“I made it home alive,” she said.
“Well done, my Padawan learner.”
“You’ve seen Star Wars way too many times.”
She flopped down on her bed next to me. “So, who was that new kid on the bus this morning?”
“Don’t you want to know what happened between Jason and me?” I asked. I’d been whining about him all week.
“You already told me you were dumping him, and even a blind kid could tell he’s still got a thing for Kara. I knew you’d get off easy.” She pressed again, “So…the guy. Who is he?”
“I don’t know who he is,” I murmured, moving to my own bed and grabbing up Pigwin, my favorite stuffed animal. I fingered the little pig’s hideously mismatched pink satin tutu and spiked silver collar. “But I’m positive I know him from somewhere. Something about his eyes…” I stared off through the open window at the maple tree out back. A warm feeling suffused my face. I tried to shake it off, but it was too late. My sister, unusually perceptive, had already taken note.
“I thought so!” she cried. “Listen, Cate, you’re just getting out of one mess—”
“What’s messy about the new kid?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Just spit it out.”
“You saw him hanging out with Shawn, and you obviously know Shawn’s reputation.”
Yeah, okay. I knew there were rumors about Shawn and drugs. “And?”
“Look, one of the girls I met today lives in his neighborhood, and she says he’s living with the Gardiners as their foster child, and that he got kicked out of his last school.”
“Oh,” I said, deflated.
“You saw him smoking, right?” She held her hands out like a scale on either side of her head. “Asthma,” she said, waving her right hand. “Smoking,” she said, waving her left. “Not such a good combination. N’est ce pas?”
She made sense, but I had to at least find out who he was and how he knew me, and then there was the question of the tattoo and…oh, who the hell was I kidding? I was already interested. I had to follow the path where it led.
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
“You? Careful? Around a guy? Right.”
I shoved her. “Shut up! Let’s go see what Mom’s making for dinner. I’m sure she’s dying to pump us for details about school. If we don’t give her something, she’ll assume we’re friendless and failing out on the first day.” I hopped off the bed and was out the door before she could say anything else.
The next morning came way too early again. I put on a white blouse and gray plaid skirt again. This time, though, I got up early enough for Cici to help me straighten my hair and took a little more time with my makeup. I was nervous as the bus approached Meri and Grace’s stop, but the extra adrenaline coursing through my veins went to waste because the new kid wasn’t on it.
I didn’t see him all day, and I was irritable, feeling stupid that such a small question mark could plague me so.
With the first Friday of the school year came Club Day, which meant a dress-down day for anyone wearing an extracurricular club’s T-shirt. Any day you didn’t have to wear your uniform was a good day, and I secretly admired the way my new tight jeans and forest green WildLife & WildPlaces T-shirt hugged my small curves. Grace and I started the club the year before after volunteering for two summers at a nearby wildlife hospital. Having seen firsthand the horrible effects that carelessness and abuse have on local wildlife, and doing everything possible to save them but failing more often than not, we wanted to raise awareness.
The club tables were set up in the school cafeteria. Flanking the tables was a bank of windows, and high above them, the ceiling angled up to the roof’s apex, which housed the cafeteria skylights. Many of the tables were already decorated with tablecloths, helium balloons and posters.
I got to work setting up the WildLife & WildPlaces table, covering it with a dark green cloth and topping that with a cardboard tree whose branches were adorned with stuffed animals representing Ohio’s native birds. I set out information I’d gathered to promote the Cleveland MetroParks and the Wildlife Rescue Hotline. Cici eyed the stuffed animals skeptically and asked, “How many people are in your club anyway?”
“Ten, I think.” In truth, since Grace and I founded the club, only six people had joined. Cici liked animals—the domestic kind that purred or wagged their tails when you pet them. Her feelings were less fuzzy for the ones that tried to bite your hand off or claw your eyes out when you tried to untangle them from barbed wire or dress their wounds. “Why don’t you check out the cheer and dance team tables?” I suggested. With her many years of gymnastics, I knew she’d be more interested in those activities.
“I don’t know. You know what they say about cheerleaders…”
I grinned. “Sure. They’re all bratty, fashion-addicted, popular girls. You should fit right in.” She threw a cardinal at me, which burst into song upon impact.
“Well, it’s ready,” I said, taping a poster to the front of the table. “See you at study hall this afternoon.”
I kept an eye out for the boy from the bus all morning, but didn’t see him. At lunch, I grabbed the brown bag I’d packed from my locker and rushed to the cafeteria, knowing my table would be empty until I arrived. But when I reached the entrance, I saw that Finn had filled the empty seat. He wore his gray and yellow basketball jersey and was creating some kind of aerial battle between the robin and the blue jay. J.C. stood in front of the table picking each bird up and squeezing it to hear what it sounded like. When he saw me, he quickly put the little bird he was playing with back in the tree, fluffed it, and stepped back from the table.
“Nice display,” he offered. Finn didn’t pay any attention to either of us.
I said, “Finn, you can fly away now.”
“Just trying to be helpful,” he said, smiling, and then, seeing I was serious, added, “Okay then, hmm, I don’t think you should put the robin and the blue jay next to each other. They can’t seem to get along. And, I don’t like the look of the buzzard. I think he’s up to no good.”
“Thanks, Finn. I’ve got it covered,” I replied coolly, holding my hands out for the unruly birds.
“Don’t mention it,” he said and winked. Then J.C. and Finn met up with Grace and got in line for food.
I sat down, looked at the sign-up sheet, and smiled when I saw Finn and J.C.’s names on it. I took stock of the tables on either side. Not too far from me, Jason, wearing his basketball jersey, sat with the Programming Club—which he was president of despite being only a sophomore. Kara was on his lap. She hadn’t wasted any time. A few tables farther down, Meri’s brother, Leo, sat at the Guitar Club table. I was surprised he had time for guitar. He seemed to spend every waking minute in the pool for swim team or at home practicing the DiMaro family’s mandatory piano lessons. Then, I let my gaze drift around the cafeteria, and there, back in the corner, was my mystery friend from the bus.
He was sitting by himself with a book propped open in front of him, munching absently on a sandwich. He’d learned his lesson from Wednesday and wore a long-sleeved white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His purple tie was straight, and his headphones were draped over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair was shorter, but still waved playfully a little past his ears and over his collar.
Why did I have to be busy today? I could think of a hundred reasons, excuses, to stop by his table to introduce myself and satisfy my own wicked curiosity. I’d tell him I thought it sucked they made him cover his tattoo. As I watched, a few freshman girls sat down next to him and tried to talk to him, but he only hunched down more and pulled his book in closer. When they persisted, he took a last bite of his sandwich, nodded to them, threw out his trash and made his way to one of the club tables at the far end of the row.
He paused now and again, but didn’t pick anything up until he came to Leo and the Guitar Club. He leaned over the table, looking at the flyers that were laid out, and
he and Leo exchanged a few words. Leo wasn’t very welcoming or friendly, but the boy nodded and took some flyers anyway. He was almost to my table when Zoe, who wrote for the school newspaper, crowded her way into my field of vision.
“Hello, customer here!”
I forced my eyes up to her face. “Oh…sorry, what did you say?”
“I was asking for information for the newspaper. I’m doing a story on all the clubs in next week’s edition.”
“Oh, well…” I handed her a flyer just as my personal question mark reached my table.
“As I was saying…” Zoe babbled on.
He let his eyes and fingers linger on my brochures for a moment, and when he looked up from under his long lashes, his eyes were crinkled. His lips turned up in a slight smile. All trace of his former irritation was gone.
“Um…hey,” he whispered.
My heart raced a little, and I reached out and handed him a green flyer. I opened my mouth to speak.
“Cate! Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Zoe demanded. The boy suppressed a laugh. He was standing a step behind her, and did a perfect imitation of her stance and hand motions. I laughed, and pointed to my name on the flyer and then to myself.
“I know,” he mouthed from behind Zoe’s back and then pointed to the time on his phone and turned to leave. As he walked out of the cafeteria, I saw the book he was reading was one by Stephen Crane, The Red Badge of Courage.
“What? What’s funny?” asked Zoe, turning around, but he was already gone. Now he knew my name, but I didn’t know his. But he did have my phone number. It just wasn’t fair. What was I supposed to say? Come back! Tell me who you are! Not knowing is killing me! No, of course not. And Zoe was still peppering me with questions.
“So kids really sign up to do all this…wild animal stuff?”
“Yeah, Zoe. They do. Some of us call it ‘stewardship,’” I said. Then I tuned her out.
By the time I reached my study hall with Cici at the end of the day, all I could think about was the boy with the tattoo. I signed in, waved to Cici, and rested my forehead on my stack of unopened books, but the pressure of unfinished homework and the fight for A’s was already beginning. After a few minutes, I sat up and opened my math text. Cici sat at the table next to me, quietly working on French homework.
The numbers on the page were just starting to make sense when the classroom door opened, and a kid with rolled up shirt sleeves and old Converse sneakers walked up to the desk and signed in. Finally, in the very last period of the week, we shared a class. When he turned to sit, he saw me and waved slightly, then took the only empty seat, which was on the opposite side of the room.
The suspense of learning his connection to me was driving me insane. Think. How was I going to find out before the end of study hall? And then I had my answer. I slid out of my seat and approached the teacher’s desk to ask for a hall pass to get a drink of water. I hesitated for a moment, looking down at the sign-in sheet, and there it was, the name I’d been scouring my brain for since Wednesday.
It all clicked. I glanced his way, but he was preoccupied with something on his phone. Then a wave of memories flooded my head, and I grabbed my hall pass and headed for the water fountain, but instead of stopping, I walked right past it into the cold-tiled privacy of the bathroom. I leaned on the sink and stared into the mirror at my reflection, whispering, “Michael Casey, I remember you.”
THREE
THE CLADDAGH
MY MEMORIES OF the boy with the tattoo, now locked and loaded, fired with a force unstoppable. I became lost in the beginning of another school year, eight years ago.
“Welcome back from recess, class!” Sister Patricia exclaimed, clapping her hands. “We have a special surprise for all of you today! Gather around.”
My second grade classmates and I had just blown in from recess and were meandering about, trying to figure out what we were supposed to do next. Our faces were pink and our uniforms disheveled from playing out in the brisk autumn breeze blowing off Lake Erie.
As I hung up my pink denim jacket, a classmate pointed at my hair and giggled. I reached up and pulled out a few brown leaf shreds that were stuck in my frizzy curls. I pushed my glasses back up into place on my nose and then looked around the room. Standing before the blackboard was a small blonde boy in black pants and a white shirt. He was holding a pillowcase with a piece of twine tied around the top. My curiosity roused, I joined the kids on the floor and sat down.
“Now class, Michael brought his pet in to share with us, but before we begin, I need to remind you to be very quiet and very still. We don’t want to scare it. Go ahead, Michael.” Sister Patricia nodded her gray head toward Michael in encouragement. Michael didn’t look like he needed any encouragement. He looked out at his classmates, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes full of excitement.
“Well, before I take him out, you should know he can be dangerous, but I’m an expert, so don’t worry,” he said. Then he started untying the pillowcase.
Sister Patricia gave a little cough. “Maybe you better first tell us again what you have in there.”
“Oh, well, his name is Red Fang,” he began, continuing to untie the pillowcase and reaching into the bag. “And he’s my pet corn snake.” Then he pulled out the smallest and cutest red snake I had ever seen.
The tiny creature wasn’t any thicker than a pencil or longer than a ruler. But I guess the rest of the class didn’t think he was cute because all of a sudden, there was a loud shrieking sound as a few kids jumped to their feet and backed away. When Michael looked up, startled, the snake wriggled out of his hands and waved at light speed away from him across the carpeted floor.
“Nobody move!” shouted Michael. You might as well have told a waterfall not to fall, because the whole class was moving. Jumping on top of chairs. Colliding with one another. Running for the door.
“No! Don’t open the door!” cried Michael. I knew what Michael was worried about. First, he was afraid someone would step on his helpless little snake and second, if it escaped out the door, he might never find it.
The snake darted behind a stack of books next to the teacher’s desk, and I lunged for it, knocking over the weather calendar and the number chart, but I was too late. The little snake slithered under Sister Patricia’s desk. Then Michael was at my side.
“You take the side,” he said. “I’m going under. On my three.”
I could see Sister Patricia out of the corner of my eye nodding vigorously and waving us forward with a class full of children cowering behind her protectively outstretched arms. I pressed my lips together and nodded once to show him I understood.
He put his finger to his lips and then whispered, “One, two…three!” On three I leapt around the desk, and he dove under it, but it was my hand that circled Fang’s furiously wriggling body and then shot triumphantly up in the air to show off its prize. Blood trickled down my wrist from two microscopic puncture wounds, but I didn’t care.
Michael took his snake from me and smiled, “Thanks. I told you he was dangerous.” He held up his little friend and looked him in the eyes. “Are you okay, Fang? Did those kids scare you? They were very scared of you! You were very ferocious! Good snake!” Then he put Fang back into the pillowcase, tied it shut, turned to the class as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and said, “Well, that was Fang. I got him for my birthday last summer.”
There was a long beat of silence, and then a few kids clapped. One of the boys exclaimed, “Dude! That was awesome!” And then all of the boys were slapping him on the back, asking when they could come over to see his snake again.
Sister Patricia cleared her throat, “Well…thank you, Michael. Let’s all get back to our seats, now. We have a lot of…” she continued on, but I wasn’t paying any attention to her. I was looking at Michael and thinking, “How cool was that?”
I was pulled back to the present when a girl walked into the bathroom and banged open a few doors, looking
for a clean stall. She uttered “Ugh!” a few times before choosing an acceptable one and disappeared.
Dazed by the movie-like clarity of the memory, I was having trouble shaking it loose. I splashed some cold water on my face and patted it dry with a paper towel, then turned to leave. The door swung open, missing me by inches.
“Sorry,” apologized Cici, stepping into the bathroom. “What’s taking so long?”
“I know who the boy from the bus is.”
“Who?”
“Michael Casey!” I said. “He was in my second grade class at Saint Paul and then…” my voice trailed off as I tried to remember what happened to him. He’d been there right up until the week before First Communion, and then he’d stopped coming to school and didn’t receive the sacrament with the rest of us in May. I remembered, because it struck me as odd and so sad that he missed the big day after preparing all year for it. I started explaining this to Cici, but the door bumped her from behind, and a dark-haired girl from our study hall popped her head in.
“Sister Theresa wanted me to make sure you two were all right.”
“We were just on our way back,” I said. Back in the classroom, I looked for Michael, but he was gone. I asked the dark-haired girl where he went.
“Called to the office a few minutes ago,” she whispered. Sister Theresa cleared her throat and motioned with her eyes that we should take our seats. I gave Cici a desperate look, and we sat down.
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