Bluefish

by Pat Schmatz

  "I'm not in AA."

  "Keep this up and you might be. If your dad would' ve - "

  "Would've what?" Travis sat up.

  Grandpa stared at the smoke coming off the end of his cigarette.

  "Said something. Maybe he'd be here now, and you could hate him instead of me."

  "Said something about what?"

  "Travis, he was drunk when he drove into that tree."

  "Duh." Even a stupid bluefish had that one figured out a long time ago.

  "I'm just saying. Maybe if you talked up, you won't have to be like him or me."

  "Nobody likes a chatterbox, remember?" Travis fired the words hard.

  Grandpa looked down and ran a hand over his mouth.

  Loose skin sagged around his Adam's apple. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Not the crusty- cheery "now that I'm sober" voice.

  "I said that a time or two, huh?"

  "Try a million."

  "Okay, so you're right." Grandpa stubbed out his cigarette. "I'm a shitty bad parent. Was then, am now. Does that help?"

  He got up slowly, as if it hurt, and took the cake back to the kitchen. He washed the dishes, opened and closed drawers. Every sound scraped on Travis's nerves.

  He turned the TV back on. Does that help? kept circling around his head. No, it didn't help. The only thing that would help was Rosco. He'd put his warm, heavy head on Travis's lap, and slobber on his leg, and Travis could bury his nose in those silky ears.

  Grandpa took the trash out and was gone awhile.

  When he came back, he closed the door gently behind him.

  "You know what we could use?" he said. "A bonfire out in the swamp.

  Remember how we used to do that when you were a little guy?"

  "There's no swamp here." Travis meant to spit the words hard, but his voice shook.

  Grandpa came back over and looked behind the recliner. He creaked down onto his hands and knees and peered under the couch. He put his hands on the coffee table and pushed himself back up, falling onto the couch beside Travis.

  "Nope, you're right. I've looked everywhere. No swamp. What are we going to do about that?"

  "That's what I'd like to know." Travis got up quickly.

  As he closed his bedroom door behind him, he barely heard Grandpa's voice.

  "Me too, buddy boy," he said. "Me too."

  The next morning in social studies, Ms. Gordon called on Velveeta first. She taped a big red P and a big blue N on the board and performed a conversation between the Paleolithic guy and the Neolithic guy, standing first under the P

  and then under the N.

  She compared and contrasted, she rattled off facts about the people from each period, and she had everyone rolling in the aisles. No possible way Travis could have been part of that. He would have ruined it, even if he could have learned the lines.

  Velveeta nodded to a standing ovation. She bowed in every direction and waved the end of her blue- on- light-blue scarf. The rest of the presentations were worse than the ones the day before. Travis would have fallen asleep if Velveeta hadn't kept popping bits of commentary in his ear.

  When the bell finally rang, they walked out together.

  "See, Travail?" she said. "You could've been part of Team Velveeta and shared the glory. You wouldn't even have had to say anything. I would have made you a sign to hold up. You would've been adorable, especially if you would've costumed up in caveman fur."

  Chad Cormick jostled hard on the other side of Travis, knocking his books to the floor.

  "So, Roberts, is this why you're not hoopin'? Too busy getting some Velveeta on the side?"

  The bump and the words lit Travis up before he could douse the flame. He shoved Cormick hard against the lockers.

  "Whoa, whoa, easy," said Chad, holding up both hands. "Sorry, sorry, dude, back down. Just a joke."

  Travis dropped his hands and stepped back, breathing hard. Reeling it in, clamping down. Motion in the hallway stopped, and a circle of staring eyes surrounded him. Travis stepped backward, out of the center.

  "Joke, man, just a joke." Cormick waved his hand back and forth, erasing the whole thing.

  "Sorry," said Travis.

  He bent down to pick up the books he'd dropped, eyes locked to the floor. In fourth grade on the bus he'd turned on Clay Rosen like that when Clay flashed him and put gum in his hair. One minute Travis was sitting there, ignoring it all. The next, Clay was holding his nose and crying while blood puddled on the floor of the bus and a whole ring of kids stared at Travis.

  Velveeta's dirty black and white checkered sneakers appeared next to his pencil. Travis reached for it and tucked it into the spiral of his notebook. When he finally stood up, everyone but

  Velveeta was gone.

  "That was very Fight Clubby of you," she said. "Beating little Chaddy up right here in the school hallway."

  "I didn't beat him up."

  "It was so manly, defending my honor and all. If I give you a list, will you beat up everyone on it?"

  She grinned, big joke. She didn't know about the puddle of blood, or Joey Nizmanski's concussion, or Grandpa in the gravel.

  "No." The bell rang for second period.

  "Oooh, late for class. What other excitement can happen today?" Velveeta backed away. "See you at lunch."

  Travis walked the empty hall to science, still thinking about that fourth- grade day on the bus. Clay's big brother, Marshall, had grabbed Travis by the collar to pull him off , and Travis tore into Marsh so hard that he let go with a shove.

  "This kid's gone crazy back here," he'd yelled to the bus driver.

  After that day, kids still fssh- hissed at him, but mostly they did it from a distance.

  When Travis walked into science, he felt eyes on him as he took his seat on the far side of the classroom. He wished Velveeta's eyes were there. Somehow, she saw him differently from everyone else.

  on a Stupid TUESDAY

  The madre made real food again, and this time the butt showed and brought fancy beer from the brewery and they drank their dinner while I ate mine. All he has to do is show up with a bottle and her whole "I'm going to get my head straight and do things right" is gone out the window again.

  Ha, ha, have a beer, Velveeta. No, thank you, Mother, but gee, thanks for including me, because I can't wait to grow up and be like my big brother.

  I can't understand how Jimmy can be so ugly. He seriously has the ugliest face in the world, and when I look in the mirror and try to see how him and me are related, I can see it just around the edges of my ugliness. Calvin, nobody but you understands exactly how much I hate him to hellfire. I wish he'd explode into ashes and never poke his butt face into my life again.

  What if Travis really could beat him up? I can see that fight scene on the big screen. Travis would step out from the alley next to the bar and say,

  "Hey, aren't you Jimmy the butt?" Th en, kablow, kablam, slam in the street.

  Oh my God, can you just see it? Beautiful.

  But that would mean mixing Travis withTrailer World.

  No. That can never happen. Never never. Every time I put on a scarf and walk to the end of Pauly Road, I turn into Velveeta, and she might not be much, but she's better than Vida Wojciehowski. And you know what? You brought this Velveeta version to life. Without you, I'd have a flask of bourbon in my school locker, and I'd be selling drugs and jacking cars and mugging little old ladies and other things I don't even want to think about.

  What would I do if I didn't have this place? Right now, I would be wandering around outside in the dark. Instead, I'm tucked away safe here in your electricity- working trailer with the double- bolted door, wrapped up in scarves and watching Labyrinth.

  Maybe I can move in here. Do you think the madre would even notice?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Wednesday morning, Travis arrived at McQueen's doorway at 7:45 and sat in the hall outside. He opened the fox book and looked over his hundreds of circled words.

  Ma
ybe McQueen had no idea how bad it was - maybe he'd thought it would just be ten words a page or so. Anyone could learn that. But this - nobody could learn this many.

  "Something wrong, Mr. Roberts?"

  McQueen jingled keys out of his pocket and opened the door.

  "I circled a lot of words," said Travis.

  "Perfect," said McQueen, waving him in. "Let's see what we've got."

  "I mean, I didn't know hardly any of those words."

  "I know," said McQueen. He held out his hand. "It's a hard book. Let's see."

  "Maybe I should have started with an easier book."

  "Why?" McQueen flipped through the first few pages.

  "Are you bored with the story?"

  "It's not that. I'm just saying it might be too hard."

  "Who's the teacher?"

  "You."

  "Student?"

  "Me."

  "You've done excellent work.

  Top notch.

  Now sit back and listen."

  McQueen read, his voice like the low hum of a bull-frog on a summer day. The sound and the words eased over Travis, taking him out of the room, out of the walls, into the woods. He closed his eyes and followed the fox through the underbrush until

  McQueen stopped.

  "That's it for today," he said. "But I have a new assignment for you."

  He picked up a pen and wrote on a scrap of paper, glancing at the first few pages of Haunt Fox as he wrote.

  "Look at these words." He handed the paper to Travis. Five words in a list.

  Travis didn't know any of them.

  "Young." McQueen pointed at the first one. "Say it."

  They went over each word together. Young, night, summer, hunt, branches.

  They did the list forward and then backward, McQueen pointing and Travis repeating until he could do them all without a hitch.

  "Nice job," said McQueen.

  "But that's not reading. I just memorized them."

  "Right. We call that word recognition. Keep them with you all day. Write them on your hand with your finger. Link the look and the sound and the feel together.

  Make friends with them. Once you absolutely know them for sure, anytime, anywhere, then go through the first chapter and use your eraser to uncircle them."

  "But I circled like five hundred words. It'll take me years to learn them five words at a time."

  "Teacher?" McQueen raised his eyebrows.

  "You."

  "Don't forget it. Learn those five, uncircle them, and keep circling into the next chapter. Friday morning, back here. Same time."

  The hallway was still mostly empty, and Travis sat on the floor in front of his locker and opened the book. Long lines of words tromped across the pages like columns of ants. McQueen found the swamp in those words, and he took Travis there with him. Not just into the nighttime snowstorm, but into the fox itself, moving through the winter woods and hearing and smelling that mysterious animal world. The lines of ink on the page were a secret code. For the first time, Travis wanted to crack it. More than anything.

  "Travicus! What've you got there?"

  Travis flipped the book cover side down as he scrambled to his feet.

  "Why are you here so early?"

  "Just had some breakfast," said Velveeta. "Gotta get my recommended daily amount of vitamins and minerals. But you're never here early - weird number one. And you're sitting on the floor, reading - weird number two.

  It's Bradley's influence, isn't it? He's been sucking you away from the church of the home workless?"

  "No." Travis put the book in his locker. "I just got here early."

  "Because you love school so much, right? Me, too.

  Can't wait for another day of learning. Let's go get smart."

  They walked together to Ms. Gordon's room. Velveeta's scarf of the day was golden and brown with some dark greens, faded like they were underwater.

  Every day he looked forward to seeing her scarf. So far she hadn't repeated one time.

  Velveeta was still in McQueen's office having her individual conference when the lunch bell rang, so Travis got to the table first.

  "Hey," said Bradley, sitting across from him. "Mind if I sit here?"

  Travis shrugged and took a bite of pizza.

  "So." Bradley ripped the Velcro on his lunch box.

  "Chad Cormick said Velveeta's your woman. He said you'll beat the crap out of anybody who looks at her."

  Travis stared at Bradley. That sounded a lot better than "crazy bluefish," even if it wasn't true.

  "So she is, right? Your girlfriend?"

  "I told you before. We're just friends."

  "Hi, boys." Velveeta's voice popped behind Travis.

  "Were you talking about me?"

  Travis choked on a bite of pizza as Velveeta set her tray down next to his.

  Bradley knocked on the table and said in a deep voice,

  "Hey, open up." Then he answered himself in a nasal voice.

  "What's the password?"

  He switched back to the deep voice - "Password?

  Oh, man, I forgot" - and continued to rattle lines about a password back and forth in the two voices.

  "Bradley!" yelled Velveeta, waving her hands in front of his face. "Are you okay?

  Are you having a seizure?"

  "No," said Bradley in his normal voice. "It's from a game, the old Halo. It's funny."

  "You're a freak show," said Velveeta. "But entertaining."

  "Do you play?" Bradley asked.

  "No," said Velveeta. "Is that what you do for fun?"

  "I can't right now. I'm cut off ."

  "Why?"

  "Because it drives my dad crazy. He said if I talked about a game that wasn't football, Monopoly, or charades one more time, he'd yank them all. I forgot, and did, and he did."

  "Wow, that must have been very traumatic for you.

  Why aren't you sitting with your buddies over there? I'm sure they'd be much more sympathetic to your sad story."

  Bradley and Velveeta punched words back and forth across the table so fast, they didn't even land. Like a tennis ball that never hit the court.

  "Those guys are no fun since I can't play," said Bradley.

  "I went over to Reed's last night, and he and Jake were all about how they'd own me if I was playing, but they're only saying that because I can't."

  "Whatever that means," said Velveeta. "If you were at Reed's house, why couldn't you play? Would Reed's parents rat you out?"

  "I wouldn't lie to my parents."

  "Really? Never? What about you, Travis?" The sound of his name jerked Travis out of the bleachers and into the game. "Do you lie?"

  "About what?" he asked.

  "Anything," said Velveeta. "Do you lie to your parents?"

  "I don't say anything to them."

  "Predictable," said Velveeta. "Bradley is Mr. Honesty America. Travis the stealth boy keeps his mouth shut, and Velveeta lies to anyone who will listen. We should start a superhero team."

  "Maybe," said Bradley. "But maybe you're lying about lying."

  "Maybe I'm not," said Velveeta. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about me and Travis here tempting you with any illegal electronics. We don't even know what you're talking about half the time, right, Travissimo?"

  "I don't," said Travis. Even if he wanted those games, he'd never have them, and even if he had them, he'd rather be on Velveeta's team than Bradley's in any game.

  "Okay, then tell me what you guys talk about so I can talk about it with my dad and prove I can talk about something besides games, and then he'll let me back online."

  "Oh, so that's why you're sitting with the white- trash club?" said Velveeta.

  "Trying to learn our language so you can normal up to Daddy?"

  "No, I - "

  "Sorry we couldn't give you more to work with, Bradley. Try us again tomorrow

  - we'll talk about shop-lifting. Your daddy will love that."

  She walked away, and Bradley turne
d to Travis in half a panic.

  "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I like you guys."

  "You like Velveeta."

  "I do. Can you tell her I didn't mean it like that?"

  "Tell her yourself," said Travis.

  on WEDNESDAY

  I went home after working at the library and the madre wanted to play cribbage, but I hate playing with her when she's that drunk. She started in with, "What am I going to do when you leave me?"

  The thing is, what IS she going to do when I leave? I mean, I'm leaving someday, right? I don't have to live in this trailer court forever, do I? And what happens when she gets sick - not hung over, but really sick? Butt face Jimmy only comes over when he needs something, not when she needs something.

  Then I look at Bradley, with his nice new clothes and shiny white Nikes and green and gold braces on his teeth. He is so well taken care of - who cares if he's the biggest dork in America? I bet his parents already have him enrolled in some fancy college. I bet they check his homework every night. I bet they tuck him into bed. I bet his mommy sings him lullabies.

  I've been reading this book of McQueen's. It's about a girl named Liesel whose mother dumped her with strangers.

  She's super- smart, but she can't read. Not even a little. The way she learns how is by circling words in a book.

  I was in the middle of that part today and I looked over at Travis, and he was concentrating like crazy on that book with the fox on the cover.

  Writing in it with a pencil. He didn't look up one time the whole period.

  Plus he was at school early, sitting on the floor with that book and a pencil, and he tried to hide it when I walked up.

  Plus he has passed every single time we read in Gordon's class. Every time. I've never heard him read anything.

  Plus he was so hostile about doing that social- studies project together, but as soon as that was over, he got normal again.

  And biggest plus: that day in front of the library. He asked what it was, even though the sign was right there, and I gave him a "Can't you read?" snotty answer. That's when he acted like I'd thrown a rock at him.

  I think Travis is circling words.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Travis kept thinking about what Velveeta said about lying all the time. Did she really lie all the time? If she did, how was he supposed to know what to believe? Maybe he was stupid for believing any of it.