Making Friends with Billy Wong

by Augusta Scattergood

  Here I was sure I had a new friend, and I’d gone and made him mad. All because of a puppy and the meanest boy on the planet. I had a lot to learn about making friends.

  Letter Not Sent to the

  Paris Junction Newspaper

  To Whom It May Concern:

  On Saturday, August 9, 1952, Billy Wong, age almost thirteen, and Azalea Morgan, age eleven, attempted to visit the pecan grove where the DeLoach family resides. Azalea had received news that a young puppy named Lady had come to the family’s trailer. When Billy and Azalea arrived, Willis threatened them. Although his sister invited them to play with her pet, Willis yelled hurtful names. And threw things.

  Mail at the house is not being read. The children are in charge of food and laundry.

  The parents, Mr. and Mrs. DeLoach, are not in residence.

  Authorities should check on this.

  Willis DeLoach has broken the law before.

  Billy Wong and Azalea Morgan fled the pecan grove, riding their bikes as fast as the wind.

  No one can know I was there.

  Billy Wong

  Trespasser, Writing Anonymously

  Clutching my handlebars to stay balanced, I fought the wind in my face all the way to Ruby Street. Once I hosed off my bike and propped it against the tree, I took the steps two at a time.

  “Azalea! You’re louder than a herd of wild buffalo. When I was coming up, girls knew how to behave.” Grandma Clark spun around in her wheelchair, looked at my muddy cowboy boots, and gasped. “Where have you been?”

  I kicked off my boots and caught my breath. “Riding my bike with Billy” was all I was confessing to.

  She adjusted her glasses to look out the window, then sniffed in a quick breath through her nose. “Your what?”

  “Mr. Jackson fixes up bikes for people. Good as brand-new. He gave it to me.” I wasn’t admitting Billy and I had trespassed in a pecan grove and discovered Willis and Lizzie living all by themselves. Grandma Clark knew Mr. Wong had warned Willis to stay out of his store. But Lizzie and Willis must be hungry and scared out there. Except for Willis, did Lizzie have anybody, even a bossy grandmother, looking after her?

  “I hope you aren’t going to ride all over town, getting into trouble.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  If I was better at figuring out what to say to people, maybe I’d have a good answer for my grandmother. Maybe I’d know whether to tell her where I’d been, what we’d seen. But I wasn’t used to getting in trouble any more than I was used to talking back to boys like Willis DeLoach.

  Grandma Clark jabbed at a bobby pin holding her gray bun neatly together. She was still staring at my new bike outside the window. “You need to give it back. If you want a bike, I’ll buy it.”

  “It’s not forever. More like a loan for as long as I’m in Paris Junction.” Yesterday I might have asked How much longer do you think that will be? Today all I could think about was Billy being mad and Lizzie being scared. “Please let me keep it. Billy wants me to ride down to the creek behind their store.”

  Of course, if I didn’t figure a way to make up with Billy, I might never hunt frogs at that creek.

  Grandma Clark smoothed the cotton apron over her lap. “I’m happy you and Billy are finding things to do. But if we keep this bike, you must be responsible, take care of it.”

  First of all, we won’t be keeping the bike. It’s mine. Then, as if she’d seen the picture in my head of her riding a bike, Grandma Clark said, “Doc Wiggins stopped by. Says as long as I’ve got you here, I can give this up.” She slapped her hands against the sides of the wheelchair. Twice. “Get my cane. I can stand on two feet and wear both shoes. Never needed this thing in the first place.”

  Holy moly. I had no answer for that.

  But I handed her the cane and watched her wobble around the kitchen before she collapsed into a chair. “Enough of this foolishness,” she said. “It’s past my suppertime.”

  So that’s why she was grumpy.

  I opened the icebox. Half-eaten casseroles. Milk. One apple. Four eggs and a wedge of cheese. Something inside the little freezer, wrapped up and hard as a brickbat. Supper didn’t look too promising from this side of the icebox door.

  Grandma Clark waited at the table while the cat clock on her wall moved so slow I was sure it was broken. But no, that tail was still swinging. Tick-tock, tick-tock, back and forth.

  “Fry me an egg,” she said. “And I don’t like eggs cooked in bacon fat.”

  “Don’t know how to fry eggs. But I can make grilled cheese in butter. Daddy’s a champ at grilled cheese.”

  “Glad to know he’s good for something,” Grandma Clark muttered. “Your mother mistakenly thought Johnny Morgan hung the moon and the stars.”

  “Daddy’s good at a lot of things. He can sing and play the ukulele. Bet you didn’t know that.” I slammed the icebox door, then buttered the bread, just so.

  “That reminds me. A package came yesterday.” She pointed to a square box mostly hidden behind a neighbor’s cake carrier. “Mr. Prentiss from the post office stopped by. Said it was too heavy for you to manage by yourself.”

  That’s the thing about Paris Junction. Everybody knows I’m here helping my grandmother, and they decide what I can carry three blocks. I looked at the return address. Our house in Texas. Okay, now I was mad. “This came yesterday?”

  I almost asked You’re just now telling me? Instead I bit my lip hard when Mama’s voice popped in my head, saying Be polite, Azalea. Truthfully, right this minute, it wasn’t so easy being polite.

  Grandma Clark leaned toward my package. I could tell she was dying to see inside.

  “Well, are you going to open it?”

  “When I finish making supper.” I didn’t talk while I flipped our sandwiches, letting the cheese ooze out like Daddy taught me.

  When Grandma Clark asked me to turn on the radio, I did.

  When she asked how Billy was, I said fine.

  When she asked how I liked my new bike, I answered with a smirk.

  As soon as the plates were washed, my so-called grandmother was in her room with her sewing basket in her lap. I snatched that present and stormed upstairs, rattling the pictures of all my dead relatives. So what if she thought door slamming was impolite. She was probably too deaf to hear. My grandmother acted like she hadn’t told me I had to give my new bike back to Henry Jackson. Or made me cook her supper. Or kept Daddy’s package a secret for an entire day. All she wanted was somebody—anybody!—helping her all the livelong day. She didn’t give a hoot whether it was me or a girl who practiced baking and flounced her hair. Like Daddy said, Grandma Clark could boss the legs off a chicken without ever saying please.

  As I opened the package, I thought about how Grandma Clark was up and walking on her own. And soon I’d be leaving Paris Junction and never coming back. I wouldn’t miss a soul. Well, maybe Billy Wong. But everybody else was nothing but mean. I peeled back the last tissue paper and a heavy glass paperweight slipped out. I read the note in my mama’s handwriting three times.

  Miss You, Azalea. Love, Mama and Daddy

  Holding the paperweight tight, I flung myself across the bed. Was this from the Grand Canyon? Was Daddy there without me? Why had Mama signed the card? I should be at the Grand Canyon! My grandmother didn’t need me. She didn’t even like me.

  Then I remembered what Daddy says. Don’t let the other feller get you down! I threw some water on my face and marched downstairs. A spider skittered across the banister, making me jump and catch my breath. But I smushed the spider and stomped out the front door. So what if Grandma Clark’s fragile knickknacks rattled.

  Who cared.

  Sitting on the porch steps, waiting for the sun to disappear behind the neighbor’s house across the street, I clutched my paperweight. Truthfully, I was pretty mad at Daddy for sending a gift—maybe from the Grand Canyon—without a word of explanation. I was mad at Grandma Clark for a whole bunch of reasons. And I was worried Billy might
give up being my friend. But when mosquitoes started to gnaw my arm off, I gave up frowning and tiptoed inside.

  By the time I helped my grandmother to bed and parked her cane close by, I was tired from pretending to be nice. I trudged upstairs and opened my sketchbook, trying hard to ignore the broken plate beside it. But I still couldn’t think of a single thing to draw. I doodled circles like the ones decorating my bike fender and stared out the window at the stars.

  Just as I was giving up being mad at everybody, just as I was about to fall asleep in my dark room, I heard something outside my window. The voice got louder. “Azalea!” Was that my grandmother? Grabbing a shirt to wear over my shorty pajamas, I raced downstairs.

  The kitchen light was on. The door open. But I didn’t see anybody anywhere. I hurried outside, calling “Grandma Clark!” over and over till my heart’s pounding drowned out the words.

  I found my grandmother sitting on the walk, rubbing her arm. Her cane had rolled away.

  “I must have tripped on a rock,” she said quietly.

  I knelt beside her, trying to get the words out. Through her thin nightgown, she was trembling, and I put my arm around her shoulder. “You walked down the steps by yourself?”

  “Thought I saw a light in the shed.”

  I glanced up just as a dim shadow flickered across the window. I didn’t know whether to run inside to call the police or keep my arm around Grandma Clark right here. Then the shed door opened, just a sliver. And somebody leaned out, holding a hoe like he was about to chop somebody else’s head off.

  Good gravy. Willis DeLoach? In my grandmother’s backyard?

  He ducked inside as quick as he’d popped out. Even though it was dark, I shot him a look, mad as everything. Grandma Clark stood up and wobbled toward the house. She held my arm tight and stared straight ahead.

  My words squeaked out. “I’m calling the doctor.” After I told the operator to get Dr. Wiggins to our house quick, I grabbed the metal ice tray from the freezer and rattled out some cubes. I tied the ice inside a dish towel like Daddy did when I turned my ankle funny.

  “Careful you don’t get that all over my floor. And get me a drink of water.” Grandma Clark winced but I held the ice close to her arm. We both shivered like a wind had blown through the kitchen.

  By the time she’d finished sipping her water, Dr. Wiggins had hurried from one street over. He bundled her arm to her chest with a big head scarf. “First thing in the morning, come to the clinic for an X-ray, Mrs. Clark. Think it’s only a bad sprain. Better safe than sorry.” He put two pills in her hand, clicked shut his black bag, and left as quick as he’d come.

  When I settled my grandmother into her bed, she reached for my hand and whispered, “I saw a light in that garden shed. Call the police, Azalea.”

  “Nobody’s out there, Grandma Clark.” Inside my head, I crossed my fingers at telling that fib. But I didn’t want to worry her. Biting my lip hard, I tucked the sheet around her and tiptoed into the kitchen.

  And there was Willis DeLoach with his forehead pressed against the screen door, looking straight in. After I’d gotten my voice back, I stood close to him and whispered, “What were you doing? Spying? Trying to steal something?”

  I slipped outside onto the step next to Willis. He kicked a rock off the walk and didn’t answer.

  “Maybe I’d better get Dr. Wiggins back. Or the police. Talk fast. Once that nosy telephone operator spreads the word, half the town will be lined up at our door with tuna casseroles and questions.”

  “I saw the shed and the hidden key when we worked out here,” he finally said. “Daddy’s gone to look after our mama.”

  “You’re staying all by yourself way out in the pecan grove? No mama and daddy?”

  “I’m almost fourteen. Old enough. But Lizzie was scared at the trailer.”

  “So you and Lizzie are both here? Oh, brother. Grandma Clark will skin me alive when she finds out you’re in her garden shed full of breakable treasures and I didn’t tell her.”

  “Sorry.” Not a lot of meanness was left in Willis’s voice now. “I saw that bed through the window. Mrs. Clark’s always helping people. Thought she wouldn’t care.”

  What had I said to make Willis think he could help himself to my grandmother’s garden shed?

  “Are you making a mess?”

  “No. We’re sleeping.” A little meanness crept back into his words. “You can’t make us leave. You aren’t the boss of this garden.” Willis turned and walked back to the shed.

  “Right this minute, I am the boss of this garden,” I said into the darkness.

  But I couldn’t make them leave in the middle of the night and I didn’t feel like arguing when Grandma Clark might be inside falling out of her bed. Or calling out my name, needing more water. I tiptoed inside, thinking about how my grandmother was helpful to most everybody. She wouldn’t want them out in that pecan grove, scared to pieces. I could picture Grandma Clark taking them in.

  Maybe I’d drop a hint or two.

  Then I remembered how hateful Willis was to Billy. How Miss Partridge claimed he’d stolen from Mr. Wong. What I’d seen that day at Lucky Foods.

  And I added in my head, Maybe I won’t.

  For the first two minutes after I woke up the next morning, I believed I’d dreamed everything. Then Dr. Wiggins X-rayed my grandmother’s arm. Told her not to budge all day. And I knew it was real.

  Pushing Grandma Clark’s wheelchair home from his clinic, I was shaking so hard I worried about falling flat on my face on the cracked sidewalk. What if she found Willis and Lizzie hiding in her garden shed? Sleeping all night in a place she told us to stay away from. And I hadn’t told the truth.

  Once my grandmother was resting, I put on a fake brave smile and said, “I’m in charge now. I’m taking over.” But truly, the last thing I wanted to be was in charge of anything.

  She twisted the bedsheets back and forth between the fingers of her good hand. “Don’t be such a worrywart, dear. It’s a sprain. I’ll be better soon.”

  It sounded like she was trying to make herself believe it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered.

  Sitting with the knobby bedspread’s bumps pressing on my sweaty legs, I smoothed out her pillow. Grandma Clark fiddled with her sheets again, then closed her eyes. “Thank you, Azalea,” she whispered.

  I might faint across her bed hearing those three words.

  Instead, I slipped into the hall and picked up the phone. “Reverse the charges,” I said when the operator asked me what I needed. I wasn’t about to say to the nosy telephone lady what I really needed: somebody to help. Mama to tell me what to do.

  I let it ring a thousand times before I placed the heavy black phone back on its cradle. I pictured Lulu sprawled on her favorite chair, listening. The thing is, my cat can’t talk. Nobody was at my house in Texas to help. So I did what my grandmother would do if she wasn’t in bed with a sprained arm. I walked outside, took the key off the hook, and checked the shed for damages. The bed was neatly made up. The chair was under the desk, the teacups and plates undisturbed, lined up perfectly. Willis and his sister were gone, and you’d never know they’d been there. Except that I knew.

  Sitting under the tree outside, I tossed a hard green tomato up and down. Up and down. Worrying about everything under the sun. But before I had time to figure out where Willis and Lizzie would sleep tonight or whether I’d be in Paris Junction till Halloween, Billy opened the back gate.

  I didn’t know what to say. But after he handed me a whole cooked chicken and yesterday’s Little Rock newspaper, Billy talked first. “Dr. Wiggins came in the store early this morning. My great-aunt sent this. You’re my last delivery. I can stay awhile.”

  “Did you get in trouble? About your bike?” I asked.

  “Not yet. But Azalea? I’m never going back out there. Willis is dangerous.”

  I turned Willis around in my head with that word, dangerous.

  “Sorry I made you ride t
o his trailer. We never should have gone out there.”

  “You’re right about that.” Billy rolled his eyes and smiled and I hoped we’d be friends again. We put the chicken in the kitchen icebox and headed back to the shade tree. We sat quietly, together. Billy wasn’t laughing and telling me about his new school like always, but he wasn’t leaving either.

  Then, almost as if he’d known we were talking about him, here came Willis and his little sister strolling up like they owned the alley. Truly, I’d rather dunk my head in a bowl of maple syrup and lie down on a fire-ant hill than talk to Willis right now.

  He stepped inside the fence, opened a piece of bubble gum, and broke off a piece. When he put it in his sister’s hand, he whispered, “Don’t say nothing.” But I heard him.

  I made myself look right at Willis. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m supposed to be here. Helping.”

  Helping, my left foot. Probably looking for a place for an afternoon nap. Willis sat his sister in a shady corner with her bubble gum. Took one piece himself and blew the world’s biggest bubble.

  I walked toward the spigot to turn on the hose and get away from Willis.

  “Hey, Azalea.” Oh, brother. Melinda Bowman, peeking around the side fence, wearing new white tennis shoes and even whiter socks. She handed me a plate of cookies.

  “Mama heard the news last night. She’s the main telephone operator.”

  “Thank you. I guess word travels fast in Paris Junction,” I said. “Especially if Mrs. Bowman hears it first,” I added under my breath.

  Billy was already picking dead leaves off dried bean vines, so I said, “Help me water the fig tree. And Willis, just because Grandma Clark isn’t in her garden doesn’t mean she’s not watching.” He looked toward my grandmother’s kitchen window, then picked up a shovel and snarled.