Double-Dare O’Toole (9 page)

Mrs. Timmons gave him a couple more chores. Rain continued to pelt against the windows. “That's it for today,” she finally said. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“No, thanks. I'll walk.”

“In this weather?”

“I like to walk in the rain.”

“I used to,” Mrs. Timmons said. “Now I'm afraid I'll get pneumonia. That's the difference between being young and being old. See you tomorrow. Thanks, Fex.”

Fex started home. A battered Chevy drew up beside him. The door swung open. “Get in,” the driver said. Fex thought maybe he was being kidnapped and did not resent the idea.

“Tell me where you live.” It was Mr. Palinkas. “I'll drop you off.” Fex would rather have walked. He got in and sat very straight on the seat. Water oozed from him. The wipers made a terrific racket. Mr. Palinkas crouched over the wheel like a racing driver waiting for the starting gun. They stopped at a light.

“You may think this car looks old,” Mr. Palinkas said, not taking his eyes from the red light. “But she's got life in her yet. My wife wants me to turn her in on a new one. But I figure she's been good to me. I'll be good to her.” For a minute Fex wasn't sure whether he was talking about his wife or his car.

The light changed and they bounded forward. “That's my street there.” Fex pointed. “You can let me out at the corner.”

Mr. Palinkas drove blithely by Fex's corner. “Sit tight. I have one stop to make, then I'll drive you to your door. Don't want your mother to worry. A little weather never hurt anyone, but I know mothers. Mine worried when it was clear, worried when it rained. A champion worrier, my mother.” The Chevy turned into the parking lot. Mr. Palinkas maneuvered it into a parking space as if it were a BMW or a Mercedes and he wanted to protect it from scratches. He turned off the ignition.

“The thing I remember best about my mother,” he went on, “is how glad she always was to see me. She always smiled when she saw me coming. She's been dead almost ten years. There's not a day goes by that I don't think of her.”

He got out. Fex watched him slosh through the rain. I didn't know he had a mother, Fex thought. He slid behind the wheel. What was it Pete had said? Your sex life begins when you have wheels? Something like that. Fex turned to see how his date was shaping up. Pretty good. Her red high-heeled shoes matched her tight-fitting red sweater. Her jeans looked as if they'd been dry-cleaned instead of washed. Cool.

“You want to go to the flicks?” Fex suggested. “Or maybe stop in at Buzzie's for a brew?”

She'd opened her beautiful red mouth to answer when the car door opened and Mr. Palinkas peered in. Fex felt the blood stain his cheeks. He slid over to his side. The walking stick was on the seat. Fex picked it up and held it on his lap.

“They had a special on Mallomars,” Mr. Palinkas said, tossing a package on the back seat. “I bought six boxes. Never could get enough Mallomars.” He started the engine. “Soon enough you'll be able to drive,” he said.

Fex wouldn't have minded a Mallomar himself. Mr. Palinkas didn't offer him one.

“That's my house, the yellow one,” Fex said.

Mr. Palinkas pulled up to the curb. “Nice house,” he said. “Good place to grow up in. You're very lucky.”

“Thanks for the ride.” Fex handed over the stick. He'd never thought about his house being a nice one to grow up in. But it was.

“That was my mother's stick,” Mr. Palinkas said, running his hands over its length. “Only thing I have that was hers.” Fex opened the car door.

“Sometime, when you have a minute,” Mr. Palinkas said casually, “I'd like to know what you think about.”

“Think about?” Fex said stupidly.

The principal nodded. Fex closed the door and watched as Mr. Palinkas peeled out and disappeared around the corner. Then he went inside and hung his slicker on a hook in the kitchen. “Mom,” he called, “you home?”

“In here,” she called from the living room. “Be there in a minute.” Fex got himself a glass of milk and stood, dripping on the floor as he drank it.

“You better put on some dry clothing. Where were you?” his mother said. “I worked at the hospital today and stopped at school to pick you up but you were already gone.”

“Got a ride with Mr. Palinkas.”

“Oh? That was nice of him, all things considered. He strikes me as being a very compassionate man,” she said.

Compassionate? Fex knew if he said, “What's that mean?” she'd tell him to look it up. He didn't feel like looking it up right at that moment, so he didn't ask.

He went upstairs to change. Did compassionate have anything to do with passionate? Passion. He tried to imagine Mr. Palinkas blowing in his wife's ear, giving her a French kiss when he got home from school. And failed.

And yet he figured compassionate and passionate must be related. Leaving his wet clothes in a heap on the floor, he went downstairs to the dictionary. He could hear his mother attacking her typewriter in her room. She was taking a typing course at the high school at night. She typed like a madwoman and made a lot of mistakes. Mr. O'Toole told her to start slowly and work up to the speed, but she didn't listen.

He turned to the C's and found compassionate. An adjective. Having or showing compassion. O.K. Compassion. A noun. A feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by suffering or misfortune accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the pain or remove its cause.

Trust those guys who put the dictionary together, Fex thought. They nail you every time. They managed to give a definition for one word by always dragging in another word you didn't know, couldn't possibly know, the meaning of. But he'd be darned if he'd be trapped into looking up “alleviate.” He could figure it out if he tried.

17

It was Wednesday, the third day of the monsoon. The perpetual drumming of the rain was beginning to take its toll. Tempers were short. Normally calm teachers raised their voices. Less calm teachers shouted. Kids tripped their best friends, picked fights in the hall going to and from classes, threw sandwiches at each other in the lunchroom as if they were having snowball fights. The sweetest-tempered became testy.

Of them all, only Harold improved. The more it rained, the less sour he became. He whistled as he pushed his mop. He lifted his lip in what might have been a smile. It might also have been a sneer. With Harold it was hard to tell.

Mr. Palinkas had to go out of town for two days to attend a conference on education.

“He has to make a speech,” Mrs. Timmons told Fex. “He's nervous about it. Hope all goes well.”

Nervous? Mr. Palinkas nervous? Fex was amazed. The idea that adults often got nervous about the same kinds of things kids did was new to him. Last fall Fex's English teacher had decided everyone should write and deliver a speech. The topic could be anything each kid chose.

“It's been my experience,” the teacher told the class, “that a short speech is better than a long one. Long speeches tend to bore people. And the one thing a speaker doesn't want to do is bore the audience. So keep it short.”

Fex's speech had been the shortest of all. It was an election year and he'd listened to more political speeches than he liked to remember.

“I stand before you today,” he said, “with a humble heart. If nominated, I will not serve. If elected, I will not run. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are what makes this country great.” Then he sat down. They applauded him wildly. He had to stand up and take a bow. The sound of the applause was heady stuff. He hoped Mr. Palinkas would keep his speech short. And that they gave him a standing ovation when he'd finished. A standing ovation sounded so classy, he thought.

He hadn't seen Audrey again. Not to speak to, anyway. He'd seen her from a distance. Just as well. Barney was in high gear, talking endlessly about the coming party. Standing in the lunch line on Thursday, Fex heard a girl say, “You going to the party Friday night, Aud?”

“I guess so,” he heard Audrey answer. “I said I would. Now I'm not sure I want to.”

What'd she mean by that? Probably she didn't want to go now because she knew Fex was going and she didn't want to see him.

On Thursday afternoon the sky lightened. After the final bell Fex reported to the office. “Mr. Palinkas back yet?” he said.

“Not yet,” Mrs. Timmons said. “Tomorrow. I must say, Fex, I'll be sorry to see you go. I've enjoyed having you here. But I know you'll be glad to have it behind you.”

“I didn't mind,” Fex said truthfully. “It wasn't bad. If it'd been sunny and I was missing out on a lot of stuff outside, it would've been a lot worse.”

Mrs. Timmons smiled at him. She was a nice woman. He liked her.

“Don't let them get you down, Fex. Stand up for what you think is right. Don't let yourself be pushed around.” She reached absentmindedly into her hair. Her pencil wasn't there.

“Oh, my word,” she said. “I'm like a nut without that pencil.” She darted into her office and came back with the pencil sticking behind her ear. “We all have our peculiarities,” she said. “Our security blankets. This is mine.”

“Like Mr. Palinkas and his walking stick,” Fex said.

She looked surprised. “Yes, I suppose so. Would you mind going to the supply closet and asking Harold for some yellow lined paper? We're about out.”

“Sure.” Fex saw Harold pushing his mop at the end of the hall. Harold's back was turned. From where he stood, Fex couldn't tell what kind of mood Harold was in. He approached quietly, carefully.

“I need some yellow lined paper for Mrs. Timmons,” he said. Harold jumped.

“It's one damn thing after another,” Harold snapped. “I got better things to do than keep unlocking, locking that closet.”

The real Harold was back. Sour as ever. Fex was relieved. Tomorrow, he felt sure, the rain would end.

“Fine weather for ducks,” Angie said when he stopped in to see her on his way home. “You want some tea?”

“Not today, thanks,” Fex said. “I have to get home. Just wanted to say hello.”

“When I didn't see you yesterday, the day before even,” Angie said, “I thought maybe my pancakes mighta knocked you off. They been known to do that.” She laughed. “My husband said why didn't I keep you around till he got up so's he could meet you. Maybe next time, all right?”

“Sure. I'd like to meet him.”

A woman came in and asked for a package of envelopes. Angie asked Fex if he'd go to the back of the store and find them for her. “I'm kinda pooped today,” she said. “Haven't got my old getup and go.” She pulled at the waistband of her khaki pants. “I'm not getting any fatter, that's for sure,” she said. “My husband says if he can't talk me into going to Florida soon, he won't be able to see my shadow.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “What's new with you?” she said.

“Well, I'm going to a party tomorrow night,” Fex said. “A boy-girl party.”

Angie raised her eyebrows. “No kidding? Maybe your friend can give you a couple of tips on parties before you go.”

“My friend?” Fex said, forgetting.

“Yeah. You know. The one you tell me about all the time. The one has the trouble with the double-dares, the girls, all that.” Fex met her eye and they both laughed.

“Have a good time,” Angie said when Fex left. “Stop in and tell me about the party. I want to hear all about it.”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

18

Sure enough, on Friday morning a couple of patches of blue sky showed themselves, proving they'd been there all along. Mr. Soderstrom called to remind Fex of his promise to look after Charlie on Saturday.

“Thought I'd get you before you took off for school,” he roared from next door. Mr. Soderstrom always roared over the phone, as if he were calling from Zanzibar and had a bad connection.

“Don't forget tomorrow, Fex!” he shouted. “Ten
A.M.
sharp, if that's all right with you. Mrs. S. says we need two hours to reach New London. I don't agree, but women like to have their own way. Mrs. S. says we need time to get lost. We always do get lost on the road, no matter what. She may be right. Ten it is. Does that suit you?”

“Sure,” Fex agreed. “That's fine.”

As he rode through the puddles on his way to school, the sun came out and rode with him on top of his head like a small, warm hat. And rested pleasantly on the backs of his hands. It felt good. Maybe by tomorrow the river would have gone down enough so that he and Charlie could go fishing.

When Fex reported to the principal's office Friday afternoon, Mr. Palinkas was at his desk. “Hello,” he said to Fex, “you still here?”

“It's my last day. How was your speech?”

Mr. Palinkas looked surprised. “Speech. Oh, yes. It went rather well. How did you know I was giving a speech?”

Fex felt himself blush. “Mrs. Timmons told me.” He left out what she'd said about Mr. Palinkas being nervous. He might not want anyone to know that.

“Stop by when you're through. I'd like to talk to you for a minute.” Mr. Palinkas turned back to his work.

“Yes, sir.” Fex was pleased. He hadn't forgotten. He'd been thinking about what Mr. Palinkas had said. No one else had ever asked him what he thought about. He wasn't sure his mother or father even cared. Sometimes his father was too busy making a living and paying the bills, and his mother was all wrapped up in her exams and making her house run as efficiently as an office.

How about them? Did he wonder what they thought about? The question amazed him. The answer was no. Maybe he should spend a little time thinking about the other guy.

Take Mrs. Timmons. Fex studied her through narrowed lids. What did she plan for herself? After she retired, was she going to sit home and darn socks? Or take care of her grandchild? Maybe she planned to take a freighter around the world, climb the Himalayas, take a boat down a fjord, eat raw octopus in the Far East. It was entirely possible.