Lost Boy

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “No. Why?”

  “You can take courses online.”

  “Oh!” Taviana’s eyes light up. “Could I do them on the library computers?”

  “I don’t see why not. I’ll look into it for you on my lunch break and call you at home.”

  “Actually,” Taviana says, “we’re going to the park for the afternoon. We’ll stop in on our way back. Maybe Jon can leave his stack of books here so he doesn’t have to carry them.”

  “Perfect. And I’ll let you know then.”

  I take one book with me and leave the rest.

  The park is crowded with families having picnics and enjoying the warm spring day. Aside from the way everyone is dressed, it doesn’t look too different from what you’d see on a Sunday in Unity—extended families visiting, sharing food, kicking soccer balls, throwing Frisbees.

  “Let’s go up the river a ways,” Taviana suggests.

  As we pick our way along the stony beach, I see that Craig has been adding to his rock balances. I study each one, tempted to touch them to see how sturdy they are, but I resist. I wouldn’t want them to tumble down.

  When I turn around, Taviana has stripped down to just a couple of scraps of material. They barely cover her female parts. I avert my eyes, but I feel my skin burn.

  “Get over it, Jon,” she says. “This is what girls outside Unity wear to the beach.” She takes two towels out of her bag. “Want to stretch out on that flat rock?” she asks, pointing to a boulder that rises out of the water.

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll sit in the shade and read.”

  “Suit yourself.” She hands me a towel.

  Taviana wades out into the water and climbs up on the large rock. She lays out her towel. I return to the shady spot under the tree where I spent my first afternoon in Springdale. I look up now and again and watch as Taviana climbs off the rock to splash in the water, keeping cool. I’m tempted to put my feet in, but I resist. Instead I read about Inuit culture and become completely absorbed.

  Apparently no trees grow in the north, so houses can’t be built from wood unless it’s brought in. At one time, in the winter, Inuit lived in round houses made from blocks of ice, called igloos. In the summer they lived in tentlike huts made of animal skins stretched over a frame.

  I’d love to share this stuff with Celeste. She’d be so amazed.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually Taviana plunks herself down beside me under the trees. She’s pulled her clothes back on over her bathing suit. “Ready to go?”

  “Let’s build an inuksuk first,” I suggest.

  “You don’t think there’s enough around here?” she asks, scanning the beach.

  “There’s always room for another.”

  Taviana sighs.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to have to get over her eventually.”

  I ignore her and start looking for rocks that will make good legs.

  Audrey grins when we push open the library door. “Good news,” she says.

  “I can use the library computers?” Taviana asks. “To complete high school?”

  “You sure can,” Audrey says. “And I’ve printed off all the information you’ll need to register.” She gives Taviana a thick envelope.

  “Thank you!”

  “There’s just one small drawback,” Audrey says.

  “What’s that?”

  “The courses aren’t cheap. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Maybe.” Taviana frowns.

  “Well, read over the information. Hopefully, you can make it work.”

  “Hopefully. All the more reason for me to get that job here.”

  The librarian holds up her hands. Her fingers are crossed for luck.

  Back at the house, Abigail reads over the information while Taviana looks on nervously. “Well,” Abigail says. “You really can do high school online.”

  “Then you’d consider me enrolled in school?” Taviana asks.

  Abigail leans back in her chair. “Yes, I would,” she says. “But Taviana, I can’t afford these rates.”

  “Then I’ll just have to figure out a way to pay for them myself. I’ll get two jobs if I have to.”

  “You could apply for a student loan,” Matthew suggests.

  “I plan to work this summer,” Selig says. “After I pay Abigail what I owe her, I’ll give you what I don’t need.”

  “You would, Selig?” Taviana’s eyes shine with tears.

  He nods.

  “And if I grow more vegetables than we need,” I say, “maybe we could sell them at the farmers’ market.” We passed the makeshift stalls on the way to the park today.

  “I’ll sell them for you,” Jimmy says.

  Taviana wipes her eyes and smiles. We all look at Abigail.

  “Well, Tavi,” she says, “it sounds like everyone’s eager to help you. Between us, hopefully, we can find the money. I admit, it’s nice to have another female in the house.”

  Taviana gives Abigail a long hug. She then hugs each of us. I hug her back awkwardly. Selig and Matthew look awkward too. Jimmy has no trouble with it.

  “Well, this family has an official second female member,” Abigail says. “And that calls for a celebration dinner. You boys haul out the old barbecue and clean it, and Tavi and I will go out and buy the ingredients for a special meal. How about it?”

  The boys stampede into the backyard. I lag behind. I’m happy that Taviana has sorted out her schooling, but the word celebration reminds me of the one that took place in Unity today.

  I join the boys in the backyard and try not to think of Celeste, my father’s sixth wife.

  Six

  On Monday morning I walk to Springdale High with Matthew and Selig. The hallways are loud with kids grabbing books from their lockers and calling out to their friends. A buzzer sounds. Lockers bang shut, and everyone jostles each other as they head to their classes. The stretch of warm weather has continued, and the kids are dressed much like they were at the park, in shorts and T-shirts.

  I will myself not to stare at the girls with their long, exposed legs and jiggling breasts and keep my eyes glued to Matthew’s back as he leads me through the maze of halls to the school office. Aside from the way everyone is dressed, the other thing that strikes me is how young the students are. Many look to be only thirteen or fourteen.

  Matthew shows me to the office. “Just tell the school secretary that you’re here to see Mrs. Kennedy. She’ll show you where to go. I’ve got to run to history class. Good luck, Jon.”

  I must look panicked, because he squeezes my arm and says, “It’ll be fine.”

  It’s far quieter in the office than in the hallways. Two women sit at desks, and two men talk beside a water cooler. I’m surprised that the men are wearing shorts, but, in general, the adults are dressed more modestly than the teenagers. That should make it easier to concentrate on the exams I’m about to take.

  The school secretary leads me to a chair outside an office down the hall. “Wait here,” she says.

  The adults who walk past all say hello. I’m sure it’s clear to everyone that I’m a polyg. I put on a clean shirt this morning, but the armpits are wet with sweat. I lay awake most of the night, worrying about the exams.

  Finally the door opens and Mrs. Kennedy invites me into her office. She’s about my mom’s age, but tiny, birdlike, with short spiked hair. Her desk is cluttered with file folders. I take the chair across from her. She looks tired but not unkind.

  “Abigail tells me you’re from Unity,” she says.

  I nod.

  “How long have you been in Springdale?”

  “One week.”

  “And how are you adjusting?”

  “Fine, I think.”

  “That’s good. I’m sure Matthew and Selig have made you feel welcome.”

  “They have.”

  “Good. Nice boys, those two.” She studies me, but I can’t read her face. “When did you last attend school?”
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  “I left when I was fourteen.”

  “And you’re seventeen now?”

  I nod.

  She sighs and picks up a pen. Her thumb presses the button on the end. Click. Click. Click. “From what I know about your school in Unity, the emphasis is on religious studies,” she says. “I don’t mean to sound critical, but it seems that the basics are just barely covered. There is no instruction in history, science or current events.” Click. Click. “And literature and the arts are frowned upon, right?”

  She waits for me to correct her, but what is there to say? I barely know what literature is. Or science. I don’t say anything.

  “Have you heard of global warming, Jon?”

  I shake my head.

  “How about Donald Trump. Do you know who he is?”

  “I’ve heard the name.”

  “What about Adolf Hitler?”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you know who he is? What he did?”

  “No.”

  “Have you used computers?”

  “Yes. At the library. In Springdale.” I don’t tell her that it was only once.

  She looks out the window. Click. Click.

  “I know how to frame a house,” I say, feeling the need to defend myself.

  She gives me a warm smile. Her face instantly looks ten years younger. “I bet you do. And I bet there’s no other student in this school who could do that.”

  “Maybe Matthew and Selig.”

  “Right. Except for them. And I’m sure you have a whole lot of other skills that you don’t learn in school. I’m not trying to make you feel bad about the gaps in your education. I’m just trying to decide how best to bring you up to speed.” She lays the pen down and folds her hands behind her head. “Jon, what kind of a career would you like when you finish school?”

  Aside from Craig, the boy on the beach, no one has ever asked me that. I have no answer. I don’t even know what careers there are to choose from.

  “Do you think you’d like to go to college or trade school?”

  “Yeah, I would.”

  “You would?” She is pleasantly surprised.

  “My friend Jimmy wants to go to college to become a social worker. That sounds cool. I’d like to help people too.” Truthfully, I’ve never given it much thought, but I feel I need to say something.

  “I’m sure you’d be a wonderful social worker.” She looks pleased with this answer. “The trade schools offer careers that you already have a background in. You could be an electrician or a cabinet maker.” She frowns. “But no matter what, you need a high school diploma. Jon, I had planned to give you the ninth-grade final exams in each subject, but I don’t think there’s any point. If you haven’t been taught the subjects, you’re not going to know the answers. It doesn’t mean you’re not smart—it just means you haven’t been given the information. I don’t want to set you up for failure. I think I made a mistake putting the other boys through that.”

  Relief surges through me.

  “What I am thinking is that we should find a tutor to work with you over the summer. The tutor would instruct you in every subject, try to get you caught up.”

  “A tutor?”

  “A teacher who works one-on-one with you.”

  “Book learning.” The Prophet used to sneer at the term.

  “Right.”

  “Would I have to pay this tutor?”

  “Yes, you would.”

  “I don’t have any money.” I slump in my chair.

  “But you do intend to work this summer?”

  I nod.

  “Well then, I could send you home with the textbooks to get you started. Once you have your first paycheck, you could call the tutor and set up a schedule. Selig and Matthew might even want to share the same tutor.”

  I hadn’t intended to use my earnings for school, but if it helps me get caught up…

  “Are you willing to do schoolwork each night this summer, Jon?”

  I nod, though I’ve also warmed to the idea of driving around with Jimmy, meeting his friends, playing frolf.

  “Okay. I’ll call around and find a tutor who works over the summer. If you come back tomorrow, I’ll have a package of tenth-grade materials ready for you. You will likely need instruction in ninth-grade math as well. I’d also like you to watch the news and read the newspaper each day, to get familiar with current events. And read books. The stronger your reading becomes, the easier it will be for you to get through the course material.”

  “I already have a library card,” I say. I feel like I’m a little kid again, trying to please my mom.

  “That’s great, Jon.” Mrs. Kennedy’s smile is warm. “I can tell that you’re the kind of student who will work hard to overcome the gaps in your education. In the fall, you’ll start eleventh grade. But it’s going to be a stretch to get you caught up to the end of tenth grade in just one summer.”

  “Eleventh grade?”

  “That’s what I’m recommending.”

  “But I’ll be way older than the other kids.”

  “Just by a year or two. And that’s okay.”

  It doesn’t feel okay to me. “I know a girl who is doing high school by using the Internet. Maybe I should do that.”

  Mrs. Kennedy considers this for a moment. “I don’t think that would be a good option for you. Online courses don’t assume you have gaps in your knowledge. Here, the teachers will be aware of your background.”

  “They’ll know I’m a stupid polyg,” I mutter.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Nothing.”

  She leans forward. “With the right attitude and hard work, you’ll be graduating in a couple of years. By then, you just might know what you’d like to do with your future.”

  After carefully watering my new garden boxes, I close the curtains in the living room and hunker down in front of the TV. I know I could be practicing my reading, but my head hurts just thinking about all the reading I’ll be doing over the next few months.

  Taviana bustles in through the door. There’s a sheen of sweat across her forehead, and her cheeks are flushed.

  “Where have you been?” I ask.

  “Out for a jog. I figure I’d better get in shape before I start my online classes.” She pinches the skin on her waist. “I’m getting soft, and there might not be much time for exercising once I get a job and start studying.”

  I roll my eyes. There’s nothing soft about her. The Prophet says that hard work is all a person needs to do to stay strong. I tend to agree with him on that. All this jogging to nowhere seems like a waste of energy.

  “I’ll shoot some baskets with you,” Taviana says.

  “No thanks. I’m good.” My eyes return to the TV.

  She plunks herself down beside me on the couch. The show has resumed. “Jerry Springer? Really, Jon? There’s nothing better on than this?”

  “I have to find out who the father of Chantal’s baby is,” I tell her. “I think it’s that jerk Spade. Boris has a good alibi, and Spencer looks too decent.”

  “Jon, get a grip.” Taviana picks up the remote control and shuts off the TV.

  “Hey, I was watching that!” I try to grab the remote, but she holds it behind her back. I’m tempted to reach around her and tussle to get it, like she and Selig did with the book, but I don’t feel right wrestling with a girl.

  “I need to tell you something.” Taviana scuttles away from me on the couch.

  “What?”

  “There’s a lot of good stuff on TV, but don’t make a habit of watching this kind of crap. It’s addictive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My mother watched this stuff all the time, and then she began behaving like those people.”

  “I’m not going to behave like Spade.”

  “You say that now. This stuff drags you down. Trust me. Soon you’ll find that those people seem normal to you. Find something inspiring to watch, or read a book.”

  “Those peopl
e will never seem normal to me. I grew up in Unity, remember?” The truth is, I’m amazed at how badly these TV people behave. “Anyway, after today I’ll be spending my whole summer reading. This may be my last chance to chill.”

  “What happened at school?”

  “I didn’t have to write the exams.”

  “Really?”

  “Mrs. Kennedy said I’d just fail them. She’s recommending a tutor for the summer, and then I’ll start eleventh grade in the fall.” I take a deep breath. “I’m too old to just be starting eleventh grade.”

  Taviana doesn’t answer. I take her silence as agreement.

  “I asked if I could do online courses like you, but she didn’t recommend it.”

  As Taviana ponders that, I swipe back the remote and turn the TV on again.

  We both stare at the show for a few minutes, but now I don’t really care who Chantal’s baby’s father is. Taviana has ruined it for me.

  I flick through the stations. I stop at one and put the remote down. “Homework,” I tell her. “I’m supposed to watch the news.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to have a shower, but if you want to work on your math skills, you can help me make a pie crust later.”

  “How will that help my math skills?”

  “I’ll let you do the measuring.”

  Just as Mrs. Kennedy directed, I bring two large bags with me when I return to the school. On her desk she now has a stack of textbooks, exercise books and papers stapled and paper-clipped together.

  “I know. It’s a little overwhelming at first,” she says when she sees my face. “But you’ll work through it.”

  She obviously doesn’t know how slowly I read.

  “I’ve also talked to a young man who is willing to tutor you. He’s the son of a friend of mine, and he has some free time this summer. His phone number’s here.” She hands me a small yellow paper. I look at the name. Craig. Could it be the same guy I met by the river? The inuksuk guy?

  I stuff the books and papers into my bags.

  “I’m confident that you’ll be successful, Jon,” Mrs. Kennedy says. “You have a lot of ground to cover, but it will be worth it. Trust me.”

  Trust me.

  Taviana said the same thing.