Adam Canfield, Watch Your Back!

by Michael Winerip

  There was only one problem. Devillio was famous for saving every scrap of paper, locked in dozens of filing cabinets in the stockroom next to his office. He kept copies of all the judging forms. He had science project papers he’d shown Adam’s class that were twenty years old.

  Adam worried that if he handed in a phony project description, Devillio would pull it out of his stupid stockroom files later on and use it to disqualify Adam. The Devil would make up a rule like “Any project that doesn’t match its abstract is an automatic zero.”

  So Adam was gambling. He’d make his abstract basically truthful — basically. But he would also make the description so vague that it would be hard to tell what the project was really about.

  He was hoping that Devillio would never read the abstract.

  Or if Devillio did take a glance, Adam was hoping he’d only look at the title.

  Or if by some miracle Devillio did read past the cover, Adam was betting that he’d only skim the first page.

  For this reason, Adam had selected the largest font that he could get away with, 18 point, so there’d be as few words as possible on the first page. At the top, he put a quote from Emerson that sounded smart but said nothing: “Men love to wonder and that is the seed of science.”

  He worked hard so that you had to read to the end of the final page to have a clue what he was up to. And even then, you wouldn’t be sure unless you knew what the project was.

  For half an hour, he’d been staring at his latest title:

  A SURVEY OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PARENT SUPPORT AND STUDENT SCORES

  It was close, but not right. He stood up, walked around, jumped up and touched the ceiling twenty-seven times in a row — a record — then got down on the floor and did a headstand for a minute and thirty-four seconds. Finally, he saw the problems. Three things needed sharpening. From the word survey, Devillio might figure out that Adam was going to question kids at school. Also parent. That could be dangerous. Devillio might remember that Adam had complained about parents doing kids’ projects. And scores. Too specific. Adam didn’t want Devillio wondering exactly which scores were being looked at.

  He played and played with it and finally came up with:

  A STUDY OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ADULT SUPPORT AND STUDENT ACHIEVEMENT

  He kept saying the words in his head. Nice and scientific. Exactly what he’d be doing. Yet they kept his secret.

  Before science class, he showed the title to Jennifer. “This sound OK?” he asked.

  She read it a few times — he could see her lips moving over the words. “No offense,” she said, “but I don’t have a clue what it’s about.”

  “Yes!” Adam cheered.

  “You,” Devillio hissed, and a chill went through Adam. He’d called attention to himself — what a fool.

  “Can’t you see I’m on my cell?” Devillio said. “Quiet down. Your abstracts are due. Pass them to the front. Then get out your nervous-system packets. I’ll be a minute.” And he disappeared into his office.

  As the abstracts moved from the back to the front desks and as they slid across the front desks to the last desk on the right, Adam watched his disappear into a large, anonymous pile. It was like a game he used to play with Danny. They’d try keeping an eye on an autumn leaf until it blended into a larger pile and was lost.

  His abstract was gone, one among many now, never to be read again, he hoped.

  He pulled out his To-Do list and crossed off the abstract. He was feeling lucky. Shadow was next.

  Adam went looking for Shadow at lunch but didn’t find him. He kept walking by 107A, but the door was always closed. After school, he raced out to the pickup area looking for the small special-ed buses, but missed them. An aide said those buses left early so those kids wouldn’t get trampled by the rest of the school.

  Shadow really was a kid in the shadows.

  Then it dawned on Adam. The Rec Center. Shadow had said he worked for some guy, Mr. Johnny Something, at the Rec.

  As often as Adam had been there for swim team, he had never been in the Rec offices. He waited to ask the lady at the front desk where he might find this Mr. Johnny Something. She was checking pool passes and was swamped with everyone rushing in. Kids in groups of two and three came jumping out of vans, SUVs, and Humvees and were streaming by, swim bags over their shoulders, boys and girls, from elementary to high school, laughing and horsing around. It was so busy that Adam had to wait several minutes.

  The woman told him the offices were around back; there was a separate entrance Adam didn’t know about. You had to go outside and behind the building.

  It was a miserable winter night, moonless and freezing cold. The north wind blew through him, and it occurred to Adam that even if Bernoulli’s inverse windchill phenomenon was a total fraud, he missed it.

  That wasn’t the only thing he missed. He walked all the way around before realizing he’d missed the back entrance. The doors were metal, painted blue, the same color as the cinderblock walls and hard to pick out in the dark.

  He knocked, but no one answered, knocked again, then squeezed the latch to open the door. He stepped up three stairs and into a room with several old, dirty metal desks, all unoccupied. It felt like a sauna — he could hear the rumble of the boiler, which had to be running twenty-four hours a day to heat the pool. “Hello,” he called. “Hello.”

  Nothing.

  Walking down a hallway, he poked his head into each room. These were empty, too. The rooms needed painting and looked like they were furnished by the Salvation Army — a mix of chipped metal desks, beat-up armchairs, and ratty sofas. Bags of sports equipment were piled in corners. The offices smelled like a men’s locker room — musty, with a strong whiff of deodorant that delivered twenty-four-hour protection. The only clean items were the calendars, which were identical in every office. From an ad at the top, they appeared to have been furnished by Tookey Berry’s Billiards & Paintball Emporium and featured a summery photo of a pretty lady with only half a bathing suit.

  Finally, at the fourth office, Adam saw him. Shadow was sitting on a busted sofa that was tilting to one side — as was Shadow. On his lap was a stack of blue papers, and he was asleep. All around were piles of envelopes, arranged in neat stacks. Shadow had apparently been stuffing envelopes for a mailing. Adam gently picked up a blue notice from his lap. It was about a swim meet in March. Somewhere in those piles was an envelope stuffed by Shadow and heading to Adam’s house.

  Adam plopped down in an armchair across from Shadow and waited.

  A door slammed several offices away, and Shadow opened his eyes. Without lifting his head, he picked up a blue paper, folded it in thirds, stuffed it in an envelope, and placed it in the proper pile.

  Adam didn’t want to scare him, so he softly said, “Noticing anything about how neat the piles are?”

  Shadow blinked at Adam, then looked up like he was searching for a hole in the ceiling. “You weren’t here,” Shadow said. “Are you in a dream?”

  “No,” said Adam. “You fell asleep. You were sleeping when I walked in.”

  Shadow nodded. “Napping on the job is not a good habit to get into,” said Shadow. “But do not worry. Mr. Johnny Stack says when it comes to a hard worker like you-know-who, it’s no problemo, baby, the county’s getting its money’s worth.”

  “I have no doubt,” said Adam. “You work harder than any kid I know. Actually, Shadow, the reason I came is I wanted to apologize.”

  “Why are you apologizing?” asked Shadow. “Did you fart? I didn’t hear anything. If no one hears it, you don’t have to apologize; you can pretend it wasn’t you. Was it you?”

  “No,” said Adam. “I was apologizing for something bigger.”

  Shadow nodded and was quiet for a moment. “Because you didn’t guess,” he said. “It wasn’t polite.”

  “That’s right,” said Adam. “Even worse, when you were trying to tell me something important, I didn’t listen.”

  “That’s right
,” said Shadow. “I had something important, and I am an important somebody. Mr. Johnny Stack says you’d have to be a fool not to see that.”

  “A fool am I,” said Adam. “But I’m trying to do better. Look, Shadow, it took a while, but I think I did get your point — that your brother was one of the kids who stole my shoveling money?”

  Shadow nodded.

  “I appreciate it,” Adam continued, “but I have to tell you, you shouldn’t be talking about it to me. There’s a court case, and you don’t want your brother getting in more trouble.”

  “No problemo, baby,” Shadow said. “My brother is already in more trouble. He’s been in more trouble for a long time. My brother is in more trouble with me, too. He beat me on my head with a pipe. Really hard. He doesn’t like me even though he’s supposed to by law ’cause he’s my brother. He says I’m a big mental case. He says it’s my fault we lived in so many foster houses and no one wants to adopt us. He said, ‘No one’s going to adopt a retard.’ He hit me on my head. Really hard. I got fourteen stitches.”

  Adam got a sick feeling. This creep was really bad news.

  “Did you ever get fourteen stitches?” asked Shadow. “Want to see my scar? It’s not too scary. My hair hides it.”

  “That’s OK,” said Adam.

  “You won’t have to get fourteen stitches,” Shadow said. “My brother is in jail. Mr. Johnny Stack said he screwed up one too many times. Mr. Johnny Stack said this time they threw away the key.” Shadow tossed an imaginary key over his shoulder. “Mr. Johnny Stack said that’s one less punk walking the streets.”

  Adam felt relieved. This must have been what Shadow was trying to tell him at the basketball court — that his brother wouldn’t be bothering Adam anytime soon.

  “I don’t like him even though he is my brother,” said Shadow. “We don’t live together, ever since I was a little snapper.”

  “Little snapper?” Adam repeated. Shadow was like an unstoppable force, kind of like Phoebe. Once he was set in motion, you had to wait for him to run out of gas. Adam wasn’t surprised Shadow’s life was hard — just the way Shadow dressed and even from his smell, you could guess. But Adam didn’t want to hear every detail. It was too sad. “Does Mr. Johnny Stack call you a little snapper?” Adam asked.

  “Mr. Johnny Stack calls me Theodore. He says, ‘That’s your Christian name; that’s what we’re going to call you. Period.’ My caseworker called me little snapper. She was my fourth caseworker. Her name was Miss Daisy, like the flower, always stayed an extra hour. Nice lady. I had nine so far. You want to hear? I can say all their names.” He held up his fingers to count. “Mrs. Coley was roly-poly. Mrs. Ritter with two t’s was there one minute then gone like the breeze. Mrs. Scolli with an i . . .”

  “Geez,” said Adam. He thought of world history class again, those epic poems that the Greeks made up so they could remember all their heroic battles. That’s how Shadow’s life sounded, as many battles as the Greeks.

  “You can rememberize anything if you rhyme it,” Shadow continued. “It’s a trick. A good trick. You want to hear everywhere I lived? That’s a poem, too. Number nine, Highland Road, I lived there when I was one years old. Number twelve, Harborview —”

  “You lived there when you were two,” said Adam.

  Shadow looked stunned. “How do you know?” he asked. “Did you live there?”

  “A guess,” said Adam. “Shadow, you’re amazing.”

  “I know,” said Shadow. “Mr. Johnny Stack says I’m Amazing Grace, except my name is Theodore.”

  “Mr. Johnny Stack coming back soon?” Adam asked.

  Shadow explained that Mr. Johnny Stack was gone for the day. “It is perfectly OK for me to stay in his office until the Rec closes at ten,” said Shadow. “A safe, warm place on a cold night —”

  “I got to go, Shadow,” said Adam. “I’ve missed most of swim practice. I need to duck my head in the pool so I smell like chlorine before my folks get here. Look, how can I find you at school? I went hunting for you today but couldn’t find you.”

  “You went hunting for me?” Shadow said. “Was I missing?”

  “Nope,” said Adam. “I just wanted to know in case I had something to tell you. When’s your lunch?”

  Shadow had first lunch, with the elementary kids; he said he didn’t change rooms like most kids, just stayed in Room 107A all day.

  Adam hoisted his swim bag over his shoulder. “What time you getting picked up?” he asked. “It’s late.”

  “I don’t get picked up,” said Shadow. “I walk.”

  Adam asked the address and recognized it as the Willows. “That’s pretty far,” said Adam.

  “No problemo, baby,” said Shadow. “One-point-three miles exactly. Mr. Johnny Stack measured it in his van. We watched the numbers go up. Tenths are in the little box at the end. They go faster than miles. Mr. Johnny Stack says you can walk four miles in one hour if you don’t dillydally. So 1.3 miles is way less than one hour.”

  “If you don’t dillydally,” said Adam.

  “That’s right,” said Shadow. “Did Mr. Johnny Stack tell you, too?”

  “There’s no need for this,” said Jennifer. “I Googled ‘tree-falling deaths’ and got 16.4 million hits. I have plenty of information to make my decision.”

  “That’s exactly what’s wrong with news today,” Adam shot back. “Editors and reporters spend way too much time indoors. They surf the Web and think they’ve visited real places. . . . Put your foot there. Sometimes I feel like there’s only four people in the entire country who go outside and do stuff and everyone else is online, posting comments about them. . . . No, over there, grab that. Put your hand there. Now pull.”

  “This won’t change my mind,” said Jennifer. “Ow! I scratched myself. See?”

  “You’ll live,” said Adam. “Come on, a little more. It’s worth it, I swear to God.”

  “Why are you swearing to God?” said Jennifer. “You never go to church. You are such a hypocrite, Adam Canfield.”

  “Oh,” said Adam. “So God only listens to people at church, you know that, right? The other foot — put the other foot there.”

  “That’s it — I’m not going any higher,” said Jennifer. “We have so much work. You just want to get out of it. I’m heading down. My hands are freezing.”

  “Look,” Adam said. “You’re almost there. Please. Just look around. Smell the air. Put your foot on that branch, your hand on that one. Now swing over. You did it! I just wanted you to get to here. You can see everything. Lean back. It’s great this time of year, with the leaves off.”

  Jennifer was quiet, finally. If this didn’t convince her Phoebe’s tree story was worth saving, nothing would. It was almost dark; they could still see their breath in the cold. Lights were coming on all over town. From up this high, they could spy the red lights of a cargo ship moving down the Tremble River and the green lights of buoys bobbing on the river and the boatyard all lit up with white headlights from pickups and SUVs arriving for the night shift. A train was pulling in from the city. People were coming home from work. Cars were turning into driveways. Houses were lighting up.

  “Geez,” said Jennifer. “I didn’t know. It looks so cozy and dreamy. Like a magic village.”

  “This tree’s older than the country,” said Adam. “I bet Indians sat where we are now.”

  Jennifer nodded. “I get it,” she said.

  He pounded his fist against the trunk. “Doesn’t sound hollow to me.”

  “Hope not,” Jennifer said quietly.

  He grabbed the branch overhead and let his feet go, dangling, his arms fully extended. “Does not feel like a tree that’s about to fall down,” he said, swinging back and forth.

  Jennifer gasped. “Stop!” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

  Adam put his feet back on the branch. He noticed how tight she was holding on. “How come you never climbed it?” he asked. “I thought every kid did.”

  “I’m afraid of height
s,” said Jennifer.

  Adam looked at her. “Whoa,” he said. “This is a funny time to mention that.”

  “Look,” said Jennifer. “I’d rather die of fear in this tree than hear you say one more time that I’m this typical editor spending too much time indoors.”

  “Jennifer,” he said. “I didn’t mean you. I meant typical editors in general.”

  “You did so mean me,” she said. “And I don’t ever want to hear it again. I’m plenty outdoors, and it’s not even my story — it’s Phoebe’s.” Jennifer gestured so dramatically, she lost balance and let out a shriek. Panicking, she flattened her body against the branch, wrapping her arms and legs tight around it.

  “You OK?” asked Adam.

  “No,” said Jennifer.

  “I think it’s time to go down,” he said.

  “You go without me,” she said.

  “Listen,” said Adam. “If I don’t get you down, your parents will kill me. And worse — I’ll have to work alone with Phoebe.”

  “Would serve you right,” said Jennifer. “It would be worth dying, knowing that at least I got something out of it.”

  “Let’s go,” said Adam.

  “I can’t,” said Jennifer. “I think I’m paralyzed with fear.”

  “Can you stick out your tongue?” asked Adam.

  Jennifer stuck out her tongue.

  “Can you say, ‘Poopy-doody, poopy-doody’?”

  “Poopy-doopy, doody-poody.”

  “Close enough,” said Adam. “You’re definitely not paralyzed with fear. You’re just very scared. Hold on.” He climbed down past her.

  “Where you going?” she asked.

  “Relax,” he said. He moved directly under her and put his right hand on her right ankle. “It’s an old Boy Scout trick,” he said. “Loosen your right foot. . . . Good . . . I’m going to guide it to the branch below. No — don’t look down. Look straight ahead. And when you feel your foot on the branch, you’ll lower your weight onto it.”