“I’m an idiot?”
“She’s been eating all that bread at that stupid job you got her. She’s not supposed to eat any of that stuff. Idiot.”
“I didn’t get her the stupid … I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”
“It’s her epilepsy, idiot. You total idiot. Her dad has her on this special diet. He makes her special food. She’s not supposed to eat bread, or drink soda.”
“She’s not?”
“No, she’s not. Idiot. And by the way, what’s your problem with me, anyway? I’d really like to know.”
“What?”
“Your problem. With me. What is it?”
“Besides the fact that you’ve called me an idiot six times in the last minute? Besides the fact that you shot a rubber band at my head?”
She waved all that away as if I had mentioned some silly detail. “I’m talking about way before that. You’ve hated me forever. You’ve been giving me dirty looks since like third grade! Are you going to pretend you haven’t?”
I stared at her. Some feeling had started in my stomach and was traveling up to my face, and I knew that when it got there I would turn bright red and hear the ocean, which is what happens when I get put on the spot. If I don’t cry, I turn red and hear the ocean. It’s a lose-lose situation.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“I have no idea,” she said. “I really don’t. But a person knows when someone hates her—at least, I do!” She flung her arm down and her little silver watch flew off her wrist and hit the floor with a crack. A very sharp, final-sounding sort of crack.
Her precious watch. I’m not proud of this now, but that sound, which echoed in the tiled hallway, made me really happy. I sucked my bottom lip so that I wouldn’t smile.
Julia bent down to pick up the watch. I thought she would start to screech, but she just flipped it over in her hand and looked at it. A web of tiny cracks covered the face like a cobweb.
“Oh, great.” She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “This whole day just stinks,” she said, and she walked away.
On the way home I found myself walking half a block behind Sal again. I’d learned not to run and catch up to him—he would only look at his sneakers and not talk. So I watched him bobbing along in his navy blue knit hat, his head going from side to side a little, like it always does when he walks. I think he thought that hat looked tough the way he had it pulled down to his eyebrows.
Then Marcus came out of his dented front door next to the garage, wearing that green army coat he always wore. He started walking down the block—toward Sal.
Even half a block behind him, I could see Sal’s body hunch and slow down. I knew what he was doing. He was looking for a way out. Should he pretend he needed to cross the street all of a sudden? That he had just remembered something he needed to buy at Belle’s? But it was a little late for that—Marcus was almost in front of him.
I could have called out to Sal at that moment. It would have been easy. He would have had an excuse to turn around and start walking away from Marcus. And then Marcus might have stopped to talk to me for a minute, and Sal would have seen that it was all okay. He could have dropped his fear of Marcus right then and there. I’ve thought about this a lot, because I realize it would have changed everything that happened later.
Instead I watched. And what Sal did was squat down and pretend to tie his shoe. It was a plea for mercy. Dropping to tie your shoe was an I-can’t-fight, I-can’t-run, I-bow-down-before-you sort of a move. Plus, just in case some hitting did occur, it protected important body parts. I kept walking while Sal crouched there on the sidewalk and Marcus walked right by without even noticing him. And then Marcus walked right by me.
Things Left Behind
“Guess what?” Annemarie said when I called her at home that night to see if she was okay. “Someone left a rose on our doormat.”
“For you?”
“I don’t know… maybe.” Of course it was for her. Who else would it be for?
“Was there anything with it? A card?”
“No. Just the rose.” Her voice sounded all thin and excited. “Weird, huh? I wonder—”
“Hey, can I ask you something? Are you not supposed to eat bread?”
She was quiet.
“It’s not a big deal, just that Julia said—”
“No,” she interrupted. “It is sort of a big deal. I should have told you. I have epilepsy—”
“Oh.”
“—and I’m not supposed to eat bread or starches. It’s this crazy diet my dad read about, but it actually works. I’m usually fine. People don’t even really know I have it, because for years I’ve hardly had any seizures at all.”
“Is that what happened today?
“Yeah. I sort of took a break from my diet. It’s been nice, working at Jimmy’s with you guys, eating whatever I want and not having anyone look at me funny or lecture me.”
Someone had lectured her, though. Julia had.
“You can still work at Jimmy’s,” I said. “Just don’t eat his crummy food.”
She laughed. “I know. Actually, my dad makes me a lunch every day. I’ve been throwing it in the garbage on the way to school. He’s pretty mad.”
That was hard to imagine.
“Anyway, my mother found this rose on our doormat when she got home from work. It’s like this really perfect-looking rose. Weird, huh?”
I let her talk about it a little more, about who might have left it, and why. I knew she wanted me to say that Colin probably did it, but I just couldn’t make myself say the words.
The Third Note
The next morning was the first really cold day of December.
“You need the jacket with the hood,” Mom rasped from her bed. Her voice never sounded normal until after coffee. “Look in the front closet.” She seemed to think that it was really helpful to lie in bed, listening to the radio and calling out weather reports. I couldn’t help thinking about how, in my book, Meg’s mother had French toast waiting for Meg in the morning. She was a single mom too, with Meg’s dad being held prisoner halfway across the universe.
I found the coat, still streaked with gray from last year’s dirty snow, and put it on. A little stiff, but it seemed to fit okay.
“Where are my gloves?” I called.
“No idea. Sorry.”
“Can I take some money?”
“Coat pocket.”
I felt around in her coat and found a five-dollar bill and three singles in one pocket and her striped scarf rolled up in the other. I grabbed the singles and the scarf.
“Bye!”
The laughing man was still asleep with his head under the mailbox. He had found some cardboard to put underneath him. Still, he must have been freezing. Some mornings, I’d seen kids banging on the mailbox and yelling, “Wake up, Kicker!” I hoped no one would do that today.
I watched my breath billowing in front of me and racewalked toward school. The sun was out but had no warmth yet. I shoved my hands in my pockets and felt a bunch of old tissues. Yuck. And the three dollars. And something else, a little piece of paper, folded in half.
I pulled it out.
I recognized your tiny handwriting right away, all wobbly and with those weird loops you put on top of your “t’s” and “l’s.”
You will want proof.
3 p.m. today: Colin’s knapsack.
Christmas Day: Tesser well.
April 27th: Studio TV-15.
P.S. Yawns do serve a purpose. They cool the brain by bringing air high into the nasal passage, which has the effect of increasing alertness.
The note was on the same dried-up paper as the first two.