Bluefish

by Pat Schmatz

  on FRIDAY

  I'm not going to school today. Travis is too good to do my brilliant skit idea, fine. Let him figure it out for himself. I am spending my day here in your trailer.

  The madre was actually up this morning, which made it more fun to act like I was rushing off to school. She announced that she's done drinking forever, which, you know, means she's going to act like she gives a crap for a day or two. She said she's going shopping to buy some chicken and potatoes and make a big dinner. I said that's great, Ma.

  I'll be hungry after my long day of learning.

  Bad part: she called Butt face Jimmy to ask him over for dinner. Good part: he didn't answer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The bell rang for social studies. The classroom door closed. The seat behind Travis was empty. No whispers, no pencil jab. When they broke off to work on their projects, Travis doodled in the margins of notebook paper.

  "Is your outline ready to go, Travis?" Ms. Gordon knelt next to his desk.

  He shook his head.

  "Did you and Velveeta decide what you're doing?"

  "We're not partners."

  "So - you're going to work individually?" she asked, and Travis nodded. "You'll still need to turn in an outline by the end of class today."

  The bell rang, and Travis was the first one out the door.

  Fourth period, Travis stared at the line drawings in the fox book as the minutes ticked by.

  "Travis Roberts," McQueen called. Travis's head jerked up like it was on a string. "Come into my office, please. Bring your book. I'd like to cut into your lunch hour for a minute or two."

  Travis took a deep breath. First the project, now this.

  Skate- by time was over.

  "Have a good weekend, people," McQueen said as the bell rang. "I know you'll all spend it reading."

  He turned to Travis.

  "How's the book going?"

  "Fine."

  "You didn't turn in the paragraph on literature last week. And you turned in a blank paper for the vocabulary quiz on Wednesday."

  Travis slid into his teacher- talk slouch. He stopped hearing the words.

  McQueen's voice was a low and distant rumble, like a summer storm that passed north, never coming close.

  BAM!

  The crash lifted Travis all the way out of his chair.

  "Sorry," McQueen said, grinning. "But not really. I wanted your attention, and the book bang does it every time. Are you here with me now?"

  Travis nodded. His heart skipped as if McQueen had just shot a lightning jolt straight into his chest.

  "What I asked was, do you want to?"

  "Want to what?"

  McQueen didn't take his eyes off of Travis's for a second. His voice went quiet, nighttime quiet.

  "Learn to read, Mr. Roberts. Do you want to learn to read?"

  Travis swallowed hard as the heat crawled up his face.

  "I can read." His voice didn't sound like his own.

  "Do you want to learn to read better? Read easily? Without so much struggle?"

  McQueen's voice was a low- running motor, and his eyes were soft behind the glasses.

  "You, Travis Roberts, can learn to read. But only if you, Travis Roberts, decide to learn. If you decide, I'll teach you, and you will learn."

  A clump of mud rose in Travis's throat and stuck there. He couldn't have said anything if he wanted to. His eyes pricked.

  "When you decide, let me know," said McQueen.

  "Now, go to lunch."

  Travis went into a stall in the boys' room, closed the door, and sat on the toilet.

  The mud clump stuck in his throat,not going up or down.

  Mrs. Keatley, the reading specialist at Salisbury, used to say, "Try, Travis.

  Can't you just try?" At first he'd tried really hard. After a while, Mrs. Keatley's lipsticky lips got less smiley when she saw him, and they bothknew it was a waste of time. He stopped trying.

  He couldn't read. Not really. Not like Velveeta, or Amber, or Chad or Bradley or Megan or everyone else.

  Even Grandpa could read. He swallowed hard, pushing the mud down. Maybe he should try again. Just try, Travis.

  The memory of Mrs. Keatley's voice was enough to stop him. He stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and rubbed his hands hard over his face. He stepped out of the stall just as Bradley came in from the hallway.

  "Hey, Travis, where's Velveeta?" he asked. "Is she sick?"

  "How would I know?"

  "Do you know about the girls' report cards?" Bradley held out a piece of paper.

  Travis scanned the paper and found his name. Across from it was a line of letters. A couple of As, a B and a C and two Fs. Of course there were Fs.

  "They've been doing report cards on all of us, and Cassidy made me a copy. I flunked tall and hot, but I got a C for cute and an A for smart. I don't get how hot and cute are different, do you?"

  Travis shook his head and handed the paper back to Bradley. He couldn't even tell what he got the two As for.

  "Chad was the only one who got an A for funny."

  A couple more guys banged in, and Travis headed for the lunchroom. He got tomato soup, figuring that could slide past the mud clump without too much trouble. He sat in the usual spot by himself.

  Amber Raleigh sat at the end of the table, reading.

  Travis glanced over as she turned another page. He reached in his backpack, took out the fox book, and looked at the picture. Remembered the beginning of the story McQueen had read. He traced the fox with his finger and looked at the hound in the background.

  He opened to the first page. It. Was. A. Something, so, something, that, something, the . . .

  He didn't want to try. Just the idea of trying made his guts clench. But McQueen hadn't said, "Try." He'd said, "I will teach you and you will learn."

  Like it was a done deal.

  Like he knew.

  After the last bell, Travis stood in the doorway of McQueen's classroom.

  McQueen was there. Travis almost backed out. Then he took a deep breath, walked quickly across the room, and stopped in the doorway of the office.

  McQueen looked up from the book he was reading.

  "Yes, Mr. Roberts?"

  "I decided."

  "Decided what, Mr. Roberts?"

  "I want to learn."

  McQueen grinned like he'd been waiting all day for Travis to stand in his doorway and say just exactly that.

  "I'll see you here Monday morning at eight. That'll give us half an hour before the first bell. Bring Haunt Fox with you."

  "Okay," said Travis, backing away.

  "Travis," said McQueen, "have a good weekend."

  on SATURDAY

  The madre made roasted chicken last night, and mashed potatoes and even some carrots and a frozen cherry pie, unfrozen. Then we played cribbage for a couple of hours. It was very down- home and fun. I won three dollars off her, so add that to my library stash and I'm officially rich.

  Jimmy never showed. Maybe he got arrested or took too many drugs and he's dead in his crappy apartment and I'll never have to see him again. If I were my brother's keeper, I'd make him wear a muzzle like Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs.

  I called the electric company and told them to turn on the power in your trailer.

  Easy. I just used the madre's info and told them to send the bill here. I asked Connie at work today if she would write a check to the electric company if I give her cash for it. I told her my mom won't pay the electric bill and I have to. That was supposed to make her feel sorry for me. I think it worked. She said she would, anyway.

  Yesterday was a really long day. I wonder if Travis missed me. Probably he feels bad now for saying I was bugging him.

  Or maybe he's just happy I wasn't there bugging him. Maybe I should just stay here in this trailer and never come out.

  At first, I was a little scared to be in here because I thought you might be ghosting around, but you're definitely not. I've looked
everywhere, even under the bed.

  There's nothing in here but empty.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mr. Roberts!" McQueen waved Travis into his office.

  "You made my day just by showing. Did you bring the -oh, good, you brought it. Here, give it to me, take a seat."

  McQueen opened the fox book, paged ahead, and started reading. Travis stared at him, his heart pounding in his throat.

  "Wait," he said.

  McQueen paused and looked up, his eyebrows raised.

  "I thought you were going to teach me to read."

  "I am."

  "But you're just reading to me."

  "I thought you liked this story."

  "I do, but . . ."

  "Are you a teacher, Travis?"

  Travis shook his head no.

  "Have you been able to teach yourself to read?"

  Again, no.

  "Okay, then, you're just going to have to trust me on this. You want to learn; I want to teach. Sit back and relax.

  Listen to every word. No spacing out."

  McQueen's voice took Travis back to the swamp, and slowly his heart settled down. The fox got jumped by a wildcat in the swamp and got away. A blizzard raged around him and he caught a whiff of chickens from a nearby farm, and the first bell rang and

  McQueen stopped reading.

  "So? Do you still like it?"

  Travis nodded.

  "Me, too. We're on page twelve." He handed the book across the desk. "When you come to reading, bring this and a pencil. Start on page one, and circle every word you don't know."

  "But I'll mess up your book."

  "Can I give you six oceans of how much I don't care about a few marks in that book?" said McQueen. "But use a pencil, not a pen."

  "So, I circle every word I don't know?"

  "That's right, every one. I'm here Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays before school. Come early any of those days. The more often you come, the faster you'll learn. Go on, now, or you'll be late for first period."

  Travis wove his way through the noisy hall. What if it could really work? Mrs.

  Keatley never told him to circle words. Maybe McQueen knew what he was doing.

  Velveeta was already in her seat in Ms. Gordon's room.

  "A smile!" she said, throwing her arms wide. "With teeth! Does that mean I'm not bugging you too much right now?"

  "Where were you Friday?" He turned sideways in his seat.

  "I took a little Velveeta time. Did you miss me?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're sorry for saying I was bugging you?"

  Travis tried to decide if he was or not. He wanted her to quit bugging him about the project, but not about anything else.

  "Okay, okay," she whispered. "Don't waste a word on it. Just nod your head yes and you'll be forgiven."

  He dipped his head.

  "That'll do for now. I'm going to do my brilliant skit without you, unless you beg me to let you in."

  Ms. Gordon started class - a full period of presentations. Neither Travis nor Velveeta got called to go. Kids pointed at posters they'd made and droned on about time lines. Velveeta poked Travis in the back of the neck after each one and said, "See? Boring."

  Travis didn't pay any attention to the presentations, though. His fingers itched to open the fox book and circle words. I can do that, he told the unsmiley Mrs.

  Keatley in his mind. I can do it exactly right.

  Travis carried the book with him all morning, until he finally got to fourth period. He opened to the first page, pulled the book close, and covered it with his hand so nobody could see what he was doing. Just to be fair, he circled the word chapter, even though he knew it said chapter, because if it wasn't at the top of the page, he wouldn't have known. He closed his eyes to see if he could bring back McQueen's voice reading the chapter title and match it to the print on the page. Started with R. Rrrrr. He tried to make the word something he knew.

  "Just circle the words," McQueen came up behind Travis, with a hand on his shoulder and a whisper in his ear. "Don't try to figure them out. Just circle."

  Travis circled the R word. He went on to sneak forty- one circles on that page, dipping his pencil in for a quick mark and then acting like he just happened to be holding it while he read. He'd circled another eleven on the next page by the time the bell rang for lunch.

  He sat down across from Velveeta, and she slammed a thick book shut.

  "Whew! Nick of time, Travicus. You saved me from this crazy book. McQueen said I have to get up to page one hundred by Monday or he'll flunk me. I think that's blackmail, or maybe it's extortion. Either way I'm sure it's not legal, and besides, this is sicko - it's all about death.

  Hey, what's with Whistle- Stop?"

  Bradley Whistler stood about ten steps away, staring at them.

  "Whistle-Stop, what are you looking at?" yelled Velveeta.

  Bradley scuttled over and stood behind Travis.

  "Can I eat lunch with you?"

  "Why for, Mr. Whistler?" asked Velveeta. "You doing some kind of study on the lower classes?"

  "Never mind."

  "Nonononono, wait!" Velveeta waved her hands.

  "Relax. Sit down. You're just worried about Travis there, aren't you? He thinks you're cute - he told me so - but don't worry, I'll keep him off you."

  "Lying," said Travis out of the side of his mouth as Bradley sat next to him.

  "I know," said Bradley.

  "Open that pretty purple lunch box," said Velveeta.

  "Let's see what you've got to share."

  Bradley tore loose the Velcro on his purple soft- sided box and pulled out a Tupperware container.

  "What's that?" asked Velveeta.

  He popped the lid and showed them a mix of pasta, dark- green leaves and orange chunks.

  "It's something my mom makes. It's got spinach and squash and pine nuts. It's good. You want some?"

  "Are you kidding?" said Velveeta, holding out her plate. "Of course I do."

  Bradley turned to Travis, who shook his head. He'd rather stick with his safe mashed potatoes and chicken.

  "My God, Bradley," said Velveeta after her first bite.

  "Do they feed you like this every day? No wonder you always look so healthy and bright- eyed. Why are you sitting with us? Are you here to tutor us in math?"

  "No, I just thought I'd, you know, sit by you."

  "I never told you this, Bradley, but you know who you remind me of? Haley Joel Osment, the 'I see dead people' kid from The Sixth Sense. Have either of you seen it?"

  Travis and Bradley both shook their heads.

  "Wasteland," said Velveeta to the ceiling. "I could have been born anywhere in the world, and I live someplace where nobody knows Shyamalan."

  "Who's that?" asked Bradley.

  "M. Night Shyamalan. He's a writer and director. He's done a bunch of movies.

  Sixth Sense is my favorite, but I also like Wide Awake because you can see how he was trying out ideas in that and then he tweaked them around for popular appeal, and bingo, Sixth Sense, a blockbuster!"

  "How do you know all that?" asked Travis.

  "I don't know - it's what I know. We all have something we know. Except for Bradley there. He's Smarty McSmarty- Pants - he knows everything we know and everything else, too."

  "No, I don't," said Bradley. "I don't know anything about M. Night Shyama-whatever- you- said. I watch plenty of movies, but I don't pay attention to who wrote or directed them. Someone must have taught you about that." Velveeta raised her eyebrows as high as they'd go.

  "Wow, Bradley. That is very insightful. Maybe you should be a therrrrrrr-apist."

  The bell rang, and Bradley scooped up the last of his lunch.

  "Sit with us again, Bradley," said Velveeta. "Bring us more of your fancy food.

  It'll be fun."

  Bradley looked at Travis like he was in charge.

  Travis shrugged and said, "Sure, why not?"

  on MONDAY

&nbs
p; Okay, so Bradley and I have been in school together since kindergarten, and that's the first time he's ever talked to me on purpose. I had to show off and bring up Shyamalan. I wanted him to know I'm not a total idiot. Why do I care?

  I guess because I think he's kinda fascinating. Besides being off - the- charts smart, he's (a) the only black kid in our class, (b) an unbelievable dork, (c) the shortest of the shorties, (d) really bad at sports, and (e) still alive.

  Not only still alive, but not squished. Last year Chad and Mike sat him on the water fountain. If anyone did that to me, I'd leave for the day, but Bradley walked around with wet pants and explained over and over that it was drinking fountain water, not pee. Honestly, I don't know how he survives.

  Must be the spinach and pine nuts.

  Maybe if I got fed that kind of food every day, I'd be more like Bradley. Maybe I'd do my homework and get smart instead of using my science notebook to write to a dead guy.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Travis sat at the card table in his bedroom and circled words. Grandpa had banged out the door for his AA meeting at six thirty, so the house was quiet and the TV off . Travis wanted to have the whole first chapter circled by the time he met with McQueen on Wednesday. He worked at it until his eyes blurred and he accidentally circled words he knew.

  Finally, he closed the book, flopped on the couch, and clicked the remote. The truck pulled into the drive. Footsteps tromped on the porch, and the front door opened.

  "Look what I got," Grandpa said. "It's to celebrate my thirty days."

  Travis twisted to see. Grandpa held up a chunk of sheet cake with white frosting and blue writing. Travis turned back to the TV. He was sick of sweets.

  Grandpa brought day- olds home from the bakery every day. How much of that stuff could a person eat?

  "I thought that was last week," he said.

  He glanced up and ran into the squinty- eyeball stare.

  "What?"

  Grandpa set the cake on the coffee table, grabbed the remote, and turned off the TV.

  "Hey, I was watching that!"

  "Yeah, that Viagra ad is just full of information you need. Listen, boy, I think you need to start talking. In AA they say if you don't talk about what's chewing on you, it'll eat your guts out."