He tried it out. “Just a minute, I have to go to the bathroom.”
“And sometimes—if she’s not buying it—kind of jump around a little like you really gotta go. That even works on Mrs. Vera. I’ve done it a hundred times.”
Hank repeated the phrase and nodded. He took a bite of Popsicle and got a brain freeze. It was the best he’d felt all day.
10.
The first time Hank’s mom found him in the garage he almost blew it.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He was getting his sleeping bag from the storage unit, but he couldn’t tell her that. He pulled at the hem of his shirt and glanced nervously around the garage.
“Hank,” she said. “What are you doing?”
He remembered Maisie’s advice and excused himself to pee. Then he ran out of the garage, and it was exactly like Maisie had said. He came back to find his mom chasing after Sam and that was that. It was like his mom had never spied him. He went back to the garage, grabbed his sleeping bag, and hid it in his closet. Then, feeling himself relax just a little, he sat in front of his bookshelf and began to say aloud his different kinds of rocks.
He was much better prepared when his mom found him checking his mess kit, and then when his dad found him counting his tent poles, and then again when his dad found him walking into his room with a big can of peanuts and his camping backpack.
“What’s with all the camping stuff?” asked his dad.
“Just a minute, I have to go to the bathroom.”
“That’s it, mister,” said his mom, watching from the other end of the hall. “You’re going to the doctor.”
She made an appointment for Monday.
When Hank told Maisie the next morning, she said, “Well, the jig will be up then. You can never fool medical science. But I don’t think things will get that far. A real-estate van was parked in front of Mr. Jorgensen’s house for a long time yesterday. Colleen will be back soon. And then…” She starting humming their song, but it was more than their song now. It was their code.
Hank gulped. “I’ll be ready.” He started humming too.
She shrugged. “You’ve got all your supplies then?”
He nodded. His hands wouldn’t stop spinning.
His mom noticed it right away when he got home. “You nervous about something, Hank?”
He ran to the bathroom and frowned at the now babyproofed toilet.
When he came back his mom shook her head and said, “I really wish I could have gotten you into the doctor sooner.”
It was definitely a Jungle Book night. Only Mowgli and Baloo could help him now. He sat on the couch, watched the movie, and talked in sync with the characters.
“You sure everything is okay?” asked his dad, wrapping an arm around him. “You seem pretty tense.”
He murmured back, “The bare necessities of life.”
“They’ll come to you,” answered his dad. “They’ll come to you.”
The phone rang and Hank’s mom handed it to him. “It’s Maisie. She has a homework question.”
Hank hoped that that was true, but he knew it wasn’t. He knew Colleen had arrived.
“Tomorrow,” Maisie told him. “Just like we planned.”
He swallowed and croaked, “Just like we planned.” He hung up the phone and went straight to his room. He paced the floor and told himself over and over, “We gotta save Booler. Booler is my friend. Booler is counting on me. And Maisie too. And Booler gets so scared. And the evil daughter will kill Booler if we don’t do something. And we could be heroes. Just for one day—or a few.”
When he finally went to sleep he was clutching a framed picture of his family. He had not planned on bringing the picture with him. He knew that real campers travel light, but when he woke up in the middle of the night he shoved it into his camping backpack along with his sleeping bag and camping gear. Then, while everyone still slept, he made ten ham and cheese sandwiches. He stuck them in a cloth sack along with the peanuts and hid everything behind the bushes in the front yard.
He went back to bed and somehow managed to fall asleep—and stay asleep—until his mom came and got him. Then, like he was watching himself in a dream, he got dressed. He ate his breakfast, and when it was time for school he said good-bye to his mom, dad, and Sam and he left. He looked at his house one last time, collected his gear, and started walking.
He met Maisie halfway between their houses. That was the plan and that was what they did. Maisie was holding Booler by a leash that they had often used while walking the dog. She wore a purple backpack and hiking boots, and under one arm she carried Booler’s water dish and his tug-of-war rope. “ ’Cuz you know Booler doesn’t want to get bored,” she explained.
Booler jumped up on Hank and licked his nose. “Good dog,” mumbled Hank, a lump in his throat from how real this plan had suddenly become. “You’re my friend. You’re counting on me. Maisie too.”
Maisie turned to face the mountain. “That the closest forest?”
Hank tightened the straps on his backpack. “It is.”
“Then let’s go.” Her voice was serious and steely, like a superhero, and it helped Hank embrace his courage.
They walked for a while. Then Hank’s head started to bob up and down. His sweaty hands on the straps of his pack, he sang, “Though nothing, nothing will keep us together—”
Maisie’s shoulders rocked left and right and she joined in.
They sang for a while more. Then Maisie squeezed Hank’s arm and said, “We are going to be heroes, Hank. Just wait and see.”
They walked another block and Maisie said, “Hey, how long will it take to get to the forest anyway?”
Longer than they thought.
For such a close mountain it turned out to be pretty far away. After an hour of walking they were still on a flat plain surrounded by houses and yards, but eventually the houses thinned and the yards got bigger, and some yards now even had horses. Once, a horse looked over a fence at them as they walked by and Hank and Maisie were able to stop and pet it. Booler wagged his tail, interested in the unfamiliar scent and animal. The horse whinnied and Maisie laughed. She had never been so close to a horse.
They stopped and ate two of Hank’s ham and cheese sandwiches, throwing their crusts to Booler and filling Booler’s water dish and their own water bottles from a spigot they found near a stable. A few cows grazed nearby and Hank told Maisie about the dairy farm the class had visited in third grade. Everyone in the class had had a chance to pet a cow and three kids even got to try to milk the cow, but not Hank because he was not about to go anywhere near the underside of a cow.
Of course, Maisie said she would have jumped at the chance to milk a cow. “I wouldn’t be scared. Animals love me.”
The sun was high in the sky, and Hank and Maisie tied their jackets around their waists as they got ready to walk some more. They had grown tired of conversation and singing. Hank had grown tired period, and he felt it important that Maisie know that, so he told her frequently.
“We’re all tired!” she finally yelled. She wiped her hair off her damp and sticky forehead. “But we have to keep going. So shush your face.”
The street turned to dirt and they walked some more until it finally ended at a small ranch house. The house was painted forest green. It had a small, fenced-in yard full of freshly planted flowers. Beyond the house stood a detached garage. Outside the garage stood a gleaming black truck. But the most impressive part of the property was its nearby cow paddock. The cow paddock held about ten cows that were spread out in groups of two or three. These were the most animals they’d seen all day, a fact that Maisie delighted in repeating.
Beyond the paddock—they could see it with their own eyes—lay the tree-filled foothills of the mountain.
“We’re almost there, Booler,” said Maisie.
Hank shoved his camping bag and peanuts through the wide slats in the paddock and started to climb.
“Wait. What are you d
oing?” asked Maisie.
When he didn’t answer, she said, “We have to go around.”
“But this way is closer. And I’m tired. And my feet are sore.”
“But that way is full of cows.”
“So?”
“So they’re… cows.”
“You are lucky that animals love you,” said Hank as he climbed over the fence, “because while it is an interesting fact that cows are gentle, the bulls can actually be mean and you don’t want to mess with them. But this way is closer and my feet are sore and so I am done with this walking business.”
Maisie gave a little whimper and followed him, first helping Booler through the slats of the fence. When they were on the other side, Maisie took the leash back from Hank and then, before he could say anything, she grabbed Hank’s hand. “I don’t think Booler likes those cows at all, so I think we should hurry through here and not get near any bulls.”
Hank looked at Booler, whose nostrils crinkled and uncrinkled, and whose tail stood straight behind him. Hank, who had touched an actual cow at a dairy farm after all, adopted a little swagger. “Don’t be scared, Booler. I only see the one bull. The rest are all lady cows and they won’t hurt you.”
They crossed the field in a zigzag pattern that led them as far away from cows and their giant lumps of cow poop as possible.
“It’s the cow poop you have to watch out for,” said Hank, feeling suddenly a little stronger as he realized how much he had to teach Maisie. “It’s gross.”
Maisie spied a small calf standing near its mother and sprang toward it. “It’s so cute!”
A low, blustery sound made them look up. The lone bull lowered its horns as it stomped its hooves up and down. Maisie quickly ran back to Hank and grabbed his hand once more.
“I told you,” said Hank, puffing out his chest. “You don’t want to mess with the bull.”
They left the paddock and entered the shady slopes of the forest, which seemed to go on and up forever. Pine trees and other green and growing things stretched high into the sky. At the first clearing—from one angle they could even see the cows—they pitched their tent. Well, Hank pitched the tent while Maisie held Booler’s leash and watched. Hank could have asked for help, but he was still enjoying the authority he had won through his easy rapport with cows. Besides, he liked putting together tents. When he finished, he unzipped it with a flourish.
“Ta-da!”
“That’s like a real tent you put together,” Maisie gushed. “That’s not like a toy or anything.”
“That’s because it is a real tent,” said Hank. He took their belongings and stowed them in the tent. Then he zipped it up again and pointed a bossy finger at Maisie. “Never leave the tent open, otherwise you get bugs.”
She nodded meekly. She took a deep breath, opened her arms wide, and looked up at the sky. “It smells like Christmas trees.”
“We should start a fire,” said Hank. “That’s what we do after we put up the tent.”
“Cool! Then it will really smell like Christmas. You come in here, Booler,” she said, leading him into the tent. “You take a nap.”
She zipped the tent carefully and joined Hank in gathering wood and piling it downwind of the tent. “Don’t take sticks that are green,” cautioned Hank. “They make too much smoke.”
“Okay.”
“You do it like this,” he said, showing her how to stack the wood just right and circle it with a ring of stones.
“Okay. Wow. You’re like the king of camping, Hank.”
He threw back his shoulders, proud. He was like the king of camping.
“This is going to be so much fun,” she said. “I wonder if anyone has figured out we’re gone. I bet they have. I bet they are all, ‘Maisie and Hank are gone. And Booler too. Our selfishness has driven them away. If only we had let them adopt Booler in the first place. Will we ever see them again?’ ” Maisie threw herself dramatically across the forest floor as she acted this out.
“They will,” said Hank confidently. “In a few days.” He was already imagining trekking home—back through the cow field, back down the dirt path, happiness blooming at the very thought of resting in his own bed and re-counting all his rocks. His heart gave an extra thump. He had only brought three rocks—the rocks that day. What would he do tomorrow? Reuse the same three rocks? That wouldn’t work. But then he realized that he was in the forest. There were lots of rocks. Each of the few days he could find three new rocks. And then he could add those rocks to his rock collection. And so that would actually be a hidden bonus of running away.
“A few days. Or maybe a week. Until we know no one will hurt Booler.”
He stood very tall and pulled on his collar, which suddenly started to feel itchy. “A few days means a few days—not a week. You promised.”
Maisie sat up, dusted the dirt off her jeans. “Sure, a few. Or whatever.”
“A few! Two nights. Three days.”
“Exactly. Starting tomorrow.”
He came and stood right over her. His voice as unbreakable as any rock, he said, “Starting today.”
She screwed her mouth into a tight little ball and then let out a dramatic exhale. “Fine,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “Starting today.”
Hank gave a brisk nod. Then he picked up one last rock for the firepit and put it down. He sat next to her. “You can start it.”
“Fun!” she squeaked. “Give me the matches.”
He looked at her like she was the silliest thing he had ever seen. “I’m not allowed to have things that start fire.”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “I never said I was bringing matches.”
“I didn’t either.”
He watched as the features on her face turned purple and slid toward each other, and it almost seemed like a volcano was forming right under her lips. But then suddenly her mouth deflated and her shoulders fell forward. “Well played, Mr. Boy Scout.”
“I’m not a Boy Scout. Those kids get too loud.”
She looked back at the firepit. “I guess we can have the hot dogs cold. And the marshmallows.”
Hank stood. His hand began to spin. Then, as if they had been waiting for just this moment, his hunger and fatigue pounced on him so that all he could feel were hunger, exhaustion, and the absolute requirement for a campfire. “We always cook the hot dogs—on a stick. The marshmallows too. The stick makes it fun.”
She jumped up. “Hey! We can try to start the fire the old-fashioned way, like with two sticks or—”
“Flint!” said Hank, yanking himself away from disaster as he pulled his three rocks out of his pocket. “I actually have flint! It’s one of the rocks I brought. You can use it to start a fire.” He showed her a gray rock shaped a little like an almond.
“Your rocks are saving the day, Hank!” She jumped in the air. “Hooray for rocks!” Then she ran over to Hank. “How do you do it?”
“I think it works like the Survival 4000 Fire Striker with Compass and Whistle. You bang the flint with… with… I can use my Swiss Army knife!”
“You figure it out. I’ll get the hot dogs.”
He rummaged around for his Swiss Army knife. When he found it, he flipped open the blade that doubled as a flat-head screwdriver and started banging it against the flint, gripped tightly in his other hand. But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t making a spark at all. He kept trying.
“Booler, no!” screamed Maisie.
Hank turned, stumbling over the pile of firewood. The flint flew out of his hands in a wide arc, disappearing into the forest floor. “My flint!” he shouted, scrambling toward where he’d seen it land and searching the ground, the a’a feeling bubbling up inside him.
He heard Maisie and Booler bound forward. “Look at this! Look at this!”
She shoved a plastic wrapper in front of his face. He pushed it away. “My flint.”
“Booler ate all the hot dogs. All of them. And the buns. That was our dinner, Booler. Bad dog. Bad d
og!”
Booler, ears perked up, barked once and, finding his tug-of-war rope, grabbed it with his jaw, tail wagging.
Hank fell backward. “You can’t camp without hot dogs.” The a’a feeling bubbled higher. It spread out to his arms. It inched its way up his throat. His voice didn’t even seem like his. “First my flint and now the hot dogs.” His hands tornadoed and he began to walk in circles. “I want to go home. I’m tired. I want my mom.”
“Ugh. Everyone knows you’re tired!” she yelled. “I walked just as far as you. I’m just as tired as you. I’m just as hungry as you. You never think about that. It’s always you, you, you.”
Her loud voice assaulted his eardrums. The cool colors of the forest grew hot and sharp as needles. He dropped to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re making me feel bad.” More sounds—a cawing crow, the padding of Booler’s paws on the forest floor, the distant moo of the cows—landed on him like acid and every part of him grew heavier and itchier and more and more distant. “You’re making me feel bad. You’re making me feel bad. You’re making me feel bad.”
At first, he didn’t notice the gentle nudges against his face and sides, but then a heavy weight descended on his torso and legs. It was warm and soft and its heartbeat kept time with his. Like a heavy magnet collecting metal shavings, the pieces of his body seemed to return from wherever they had gone, reassembling into the boy named Hank. He became aware of a wet, gritty washcloth wiping his tears away, but—no—it couldn’t be a washcloth. He opened his eyes to find Booler splayed on top of him, licking his salty face. Hank blinked and Booler let out a hot-dog-smelling sigh and dropped his head onto Hank’s neck. Hank ran a hand down the smooth silver fur.
He whispered, “Good dog, Booler.”
Maisie had come and sat next to him. She said, “Um… are you okay?”
He sniffed and shrugged. He felt tired and empty.
We Could Be Heroes Page 12
