by Pat Schmatz
"It doesn't really bother you, does it?" asked Bradley.
"That I unasked you? I mean, it seems like something is bothering you."
Travis caught Velveeta's eye, and she quickly looked away. As if she didn't want anyone seeing her.
"Bradley," said Travis, "do that 'what's the password?' thing you do."
Velveeta looked sideways at Travis withone tiny nod.
Th anking him.
"Really? Right now?"
"Yeah, come on," said Travis. "Do it."
Bradley launched in, knocking on the table. " 'Hey, open up.' 'What's the password?' 'Password? Oh, man, I forgot.' "
Bradley kept going, and Travis set his whole chocolate- chip cookie on a napkin and slid it in front of Velveeta. She met his eyes, but he could barely see her.
She was way back there. Hiding.
"I've got chicken stir- fry," said Bradley, breaking out of his password rap. "You want some, Velveeta?"
"I'm not hungry." She pushed Travis's cookie back.
"But thanks, anyway. I'll see you later."
She left, even though there was still more than five minutes until the bell.
"Something really is wrong, isn't it?" Bradley asked. "Do you think she's waiting for you to ask her to the dance?"
Velveeta walked across the lunchroom, her head down. Like the day he'd hurt her in the hallway, only ten times more. Whatever was wrong, it was bigger than anything Travis knew about.
on FRIDAY
Bradley un- asked me to the dance as soon as I got to school.
Whatever.
McQueen dragged me into his office. I gave The Book Thief back. He asked me a bunch of questions, I guess to make sure I'd really read the whole thing. He said he didn't make me read it because of Travis.
I told him not to lie, and he said helping Travis was only a tiny part of it. Then he said to relax and put my feet up because he was going to read me his favorite part. So I put my feet on the stack of books in front of his desk. He read the part about Death coming for Liesel's papa.
That's the part that made tears come out of my butt.
Liesel's papa reminds me too much of Calvin. I couldn't figure out how McQueen knew, and I was thinking maybe Connie told him. I was starting to get mad about that when he slammed the book shut and pointed at me and said
"That's you." "That's me what?" I asked him.
Then he got all Stand and Deliverish and said I was that kind of person, the kind who sits up when Death comes to get them. The souls who put out a lot of light in the world.
Like Liesel's papa. Like Liesel.
I told him I am not like Liesel at all. My voice shook like crazy, just like I was one of the kids in that movie.
And McQueen said yes, I am. He said I'm one of the best sitter- uppers he's ever met, and that's why he gave me The Book Thief to read.
Then he just sat there and stared at me, and that was good because it made me settle down. I was not going to get eye- wet in front of those snakey social-worker eyes. He gave me a little teeny- tiny smile like he knew that, and then he waved at the door and told me to get out of there.
All I can think about is Calvin dying. Did he sit up when Death came, like Liesel did? Did he look Death in the eye?
Was he sad about leaving? Does he miss me? Because I miss him so much I can't stand it. It's like my heart is getting pulverized with a sharp pointed jackhammer, every second and all the time.
When I got home from school, I checked his trailer door, just in case. Locked.
CHAPTER TWENTY?? THREE
Saturday morning, Travis leaned on the bridge railing and looked out over the pond. Beneath his feet the water ran and rumbled over the dam.
Out ahead it lay flat and still, reflecting the trees in a perfect upside- down image.
He looked down Water Street toward Bradley's house.
He'd gone there after school and met Bradley's mom.
She was nice. So was his dad. But what about Velveeta?
He didn't know anything about her outside of school, not one single thing, except that she watched a lot of movies, she worked at the library, and she did her own laundry. If she was sick, who took care of her? Someone like Grandpa?
Or someone like Bradley's parents? Or nobody at all? Did she have brothers and sisters? A dog?
Travis headed down the street to the bakery. Grandpa liked working there, and not just for the doughnuts. He said it did him good. Travis had never been in there, had never even walked on that side of the street. The sign, Harvest Moon Bakery, hung out from the front of the building like a flag.
He pushed the screen door open, ringing the bell overhead. Grandpa turned from the coffee machine, and his mouth actually dropped open.
"Hey," said Travis. "Can I get half a dozen doughnut holes?"
"Yes sir." Grandpa grinned as if Travis had just given him a big present wrapped up with a shiny bow. He opened the display case, pulled them out with tongs, and dropped them in a paper bag. "What's this for? You don't like doughnuts, remember?"
"Feed the birds."
Grandpa looked him up and down, slit- eyed.
"Pretty expensive way to feed the birds." He rang it up on the cash register.
"Dollar fifty."
Travis paid with the spare change Grandpa always left lying on the coffee table, and put an extra quarter in the tip jar. Grandpa stared at it, then back at Travis, and broke into a cackle.
"You crack me up, boy," he said. "Go feed the birds."
Travis took the bag and walked out, the bell ringing behind him. He walked past school, toward the library. A sparrow chirped from the bushes, and a squirrel made a dash across the street. The closer he got, the slower he walked.
Maybe she didn't want him coming there. Maybe he'd be bugging her. Maybe whatever was wrong was none of his business. He stood in the library entryway and looked through the window. The angles were all wrong; he couldn't see anything but books. Finally, he opened the door.
"Hi, Travis." Connie looked up from the computer at the front desk. "Velveeta's busy right now, but have a seat and she'll come find you."
Travis took out his math book and started in on the homework. He'd talked to Mrs. Lane on Friday afternoon and said he had trouble with the story problems. She'd been much nicer than he expected.
"What's that, math?" whispered Velveeta. She pulled a chair up next to him.
"Why are you doing that?"
"I brought you something." He handed her the bakery bag.
"What is this?" She looked inside. "Nice. But I can't eat them now or I'll get fired."
She took the bakery bag into a back room and shut the door. Connie, who was watching from the front desk, smiled at Travis and nodded. Not like she was mad at Velveeta for slacking off . More like she and Travis were in on some secret together.
He kept working on the math, looking ahead to see if he could figure things out on his own. Velveeta came back over at noon and sat across from him.
"Why are you still here?" she asked.
"Waiting for you. What are you doing now?"
"Taking my laundry home. What are you doing?"
"Helping you?"
Velveeta's mouth turned down. Like she was mad.
"I gotta check with Connie about something."
She and Connie disappeared in back for almost fifteen minutes. Travis figured he'd done something wrong, but he had no idea what it was.
Finally, the door to the study room opened, and Velveeta nodded. He picked up his books and followed her. He glanced at Connie on the way, and she gave him two thumbs up. Whatever that meant.
"So, Travis, why are you here, really?" Velveeta retrieved her red wagon from behind the library. She put the bakery bag beneath a towel.
"I don't know - to cheer you up, I guess." He reached for the handle of the wagon. "Seems like something's wrong."
"I can pull my own wagon." She pushed his hand away.
"What makes you think something's wrong?"
>
"For one thing, you're wearing the same scarf you wore yesterday."
Velveeta stopped dead in her tracks.
"I'm sorry," said Travis quickly. "I like this scarf - it's a good one - it's just that you usually don't . . ."
She started walking again. Travis walked next to her, kicking himself for saying anything about the scarf.
"How's the reading going?" Her voice sounded funny.
Like she was choking on something.
"It's okay."
"Are you ever going to let me help you again?"
"You don't let me help you. You won't even let me pull your wagon."
The words flew out of his mouth. As if they came directly from his guts and forgot to pass his brain on the way. Velveeta stopped again. She dropped her head, and her hair fell forward so it hid her face. He waited, hoping she'd just give him the wagon handle.
"Don't follow me," she said.
She took off, the wagon rattling behind. Travis stood on the sidewalk and watched until she turned the corner.
She didn't look back.
on SATURDAY
I had to go ask Connie what to do when Travis brought me doughnut holes. I told her I didn't have it in me to make him laugh. I told her I'm the entertainment monkey and people only like me because I make them laugh.
She said, "Velveeta, honey, if that's the only thing you give them, then that's the only thing they're going to know to want."
She said Travis has the sweetest face she's ever seen and if he wants to be my friend, I should let him. But I don't know how. When he said I'd been wearing the same scarf every day, I felt like he was stabbing me in the guts, not in a mean way but like he could see inside of me whether I told him anything or not.
Then he said that thing about wanting to help me. How I wouldn't even let him pull my wagon.
I thought my heart was going to fall out of my chest -that's how bad it hurt.
Why did that hurt? It doesn't make any sense.
I don't understand anything.
CHAPTER TWENTY?? FOUR
Velveeta was still wearing the green scarf first period on Monday. She waved the end of it at Travis when he walked in the door. Not mad.
"Thanks for the doughnut holes," she said. "You kept me from getting malnutritioned over the weekend."
"Are you okay?"
"I don't have the bubonic plague or a broken leg. So yup, I'm okay. Pay attention - the teacher's talking."
Travis faced front. She seemed more okay. Not one hundred percent, but definitely better. But why was she still wearing the same scarf?
"You know what you said?" she whispered, jabbing the back of his neck.
"About how I won't let you help me?
You help me all the time."
How, or when, had he ever helped Velveeta? She never needed help. She helped him, and all he'd ever done was hurt her, like that time in the hallway. Plus the time he'd told her to quit bugging him. That wasn't helping.
He snagged Bradley in the hallway before fourth period.
"Can you do me a favor?" he asked. "Don't sit by us at lunch, okay? I want to ask Velveeta about something."
"You going to ask her?" Bradley's eyes fired up. "About the dance?"
"Bradley, get off the dance. I just have to ask her something, and lunch is the only chance I'll get."
The smile fell off Bradley's face. He took a step back and looked Travis over like he was calculating a complicated equation.
"Something private?"
"Sort of," said Travis.
"Okay." Bradley nodded, his face serious. "I understand."
At lunchtime Velveeta said, "Hey, look - Bradley's sitting with Reed and Jake. Is he done with us already?"
"I told him to leave us alone today," said Travis.
"Why?"
"What did you mean this morning when you said I helped you?" He rushed the words before he chickened out. "How?"
Velveeta picked up the end of the green scarf and fingered the fringes. She squeezed them together in a pony-tail and then spread them out.
"Helping you learn words is the best thing that happened to me in the last forty- four days," she said.
Travis counted back. Forty- four days - that would be sometime in August.
Around the time they'd moved to Russet. Velveeta's pizza sat untouched on her plate.
"Did you ever have a place that was really good?" She talked down to her scarf.
"Someplace you could go and everything was sort of more okay?"
"Yes," said Travis.
"Do you still go there?"
"No. We moved away from it."
The silence stretched. Travis finished his pizza.
"Do you have a place like that?" he asked.
"I did," said Velveeta. "Now I don't. All my scarves used to be there. Now I can't go to the place anymore, and all the scarves are gone except for this one."
Whatever she was saying and not saying, he could feel it all the way inside. It hurt. Velveeta kept staring at her scarf as the minutes ticked by.
"Are you going to eat your pizza?"
"No," she said. "You can have it if you want."
"I don't. Just seems like maybe you should eat something."
She looked up at him, and her eyes were the softest he'd ever seen them. She didn't smile, but she stretched her lips a bit.
"You're nice, Travis," she said. "Really, really nice."
The bell rang, and she got up. Travis followed, careful not to crowd her. She threw her whole lunch in the trash.
Her pizza lay upside down on top of the other garbage.
That evening, Grandpa left for parent teacher conferences at 7:35, and Travis paced the house from 7:36 until 7:49. Then he went out in the yard. The breeze ran goose bumps across his skin.
He traced the steps of the phantom dog around the inside of the fence. The last of the dog dookey had disintegrated.
Travis paced the yard one way and then turned and circled in the other direction. What would McQueen say about him? What if
Grandpa swore or lit up a cigarette in McQueen's office?
When headlights turned into the driveway, Travis ran back inside and jumped on the couch. He put his feet on the coffee table and grabbed the remote. The TV flicked on just as the front door opened.
"Hey, Trav."
Grandpa went into his room. Travis stared at the TV, holding his breath.
Wasn't he going to say anything? After a few minutes, Grandpa came back out, picked up the remote, and clicked the TV off . He set something with a clink on the coffee table.
Rosco's collar. Beat- up brown leather, with the rabies tag still attached.
"You want that?" Grandpa lit a cigarette.
Travis picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The inside was greasy, the feel of Rosco still there.
"I should've given it to you a while ago, but. Well. I didn't." He kicked back the recliner and took a deep drag.
"So this McQueen fellow, he's taken quite a shine to you."
"Yeah?" Travis's pulse thudded in his ears. "What'd he say?"
"Said he's never seen a kid try so hard. Said you've got an A in his class and you've been coming in early to do extra work."
Travis ran his fingers across the stitches in the old leather collar.
"And that Ms. Gordon - you have a D in her class right now, but she thinks you'll do better the second half of the quarter."
He cleared his throat, and Travis looked up. Grandpa cleared his throat another time and tapped the long ash of his cigarette into the ashtray.
"Trav," he said, "I know it doesn't help much now, but . . ."
"It's okay." Travis said it fast.
"I should've known."
Grandpa stubbed out his cigarette, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple jerking up and down. Then he cleared his throat again and looked Travis in the eye.
"I've been keeping that collar in my room to remind me why I
shouldn't drink.
But I don't need it now. I look at you and I can remember pretty good."
on MONDAY
I almost told Travis things about Trailer World today. Maybe he really is an undercover cop. Sometimes he says exactly the right thing and it almost cracks me open. I stopped by the library on my way home, and Connie gave me three DVDs.
She said they came in as donations but they're duplicates and I can have them.
I said that's real nice, but thanks to Sylvia I don't have anything to watch them on.
One of them is Running on Empty. I love that movie.
I remember last time I saw it. Calvin made popcorn, and afterward he gave a big lecture about boys and staying out of trouble. I loved it when he lectured me.
When I got home tonight, the madre was freaking because Jimmy said he's moving to Texas. He has said that seventy- eight times before, so why would this time be different.
Tonight is parent- teacher conferences. The madre has never gone once. She says me and Jimmy got it backward, that he should be the smart one so he could make us millionaires and I could stay home and take care of her. Instead it's me that's smart and that just means I'm going to leave her and she'll be all alone.
I want her to be right about that, and I feel super- bad that I want her to be right about that.
If I leave her, will I turn out like Sylvia? Rich and mean?
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Travis stopped in to see Ms. Gordon. She took him to the computer lab and showed him how to get into the shared files under her name.
"This file has your initials," she said. "I've scanned most of the material from the first few weeks in here."
She handed Travis the headphones. He put them on, and the computer started reading the text to him. Yellow shading jumped across the section being read, chewing through a word at a time. Ms. Gordon showed him how he could adjust speed, back up, and ask the computer to give him an out- loud definition if he didn't know a word.
"Stay here through first period this morning," she said, "and get the feel of it.
Try different speeds. See here - you can make the text bigger or smaller, and you can take it a word at a time or a phrase at a time, which-ever you like."
"So you can put any book on here?"
