Read It's a Little Haywire Online

Authors: Elle Strauss

Tags: #social issues, #friendships, #homelessness, #middle grade, #people and places, #paranormal fantasy fiction, #boys and men

It's a Little Haywire (3 page)

BOOK: It's a Little Haywire
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I turn and my stomach pinches a bit.
Mikki, aka, Mikala, is pulling a wagon through the door. Her little
sisters are sitting in it, back to back. She’s having trouble
getting them over the door jam. No modern automatic doors here. I
step over to hold it open for her.

“Hi Mikala,” I say, once she’s got
everyone in safely.

She tilts her head. “Hello, Owen True.”
Then she pulls her wagon down an aisle. “Opal, Ruby, don’t touch
nothin’.”

I don’t mean to follow her. It’s not
like the store’s exactly huge or anything, but Mikala keeps looking
over her shoulder giving me dirty looks. I step back to keep my
distance.

The peanut butter and jam are beside
each other (thankfully) and then I spot the cereal. See, this
shopping business is easy peasy.

When I get to the counter, Mikala is
already there. She pushes a tin of tuna toward Mr. Chan who rings
it in. He tells her the price, she hands him a fist full of
coins.

Somehow I imagine her digging through
their sofa looking for change.

She gives me a sideways glance as Mr.
Chan counts pennies, nickels and dimes. Her gaze lands on my basket
settling on the candy bars.

She wrinkles her nose like I’m
disgusting. Mr. Chan thanks her for coming and she pulls on the
door. I drop my basket and rush to hold the door open for her.

Mikala doesn’t say thanks. I wonder why
I bother being nice to her.

When I get back to the counter, I
realize I’d forgotten the bread.

“Just leave your basket here, Owen,” Mr.
Chan says. He sees something out the window. I look outside to see
what he’s looking at. It’s the guy in the box. He’s crossing the
street. “I’ll be right back,” Mr. Chan says.

I finally find the bread aisle. I can
see out the front window from where I stand. Mr. Chan and the guy
in the box are talking. Then Mr. Chan hands him a bucket, turns and
walks back in. I quickly turn around so Mr. Chan can’t tell that
I’d been spying on them.

I take time to squeeze the loaves—that’s
what they do on the commercials—and watch the guy in the box. He
has the bucket and takes out a wet sponge. He starts to wash the
windows. I’m much closer to him than I was yesterday when I spotted
him on the street. His skin is tanned and deep lines fan out from
dark eyes. His arms look strong and I wager a guess that he used to
work at the mill. His nails are rimmed black with dirt.

The guy in the box spots me through the
glass. Our eyes meet.

A weird little nervous ripple shoots
through me. I spin around and grab the first loaf of bread my hand
touches and march to the till.

I pay for my basket of stuff, which
fills two plastic bags, then say goodbye to Mr. Chan. I make sure
not to make eye contact with the guy in the box when I leave.

These bags are heavy! A stupid burn runs
through my forearms to match the stupid burn in my gut. Man, why
does that guy in the box bug me so much? Maybe it’s because I’m
afraid he’ll stare at me and my stupid new clothes the same way
that Mikala stared at my candy bars. The way she looked at me, made
me feel like a freak, like it’s a crime to eat a candy bar now? And
why do I care what they think anyway?

I puff heavily through my nose like a
dragon. I wish I were a dragon. Then I could fly the heck out of
Haywire and scorch the sky with my “outta here” smoke
signature.

Gramps sees me coming and opens the
patio door. I drop the bags dramatically on the kitchen floor.

“Mission accomplished?” Gramps asks. He
empties the bags, putting the milk in the fridge and leaving the
other items out on the counter.

“Yeah.” I shrug like it was no big
deal.

“That’s good.”

I wash up and we make lunch together. I
spread the peanut butter, he spreads the jam.

“Do you want to sit outside, Gramps?”
It’s just too nice to stay in this warm stuffy room.

“Lead the way.” Gramps holds the door
open and lets it shut with a squeak behind us.

We sit in a couple old lawn chairs, the
kind with wide strips of plastic weaved together and wrapped around
an aluminum frame. Some of the strips are fraying and torn, but
Gramps doesn’t look worried about falling through or anything. We
face the creek as we eat and I’m tempted to tell him about my weird
fog, slash, train, slash, ghost experience. Will he think I’m nuts?
Or maybe he’s seen it too. I swallow the last bit of my sandwich. I
decide to risk it, but then Gramps suddenly stands up.

“Nature calls,” he says with an
embarrassed grin. “When you get to be my age, it’s like she never
stops calling.”

Just as the squeaky door slams shut
behind him, Mikala comes bounding into the yard.

“Owen True!” Her face is flushed red.
“Ruby’s choking!”

I don’t wait another second before
running beside her back to the Sweets’ house.

“You know what to do, right?” Mikala
puffs. “They teach you these things in the city, don’t they?”

I just nod. My mind is frantically
flipping through the class at school where the community nurse
visited and gave us instructions on basic first aid. What to do
about choking was one of her lessons. The Heimlich manoeuvre. I
remember it.

Of course, this all goes through my mind
in a few seconds. It doesn’t take that long to get from Gramps’ to
the Sweets’, especially when you’re full out running.

Mason is in their living room smacking
Ruby on the back. His face is twisted with worry, a sort of
helplessness I’d never seen on him before. He’s always so proud and
confident. At least that’s the way it seems with the way he looks
down his nose at me.

I move in between Mason and Ruby—he
hands her over without argument—and reach my arms around her back.
I cup my hands together making one large fist and place it under
her ribs in the middle. Then I thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Come on, Ruby! Spit it up!

My heart is racing and I really don’t
know what I’d do if Ruby up and died right here in my arms.

Maybe throw up.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Finally, something pops out of her
mouth. It arches across the room onto the floor and when it stops
spinning we can see what it is.

A penny.

Ruby coughs and sputters and turns on
the water works. I didn’t know a little girl could cry so loud.
Mikala and Mason surround her, checking her out.

Now that the crisis is averted, I notice
the state of the house. Kinda messy. Like Mrs. Sweet moved out or
something. Dirty dishes are piled high in the sink, and although
the vacuum cleaner is out like a jumbled snake in the corner, the
room has its share of dust bunnies.

Opal is crying now too. Way too much
emotion in this place for me. I slip out unnoticed.

There’s a skip to my step as I walk back
to Gramps’. I shove my fists into the pockets of my shorts and
whistle one of Gramps’ tunes.

Ruby’s alive because of me. I’m
Owen True,
The Hero,
and it
feels good.

CHAPTER FOUR

Owen True – The Ignored

 

 

I THOUGHT IT’D MAKE THE NEWS or
something. I mean, I’d
saved a little
girl’s life
. But no, not in Haywire where everyone and
all things are crazy-crazy. Not that Haywire has a newspaper or TV
station or anything, but aren’t people supposed to gossip in small
towns?

Only means one thing: the Sweet kids
decided to keep a lid on the near death of one of their own.

Fine.

I know I saved her and Gramps knows,
because I was sure to tell him right off, and he was appropriately
proud of my efforts. Gave me an extra scoop of ice cream for
dessert.

Still, I wanted more. Maybe not a hero’s
parade through town, but something? (Though I did spend a good part
of the night imagining Mason and Mr. Sweet carrying me around town
on their shoulders as all the good people of Haywire followed us
through town square cheering my name. And what would be wrong with
that?)

Instead today was just more of the same.
Boring ol’nothing. I sat on the steps outside and stroked Daisy’s
fur.

I mumble into her ear, “It’s not
fair, Daisy. It’s not my fault Mom and Dad split. I don’t even know
why, to be truthful. And here is me wasting away in Haywire at the
tender age of eleven and eleven twelfths before I even had a chance
to
live
.”

Daisy’s thin black lips pull up, almost
like she’s smiling. Certainly not feeling sorry for me. I suppose
that’s all right since she’s spent years wasting away here. Who am
I to complain to her?

So, instead of a hero’s reward of
cake and a photo shoot, I’m actually
unrewarded
—punished really—because Gramps asks me
to help him in the garden. Not like I can say no or anything. So
now I’m pulling weeds. I saved a girl’s life and for that I get
to
pull weeds
! Only in
Haywire, I tell you.

“Man, Gramps,” I say as I take a break,
a drink of water, a little rest, “why do you have such a big
garden?” Now that I had a good look at it, and believe me, when
you’re pulling weeds, you get a really good sense of size. I had to
wonder what had gotten into Gramps’ head.

Gramps is picking beans. “Well, it’s
just a habit, I guess. When the kids were home and your Gran alive,
it’s what we did to get through the winter. The Walmart wasn’t
around back then and even so, the Pontiac’s not great in the
winter.”

“The
Walmart” as Gramps called it, opened up in the next town of
Edson. That’s also where the kids of Haywire get bussed to school
and where you go to get anywhere near to civilization.

Afterward, Gramps makes us lemonade and
we sit in the old fraying lawn chairs facing the creek. I haven’t
been back to the log since “the episode”. I angle my chin so I can
see. I’m sort of hoping that maybe Mikala would come over today.
Not just to thank me for saving her sister, though that would be
nice, but for the company. Maybe Mason would be a bit friendlier
too, now. I wait but nobody comes.

It is the longest, slowest day ever and
only day three!

Someone did come over after supper, but
it wasn’t one of the Sweet kids. I recognize her from the hair
salon when mom used to take me there. She’s one of the hair
cutters. Her name is Annabelle Pershishnick.

She brought peach pie.

“Hello, Mr. Owen True,” she says
smiling.

“Hi, Mrs. Pershishnick.”

“Welcome to Hayward. Are you having a
nice visit with your grandfather?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She
puts the pie down on the table in front of Gramps. Her face is soft
and puffy-looking with red patches on her cheeks that don’t quite
look natural to me. Her white hair is permed in tight curls and
reminds me of a poodle. Though not exactly fat, no one would say
that her behind is on the small size.

“Annabelle,” Gramps says, his eyes
bright. “That looks wonderful. It’s so nice of you to think of
us.”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you two
bachelors here on your own all summer, now.” She pats his hand and
sits in the chair next to him.

You know what? I don’t like how Mrs.
Pershishnick is looking at Gramps. All predator-like. She’s a
widow, you know. It’s something she and Gramps have in common now
that Gran is gone. Her expression reminds me of one of those nature
shows, where the female ape dances around the male ape, trying to
make him notice her so that he’ll mate with her. It’s really
gross.

“Here, let me dish out a slice for the
two of you,” she says. Gramps jumps up to get plates. He brings
back three.

“Uh, actually,” I say, pushing away from
the table. “I’m not hungry.” Three minutes ago, the thought of
peach pie and ice cream made my mouth drool. Now, I’m feeling kinda
sick.

Though, I really would like some
pie.

Maybe later.

CHAPTER FIVE

Owen True – The Appreciated

 

 

GRAMPS AND I SIT ON THE STEPS with Daisy
at our feet. Gramps is drinking his coffee, two cream, two sugar.
When I warn him about how bad all that sugar is for him, he just
flashes his perfectly straight false teeth and starts singing:

Sugar in the morning, sugar in the
evening, sugar at supper time, be my little sugar and love me all
the time.

We’re in no hurry as we sit in the old
lawn chairs and soak up the morning sunshine. That’s the thing
about summers in Haywire. There’s never any rush.

Back in Seattle it’s all hurry all the
time. Hurry Owen and eat your breakfast. Hurry Owen and brush your
teeth. Hurry Owen and leave for the bus—you don’t want to miss it.
(I think my name is actually Hurry Owen True—I should check my
birth certificate.) Hurry Owen and eat your supper. It’s almost
time for piano/swimming/painting lessons. Yeah, I’m an
over-scheduled American kid.

BOOK: It's a Little Haywire
4.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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