Stanford Wong Flunks Big-Time
Page 21
“Yes,” she says, smiling. “He had to get back to the office, but that was him. It was no ghost you saw.” Mom musses up my hair and gives me a kiss before she leaves. Awwww, not here! I hope Emily didn’t see that. I spot her and Millie rushing out the back door, and then I see why. Digger and his new Roadrunners are hanging out near the drinking fountain. Emily says that Millie’s scared Digger will try to embarrass her again.
“Digger!” I call as I walk toward him. “A minute alone?”
“I’ll be right back,” he says to the guys. “Then we’ll go to Burger Barn. Tonight’s on me.” He steps over to me, fists clenched.
“Hey,” I tell him. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to make a deal with you.”
His eyes narrow. “What kind of deal?”
“You leave Millicent Min alone and I won’t tell your friends that those times you beat me at basketball were all a setup. It wouldn’t look good for it to get around that you had to resort to that, would it?”
Digger looks over at his new crew. Joey waves and calls out, “Great game, Stanford!”
“Thanks, Joey!” I lower my voice as I say to Digger, “I guarantee you Gus, Tico, and Stretch won’t tell either.”
“What’s in this for you? Your fat girlfriend put you up to it? Or maybe Miss Brain is going to help you get through the seventh grade now?”
In a flash I make a fist and swing my arm back.
“Go ahead, hit me,” Digger sneers. “I dare you!”
Wouldn’t Digger love for me to get in a fight and get suspended from the A-Team? I am still steaming as I slowly unclench my fist. My jaw remains tight.
“No,” I spit. “I’m not stupid enough to hit you. You’re not worth it.”
We stare each other down.
“Digger, let’s go!” Joey calls out.
Finally Digger says, “Fine. Okay, Stanford. Deal.”
He starts to walk away, but I stop him. “Hey, Digger, one more thing.” He faces me. “Remember when we were little and you asked me to join the Roadrunners?” Digger nods. “Well, we’re even now. I don’t owe you anymore.”
Digger struts back toward me. I flex my fingers. He looks over his shoulder. “Listen, Stanford,” he says. He looks down as he speaks. I can barely hear him. “My old man was pretty unhappy when you made the A-Team and I didn’t. I know the team’s already picked for this year and everything. But still, will you put in a good word for me with Coach?” His eyes meet mine. “Coach likes you. Maybe I can be a midseason replacement or something.”
I wait for the punch line, but it never comes. For a moment Digger doesn’t look so tough. He reminds me of someone. He reminds me of me when I was a nobody.
“Yeah, okay, Digger. Sure, I can do that.”
“Thanks, Stanford.”
As I head toward the guys I see Marley sitting alone on a top bleacher scribbling something. He notices me and puts down his logbook. Normally I flee whenever Marley is around. But not this time; this time I meet his gaze. Slowly I raise my fist, then open it to give him the Vulcan salute. Marley hesitates before breaking into a smile. He raises his hand and returns my greeting. Before I can say anything to him, my friends mob me.
“Why were you talking to Digger?” Tico asks. “Was he selling Girl Scout cookies or something?”
“Yeah, he’s scum,” Gus adds.
“We were making a deal,” I tell them.
“What kind of deal?” Tico wants to know. “Are you getting an RV?”
“I promised that none of us would mention the blackmail if he’ll leave Millicent Min alone. She’s the girl who helped me with English. Millie’s Emily’s best friend, and if it weren’t for her I probably wouldn’t have passed Glick’s class and made it onto the court tonight.”
I don’t tell them about the other deal I made with Digger. I’ll mention him to Coach, but I doubt Digger will be asked to play on the A-Team. Coach says he looks for team players.
“Millicent Min? Isn’t she a genius or something?” Stretch says. “Wasn’t she on Jeopardy! when she was little?”
“I like smart girls,” Tico says. “Dumb ones are boring.”
“Tico’s in love!” shouts Gus.
Tico smacks him on the side of his head. “Take it back! Take it back!” he yells.
As they fight, I tell them, “Gotta go, see you tomorrow.”
Stretch gives me five. “Great game,” he says.
Tico and Gus both manage to wave good-bye even though Tico is in a headlock.
When I check the bleachers, Marley has disappeared. He’s left his captain’s logbook. I pick it up. I’ll give it to him next time I see him.
I catch up to Trevor and the other A-Team players in the parking lot. All the guys are in the eighth grade, but they don’t hold it against me. Coach Martin tells us that if we can play that well riding donkeys, then we are sure to win the championship once the animals clear the court.
Mr. Glick shows us how to fold a pizza to get more in your mouth at once. He sure is different outside the classroom. But then, he seems so different from when I first met him in English. It’s amazing how much a person can change in just one summer.
Hee-haw.
9:58 P.M.
Mom’s waiting at home for me. Dad is too.
“You were quite impressive,” my father says.
“Thank you,” I reply. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.
“What’s it like to have a whole gym cheering for you?”
“It’s the best,” I tell him. What I really want to say is, “But it’s not half as good as having you be there.” Only I don’t want to get all mushy. It might scare him.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for the whole game,” my father says. “But I had to get back to the office and finish up some last-minute things. Tomorrow we find out who gets the promotion.”
“Good luck,” I tell him. “I’ll be cheering for you.”
“Thanks,” he says, adding, “oh, and here. This is for you. Good night, son.”
I wait until I am in my room to open the package. I don’t believe it! It’s a pair of BK620s!!! I slip them on. They fit perfectly. I jump up and down. It’s true! They are the most amazing shoes in the world. They make me feel like I can do anything! I am never, ever going to take them off.
As I am jumping on my bed, there’s a knock on the door, then it opens. I freeze with my arms out to the side. My father is standing there. I expect to get reamed out. Instead he tells me, “Stanford, I just wanted to tell you that when I saw you on the court tonight, you made me so proud.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Well then,” he finally comments, sounding awkward. “You can go back to whatever you were doing.”
SEPTEMBER 4, 9:45 P.M.
I’m not even tired. Mom wanders in as I’m watching a rerun of Top Cop.
“How does Top Cop manage to catch all those criminals by himself?” my mother asks as she sits next to me. I put my head on her shoulder. I have to lean over because I am taller than her. I can remember when my mother used to be able to carry me.
“Top Cop’s the best,” I explain. “But he’s the first to say that he can’t do it alone.”
Mom turns to me. “Stanny, shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed?” She hasn’t called me Stanny since I was little. “Seventh grade starts tomorrow, and you have a big day ahead of you.”
“When’s Dad coming home?”
“I don’t know. They are announcing the promotion tonight at some fancy dinner.” I nod. “But you, sir,” she says, giving me a peck on the cheek. “Off to bed, you!”
Before heading to my room, I stop by the refrigerator and stare at the F on my Holes paper. Then I take it down, crumple it up, and score a nice clean shot into the trash can. In the empty spot on the fridge I put up my new Holes book report, the one with the B-plus on it.
Instead of going to sleep, I watch the black spider busy
in her web. Is it too late to call Emily? I take a chance.
“Emily Ebers, please,” I tell her mother.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Stanford Wong.”
“Just a moment.” I hear Mrs. Ebers call out, “Emily, phone! It’s a boy. Stanford Wong?”
“Mommmm.” It sounds like Emily’s covering up the mouthpiece. “May I please have some privacy?!!!”
“Okay, but only talk for ten minutes; then you have to get to bed.”
“Hi, Stanford!” Emily squeals.
It’s so good to talk to her. The minutes fly by. Before we have to hang up, I remember there was something I wanted to ask her. “Hey, Emmie, why do you put money in parking meters?”
“You know about that?”
“I saw you.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“It’s okay, never mind.”
“No, it’s all right. I’ll tell you. My dad used to get lots of parking tickets. So every now and then I put money in parking meters to help people out. I know it sounds so weird. Please don’t tell anyone.”
It doesn’t sound weird. It sounds Emily. The next time I see her I will give her a bag of quarters.
“I won’t tell,” I promise.
“Emily, it’s been way past ten minutes!” I hear her mother say.
“Good night, Stanford.”
“Good night, Emily. See you tomorrow.”
I wait up until I hear the garage door open and close. I can hear my parents talking. No one is yelling, but voices are raised and lowered.
There is a soft knock on the door. “Come in,” I say, expecting my mom.
It is my dad. “Stanford,” he says, standing in the doorway so I can only see his silhouette. “Your mom and I have a few things to say to you. Would you mind coming into the living room?”
I jump out of bed. Mom’s waiting for us. Her eyes are all red and she is clutching a tissue. My heart stops. This is it. It’s divorce after all. I brace myself for the bad news.
“I got the promotion,” my father informs me. Hey, this is not so bad. “More money, more prestige —”
“More work,” I joke. I am sooooo relieved.
He nods and is silent for a moment. “It also includes a paid relocation to New York.”
All of a sudden I can’t breathe. New York? We can’t move to New York. I just made the A-Team. Mom loves her job. New York? What about Emily? What about Yin-Yin?
“Stanford,” my father says. He looks sad. “I turned down the promotion.”
What?
“It’s career suicide, of course. But your mother and I have been having a lot of talks lately. I had no idea how far away I was getting from the two of you. But when you ran away I realized it didn’t matter how well I was doing at work when I was doing a lousy job at home. I also had a nice long talk with Mr. Glick.”
Mr. Glick?
“I assured him that I was always telling you to do better in school. And do you know what he told me?” I shake my head. “Mr. Glick said that sometimes the best way to communicate is to listen. Stanford, I’m going to try my best to do less talking and more listening.”
I’m speechless.
“Since I won’t be working every weekend, maybe we can spend more time together and get to know each other, talk more. And since I turned down the promotion, I’ll probably be on the fast track to nowhere, so I’ll have a lot of free time and —”
“Rick,” my mother stops him.
I’m still trying to sort everything out. “Okay, so then what you are saying is that you turned down the promotion and you’re not getting a divorce, right?”
Dad looks at Mom and says, “A divorce is the last thing I’d want.”
My mother bursts out crying.
Dad looks helpless. I go up to him and whisper in his ear.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Trust me,” I tell him.
I turn on the stereo. As I walk to my room, I hear my father ask, “Kristen, may I have this dance?”
11:59 P.M.
I am alone. I can hear my parents in the living room laughing, a sound that I am not used to. I lie in bed and stick my legs in the air so I can admire my BK620s. My brain is on total overload.
I reach for the radio. Lavender is on. I catch her just as she coos, “This one is for Mrs. Wong at Vacation Village from a Mr. Thistlewaite. He wants me to tell her, ‘Madame, you have won my heart.’”
Then Lavender plays a song called “Fly Me to the Moon.”
I sit up, not believing what I have just heard. I hope my grandmother is listening to Lavender.
As Lavender talks into the night, I slide the blue box out from beneath my bed. I have finally figured out what to do. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, I begin to unravel my Stress Mess. There’s the red section from when I first got my F, there’s the green when Millicent started tutoring me, and there’s the yellow when Digger found out …
By the time I am done there is a huge mountain of yarn in the middle of my room. It looks like a disaster, but I can untangle it. Instead of throwing the yarn away, I plan to reuse it. Only this time I’ll make something other than a Stress Mess. I’ll ask Yin-Yin to show me how to make something I will be proud of.
As I wind the yarn into a ball, I think about my summer and how Dad was so busy working, he probably doesn’t know half the stuff that went on. But I’ll fill him in. We have a lot to talk about, my father and me.
I will tell him that he was right about Digger, that Digger’s not a true friend. I will tell him that Stretch found his voice. I will tell him that Yin-Yin found a boyfriend and that I have a girlfriend and her name is Emily. I will tell him that Millicent Min is not a total geek and that Mr. Glick says I am a smart kid. And then I will tell my father that I love him.
“Dad,” I will say. “I know you’re bummed out about your job, but you’ve got me on your team, and Mom and Sarah and Yin-Yin too. Coach says that teammates never let each other down. I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”
I have so much to tell my dad.
Ready to hear Emily Ebers’s side of the story? Keep reading for a peek at So Totally Emily Ebers!
JUNE 7
Dear Dad,
Today was the last day of school and the second saddest day of my entire life. A.J. and Nicole were crying and crying, and I was crying, and then Mrs. Buono started crying. This freaked everyone out because teachers aren’t supposed to cry. My whole class had made me a humongous card, and everyone wrote nice things, even Evan. When I finished reading it, I began bawling and Nicole started wheezing so badly that Mrs. Buono was convinced she was having another asthma attack. A.J. and I offered to take Nicole to the nurse.
We managed to wait until we were halfway down the hall to begin laughing hysterically.
When we could breathe again, A.J. brought up the time we were in first grade and Mr. Kinnoin won the lottery. He climbed up on his desk and shouted, “Okay, you little weenies, you’re never going to see me in a classroom again!” Then he burst into tears and ran out of the room.
Nicole reminded us how in second grade we dressed as the three little pigs for Halloween, and whenever anyone asked us anything, we’d just make piggy noises. Then I remembered when A.J.’s hamster died and we had a funeral for her, and then we all started crying all over again.
It’s after midnight now. The house is empty. The movers came today. When I got home from school, Mom was trailing them around shouting, “That’s fragile!” and “Do you have any idea what it would cost to replace that?!?!” She’s conked out in a sleeping bag next to the fireplace, still clutching her clipboard. I guess yelling at moving men is exhausting.
I’d better get to bed too. Tomorrow’s going to be rough. I wish you were here to sing me to sleep like you used to do when I was little. I packed my Elmo tape recorder in a box labeled “Emily’s Most Important Things.” It has the cas
sette of you singing “The Emily Song” in it. That’s the first thing I’m going to unpack when we get to California.
Good night, Daddy.
Love,
Emily
JUNE 8
Dear Dad,
I can’t believe we had to say good-bye. This is the second saddest day of my life. (I’m moving yesterday to the third saddest day of my life. Even though yesterday was bad, today was really, really bad, like rip-your-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it bad.) When we hugged I never wanted to let you go.
Do you still have Mom’s cell phone number? I know you had to write it on your hand when I gave it to you. I hope you didn’t accidentally wash it off. I know you’re not a phone person, but you should know how to reach us in case of an emergency. What about the malted milk balls I gave you? Are they all gone now? I’ll bet they are! And did you notice that I wrote our California address inside the card I made for you? I also wrote it on all those address labels to make it easy for you to write to me. Only if you want to, of course.
Did you cry when we said good-bye? I think I saw you cry. I know I was crying. After you drove off, I pulled up the for sale sign in the front yard and hid it behind the garage. It was a lot heavier than I thought it would be. When Mom found out, I got in big trouble.
“EMILY LAURA EBERS … how could you …?”
She never did finish her sentence.
As Mom backed out of the driveway and we took off, I turned around to watch our house get smaller and smaller. I said good-bye to Mrs. Metz’s lawn gnomes, and to the S. Cockroft Memorial Library, and to Twoheys. I said good-bye to the Town Clock, and to Crestwood Lake, and to the Celery Farm.
I said good-bye to Allendale, New Jersey.
After a while, I didn’t recognize where we were, so I stopped saying good-bye to everything and just zoned out.
“Shall we play the license-plate game?” Mom asked.
Huh? I had forgotten she was there. The sight of her gripping the steering wheel was so irritating I wanted to scream. Why can’t she be a more laid-back driver like you? I didn’t answer her stupid question about the stupid license-plate game, and she seemed to just forget she had asked. We didn’t talk at all. Not when we had lunch at McDonald’s, or when she went the wrong way on the turnpike, or when we checked into some motel in Pennsylvania at night. I didn’t even beg her to let me swim in the pool.