by Betsy Byars
“How?” she asked quickly, sitting forward on the edge of the sofa.
Fathers desert you, he told himself, friends lie about you, teachers humiliate you—and those are supposed to be the good guys. He sighed. “Oh, nothing,” he said.
“I want to know.”
“Forget I said anything.”
He went into his room and shut the door. As he flopped down on the bed, he remembered that was something his father used to say, “Everything’s just gotten so damn complicated.”
Good Things/Bad Things
That night as Simon lay in bed he decided to try to think of good things about Tony Angotti. This was because he now hated Tony so much he could not understand why they had ever been friends. He also, at this point, wanted to conceal from Tony how he felt, and that now seemed impossible, unless his hatred was somehow diluted.
He started thinking as soon as he got in bed, and it was ten o’clock before he thought of the first thing.
Good Thing #1.
At times Tony Angotti would say the right thing. Like, one time in third grade, he and Tony decided to bore a small hole in the school wall. Tony was in Room 104 that year and Simon was in 106. It was the first year they had been separated, and they wanted this hole so they could pass secret code messages to each other.
Simon brought a drill from home, hidden under his jacket, and during recess they began to work on the hole. Just when Simon was getting started, Mrs. Albertson came in.
“What are you doing?” she asked. She was right behind Simon.
He was so startled that he dropped the drill. Mrs. Albertson picked it up.
“Boring a hole,” he stammered.
Just then Mrs. Albertson and Simon heard a tapping on the wall. Simon knew it was Tony Angotti, directing the drill so the hole wouldn’t go through the blackboard.
Mrs. Albertson walked out into the hall and down to Room 104. There was Tony, waiting to see the drill come through. He was so excited that he didn’t see Mrs. Albertson until she touched his shoulder. Then he screamed.
“Come with me,” she said.
She sat them down and gave them a talk about respecting school property and made them promise not to drill any more holes. They promised even before she finished the sentence. When they were leaving the room, Tony turned and said, “Could we have his drill back. It’s borrowed.”
“After school,” Mrs. Albertson said.
Only a good friend, Simon reminded himself, would have asked about the drill.
Simon had no sooner thought of this than, against his will, he remembered a bad thing.
One time in second grade Tony told Miss Ellis that Simon had licked the icing off one of the Christmas cupcakes when he had only pretended to do that to be funny, and then Miss Ellis had made him take the cupcake that looked like it had been licked!
It was ten-thirty before Simon was able to think of another good thing about Tony Angotti.
Good thing #2.
At times Tony Angotti could be nice.
Like one day Simon was over at Tony’s house and Pap-pap was crying. This day everybody was busy, so nobody was paying any attention to him.
Finally Tony’s mother said, “Tony, go see what’s wrong with Pap-pap.”
“Why can’t Annette do it? I got company.”
“Where’s any company?”
He pointed to Simon.
“Go see about Pap-pap.” Mrs. Angotti raised her hand. Mrs. Angotti had a ring with a stone as big as a bird’s egg, and she could—Tony claimed—thump you on the head with it from ten feet away.
“All right!” Tony got up and backed out of the room.
* He and Simon went outside and sat on the bench by Pap-pap, who was crying harder now, wiping at his eyes with an old faded handkerchief.
“Is anything wrong?” Tony asked.
Pap-pap shook his head.
“Do you hurt?”
Again Pap-pap shook his head.
“Well, I’m supposed to find out what’s wrong!”
At last Pap-pap managed to speak. “I got too good a memory, that’s my trouble.”
“What?”
He mopped his eyes. “I was standing by the fence, see, over there by the bushes, and I smelled my mama’s apron.”
“What?”
“I used to be a puny little kid, see, and the big kids would pick on me, and I would run home crying and hide my face in my mama’s apron. I never forgot the way her apron smelled.” He started crying again. “Over there.” He waved with his handkerchief. “Over there, that’s my mama’s apron.”
“Show me,” Tony said in a nice voice.
The three of them got up and walked over to the fence. They stood there in a gush of warm air. Simon realized they were standing by the vent from the Angottis’ stove and Mrs. Angotti was cooking peppers in olive oil.
“That’s it?” Tony asked.
Pap-pap wiped his eyes, nodding.
“Nice,” Tony said, breathing deeply.
Pap-pap nodded again, smiling a little now, happy to be sharing the smell of his mama’s apron with them. Simon was smiling a little himself.
And the three of them stood there together, inhaling, until Mrs. Angotti finished frying peppers.
Then again, right away, Simon remembered another bad thing about Tony Angotti.
When they were in first grade, they used to play the game “Simon Says” on rainy days. Since Simon was the only student named Simon, Mr. Repokis let him start the game a lot. Those were Simon’s happiest moments in first grade.
“Simon says, ‘Stoop down,”’ he’d yell, as happy as a dictator. “Simon says, ‘Hands on your ears.’” He could have gone on like that for hours.
Then one day, after one of his best games, in which even Wanda Sanchez had been tricked, Tony said, “You should stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Leading that stupid game.”
“Why?” Simon had been genuinely surprised. He had thought he was the envy of the class.
“Because you lisp.”
“What?”
“You lisp!” he said. “Thimon thays thtoop down!”
“That’s—that’s because of my teeth,” Simon said, both lisping and stuttering now.
“Well, it still makes you look thupid!”
After that, Simon did not try to think of any more nice things about Tony Angotti.
T-Bone’s Invitation
Cybil’s sister Clarice was out on the roof of the porch. She had been there twenty minutes, sitting like a Hindu, facing out over the yard.
“Come in off the roof, Clarice,” Mrs. Ackerman called.
“I’m not coming in until Cybil apologizes for calling me Bony!”
“Cybil!”
“Well, Mom, she is bony, and you told us always to be truthful.”
“Cybil!”
“All right, all right. I apologize ...”
Clarice got up and crawled to the window. As her foot went over the sill, Cybil added, “... to Skinny!”
Clarice bounced back onto the porch roof. “Mom, now she’s calling me Skinny!”
“Cybil!”
“Listen, Mom, she’s on the roof, and you told us we couldn’t play on the roof because it made us look like the monkey house at the zoo.”
“Cybil!”
“All right! I apologize to Glamorous!”
“That’s more like it.” Clarice began climbing in the window again.
Cybil started to say something else, but she caught sight of Simon across the street. “Oh, Simon, wait a minute. Don’t go away. I’m coming out.”
Simon had been standing beneath a tree, in the shadows, watching the house. He had intended to walk by slowly, pretending to have lost something, but he had become so interested in the sight of Clarice sitting on the roof that he had forgotten his plan.
He waited dutifully until Cybil came running out of the house. “Guess what? Harriet’s having a pet show, and she wants you to come and bring your
dog.”
“T-Bone?”
“Yes.”
Simon was caught by surprise by the invitation; he knew Harriet would not want him at anything other than a hanging.
“T-Bone’s not much for shows,” he said.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“And also I don’t think Harriet would want me
to come. She has it in her mind that I called her a—well, that I called her something unattractive.”
“A tub of blubber?”
“Yes.”
“She’s forgotten about that.”
“I don’t think so. I know the sacks of potatoes haven’t. They keep hitting me with their books in the hall.”
“I want you to come.”
He hesitated, decided to level with her. “My dog —look, we got him at the pound. And the day my mom and I went over there—well, it was on a Friday, and they put all the dogs that are left to sleep on Saturday, and he was the only dog left.” He swallowed. “So we didn’t choose him, you know, because he was real beautiful or cute or spotted or anything like that. We chose him because he was left.”
“But I like dogs that are just dogs. I want him to come. And, listen, there’s a prize for best costume. He could win that.”
Simon shook his head. If T-Bone was anything like him—and Simon often felt the kinship—then he wouldn’t want to wear a costume either.
“I want you to come. Tony’s coming.”
His head snapped up. “Tony Angotti?”
“Yes.”
“Tony doesn’t even have a dog.”
“He’s going to borrow his aunt’s poodle, and it can pop balloons and open its own Gainesburgers and say its prayers. Guess what its name is?”
Simon shook his head.
“Miss Vicki!” She grinned and crossed her eyes.
Normally this would have turned his knees to Jell-O, but the news about Tony alarmed him.
“When did you see Tony?” he asked.
“Just about fifteen minutes ago. He was walking by the house looking for something he lost.”
“Oh.”
“At first I said, ‘No.’ You can’t borrow a pet, because somebody could go out and borrow Lassie and win all the prizes. But he said it was a family dog that belonged to the whole family, so anyway he’s coming, and he thinks Miss Vicki can win Best Behaved and Best Costume and Best Trick. I suppose I shouldn’t give this away, but guess what Miss Vicki’s costume’s going to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“A baby cap and diaper!”
There was a pause while she grinned. In the pause Simon said, “You know, I believe I will come to the pet show. If Tony’s going to be there—I mean, well, if my friend’s going to be there, I want to be there too.”
“Great! It’s tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock.”
“T-Bone and I will be there.”
The Love Quiz
Simon walked to Tony’s house with his face set. He was furious. He felt somehow like a character in that fairy tale where the little pigs tell the wolf to meet them at six o’clock and then they go at five and get all the apples. He had no idea what he would do when he actually saw Tony, but he knew he had to confront him.
He rang the bell, waited. “Come on in. I want to show you something,” Tony said. He pulled Simon in by the shirt.
“I understand you were over at Cybil’s this morning, that you lost something and were looking for it,” Simon said in a voice carefully drained of emotion.
“I didn’t lose anything. I was doing an errand for my mom, and Cybil comes running out on them Popsicle legs of hers. ‘Wait a minute, Tonnnnnnnny.’ Guess what she wanted? She wanted me to come to a pet show. I said, ‘I ain’t got no pet.’ She said, ‘Borrow one.’ I thought she was going to get down on her knees, so I finally said, ‘All right, I’ll borrow my aunt’s poodle.’ Come on.”
He looked both ways and then slipped into his sister’s room. “I got to show you this,” he said.
“What is it?”
“It’s a quiz—a love quiz—you take it to find out if you’re in love.”
“Why would you be taking a quiz like that?” Simon asked in the same flat voice.
“I’m not taking it. It’s my sister. Annette’s taking it to find out if she’s in love with—guess who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bubsie Frasure!” He laughed. “Bubsie Frasure —you know he led our school patrol last year. If we got out of line, he’d stamp his foot? Well, look at this. You’ll love it, Simon. Question One: Do you think about this person (a) occasionally (b) often (c) most of the time (d) all the time?” He looked at Simon. “And, Simon, my sister—I’m ashamed to tell you this—my sister has checked (d). My sister thinks about Bubsie Frasure all the time.”
Simon sighed.
“Simon, all the time! That don’t leave room for arithmetic, nuclear energy, world affairs—nothing!”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Question Two: When you are not with this person you are (a) happy (b) content (c) unhappy (d) miserable. My sister once again has gone for the big D. Simon, she is miserable when she’s—” Suddenly he lowered the notebook. “Hey, want to spy on them?”
“No.”
“They’re on the back porch. We just have to crawl into the family room and hide under the picture window. Come on.”
Tony gave Simon a tug on his T-shirt, and they left the room. Simon, eyes cold and unsmiling, followed. They crouched beneath the window in time to hear this conversation:Annette: What are you thinking about, Bubsie?
Bubsie: Nothing.
Annette: Really, what are you thinking about?
Bubsie: Nothing!
Annette: (getting kind of desperate)
But they say we’re always thinking of something.Bubsie: Even when we’re asleep?
Annette: Yes, isn’t that wild?
Bubsie: Then I guess I must be thinking of something.
Annette: What?
Tony punched Simon to get his attention. Then he grinned a Groucho Marx grin and crossed his eyes.
Bubsie: I guess I was thinking about what I’m going to be doing tomorrow.
Annette: What are you going to do tomorrow?
Bubsie: Oh, just mess around.
The conversation on the porch continued, but Simon did not hear it. He was stunned. He had never seen Tony Angotti cross his eyes before. He had never known he could cross his eyes—and Tony was not one to keep a talent like that hidden for three years. He felt confused, suspicious, betrayed. His face started to burn.
“Let’s go. This is boring.” Tony mouthed the words.
They straightened, walked into the hall and through the kitchen. Simon stumbled over the doorsill and onto the porch in time to hear Annette say, “Bubsie, what are you thinking about now?”
“I have to go,” Simon said quickly. He did not look at Tony. He knew all his emotions—even the ones he didn’t understand—would be revealed in his red face.
Then he added defiantly, “I’m going to the pet show too, and I have to find a costume for T-Bone.”
“You’re taking T-Bone to the pet show?”
“Yes.”
“T-Bone?”
“Yes!”
“No offense, pal, but T-Bone—unless they’re giving a prize for the dog who looks like he swallowed the most rotten bird—well, he hasn’t got a prayer.
“I’ll see you there,” Simon said. He kept his hands in his pockets so he would not smash Tony Angotti in the face.
The Pirate
“What on earth are you doing?” Simon’s mother asked from the doorway.
He jumped as if he had been caught committing a crime. “Nothing,” he said quickly. He snatched the pirate’s hat from T-Bone’s head and attempted to hide the eye patch under his knee.
“Are you making a costume for the dog?” she asked. She moved into the room.
“What if I am?” he said, trying for dignity.
“Well, it j
ust seems so odd. I cannot imagine you making a dog costume.”
“We’re going to a pet show,” he said calmly. He waited, hoping she would go back to the kitchen so he could work on the eye patch.
His mother burst out laughing. He looked back at her. She was leaning against a chair, holding her waist.
“There’s nothing funny about that,” he said.
She laughed harder. “It wouldn’t be funny if it were anybody but you. I mean, you’re so odd about costumes and never wanting to be noticed. And here you are dressing T-Bone up like Moshe Dayan!”
“He is a pirate, Mom.”
“Well, all I saw was the eye patch.” She laughed again and then tried to stop. She said, “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just been such an awful day. I had to type four reports, and Mr. McBee came in and—”
“No, don’t apologize. I’m delighted to be the object of such hilarity.”
“Now, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at—” She paused to think of the object of her laughter.
“At what?” T-Bone nudged his knee, and the eye patch, a flimsy item made of cardboard and black elastic, fluttered into view.
His mother looked away. “Oh, I don’t know. I better get back to the kitchen.” At the door she paused. “May I ask one favor?”
“You can ask.”
“Let me see T-Bone before you go, when he’s all in costume. Just let me see!”
“No, Mom, you’ll laugh.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“You always promise and then you laugh.”
“This time I won’t.”
“It’s a terrible thing when a boy cannot believe his own mother.”
He glanced back at her. She was in the doorway, watching him with a faint smile on her face. She ran her hands through her short hair.
In the year after his dad left, Simon would have said, “Did you laugh at Dad like this? Isn’t that really why he left?” But he had grown beyond that. He liked it when his mother laughed, and his dad probably had too.
He looked down at T-Bone and pulled out the pirate hat. He straightened it.
“I want T-Bone to look better than Tony’s dog. I want T-Bone to beat him,” he admitted.
