Army Brats

by Daphne Benedis-Grab

  “We’ll have plenty of time, don’t worry,” Dad said, his eyes still glued to his computer screen. “Why don’t you go upstairs and play with dolls?”

  Rosie opened her mouth to explain that dolls were only fun with Charlotte, but Charlotte was still at school, and she didn’t know why her school had a half day and the middle school had a regular day, and that was just one more reason Dad needed to be done with his project—

  But just then Cupcake butted her head against Rosie’s leg and Rosie remembered the other very important thing she needed to do.

  “Can Cupcake and I go find Buddy?” she asked, scratching Cupcake on the top of her head, right between her ears the way she loved. Buddy was the name that Rosie had given to Cupcake’s friend, the German shepherd who had been snatched away and who Rosie had promised to find.

  “Okay, but remember just around the block,” Dad reminded, still not looking up.

  “I know,” Rosie said, already heading toward the front hall for Cupcake’s leash.

  “Rosie,” Dad called. “Remember, if you see any kids from your class, try to strike up a conversation. You never know who might end up being a friend.”

  This made Rosie scowl, the kind of scowl Mom said was bad manners. But Mom wasn’t here and Dad couldn’t see her so Rosie scowled as much as she wanted, then marched out. She did not want friends; Dad knew that.

  The air outside was wet and sweaty, and Rosie’s face felt sticky after walking only half a block. A woman was walking toward her on the sidewalk, and Rosie hoped it was Ms. Dunbar since she was so nice. Plus she might know something about Buddy. But as the woman got closer Rosie saw that it was not Ms. Dunbar at all. This woman was older, with painted-on eyebrows and a hat with a saggy silk flower on the brim.

  “Hello, ma’am, have you seen a black German shepherd with a big nose?” Rosie asked politely.

  “I don’t believe so,” the woman said. “And aren’t you just a little China doll.”

  Rosie’s whole face pinched up tight. This was not the first time someone had called her a China doll, and she did not like it at all. “No, ma’am, you are wrong,” Rosie said, careful to remember manners in case this woman was like Mr. Juvais from back in Pennsylvania, who liked to call Mom and Dad to tattle. “I’m not a China doll. I was born in China and now I’m American, and I’m not like a doll at all.”

  The woman put a hand on her chest midway through Rosie’s statement. “Well, I certainly see that,” the woman huffed, her voice full of icicles. Then she walked away.

  So far, this afternoon was not off to a good start. But then Rosie looked down at Cupcake, who wagged her tail and licked Rosie’s hand. “Don’t worry,” Rosie told Cupcake. “We’re going to find your friend.” That would make everything better.

  “Hi, Rosie.”

  Rosie spun around when she heard her name, hoping maybe it was Charlotte or Tom home early. Unfortunately, though, the soft voice had come from a quiet boy Rosie recognized from her class, whose eyes were red and watery like the sick hippo in a book Dad once read to Rosie. Rosie did not like sick hippos.

  “What do you want?” Rosie asked.

  The boy seemed to shrink into his baggy red T-shirt. “I’m Victor. From your class. Do you want to play?” he nearly whispered.

  “No thank you,” she said. “I’m busy looking for something.”

  “What are you trying to find?” Victor asked eagerly.

  “It’s none of your concern,” Rosie told Victor in a lofty tone. She turned and started down the sidewalk.

  “Maybe I can help,” Victor said, trailing after Rosie.

  This was why Rosie didn’t want friends: They said they wanted to play too, but then they tried to be in charge or change the rules. Finding Buddy was Rosie’s project, and she didn’t need Victor trying to take over. “No,” she said firmly.

  The red in Victor’s eyes got just a little redder, and Rosie felt a twinge of guilt. But really it was his own fault for not listening in the first place. Rosie was on a mission to find Buddy, and this quiet boy would only slow things down. So Rosie very politely waved good-bye to Victor and headed around the block, stopping at each house and peering into every yard.

  But hard as she looked, she never found any sign of the black-nosed German shepherd.

  “Okay, let’s hear everyone’s goals for the year,” Mom said. The Baileys were gathered around the big wooden table that had moved with them to every new home in every new place they had ever lived. It was sturdy and the edges had softened with time. Before it belonged to Rosie and her family, it had belonged to Dad’s family when he was a little boy, and to Grandma Bailey’s family when she was a little girl. Which made it really super old. Some nights Rosie liked running her fingers softly over the worn spot near her place mat, where she imagined Dad might have rubbed his fingers back when he was a boy who read comics and ran around just like Rosie.

  “Tom, start us off,” Mom said, looking at Tom over her glass as she took a sip of sparkling cider.

  Tom was twining spaghetti around and around his fork, but he let it slither off when Mom spoke to him. “Um, I guess my goal is to keep working on my reading, to stay caught up and everything,” he said.

  Mom nodded. “Did you meet your tutor today?” she asked.

  Tom looked slightly more cheerful. “Yeah, at lunch, and she’s really nice,” he said. “I think it’s going to be good working with her.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Mom said.

  “Can I go next?” Charlotte asked in a bubbly voice.

  “Sure,” Mom said, smiling at her.

  “So, I definitely want to do well in all my classes,” Charlotte said. “Even science, where we have to dissect a worm.”

  “Gross,” Rosie said, crinkling her nose.

  Charlotte smiled at her. “Tell me about it,” she said. “And I also want to make new friends.”

  Dad nodded approvingly. “That’s a good set of goals,” he said. “And it sounds like you already met some kids you like.”

  “Yeah, they’re great,” Charlotte said, beaming and reaching for another slice of garlic bread.

  “Are they like Brynna and Daisy?” Rosie asked. Charlotte’s friends from Pennsylvania had always included her the times they came over to play dolls and bake cookies.

  Charlotte bit her lip for a moment, then shook her head. “Not really,” she said.

  “They’d better be nice if they come over to play dolls,” Rosie said, already worried at the thought of being left out. Not that Charlotte had friends over often—the Baileys usually spent weekends together. But if she did, Rosie would definitely need to be included.

  “Um, I don’t think they’ll come over to play dolls,” Charlotte said.

  “But they’re nice, right?” Mom asked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at Charlotte.

  “Totally,” Charlotte said quickly. “And it’s really cool to hang out with other girls who get what it’s like to live in a military family.”

  Rosie nodded. That made sense. She still felt wary of these friends, though.

  “Did you find that too, Tom?” Mom asked.

  Tom paused for a fraction of a second. “Yeah, it’s good,” he said.

  “Is everything okay?” Mom asked, setting down her fork.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Just adjusting to a new school.” He finally ate a bite of spaghetti.

  Mom narrowed her eyes slightly, but then let out a breath and turned to Rosie. “How about you, Rosie Posie?” she asked with a big smile. “What’s your goal for the year?”

  Rosie smiled back. She had thought about her goal very carefully and had picked out something extra good.

  But before she could reply, Dad butted in. “You know, a wonderful goal would be making friends,” he said.

  Mom nodded. “True, that’s a great thing to strive for.”

  Rosie slumped down in her seat. That was not her goal at all, and she did not like how her parents kept bringing it up.

/>   “Okay, well, why don’t you tell us the goal you chose,” Dad said, but Rosie could tell he wanted her to use his.

  “My goal is to be Student of the Week,” Rosie said. “Because Student of the Week gets to feed Isabelle the Iguana.”

  Mom nodded. “That’s a lovely goal,” she said.

  It was, though Rosie was not sure Mom actually meant it. In fact, Rosie had a sneaking suspicion that Mom thought feeding Isabelle was not as good as making friends.

  “I have an important announcement,” Dad said.

  Rosie looked up, hoping the announcement involved a trip to the post ice cream parlor.

  “Today’s dinner would not have been possible without help from my new assistant, Rosie,” Dad said.

  Rosie sat up straight and tall at that.

  “Rosie Posie, you’ve also been very responsible walking Cupcake and cleaning up your room,” Mom added, and Charlotte nodded, giving Rosie a thumbs-up. “You’ve passed inspection every day this week.”

  Now Rosie was beaming as a cozy warmth wrapped around her like a snuggly blanket.

  “Here’s to the first day of school,” Mom said, lifting her glass up in a toast. “And all of us reaching our goals.”

  Rosie stood up, now convinced that this was the best first day feast ever. “Roger that!” she cried.

  “Roger that!” her siblings echoed, as all five Baileys clinked glasses in honor of the new school year.

  One of the things Tom liked about having a military mom was hearing about the tactics, strategy, and vast number of elements that went into planning any intelligence mission.

  When Mom did her tour in Afghanistan, the family had learned about being an operative in a hostile environment. Mom’s letters described some of the methods she and her team used when carrying out a clandestine operation, like using camouflage to move unnoticed and concealment to hide and evade being detected by the enemy. But that information had never felt relevant to Tom’s own life until the terrible pocketknife incident with Chase.

  Now, on Friday morning, as Tom skulked down the hall of Fort Patrick Middle School feeling vulnerable to attack at any moment, he realized that he was an operative in a hostile environment. And if he wanted to survive the rest of the day, let alone the rest of the year, he was going to need some new tactics.

  Three days of Chase shoving Tom whenever he passed, sneering at him, and making rude comments under his breath had made that all too clear. What made matters even worse was that the other boys in the class saw all of this, and no one wanted any part of it, which meant Tom was completely on his own in enemy territory. Yesterday afternoon had been the worst so far—Chase elbowed Tom in the back while he stood at his locker, and Tom had hit his face on the sharp edge of the locker door. He had also nearly screeched at the surprise attack, but bit his tongue in time. But Tom knew his luck was running out fast. It was time to make a plan of action.

  As Tom made his way through the crowded hall, he thought he heard Chase up ahead. Just in case, he quickly turned back around, happy to take the long way to class if it meant avoiding Chase. But he knew he couldn’t just run from Chase all year—that wouldn’t be feasible, plus it would mean Tom would have a new problem of being tardy to class. Tom bent over a water fountain, his face hidden, and considered other options.

  The best goal would probably be trying to redirect Chase. Tom could use Mom’s methods of camouflage and concealment to hide himself in plain sight, so that Chase stopped noticing him and found another target. Which wasn’t all that farfetched—after three days of dealing with Chase, Tom knew what a short fuse he had and how easy it was for that fuse to ignite. If Tom could just stay out of Chase’s crosshairs until Chase identified a new target, Tom would be home free.

  In the past Tom would have relied on Charlotte to be part of his mission, because as Mom always said, you wanted someone to have your back at all times. But because they had so many different classes, because Tom didn’t have lunch in the cafeteria, and mostly because Charlotte was consumed with her new friends, she hadn’t even noticed what was happening. And Tom was too ashamed to tell her. He was the big brother after all. And so as he headed toward his English class with his head down, shoulders hunched, ducking behind bigger kids whenever possible, Tom was working solo.

  Dad often said Mom was good at treading lightly, which gave her the advantage of being able to spot an enemy before the enemy spotted her. Tom tried to emulate that as he slipped into the classroom, the worst class of the day because he was actually seated next to Chase. Tom did a quick scan of the room and saw that he had arrived before Chase. Good. He walked carefully and quietly to his seat, then slid down to make himself as small as possible. It wasn’t as good as actual camouflage of course, but hopefully it would still do the trick.

  “Hey, Tom,” Kenny said from across the aisle. He waved the new Hulk comic at Tom—one Tom would normally be excited to check out.

  But Tom just gave a quick nod, then turned away and ducked down even lower in preparation for Chase’s arrival. He didn’t need Kenny attracting attention his way.

  Chase came in as the bell rang and Mr. Yanetti was closing the door. Tom kept his focus down on his desk, but from the corner of his eye he could see Chase settle into his seat and begin unpacking his supplies for the class. He didn’t seem to register Tom at all.

  Tom let out a small breath of relief. The fact that Chase hadn’t muttered anything or even glared at him had to be a sign that Tom’s mission was off to a good start.

  “All right, everybody, take out your homework from last night and set it on your desk,” Mr. Yanetti said. “I’ll come around and collect it.” Even his most basic commands sounded like orders, and Tom, along with the rest of the class, moved fast.

  Tom had spent over an hour on the short-answer reading questions, and now he gently removed the two pages from his binder, being careful not to wrinkle them. Mr. Yanetti, who had been assigning homework since the first day of school, had a policy that all work needed to be neat and legible or it would have to be redone. Tom smoothed his papers, feeling a flicker of pride at how good they looked. Maybe he hadn’t made any friends at school, but at least he’d get a good grade on this assignment.

  And then, suddenly, several wet black blobs appeared on Tom pages, bleeding into big splotches that obliterated Tom’s work. “Hey!” he shouted, the word brittle and loud as he whipped his head around to see what could have caused such a disaster.

  When he caught Chase’s eye, he knew. Chase was smirking and for a quick second he flashed the tiny sprayer he’d used to send colored water splashing right onto Tom’s paper. Of course Chase had perfect aim.

  “Why is there yelling?” Mr. Yanetti asked sharply, turning around from where he’d been collecting papers at the far end of the room.

  “He ruined my homework,” Tom said, possibly a bit too loudly. But his heart was beating hard and he was almost panting, as if the ink had been a weapon someone had just used in a surprise attack. Which it actually kind of was. Tom’s hand was shaking as he held up the soggy pages to show the teacher, certain Mr. Yanetti would be as upset as Tom.

  “Bailey, you need to take responsibility for your own work,” Mr. Yanetti said. “We don’t blame other people for our mistakes, not in this class.”

  “But, sir—” Tom protested.

  “You can redo the assignment for half credit,” Mr. Yanetti said. He was back to collecting homework from the other students.

  “Wait, why would I only get half credit for the work, sir?” Tom asked. He must have misunderstood. And it would take him another hour to remember all his answers since the pages were now completely illegible.

  “I am offering you half credit to give you a chance to correct your mistake,” Mr. Yanetti said.

  “But this isn’t fair, and he—” Tom started.

  Mr. Yanetti turned to glare at Tom, who crumpled under the harshness of his gaze.

  “Sorry, sir,” Tom whispered. Tears of fury and frustrat
ion pricked his eyes and he blinked them away fast.

  He heard the slightest snicker and looked over to see Chase, who was grinning. “You had it coming,” he whispered.

  But Chase had pushed his luck just a little too far. “Are you speaking out of turn in my class?” Mr. Yanetti asked, his sharp gaze falling on Chase.

  “Sorry, sir,” Chase said. Tom could hear a scratchy hint of anger in his voice.

  “Both of you boys have detention,” Mr. Yanetti said. “Right now that’s just for the next two weeks, but if I hear a single word out of either of you, if you so much as breathe loudly, that turns into a month. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tom and Chase both mumbled.

  Chase was looking at Tom again and this time he was not smiling. With sickening certainty Tom knew that the fallout from this disastrous mission would be bad. Really bad.

  Detention was awful, of course. Mr. Yanetti sat at his desk at the front of the room, watching them the whole time. He insisted on complete silence from Tom, Chase, and a girl named Simone who’d had the misfortune of getting caught passing a note in Mr. Yanetti’s other English class. Simone’s eyes were teary and she sniffled the whole forty minutes, making Tom even more miserable. When Mr. Yanetti finally dismissed them, Tom was beyond eager to get home. Still, he sat and waited for Chase to leave first. He did not want to have another run-in with his enemy, not today.

  So Tom left the building last, grabbed his bike, which he’d ridden to school with Charlotte this morning, and headed home, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his backpack and the worries he carried with him. It was another muggy afternoon and his T-shirt was damp and unpleasantly sticky under the nylon backpack by the time he reached Bingham Road. He waved to several neighbors who were outside gardening, then coasted down the sidewalk and was about to turn onto his block when something hit him.