by David Lubar
“Yeah.”
“Did you like it?”
“Sure.”
“So you’re done with it?” I asked.
He nodded. “Gave it to my cousin.”
“Oh.” At least he’d liked it.
“Got another good book?” he asked when he pulled up at the house.
“Tons,” I said, though in my mind I saw my shelves slowly growing empty as the contents of my library shifted, book by book, to Wesley’s cousin.
After dinner, when I walked past Bobby’s room, I noticed the school paper on the floor. Bobby was sitting on his bed listening to music.
“You read it?” I asked.
He nodded. “Nice job, little brother.”
“Which part did you like the best?”
“Hard to say. It was all real good.”
Oh man. I knew those lines. I knew that whole routine. “You didn’t read it.”
Bobby shrugged. “Not yet.”
“Come on. It’s not that long.” I really wanted him to see what I’d done. Especially since it was my best article.
“I said later.”
I picked up the paper and held it out to him. “I’ll wait. Come on—it’ll only take you five minutes.”
“Not right now.”
“Come on.” I jabbed him with the paper. “Just read it.”
Bobby ripped the paper from my hand and threw it across the room. “I said later!”
“You jerk.” I stormed out of his room. Who cared if he read my article. Who cared if he read anything.
April 15
It’s tax day. Dad always gets weird around now. He almost never gets angry. But this is one of the few times of the year when the wrong thing can make him yell. Mom keeps telling him he should go to one of those tax places, but Dad insists on doing the taxes himself. He’ll spend all evening surrounded by hundreds of pieces of paper. That’s not his natural environment, and it makes him edgy. On the bright side, trout season opens this Saturday, which more than makes up for the tax stuff.
{twenty-eight}
We got our report cards on Friday. I didn’t care. I had something else on my mind. I kept thinking about how I’d never seen Bobby with a book. I couldn’t even remember him ever looking at the newspaper.
After school, I grabbed Tuck Everlasting from my bookshelf, then went to track Bobby down. He was in the garage, fiddling around beneath the hood of the ‘vette.
“Read this,” I said, holding out the book.
“Do I look like I have time to play around? I have to get this idle adjusted.”
“Not the whole book. Just the first page. Here.”
He smacked the book out of my hand. “I’m busy. What is it with you? You keep bugging me to read stuff. Go get a hobby or something.”
I bent down and picked it up. “Just the first paragraph.”
He smacked it again. “You’re being a real pain.”
I picked it up. “One sentence.”
“Scott, knock it off. Stop fooling around. I’ve got stuff to do. Maybe if you didn’t waste so much time with your nose in a book, you wouldn’t be such a creepy little loser.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. The hell with you. I backed up a step, clutching the book so hard I could feel the cover ripple.
No. That’s what he wanted. To drive me off. Bobby knew exactly what he was doing. But I wasn’t going to play that game. I waited a moment, until I was sure I could speak, then said, “I’m not fooling. I’m dead serious.” I held the book out again, wondering if he was going to hit me.
Instead, he grabbed the book and opened it. As he read out loud, my heart ripped wider and wider. It was a struggle. Each word. Each syllable. After an eternity, he finished the first paragraph.
He shoved the book at me. “You happy now? I’m stupid. Okay. Is that what you wanted to know? Does that make you feel good? You’re smart and I’m stupid.” He threw the wrench, hard, against the engine.
I ducked as it bounced back out, but stood my ground. “How’d it happen?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just always been hard. The words don’t make sense.”
“But your teachers….?”
“I learned that if I caused enough trouble, nobody would notice anything else. They never figured out how stupid I am.”
“You’re not stupid. You were smart enough to fool everyone. And it’s never too late to learn.” I thought about how hard it must have been for him to sit through year after year of school while all those kids around him could read. “Oh man, Mom and Dad don’t know, either.”
Bobby shook his head. “That’s been the worst part.”
“They’d understand.”
“Don’t you dare tell them anything.”
I held up a hand. “I won’t. I promise. But you should.”
“I can’t.” Bobby ducked his head back under the hood. “I hope the baby isn’t like me, Scott.”
“I hope he’s a lot like you,” I said.
April 19
Listen, just because you’re younger doesn’t mean you can’t give me advice. Once in a while. For really important stuff. But not all the time. So, if there’s ever something you absolutely need me to know, tell me. I’ll listen. I might hit you afterward, but I’ll definitely listen.
Opening day. It was the only time I didn’t mind getting up early on a Saturday. Dad was already in the kitchen making a pot of coffee when I came down.
“Want some?” he asked.
“Sure.” It wasn’t bad once I added enough sugar.
Bobby joined us a couple minutes later. He nodded at me like nothing had happened. I played along. Fishing is like having a truce with the world. When you’re out on the stream, you leave the crap of the world behind.
We headed to the McMichaels, up in the Poconos. It wasn’t as crowded as the Bushkill or the other streams near us in the valley.
Standing there, I felt for the first time in ages that there were some things that weren’t changing. At least not changing so fast I felt dizzy.
A minute or two after we started, Dad hooked his first fish. By ten, he’d caught his limit. I caught three brook trout. Bobby just caught two, but one of them was a nineteen-inch rainbow.
“Keep it?” Dad asked as Bobby cupped the rainbow in his hands.
“Nah, we have enough.” Bobby released his fish back into the stream.
I let mine go, too. We had plenty for dinner with just Dad’s stringer. When we got home, he cooked them. Plain and simple. Right in the frying pan with a bit of butter. It’s one of the few times he cooks, except when he’s grilling.
April 20
We’re going to do a lot of fishing. You and me. You, me, Bobby, and Dad. I wonder whether Julia likes to fish. Some girls don’t, because of the worms and stuff. But she doesn’t seem like the squeamish type. I’d bet a girl can be really gorgeous and still like cool things.
Speaking of gross stuff, guess what? I saw you kick. Mom showed me. No offense, but it was pretty freaky. All I could think of was science-fiction movies. Mom has an alien life-form in her gut. But you definitely know how to kick. I think you might be the first soccer star in the family. The school football team could use a kicker, too. And a quarterback. And a wide receiver. And pretty much everything else.
Athlete or not, I’m going to make sure you learn to read.
“We taking the ‘vette?”
“You bet.”
Thus Dad and I composed our own couplet. It was Take Your Child to Work Day. Also known as Get Out of School for Free Day. We zoomed, sputtered, and lurched our way to the dealership. Dad stuck to the back roads since it would be pretty inconvenient to break down on the highway at rush hour.
I wasn’t allowed in the garage, where the mechanics do the actual work, so I had to hang out in the front office, where Dad deals with the customers. But it was nice spending time with him. He has to wear a button-down shirt, but he refuses to wear a tie.
People came in almost non
stop, dropping their cars off for service and asking questions. They wanted to know all sorts of stuff.
“I drove a hundred miles with that oil light flashing. Do you think I hurt my engine?”
“What’s the best type of soap to wash my car with?”
“Is it bad when smoke comes out from under the hood?”
“I hear this weird thump every time I hit my brakes. Is there something wrong with them?”
Dad answered the brakes question by popping open the trunk and taking out a two-liter bottle of soda.
At one point, this old man and woman brought their car in for an oil change. I was looking through the large window into the garage, watching a guy putting a car on a lift, so I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, but I heard the man ask if the job could be done today. They didn’t have an appointment. The woman explained that they were going on vacation tomorrow.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. He sounded puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
That was weird. I looked across the service counter at the couple.
“Please,” the man said. “Can you?”
“What?” Dad asked. He glanced over at me.
I knew an oil change didn’t take long. Assuming I wasn’t the one doing it. In that case, it would take about half a lifetime. I turned to Dad. “Can you fit them in for an oil change today? They’re going on vacation tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Dad said. “No problem. We’ll have them all set in half an hour.”
“No problemo,” I told them. “Media hora.” And then my jaw dropped.
Caramba!
“Gracias,” the man said, thanking me.
“De nada.” Oh, my God. I’d been speaking Spanish. I’d understood them—at least, enough of the words to know what they’d been asking—and answered them. Ms. Cabrini had done it. She’d made a Spanish speaker out of me.
“Thanks,” Dad said after he’d taken care of them.
“No problemo.”
• • •
I actually had a complete break that day. The play started tomorrow. There was no rehearsal the night before. That’s a theater tradition, I guess. We’d already had our dress rehearsal, and I’d survived it without getting crushed by any of the scenery we’d moved in the dark. But I was beginning to understand why everyone kept saying, “Break a leg.”
I got two free tickets for the play, since I was on the stage crew. I thought about giving them to Mom and Dad, but Mom hadn’t been going out a whole lot. And Dad didn’t like to sit and watch stuff. He won’t even see a movie unless it’s under two hours. I gave one ticket to Lee. “You’ll like it,” I told her. “People die.” I left the other ticket on Bobby’s bed.
And, inspired by going to my dad’s workplace, I finally asked Lee what her folks did.
“My mom’s a phlebotomist.”
I guess she figured she’d stump me. But I was up to the challenge. “She draws blood, right.”
Lee nodded.
I thought about Lee’s fondness for vampires. “You must be very proud of her.”
“For sure.”
“What about your dad?”
She made a face. “My dad’s a complete failure.”
“Wow. Sorry.” I hadn’t expected that. “He can’t get a job?”
She shook her head. “No. He has a job. He’s a lawyer. He was the smartest guy in his class, and you know what he does? He spends his life helping companies get around antipollution laws.” She sighed. “Any way you look at it, I am the offspring of bloodsuckers.”
April 25
You’ll be real proud of Dad when you see him at work. He’s in charge of the whole repair department. All the mechanics come to him when there’s a problem. I hadn’t been there in years. I forgot how busy the place is. They’ve got fifteen lifts. There’s a constant stream of cars coming in for repairs. He hardly gets any break all day.
If you’re good with your hands, like Dad is, it’s a great job. The funny thing is that since he’s so good, he doesn’t get to work on the cars. He has to spend his time managing the place. Like if some guy isn’t happy with how his car was fixed, Dad has to deal with it. I know he’d rather be up to his elbows in grease. That’s probably why he spends so much time at home working on the ‘vette. I have a funny feeling that if he was fixing it as a job, he’d have been done a long time ago. But since he’s doing it for fun, he’s taking his time.
Anyhow, you’d have been real proud of him. I was proud of him, too. I didn’t tell him or anything. Guys don’t do that. Though, when I do something great, you can feel free to make an exception.
{twenty-nine}
Now the fatal blade was startin’
To descend toward Sydney Carton
But he was taking heart in
Knowing that Darnay did get away.
Darnay
he
got
awaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!
I pulled the curtain closed as the last note of the final number faded, then opened it for the curtain call. I’d been too busy running around and carrying props to see much of the play. But I heard it all. When the audience clapped at the end, I pretended the applause was for me.
We had five more performances scheduled between that weekend and next. Then it would be over. That was fine with me. Show business wasn’t anywhere near as much fun as people thought.
Julia was there, waiting for Kelly. I watched them walk off together. It was nice that the play hadn’t ruined their friendship, though I was still sort of bummed it hadn’t started a new one between Julia and me. Wesley was there, too, sitting right up in the front, all the way to the left of the stage. When I thanked him for coming, he shrugged and said, “No problem. It’s way easier than the movies.”
“To understand?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot. “To sneak in.”
Over on the right, far up the aisle, I saw Lee heading toward me. “I’ll catch you later,” I said to Wesley.
As he turned to leave, I headed over to cut Lee off. I had the feeling they shouldn’t be allowed to get too close to each other. It would be like a snake and a mongoose.
“Great job,” she said. “You really managed to minimize the thumps and crashes.”
“Of course. I’m a trained professional.”
She glanced past me toward the stage. “I love that guillotine. Can I have it when you’re done? It would look so great in my room.”
“I’ll ask Mr. Perchal.”
“Tell him I have a ton of stuffed animals that need drastic body modification, and this would make the process so much easier.”
“That’s definitely a compelling argument.”
I checked with him right after Lee left, though I didn’t pass along the details of her request. He said it was school property and he couldn’t just give it away. Score one for the stuffed animals.
• • •
As thrilling as it was to be part of the exciting world of the theater, I took greater pleasure in my journalistic efforts. I was sitting on my bed Tuesday evening, leafing through the school paper, when Bobby came in. He held up the play ticket. “Hey. Thanks for this. Did I miss it?”
“Nah. It’s on again this weekend.”
“Any good?”
“Not bad. For high school.”
He glanced down at the paper. “You write another one?
“Yeah. Want to—” I stopped before I could make a jerk out of myself by asking if he wanted to read it. Then I thought about sitting in the kitchen with Mom, reading to her from To Kill a Mockingbird. I picked up the paper. “Want to hear it?”
“That would be great.”
I read the article to him. I was a little nervous at first, but then I sort of enjoyed reading it out loud. It was nice hearing my words spoken—even if I was the one doing the speaking. I caught a sentence or two that I wished I’d rewritten, but most of it sounded pretty decent.
“That’s good, Scott. Really good. You have a gift.”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t ever say that. It’s very good. Honest.”
“Thanks.”
Bobby paused by the door on his way out. “I haven’t been much of a big brother …”
“Are you kidding? You’ve been great. You take me places. You teach me all kinds of stuff about cars and music. And you saved my butt lots of times. Remember when those big kids were chasing me?’
“They were little,” he said.
“Maybe to you.” It was back when I was in first grade. Bobby had saved me from a group of third graders. When he was around, nobody ever picked on me.
He smiled. “Man, they sure took off when I showed up.” The smile faded. “Scott …”
“What?”
“You’re not really creepy. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I help up the paper. “And you’re not stupid. This isn’t your fault. Someone should have realized you needed help.”
“Someone did.”
I wanted to say it was no big deal. But my throat had gotten kind of tight, so I just shrugged.
As Bobby turned away, he said, “I’m lucky you’re my brother.” He went back to his room before I could tell him I felt the same way.
In a couple minutes, I heard an old song drift through the walls. He was playing “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”
April 30
Don’t get your hopes up, but I’m thinking that maybe it won’t be all that unbearable having another brother. At least for the brief period you’re around here before I find a buyer.
I start my penultimate month of school tomorrow. I love that word. Here’s something for you to think about. Penultimate means second from last. What do you think they call the thing that’s third from last?
• • •
“Okay,” Mr. Franka said, “you cruised along for a month reading comics. Now it’s time for some serious contemporary literature.”
I groaned along with everyone else, but I figured whatever he handed out would be interesting. We’d read some really difficult stuff scattered throughout the year, but none of it was boring.
A minute later, I was staring down at a script on my desk. Not a play, either. This was a movie script, for Terminator 2.
