite. They freak people out.”

  “Got it!” the Hoove called out, and before Billy could even pull back the covers, he saw his blue-and-white Dodger baseball hat float out of the closet.

  “How does it look on me?” the Hoove asked.

  “I can’t see you. All I can see is the bill of the hat bobbing up and down and it’s making me seasick.”

  The Hoove started to whistle “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” which usually made him materialize. As he got into the song, parts of his body began to appear. First a leg, then a neck, then a belly button.

  “Hoove, concentrate,” Billy said. “You’re only partly there. And, not your best parts, either.”

  “I’m trying,” the Hoove snapped. “My whistling isn’t too sharp today.”

  “Well, try harder. Because no matter how many months we’ve been together, I still can’t get used to seeing your belly button floating around my room.”

  The Hoove put his mind to it, and threw his whistling into hyperbreath, finishing the song in record time. His concentration paid off, and by the end of the song, he had materialized and stood before Billy fully formed with a Dodger hat perched on his wavy black hair.

  “I’m dressed,” he said. “Now it’s your turn. Hurry up and let’s get out of here. Moorepark Middle School — you better be ready, because here I come.”

  “Hoove, you have to promise me you’re not going to make a scene at school.”

  “I never try to make a scene, but when you have my special gift, people gather. They can’t help themselves.”

  “Fine, then you’re not coming unless you swear to me that you’ll keep a low profile.”

  “Billy Boy. I’m going to be so low that I could walk under a sofa with my hat on.”

  Billy snatched the Dodger cap off the Hoove’s head.

  “No hats, no sofas, no commotion, no trouble,” he said in a stern tone of voice. “Deal?”

  The Hoove just laughed.

  “When was the last time you can recall me making trouble for you?”

  “Hoove, no discussion. Just say deal and let’s go.”

  “All right. Here it comes! Deal. And by the way, you might want to change out of your pajamas before you set out for school. I’m just suggesting.”

  After breakfast, Billy put his homework in his backpack, tucked his lunch into the zipper pouch, and headed out the door.

  “Hey, where’s my lunch?” the Hoove called. “I can’t believe that you neglected to pack me even so much as a roast beef sandwich with spicy horseradish sauce.”

  “You don’t eat, remember?”

  “So true. But it’s the thought that counts.”

  Billy shook his head. The Hoove was in an impossible mood, so instead of responding, Billy left the house and headed down Fairview to Fulton Avenue, which was only a block away from school. As he approached the corner, he saw Ruby Baker waiting for the light to change. She was carrying a white plastic bag that was almost as big as she was. Billy picked up his pace a little to catch up to her. Walking to school with Ruby was always a great way to start the day, even if talking to girls did make him nervous.

  Before he reached her, he felt a cold blast of air sweep up behind him. It was definitely a Hoove move.

  “I see somebody’s walking fast,” the Hoove said. “What’s the rush?” Then he noticed Ruby waiting at the corner. “Ohhhh,” he said. “It all becomes clear.”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Hoove.”

  “I’m talking about the butterflies that are setting up home in your tummy, Billy Boy. I see the way you look at her. So let me give you a very important tip you can take with you into the future. You, in particular, should never be yourself when you’re trying to impress a girl. You’ve got to maintain your mysterious flair at all costs.”

  “Hoove, I’m already nervous about talking to Ruby. And you’re not helping.”

  “Most people would pay money for my advice. Not to brag, but I have a black belt in the essence of charm.”

  “Oh no, she’s looking over here,” Billy said. “Yikes, now she’s waving.”

  “Excellent,” the Hoove answered. “And do not wave back. You never want to let the ladies know you’re interested. And do not … I repeat … do not ever say yikes.”

  But it was too late. Billy’s hand had already shot into the air and was waving like a flag in the wind.

  “What did I just say? Are my words invisible, too? Hoove’s Rule Number Sixty-Six. You never want to appear too eager.”

  “But I like her, Hoove.”

  “You can’t let her know that. Don’t ask me why, even the Hoove doesn’t have the answer to that one. I just know that if you show too much interest, people run the other way.”

  “That’s crazy,” Billy said.

  “You’re telling me.”

  “You know what’s even crazier?”

  “What?”

  “Ruby is walking over to me right now.”

  “Okay, now’s your moment, Broccoli. Drop your shoulders. Tilt your head. No, not like that. It looks like you’re looking at her sideways. Now smile. No, not so wide. Too many teeth. You look like a wild-eyed beaver.”

  “Hoove, please. Could you get lost? Disappear. Like now!”

  “All right, but I’m warning you. You’re going to regret refusing my help.”

  “Go. Now.”

  “Okay, here I go. This is me going. See you around the halls.”

  The Hoove switched himself into hyperglide and sped off, just as Ruby reached Billy.

  “Hi, Billy,” she said to him, a big smile spreading across her face.

  “Uhhh … ummmm … hi,” he stammered.

  Ruby shifted the big bag uncomfortably in her hands.

  “Can I help you with that?” Billy offered.

  “That’s really nice of you,” Ruby said. “It’s the Chumash basket we started making in art class yesterday. I took it home to work on it.”

  Billy reached for the bag and slung it over his shoulder, trying to look casual. It wasn’t a heavy bag, but it had just enough weight to throw him off balance. He stumbled awkwardly and his backpack slid off his shoulder and fell to the ground. Some pencils slipped out of the zipper pouch and rolled down the sidewalk.

  “Oops,” Billy said, feeling like a total clod. “Hey, you runaway pencils, did I say you could roll for a walk?”

  Ruby giggled and Billy was relieved that she wasn’t judging him. He picked up the pencils, put them in his backpack, and slung the plastic bag over his shoulder again, trying to maintain his balance this time.

  “You know, that’s a big bag,” Ruby said. “Why don’t we each grab a handle and carry it together.”

  “Great idea,” Billy answered. He slid it off his shoulder, took one handle, and gave Ruby the other. It was a perfect arrangement.

  The light changed to green and they stepped off the curb together. They were silent until they reached the other side of the street. Billy searched for something to say.

  “I’m g
lad to see you can still walk,” he said finally. “I’m sorry I crunched your toes yesterday during the Chumash dance rehearsal.”

  “It didn’t hurt that much. You landed mostly on the rubber part of my sneakers.”

  Billy let out a big laugh, but then, remembering the Hoove’s advice about not showing too many teeth, quickly assumed a more serious expression and changed the subject.

  “I bet you wish you didn’t get assigned me as a partner,” he said. “I have two left feet, you know. Apparently, two left thumbs also. The art teacher said my basket weaving needed big-time help. It’s almost as bad as my dancing.”

  “Well, it probably took the Chumash kids a lot of time to learn all that stuff, too.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t have a performance at the museum in front of all the parents Friday night.”

  “Don’t worry, Billy. We’ll get there. It just takes practice.”

  “Thanks, Ruby. That’s a really nice thing to say.”

  She gave him a big smile and he grinned back, this time not worrying about how many teeth he was showing.

  In less than a block, they reached the front of the school, a grassy area with a tall flagpole in the center. Billy thought he heard someone shouting his name, but it sounded like it was coming from above. He looked up, and hanging off the top of the flagpole was Hoover Porterhouse III. He flashed Billy two big thumbs-up.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” he called out. “You follow my advice, it works out perfectly with the ladies every time.”

  Billy just ignored the Hoove as he and Ruby went through the front doors and headed down the hall to class.

  It was an all-Chumash morning. After homeroom, Billy and Ruby went to Mr. Wallwetter’s first-period English class. Instead of doing the unit on semicolons, Mr. Wallwetter announced that the class period would be devoted to a rehearsal of their Chumash dance. That was because Louise Niles, the physical education teacher, was available that period to provide special help to those having trouble with the dance steps.

  “Most of you are coming along just fine,” Mr. Wallwetter said. “But some of you are foot challenged.”

  Billy felt that everyone in the class had turned their heads to look directly at him. The only thing Billy could think to do was to stare down at the floor and count to ten until that horrible moment had passed.

  Mr. Wallwetter divided the class into two groups. Those who needed special dance coaching stayed inside the classroom. Those who had already mastered the steps were sent down to the art room to work on their Chumash baskets. Billy took some special pleasure in noting that Rod Brownstone was also put into the group of kids with feet that refused to follow directions.

  Ms. Niles stood at the front of the room and demonstrated the steps slowly so that everyone could see the moves. As the kids practiced, she went to each couple to work on their individual problems. Billy was having so much trouble that Ms. Niles suggested he practice with a chair before trying it again with Ruby. That was all Rod Brownstone needed to hear.

  “A chair!” he hooted. “Is that the only partner you could get, Broccoli? Aw, look at that. The plastic seat is falling in love with you.”

  “I suggest you concentrate on your own feet, which are none too graceful,” Ms. Niles said to him. “And remember that teasing was not the Chumash way.”

  Ruby could see that Billy was embarrassed.

  “Billy doesn’t have to practice with a chair,” she said to Ms. Niles. “I wore hiking boots with steel-tipped toes today as added protection.”

  “That was very considerate of you,” Ms. Niles said.

  Ruby suggested that she and Billy continue to rehearse in a corner of the room where Rod Brownstone couldn’t see them.

  “Just ignore him,” she said to Billy.

  “I’m sorry to be such a clod,” Billy said to her. “This is so embarrassing. I’m just not good at dancing.”

  He felt his face grow bright red from his admission. He hadn’t meant to be so honest — after all, the Hoove had told him that total honesty doesn’t work with girls — but the words just came out before he could stop himself.

  “That’s okay,” Ruby said. “I’ll bet you’re good at a lot of other things.”

  “So you don’t think I’m a total dork?”

  “No, I’m glad you’re my partner. We’re having a good time. Besides, when we finally get this dance, we’ll fit right in with the Chumash.”

  Billy concentrated hard on the steps, counting out loud and never taking his eyes off his feet. He was so deep in concentration that it startled him to hear Rod Brownstone suddenly squeal like a pinched pig.

  “Hey, who gave me that wedgie?” he called out.

  Everyone in class stopped dancing and cracked up as Rod tried to secretly settle his underpants back where they belonged. Billy looked over and saw the Hoove, circling Rod, a big smile on his ghostly face.

  “Just a little reminder that my assistance is not far away, Mr. I-Don’t-Need-Your-Help,” the Hoove shouted to Billy. And then in a flash, he was gone.

  Billy was so grateful when the dancing lesson was over. That is, until he realized that after dancing came Chumash basket weaving. Mr. Wallwetter walked all the dancers to the art room to join the other members of the class working on their baskets. The tables were filled with basket-weaving supplies. Long strands of straw covered the tabletops, where kids were hunched over making coils and tying them together with twine.

  “I am leaving you in the capable hands of Mrs. Penny,” Mr. Wallwetter said. “She is a parent volunteer who has graciously provided you with all of your supplies. I’m sure we’re all grateful to her.”

  “What for?” Rod Brownstone muttered. “All she did was bring in a bunch of weeds.”

  “I think that perhaps the art of the Chumash basket is lost on you,” Mr. Wallwetter said to Rod. “Why don’t you come with me onto the playground, where we have another Chumash activity that might be more suited to your … shall we say … assertive personality.”

  “Lead the way,” Rod said, beaming proudly. He wasn’t aware that Mr. Wallwetter hadn’t exactly given him a compliment. “People who guard the public safety like I do have to be assertive.”

  Rod followed Mr. Wallwetter out of the room, and as he passed Billy, he muttered, “See you later, Princess Broccoli Basket.”

  Relieved that Rod was out of the room, Billy went to the table by the window, as far away from Mrs. Penny as he could get. He knew that as bad as his feet were at dancing, his fingers were even worse at basket weaving. Billy spread his supplies all around him on the project table. He had been assigned to make a Chumash acorn basket, but the truth was, he wouldn’t know an acorn basket from a twelve-legged octopus.

  As he took his seat, he felt a cold rush of air next to him and smelled the tangy aroma of orange juice. Whenever the Hoove smelled like orange juice, it meant he was either upset or excited. Whichever one he was, Billy didn’t want to know about it, but the Hoove gave him no choice.

  “Billy,” he said, tugging on Billy’s sleeve. “I just saw the most outstanding sight these gorgeous eyes of mine have ever beheld. Come look.”

  “Not now, Hoove,” Billy whispered, keeping his head down to make sure no one saw him talking. The last thing he wanted was for his classmates to think he was crazy enough to be talking to himself.

  “Billy Boy, I’m begging you. Get your hands out of that hay or straw or whatever it is and come with me onto the playground to feast your eyes. You will not be sorry.”

  “It’s not hay, Hoove. It’s bulrush stalks. If you knew anything about the basket-making habits of the Chumash tribe, you’d know that.”

  “Well, pardon me for not being a big fan of the weaving arts,” the Hoove said. “I’m afraid I am just going to have to insist that you accompany me immediately.”

  Using all of his ghostly strength, he hooked his invisible arm through Billy’s, flipped himself into hyperspeed, and yanked Billy across the art room into the hall. A couple of the
girls snickered. To them, it looked like Billy was just stumbling across the room and out the door. Little did they know he was being pulled by an actual ghost.

  The Hoove pulled Billy down the hall and out onto the playground. The bright sun made Billy squint as he looked around trying to find what the Hoove was talking about. All he saw were four kids from his class, supervised by Mr. Wallwetter, practicing for the bow and arrow demonstration. A target was pinned up to the back wall of the handball court, and one person was practicing shooting a suction-cup-tipped arrow while the others looked on. Of course, that person was Rod Brownstone. Brownstone took aim and let go of the arrow just as Billy arrived. It wobbled through the air and landed on the ground, about four feet short of the target. Rod turned to Kayla Weeks, a shy, frizzy-haired redhead standing in back of him.

  “That was all your fault,” he barked at her. “You bumped my arm.”

  “See, isn’t that amazing,” the Hoove said to Billy.

  “I don’t see anything amazing,” Billy answered. “Just Brownstone being a bully, as usual.”

  The Hoove turned to Billy and looked closely into his face.

  “You don’t see her, do you?”

  “Kayla? Sure I see her. It’s hard to miss that whole mess of red hair.”

  “No, I mean her. Standing next to Kayla. With the beautiful brown eyes and shining, long black hair.”

  “You must be seeing things, Hoove. There’s no one there but Mr. Wallwetter and four kids from my class. And no one has long black hair. Unless you count the hair on Mr. Wallwetter’s arms, which I’d rather not.”

  “Concentrate, Billy,” the Hoove said. “Feel her presence. Listen for the sound of her voice. And let me know when you see her.”

  Billy closed his eyes and concentrated. He didn’t expect to see anything — he was just doing as he was told to get the Hoove off his back. But then, after a few seconds, he thought he heard something. It was a faraway rattle, like pebbles rolling in the sea, following by a faint drumbeat and the sound of a girl’s voice, chanting a strange melody. He opened his eyes, and saw her — a Native American girl, about his size, with long black hair and skin so transparent that she seemed to glow.