Here in the Real World

by Sara Pennypacker

  “Sure,” Ashley said. “They might like that.”

  Jolene blew her bangs up. It looked as if she wanted to say something else but didn’t know what it was.

  “Come here,” Ashley told her. “Give me your face.” She reached a hand out toward Jolene’s cheek.

  Jolene startled back. But then she locked her hands behind her back, closed her eyes, and leaned in. Ware could tell she was holding her breath.

  Ashley began tugging her fingers through Jolene’s bangs, weaving the shorter hair into the longer hair behind. “I had to grow mine out last year?” she said. “For a while, they’re just always in your way.”

  She looked over at Ware. “She’s at a really hard stage right now.”

  Sixty-Six

  When the car pulled up on First Street the next morning, all three heads turned at the sound. Silently, they laid their tools on the ground and slipped behind the three palm trunks.

  After a minute, they saw a man’s shape through the mesh on the fencing. The shape moved toward the bright yellow notice, and then the bright yellow notice disappeared.

  In its place, the man put up a new notice. It was an even brighter green.

  They waited behind the palms until the car drove off. And then, again without talking, the three of them ran down to the fence and climbed over.

  The new notice was the same as the old one, except instead of “Coming This Fall” it read “September 8.”

  “The day after Labor Day,” Ashley said.

  That’s not even the fall. It isn’t fair, Ware wanted to say. But he knew better. He tried to look unconcerned, like a kid with a solid plan B.

  Beside him, Jolene started panting in shallow huffs. Then she ran down First Street and vanished into the backyard of the Greek Market.

  On his other side, Ashley said, “Public auction. Anyone can bid.”

  Ware heard a very small click in his brain, like a tiny key trying to pop the lock of a good idea.

  He put up his hand so Ashley wouldn’t say anything else right now, scare the good idea away.

  And in the quiet, it opened up. “Can you come back here tonight?” he asked when he had examined it. “I want to give you a film to give to your father.”

  Ashley tore off a corner of the auction notice and wrote her number on it. “Call me when you’re ready.”

  When she rode off, Ware stirred up a pot of gluey stucco and began to slather it onto the front of the building. When he had finished catapulting the stucco onto the tower, he found Jolene’s rusty knife, sliced a red checkered tablecloth into four flags, and strung one up from each corner of the building. “If an empty lot could become a papaya plantation and a castle, it could become anything,” he voice-overed as he filmed the transformed castle.

  Then he wrapped himself in the full suit of tinfoil armor, clunked himself down on a cinder block, and beheld.

  Wink crawled around from the back of the cinder block. Ware fed him a piece of his apple, and as the turtle chewed, he beheld the church, too—languidly, Ware thought—then turned his wrinkled head. The question he seemed to be asking was Why?

  “Why not?” Ware answered.

  Sixty-Seven

  When Ware got to the lot the next morning, he found Jolene stomping over to her compost piles, a ripped-up papaya plant dangling from each fist.

  He ran over. “What are you doing?”

  Jolene shot her chin at the auction notice. “I told you before. I won’t let the bulldozers crush them. I’ll do it myself.”

  “No, don’t!”

  She pitched the plants onto the pile and faced him. “Why not? You want to do it yourself? You should. This is all your fault anyway.”

  “How is it my fault?” Although he knew.

  “I should never have listened to you. To your ‘I’m going to save your garden,’ all hero-like, all Magic Fairness Land.”

  She headed back for the garden.

  Ware ran over to stand between her and her next victims. “Okay, listen. All the film I’ve been taking? About the lot, and what we did here? Last night I gave a copy to Ashley to show to her father. She’s going to convince him that the city should buy it at the auction. For the community center. I left the Rec a copy today, too. They can build a playground here—no unlit pavement, of course. And a community garden, too. So you can still grow stuff here, Jolene. It’s going to be great.”

  Jolene’s eyes grew wide and her jaw fell open. For an instant, the scene spun out in Ware’s imagination: she was going to throw her arms around him, she’d be so grateful. He wiped his hands so he could hug her back.

  But then she shook her head, as if she were waking up. “It’s going to be nothing! That’s the stupidest idea ever. The only thing stupider is that I trusted you.”

  “Why? Why is it a stupid idea?”

  Jolene threw her arms wide. “Because this is real life. And in real life, bad things happen. Somebody’s going to build a strip mall here. Probably have a crappy convenience store, which is actually an inconvenience store for people like me who might want real stuff, not beer and cigarettes and lottery tickets. If I even get to keep living here, which I won’t because I trusted you and didn’t get a job, I’m going to have to be all over the trash situation. The customers will pitch their cigarette butts and no-luck lottery tickets in the parking lot, and every night the clerks will throw out the old, wrinkled hot dogs for the rats to fight over. That’s how the real world works!”

  Ware slumped against a queen palm trunk.

  He looked down at the papaya plants, feathery and brave at the same time, and over at the shimmering moat, the rocky castle. All their work, and pretty soon it wouldn’t exist. “What are we going to do?”

  Jolene spun to him, hands on her hips, up in his face. “What are we going do? Well, you are all set. You always have been. You never needed this place.”

  She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses, but if she had been, Ware knew what he would have seen reflected: a kid who had needed this place. All summer, he’d dug rock dust, lugged cinder blocks, built walls, stolen plants, because he’d needed the lot as much as the lot had needed him.

  “You never cared.”

  Ware was shocked. “I cared. Inside. In quiet. That’s how I am.”

  Jolene turned around to her plants. She pressed her lips together and headed toward them again.

  Ware touched her shoulder. “No. Don’t. Just wait and see what happens. It’s going to work.”

  She turned, tears welling in her eyes. And Ware had to thrust his fists into his pockets, the urge to wipe them away was so strong. Had to jam them in, had to punch them in, fists so tight his nails bit into his palms, because otherwise he would have brushed those tears off her cheeks, which Jolene would never have allowed.

  She swiped at her cheeks. Her dirty hands smeared a muddy raccoon mask that looked ridiculous and beautiful at the same time, and Ware forced his hands to stay in his pockets, because now he wanted to hold her. What was wrong with him?

  “Nothing,” she spat. “Nothing. Good. Ever. That’s the way the real world is. You get that now?”

  “It might work,” Ware whispered miserably.

  She walked out of the lot, head up, shoulders quaking.

  Thunk-thunk-thunk.

  Ware fetched the bag of plastic letters. I AM SORRY, he spelled on the sandwich board sign, both sides.

  It didn’t begin to cover it.

  Sixty-Eight

  That night, Ware’s parents wandered from room to room, making a big deal of pinching themselves in disbelief.

  “The stairs? We own these beautiful stairs?” one would gasp.

  “We own these beautiful stairs!” the other would shout giddily.

  “This window, this doorknob, this floor?”

  “This window, this doorknob, this floor!”

  “We signed the papers this afternoon,” Ware’s dad explained with a proud grin.

  And happiness was like sunshine: It shone on everyone nearby. War
e smiled with his parents, and he meant it. But he had his own weather system going on inside. Dark clouds, cold wind. Nothing. Good. Ever! That’s the way the real world works.

  Yes, he got that now.

  In the restaurant, his parents ordered champagne.

  Ware picked up the candle in the center of the table and stared into the flame. He would never light the candles Under the Table again. Whatever happened with Ashley’s father and the auction, his part was over. He would miss every inch of the lot, and every inch of the castle. He would miss the papayas. He would miss the moat. He would miss Wink.

  He would miss Jolene.

  “Ware.” His father touched his arm. “The waiter asked what you’d like to drink.”

  Ware sighed. “Oh. The usual. Ginger ale, please. With a slice of orange.”

  He was going to miss Walter and the Grotto Bar.

  He dropped his chin to his fists. Above him, his parents clinked their water glasses and grew even sunnier.

  “Here’s to Labor Day. Working only one shift again will feel like a vacation,” his father said. He turned to Ware. “Maybe school will feel like a vacation to you, huh? After this summer?”

  School. He couldn’t even imagine a time when he didn’t go to the lot. He dropped his head to the table.

  All he wanted was for summer not to end.

  Sixty-Nine

  Jolene showed up. Ware had worried she wouldn’t, but she showed up.

  She watered her cans and picked off dead leaves and forked over the compost, but Ware could see that she was only going through the motions. The queen palms shuddered above the row she’d stripped of plants the day before.

  Ware patched the moat wall with as much bravado as he could muster, trying to send her the message: He wasn’t giving up and neither should she. The city might buy the lot. The city would buy the lot. Jolene didn’t look like she was receiving the message.

  He kept checking the sky for signs of rain. They could talk about it Under the Table. The sky grew bluer and brighter every minute.

  Finally, he lifted his chin, thrust out his chest, and advanced boldly up the hill. “Are you distraught?” he asked.

  Just then, he heard the squeal of bike tires.

  Ashley tossed her bike and scaled the fencing. For a moment Ware’s hopes rose. But the news he read on her face as she walked toward them crushed them.

  “The city isn’t going to buy this place?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

  “There won’t even be an auction. It’s already been sold. We never had a chance.”

  “Already sold?” Ware repeated. “That’s not . . .” He bit off the word. The last thing he needed was a lecture on Magic Fairness Land.

  Ashley hung her head. “Some developers snuck in and cut a deal.”

  “That’s how it works,” Jolene said bitterly. “It’s going to be a strip mall, isn’t it?”

  Ashley looked surprised. “Yeah. It’s already got tenants signed up.”

  “Let me guess: a convenience store, right?” Jolene shot Ware a dark look.

  “Wow, yeah,” Ashley agreed. “And a dry cleaner. And a nail salon, too, I think.”

  “Perfect.” Jolene threw her hands up. “Rat fights, cigarette butts, dry cleaning chemicals to poison us, and who knows what they do with those toenails. Just perfect.” She stomped out of the lot, still muttering.

  Ware and Ashley watched her climb to her apartment. The stairway shook with each of her steps. Even after she’d slammed the door and Ashley had left, Ware stood rooted, watching where Jolene had disappeared.

  A movement in the back window caught his eye. He recognized Jolene’s hands even from this distance. They taped a grocery bag over the glass.

  Ware climbed the tower and looked down into the pale mirror of the moat. No matter how he turned, he saw himself reflected in the honest water: a kid who had tried to be a hero and failed.

  He tore his eyes from the moat and surveyed his kingdom for the last time. Everywhere he looked, he saw unfairness.

  And then he looked around the edges.

  Seventy

  When Ware got home, he found his parents bent over the kitchen table, admiring the new deed. “I know what I want,” he told them.

  His mother looked up. “Hmm?”

  “To make up for the summer.”

  “Oh, good.” His dad pulled out his wallet. “Ask away.”

  “The yard.”

  “What yard?”

  Ware pointed out the back door. “The backyard. And the shed. I want it to be mine.”

  His father started to laugh, but his mother put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. “Cyrus told me you might ask for the yard. Of course it’s yours. I have a feeling you’ll turn it into something amazing.”

  Ware went outside and stood on the back step. The yard looked exactly the same as it had all summer—a wasteland. But it looked entirely different, too—trembling with hopeful excitement. The real world, messing around again.

  Then he went back inside. He picked up the phone and dialed. “Do you miss digging?” he asked when Ashley answered.

  “That’s so weird,” she said. “I kind of do?”

  Seventy-One

  Ware stood on the community center doorstep. He could bear it for this one last day. Then he’d retrieve his father’s first aid kit and go say goodbye to the lot.

  Saying goodbye to the lot would be even harder, but he could do that, too, because after that, he’d get to tell Jolene what he’d done.

  He lifted his chin, thrust out his chest, and opened the door boldly.

  But inside, fifty kids were running around and shouting, and his soul shrank down behind his heart. Maybe he’d go float in the moat all day. Maybe he’d lie under the queen palms and watch clouds.

  He slipped over to the cubbies, pulled the first aid kit from the back, and hurried toward the door.

  Ms. Sanchez caught him before he could escape. “I was hoping I’d see you,” she said. “Ware, right?”

  “Uh . . . we . . . it turned out I didn’t need to . . .”

  Ms. Sanchez waved a hand. “It happens. But I wanted to tell you that I saw that film you made. Very impressive.”

  “Oh. Thanks. It didn’t work, though. The community center isn’t going to get the lot.”

  She shrugged. “No, and that’s a shame. But I was thinking something else.”

  Suddenly, she didn’t look quite so tired. “We have a big screen we use for movie nights, once a month. What a waste, I was thinking. Here we have a young man who knows his way around a camera. How would you feel about starting a film club?”

  “Me? But, I’m not a professional or anything.”

  “Do you know what the word amateur means, Ware?”

  Ware shook his head.

  “It means ‘someone who loves something.’ I think that’s what we need here. I could round up a couple of used movie cameras. You and any interested kids could teach each other.”

  Ware’s soul uncurled a little bit. “You’d really let me do that? Because I could do that.” Just then, a Wiffle ball bashed his shoulder.

  He picked it up and looked across the room.

  He saw, just like he had his first day, a huge space filled with kids. Some in big groups, some in small ones, a few alone. The outside was part of the inside when it was people.

  He had no idea who might want to join a film club. But he knew where he wanted to start.

  “Hey, Ben!” he called to the tall-necked boy, who was painting at an easel, then tossed the ball.

  Ben caught it and trotted over.

  “Do you like movies?” Ware asked.

  Seventy-Two

  “One hundred fourteen plants! Who would do that? Someone terrible, that’s who. Probably that bank guy, with the suit. And the compost! That’s the worst! All that work, me and the worms!”

  Ware wished he had his camera. For five minutes Jolene had been ranting at full throttle, and he would have filmed ever
y second. Even now, winding down, the sheer power and the glory of her indignation made you want to stand up and cheer.

  But of course, she didn’t know.

  “Jolene, that’s not—”

  “No, the worst is Mrs. Stavros’s shopping cart! She trusted me and now I have to tell her I let it get stolen.”

  Ware shot his palms out, policeman style. “Stop. Listen!”

  “Nope! Don’t even start with some stupid story from Magic Fairness Land. Because here in the real world, bad stuff happens. People steal shopping carts and compost and little plants.”

  Ware saw Jolene was intent on seething for a while longer. And somehow, he didn’t want to tell her what he’d done anymore. He wanted her to see it.

  “Fine, no story,” he said. “Follow me.”

  “Where?”

  “Follow me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I say so. One time, you follow me.”

  Jolene refused to walk with him, and he heard her stewing darkly behind him the entire hour it took to get there. When they finally reached his driveway, he wasn’t so sure he’d done the right thing.

  Jolene drew up. “You live here?”

  “Yes. But that’s not what—”

  “The whole house? You own it?”

  “Well, since last week. But—”

  “And you can never get kicked out? You’re so lucky.”

  Ware turned to his house. He saw it as if for the first time. A whole house. From the wide front step he used to jump off for hours when he was five to his room tucked under the eaves where the skylight above his bed perfectly framed the Big Dipper each January, which he would have to give up next week but would get back in a couple of months. And everything in between.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I am. But—”

  “Great. Well, thanks for showing me how lucky you are. Now I’m going to walk back and tell Mrs. Stavros that I lost her shopping cart.” She spun toward the sidewalk.

  Ware almost lunged for Jolene’s hand to pull her back, but he caught himself at the last second. “I took it,” he said instead, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The shopping cart. It’s here.”