The Marble Queen

by Stephanie J. Blake

  The rest of the time Mama is mad at all of us for breaking The Rules.

  She has a couple for me: Say “please,” especially when you want something you can’t have. Say “thank you” when someone gives you a present—even if you don’t want it. Never say “ain’t.”

  If Mama can’t think of one of her rules, she’ll say, “Mind your p’s and q’s, missy. Mind your p’s and q’s.”

  Some of Mama’s rules are just for Higgie: Don’t touch dead things on the side of the road. And don’t you dare bring them home. Get your hand out of your pants. And your fingers out of your nose.

  She has two special rules for Daddy, but he still forgets (he probably needs to write them down): Wash the grease from your hands before you sit on the couch. And put the toilet seat down. Actually, there’s a third rule for Daddy: Don’t come home drunk.

  He’s always breaking that one.

  We ate up every crumb of that delicious apple cake.

  Mama started clearing the dishes away. Daddy patted his belly and sighed. “I could eat a piece of that cake every day for the rest of my life and never get enough.” Higgie burped.

  Mama said quietly, “I wish I could get the recipe.”

  Daddy brought a platter to the sink. “You should ask her for it sometime, Willie.”

  “I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Freedom, put the butter in the Frigidaire. Higgie, how on earth did you get all that food on your pants?”

  Daddy and I pitched in and helped Mama clean up the kitchen.

  When we were done, she hung up her dish towel and untied her apron. “How would you like to make some bubbles outside?” she asked.

  I couldn’t believe it. Mama never wants to do anything messy.

  Mama said, “I found a recipe for bubble solution in the Ladies’ Home Journal. And Daddy can tie some wire into circles so you kids can make giant bubbles out in the yard.”

  Higgie clapped his hands. “Thank you, Mama!”

  We all went out to the backyard. The evening sky was like cotton candy: pink with low fluffy clouds.

  Mama poured her solution into an old paint tray on the back porch. She handed me a wire circle. “You try it out first, Freedom.”

  I dipped the wire into the tray and took off running around the yard. A long bubble followed me. When I stopped, it broke off and floated upward. Higgie giggled.

  Once I got the hang of it, I figured out how to pop my wire circle up and down to make smaller bubbles. Every time a bubble bounced around on the breeze, Higgie chased it until it popped. He got his own wire circle, and pretty soon tons of bubbles were floating up and popping all over the place.

  Mama laughed and ran around with us. Daddy sat on the porch with a beer in his hand, chuckling every now and then, watching the whole show.

  The show ended when Higgie knocked over the tray and spilled the solution all down the back steps.

  Mama wasn’t mad, though. She just took the wire circles and said, “Time for bed, Higgie. You, too, Freedom.”

  Her hair was a mess and her cheeks were flushed, but Mama sure looked pretty standing there on the porch in the breeze. She put her hand on her belly and got a funny look on her face.

  Higgie and I stopped.

  “What’s the matter, Willie?” Daddy asked.

  Mama put his hand on her stomach. “Do you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” Higgie asked.

  “The baby’s kicking.”

  Daddy felt it and smiled. “He’s going to be a football player.”

  “Or she’s going to be a ballerina,” Mama teased.

  “I wanna feel,” Higgie whined.

  He stuck his small hand out, and Mama pressed it to her belly.

  “Feel that, Higgie?”

  Higgie snatched his hand away. “I don’t want a baby.”

  “Freedom, do you want to feel it?” Mama asked.

  I nodded and put out my hand. Mama’s stomach was warm. She smelled good, like her fancy powder, and something else I couldn’t name. Something sweet. I closed my eyes and felt a gentle nudge on my palm.

  “Wow! Does it hurt?”

  “It feels funny,” Mama said. “Like bubbles.”

  I wondered if I was getting another brother. “A sister might be nice,” I said. I didn’t tell Mama that we could team up against Higgie.

  Daddy said, “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we, Willie?”

  Mama smiled and herded us into the house while Daddy stayed behind to hose the bubble solution off the steps.

  Chapter Four

  Daniel Calls Quitsies

  AUGUST 13, 1959

  Today was a terrible day for shooting marbles. It rained overnight, and the wind was blowing leaves and bits of trash into the ring. And know what else? Daniel is a quitter.

  I snuck out of the house around two o’clock. After I helped Mama get a box of Higgie’s old baby clothes down from the attic, she disappeared up there with a broom and a dustpan. Higgie was napping, so I figured it would be all right for me to go and play. But I didn’t ask, because I’m still waiting for Mama to decide about the competition, and I didn’t need a lecture about shooting marbles with boys.

  The boys were gathered at Highland Park, like always. The circle was already drawn up over by the playground where it’s nice and flat. The rest of the park is grassy. There’s a pond in the middle where you can feed the ducks or have a picnic. Daniel and I have skipped rocks into that pond hundreds of times.

  I had on my raggedy brown cardigan because of the weather. It’s missing two buttons, it itches, and I can’t stand it; but it’s my play sweater. If I ever lost it, Mama would have a fit.

  The boys hadn’t been waiting around for me to show up, that’s for sure. Even though I’m the one who makes the best circle. We play in a three-foot ring. That’s why the game’s called Ringer. You have to drag your foot around to make the circle in the dirt, and you should clear out sticks and rocks (but sometimes the boys don’t take the time to do that).

  Nancy was there, too, but I was the only girl squeezing herself into the game. Daniel, Anthony the Runt, the Meanie brothers, and Wally Biscotti started arguing because Daniel said it wasn’t hurting anything to let me play.

  “She’s got some nice cat’s-eyes,” Daniel told them.

  The boys gave in.

  I smiled at Daniel real nice, but he still grumbled, “Oh, go on and let’s throw lag already.”

  Daniel’s daddy was a soldier who died in Korea. He’s an only child. At night he used to come over and watch TV, but now he just sits on his front porch, watching people go by while he waits for his mama to get home from work. Mrs. Coyle is the head cashier at Kroger’s grocery store. She comes over on her day off for a game of canasta with Mama. And sometimes my aunt Janie comes over, too.

  When Aunt Janie brings along her Tupperware samples, Mama gets testy. She says that Aunt Janie is always looking to make a quick buck. Daddy says Daniel’s mama can’t afford Tupperware, or anything else for that matter, and that Aunt Janie should leave her alone.

  Everyone says Mrs. Coyle’s got a crush on Mr. Kroger, who’s married and has about ten kids.

  You’ll get a fat lip if Daniel catches you gossiping about his mama.

  “Hurry up and throw,” Daniel told me again.

  I can’t shoot when my arms are covered, so I asked Nancy to hold my sweater.

  “Sure thing,” she said. I shrugged it off, and she folded it up and stuck it under her arm.

  Nancy is the kind of girl who always has smooth hair and a clean blouse that’s tucked in properly. That’s why Mama told me to invite her over sometime for a tea party. I don’t know if I want to. I don’t like tea. And I don’t like soggy cucumber sandwiches. And I don’t especially enjoy playing nurse, or house, or Barbies, or any of those other boring things that girls are supposed to do. I’d rather play Ringer.

  I pulled out my blue taw and threw it across the ring. Of course I won lag. We throw lag to see who goes first. Everyone s
tands in a line and throws their taws across the ring. If your marble goes the farthest inside the circle, you win. You play against whoever’s marble came in second.

  There’s an awful lot of shoving at lag time. And the Mooney brothers love a good fight. It’s no wonder Jacob and Esau are named for the bickering sons of Isaac in the Bible. That’s why I secretly call them the Meanie brothers. They are the look-alike kind of twins. Both of them have gray-green eyes and big feet. They also have the same crew cuts, except that Jacob has a cowlick.

  Everyone groaned—except Anthony. Poor old Anthony Winkler can’t shoot worth a penny. The boys call him the Runt because he’s kind of thin and weak looking. I’m sure he’d rather read a book or build something with his Erector set, but he’d never have any friends if he didn’t pretend to enjoy shooting marbles.

  You have to bring your own marbles—no borrowing. Some kids have only a couple of chipped ones when they start out. I win a lot, so I’ve got loads. Your taw is your biggest marble. It’s your shooter, the one you use to hit the other marbles. My blue taw was my daddy’s. It’s the prettiest thing ever made. It’s got a burst of glass sparkles inside. I’ve got two other shooters, but I don’t use them much.

  There are all sorts of marbles: commies, fancies, creamies, aggies, cat’s-eyes, and more. Cat’s-eyes look just like a cat’s eyeball with an oval swirl inside, and they come in red, blue, green, and yellow. Commies have nothing to do with Communists. They’re just common—they aren’t worth anything. I used to try to play with them all the time, but the boys won’t let me anymore.

  Daniel threw second best. He didn’t act thrilled about playing against me. He stood so close, I could smell the Black Jack gum on his breath. “Are we playing for keepsies or what?” he asked. Daniel’s black hair was so long, I couldn’t see his eyes. His jeans were too short, and his collar was even dirtier than usual.

  “Do you want to?” I said as I took my share of marbles out of my pouch.

  In Ringer, all of the players put some of their own marbles in the center of the ring—six if you won lag, seven if you were runner-up—and you set them up in a cross shape. When Daniel and I play marbles by ourselves, we almost always play friendlies. That way no one’s feelings get hurt. But when we play at the park, we’re forced to play for keepsies. That means if you lose your favorite marble, you can’t cry. Not one tiny tear.

  “Only if you’ll play with your red cat’s-eye.” Daniel spat out his gum right over my shoulder.

  I agreed, and set up the cross quickly.

  Lately, the boys keep saying Daniel is in love with me. But I’m not sweet on him.

  All I know is that Daniel was coveting my marbles.

  Coveting is when you want your neighbor’s stuff. I learned that in Sunday school after I tried on Linda Pratt’s purple sweater. I took it from the back of her chair when she wasn’t looking. I couldn’t resist. It was oh so soft. Pastor Davis brought me up to the front of the class and told everyone I had stolen the sweater because of my sin of coveting. But I wasn’t going to steal it, I swear.

  The boys played rock-paper-scissors, and Wally lost, so he was named referee, which suited him fine. Wally Biscotti enjoys being in charge. His real name is Wallace Sachetti. He’s twelve, but he looks like an Italian grandpa. His shirts are pressed and clean, and he wears thick glasses. He talks really loud.

  As I knuckled down, Daniel cracked his new stick of gum in my ear.

  The rule is: keep your hand in the dirt until your taw leaves your fingers—that’s why it’s called “knuckling down.”

  I ignored him and cupped my shooter. I have to get my taw nice and warmed up before a game. It goes farther that way. I blew on it twice. Then I blew on my thumb, too. For luck.

  Someone behind me—probably Jacob—said, “Oh come on, why don’t you go home and play with your Barbie?”

  I didn’t take my eyes off the ring.

  When you play with the boys, you can’t let them rile you. I kept rubbing my taw. If I threw it too far, it would bounce out of the ring, and I’d lose my turn. You get one point for each marble that you knock out of the ring until all the marbles are out. To get the perfect spin, you sort of flip the taw with your thumb, like you’re flipping a quarter, with your fist balled up.

  I knocked out three marbles with my first shot! I got so excited, I bungled my next one.

  Daniel wiped his face and leaned in for his turn. I could tell he was nervous. His breath came out in puffs, and he kept running his tongue over his teeth. He knuckled down and knocked out my favorite red cat’s-eye.

  That’s when Wally Biscotti pointed at Daniel’s foot and yelled, “Hey!”

  “What?” Daniel asked.

  I looked down. The toe of his sneaker was just inside the ring. I pretended not to see. He’s my best friend, after all.

  I whispered, “Your toe.”

  No matter what, you can’t put any part of your body—except for your hand—into the ring while you’re shooting.

  He stood up fast and dusted off his pant legs. “My toe wasn’t in when I took the shot, was it, Freedom?”

  I was willing to let it go, but not Wally. “You’ll have to forfeit a creamie, Daniel.”

  Daniel tried to give me a creamie, but I put up my hands and said, “That’s all right.”

  “Fine,” Daniel mumbled, “take this one back, then. I know it’s one of your favorites.” The red cat’s-eye winked at me from the palm of his dirty hand.

  All of a sudden things felt different. The boys were laughing and poking each other.

  I stomped my foot. “You don’t have to give anything back! Just say I won, and we’re even stephen.”

  I was ready to start a new game. We could have, too, if those boys weren’t circling around, snarling like wolves. The only ones not saying anything were Nancy and Anthony.

  “Take them all!” Daniel threw a handful of marbles on the ground. “For the record, you didn’t win, Freedom. I call quitsies.”

  Jacob shoved Daniel. “We don’t play quitsies.”

  He held Daniel’s arms behind his back while Esau rapped on Daniel’s chest.

  “Knock, knock—” Esau said.

  “Who’s there?” asked Wally in a high voice.

  “A quitter, that’s who,” said Jacob.

  Daniel was sniffling and blinking a lot.

  Usually Esau is nicer than Jacob, but the only time they really get along is when they’re picking on somebody else. And Jacob can turn on you faster than milk in the sun.

  Nancy handed me my cardigan. “I’m going home.” She tore out of the park like her hair was on fire. I probably should’ve gone with her.

  Jacob wouldn’t let go of Daniel. “Admit it. You’re in love with Freedom McKenzie. So say it.”

  Daniel said, “I won’t.”

  Wally whispered, “Girl lover.”

  Daniel wiggled loose. “Stop it!” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and started scooping up marbles left and right. Some of them were mine, but I didn’t care. He grabbed his knapsack and stood up.

  I heard a crack of thunder. It was going to rain again.

  Wally did a little jig around the Ringer circle. “You gonna go home and cry to your mommy?”

  Jacob said, “Naw, his mama’s at work. He’ll have to cry himself to sleep on his baby bed.”

  The Meanie brothers chanted, “Mama’s boy! Mama’s boy!”

  Wally joined in.

  Anthony stepped back. “Come on, guys, leave him alone.”

  Everyone else took turns shoving Daniel around, so I stepped in. I’m taller than Daniel by a tiny bit. I only wanted to stop the fight. “That’s enough,” I said.

  And do you know what that rat fink Daniel did? He threw his last marble at me and yelled, “Why don’t you go home, you girly girl?”

  Wally Biscotti said, “Why don’t you go home, Mama’s boy! And take your girlfriend with you.”

  He threw a rock at Daniel.

  Daniel began walking awa
y. I went after him. Now Jacob and Wally were both throwing rocks. I saw one hit Daniel in the neck; but he didn’t turn around, and he refused to run. I know he was scared, though. He was sweating. One rock hit me on the arm. It was only a pebble, but it stung. I wouldn’t run, either. I glanced back at the ring. The Meanie brothers and Wally Biscotti were laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  Anthony was walking behind us, shaking his head.

  Daniel was crying, but I didn’t say a word. The cut on his neck was bleeding. When I reached out with my hankie to wipe it up, he pushed my hand away. There wasn’t anything else to do but follow him home.

  When we got to my gate, he kicked at the curb. “I’m getting too old to play with girls. My mama said so the other day.”

  I stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we aren’t friends anymore. Jeez, Freedom. Don’t you understand anything?”

  “Our friendship can’t be over. We’ve known each other forever.”

  “Well, it is over. I can’t have people talking about me. I’m not in love with you. I don’t love anyone, except maybe my mama.” He pushed the hair from his eyes and turned away.

  I got this funny feeling in my stomach like it was twisting on itself. The wind whipped around. It began drizzling.

  I thought about the times we’d fought before. When we argued over marbles. When I’d ripped a page in his favorite Batman comic book. And when he lost my lucky penny. We’d always made up at the end of the day. He even hugged me after one fight when I gave him a pack of colored pencils that I didn’t want.

  He shrugged and kicked at the curb some more. “I’m tired. And hungry. I’ll see you around.”

  Daniel left me there. Alone.

  I sniffed and tried not to bawl my eyes out on the street. Of course boys and girls could be friends. Weren’t Mama and Daddy friends?

  I stared at Daniel’s house and waited for him to come back outside and apologize, but he didn’t. Once Daniel gets something in his head, you can’t tell him any different. I went on home. He’d change his mind the next time he wanted to watch his favorite cartoon, Huckleberry Hound. The Coyles don’t have a television set.