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 (8 page)

BOOK: It's a Little Haywire
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Mikala wrestles her feet back into her
sneakers and we race to Gramps’ arriving at the garden all
red-faced and short of breath.

“Where’s the fire?” Gramps says.

“I have something to tell you, Gramps,
and you might think I’m crazy.”

“Alright, then.” Gramps adjusts his cap
like he’s trying to screw it on tight so the wind won’t take it
away, then sits in one of the lawn chairs. “Shoot.”

I’m about to break into my story when
the screen door squeaks and out walks Mrs. Pershishnick. Man, why
is she here again?

“I thought I heard young voices.” She
carries a tray, and a pitcher of something cold is beading
moisture. “It’s sweet iced tea. You thirsty?”

Actually, now that she mentions it, I’m
parched. “Yeah, thanks.” We all accept a glass and as I guzzle mine
I try to decide if I should wait to tell Gramps until after she’s
gone. That could be a long wait, and I’m too excited to keep it to
myself. I decide telling Gramps with Mrs. Pershishnick listening is
fine.

“Well,” I start, “Gramps did you know
the creek by the log is haunted?”

His bushy eyebrows arch high. Mrs.
Pershishnick’s little mouth purses in humor. I press on despite
them. I tell them about the first two times I saw the ghost train
and how I thought I was crazy, and then the last time with the
enormous beings flinging soup bowls.

“I believe they’re angels,” Mikala says,
bobbing her head enthusiastically. Nice to know I have one
believer.

“Anyways.” I puff out a long breath. “I
think we’re supposed to make soup with the vegetables from your
garden Gramps. And give it away.”

Part of me imagined Gramps thinking this
was a great idea. It’s noble, right? It’s helping the needy.

He scrubs his beard. “I don’t know,
Owen. That’s a lot of work you’re suggesting there, and I don’t
know that anyone would come.”

“Sure they’d come, Gramps. They’re
hungry.”

Gramps’ expression doesn’t change. He
doubts my story. He doubts my plan. A pit of discouragement settles
in my gut.

“Well, Charlie,” Mrs. Pershshnick says,
“the kids want to try something that could be good for this town.
It doesn’t hurt to try does it? And you do have a big garden. Maybe
there’s a reason for it.”

Mrs. Pershishnick came to my
defense?

Gramps’ face softens. “I don’t know how
to make soup like that.”

“Oh it’s easy,” Mrs. Pershishnick says.
“You start by boiling potatoes and onions for your broth, add
carrots, squash, tomatoes, whatever you have, and then a bit of
soup stock and salt and pepper. And a dash of soy–ya sauce.”

Soy sauce?

“I’ll help,” Mrs. Pershishnick adds.
“I’ll even bake buns.”

“I suppose it don’t hurt to try,” Gramps
says, adjusting his cap again.

I want to hug Mrs. Pershishnick! Or at
least fist-bump her, or do a victory dance or something. Now I’m
really glad she’s here, otherwise Gramps might’ve said no.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Owen True – The Organizer

 

 

WE START COOKING THE NEXT DAY. Gramps
fills two large soup pots—Gran had one and Mrs. Pershishnick had
one—and breaks into song:

Get out of that kitchen and rattle those
pots and pans.

“Oh, Gramps.” Some things never
change.

Mikala and I and Gramps peel potatoes
and chop onions and get the pots to boil. My eyes are red and
running by the time I’m done with my second onion but I don’t care.
It’s hot in the kitchen and the windows are steaming up, but for
the first time since coming to Haywire, I feel excited to do
something.

Doing good, feels good.

Mikala and I go outside to gather the
other vegetables we need. I dig up carrots and Mikala picks
tomatoes. We deliver our bounty to the kitchen and then head out
for more—a couple large squash and a fistful of chives.

“I love the smell of dark dirt, Owen
True.” Mikala has her nose to the earth. I join her and breathe
in.

“Yup. Something sweet about it.”

Inside we wash and chop and drop veggies
into the pots.

“Careful with those knives, kids,”
Gramps says. “We don’t want no Fingers Soup.”

“Har, har, Gramps,” I say, but I take
extra care not to get my knife too close to my fingertips.

Mrs. Pershishnick raps on the door.
“Buns are here!”

We go out to her small car and carry in
warm trays of perfectly formed, toasty rolls.

“They smell awesome, Mrs. Pershishnick.”
I smile like I mean it, and I do.

We’re all laughing and feeling great and
then Gramps does something I haven’t seen him do the whole time
since I’ve arrived. He turns on the old kitchen radio. It’s the
oldies station:

Catch a falling star an’ put it in your
pocket, Never let it fade away!

 

Gramps pulls Mrs. Pershishnick into a
dance hold and they sashay around the small kitchen for the rest of
the song. Mrs. Pershishnick giggles and Gramps’ eyes are bright. I
wait for the bad feelings to form in my chest, but they don’t come.
I realize that I want Gramps to be happy and Mrs. Pershishnick is a
lot nicer than I first gave her credit for.

Feeling like we should leave the two
love birds alone, I call Mikala to follow me upstairs.

“We need to make posters. Then we’ve got
to go out and hang them out all over Haywire.”

“All over where?”

Oops. “Hayward. I said Hayward.”

“Crickets. You said ‘Haywire!’”

We get to my room and I quickly spread
the quilt flat over the top of my bed. I check Mikala out of the
corner of my eye. She’s smirking.

“That’s alright, Owen True. Hayward is
haywire!”

I produce paper and markers my mom had
packed for me, like I was five or something, but it turns out they
are going to come in handy.

“What should we call it Owen True?”

“Free Soup?”

“Just free soup?”

“Well, that’s what it is. And buns.”

“Okay, Free Soup and Buns.”

“Don’t forget the address. 89 Maple Ave.
And time, 5:30.”

We make six posters each and then head
downstairs.

“Annabelle’s gone home for a nap,”
Gramps says. “I’m gonna to do the same.”

“Sure, we’re going to go hang up
posters.”

We hit all the main areas. Don Chan lets
us hang one on his door, so does Doug at the gas station, and Mayor
Sanderson at the post office. We hang one on the window of Mrs.
Pershishnick’s salon, a couple street light posts, wherever we
think people will see them and then tell their friends.

Then we go back to Don Chan’s and buy
every paper bowl and plastic spoon that he has in the store. It
isn’t much but I hope it is enough.

We clean off an old picnic table Gramps
has out back and put a table cloth on it. The dishes and buns are
set out. The soup is on the kitchen stove on low. We’ll bring them
out one at time, once the line up starts. By five o’clock we’re
ready.

Then we wait.

And wait.

Five forty-five and still no one.

“What if no one comes, Mikala?” I say
under my breath.

“Someone will come. Why else would the
angels tell you to do this?”

Six-fifteen. My legs are jumpy and my
innards are knotted in frustration and honest to goodness hunger. I
scratch all my bug bites, having no mercy on my skin.

“I think we should just eat,” Gramps
says.

Mrs. Pershishnick ladles the soup into
bowls and Gramps gives thanks. I don’t bother saying “Amen” this
time.

I sip my bowl of soup and my mouth tells
me it’s yummy but my heart tells me it sucks. I can’t believe we
worked so hard all day to help the poor people of Haywire, and not
one single person came!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Owen True – The Rescuer

 

 

MIKALA SHOWS UP THE NEXT MORNING, all
jokey and smiley like that could cheer me up.

“What a waste to try to do some good.” I
shove my fists in my pockets and kick at the loose dirt in the
road.

“It’s never a waste to try to do good,
Owen True.”

We get to Mikala’s yard just as Mason
storms out, letting the door slam behind him. Mr. Sweet is yelling
at Mrs. Sweet, though I can’t make out exactly what’s got his poop
in a knot. One of the little girls is crying inside.

Mikala’s lips pull down in a deep frown,
her cheeks flushing red behind her freckles. “Let’s go to the
creek.”

I feel sorry and embarrassed for her, so
I keep my eyes to the ground and follow her wherever she wants to
go.

She storms right up to her favorite
stone, flat and smooth and easy to sit on, and whips off her shoes.
She lets out a frustrated huff as she puts her feet into the
freezing water.

I find a suitable stone and do the
same. My own grief over our failed experiment eases as I compare my
problems to Mikala’s. I have no reason to feel sorry for myself. So
what no one came to eat free soup? So what if Mom married
Ar-throw-up
. At least they didn’t
fight and make little girls cry and older boys explode with anger.
At least my mom and dad are still friendly and can hang out
together in a civilized way—even with
Ar-throw-up
in the room.

In fact, I give
Ar-throw-up
a harder time than Dad
does, and really shouldn’t he be the one mad at him for marrying
his wife?

Ar-throw-up
makes Mom happy in the same way Mrs. Pershishnick makes
Gramps happy. I decide I should give Mom a break. And it wouldn’t
kill me to call my new step-dad, Arthur.

“How’s the writing going?” I’m hoping to
get Mikala to think about something else.

“Bad.”

“Really? Why?”

“Cuz I suck, that’s why.”

Not exactly the mood change I’m looking
for. “I told you, all good writers suck when they first start. You
just have to finish your story even if it does suck. At least it’s
finished then, right? You can fix it later.”

Mikala stares at me like I’m eating
mud.

“Maybe.”

My feet feel like icicles and I pull
them out of the creek and let the sun work its magic.

“It’s just,” Mikala says, her face so
worried her freckles look like they want to jump off. “I want to
get out of here. Run away. I can’t bear the thought of six more
tortuous years before I graduate and can skip this town, y’know?
It’s like an eternity. A life sentence.”

I don’t know what to say. She’s just so
sad. I feel like I should hug her or something, but I just
listen.

“And I’m so angry, just as angry as
Mason, even though I don’t slam doors and pick up tossed away
cigarette butts from underneath the bleachers and smoke ‘em.”

“I know.”

“I’m worried we’re not going to make it,
Owen True. That my family won’t make it.”

“Mikala, you’re smart and kind and
gifted in a lot of things. I know
you’ll
make it.”

Her worry lines soften a bit. I hope
she’s listening to me, really listening.

I stare out over her shoulder. There’s
movement on the bridge. A man walking?

Whoever it is, he’s standing still. The
bridge is narrow and scary and I wish the man would keep going so
he doesn’t get hit by a car, but he doesn’t.

Mikala turns her head. “What’cha lookin’
at?”

“There’s a man on the bridge.” I squint
harder. “It looks like he’s on the outside of the rail.”

We stand and put our shoes on.

You don’t think...,” I start, but can’t
finish. It’s kind of a long drop. If a person fell, he would get
seriously hurt. Or worse. “Hurry, Mikala.”

We jog along the edge of the creek,
along a narrow path that is steep in parts. Rocks roll out from
under our feet and spin into the ravine.

“Careful, Owen True.”

As we get closer, my heart chills. I
recognize the pony-tail and the heavy shoulders. It’s Mr. Joseph.
He’s leaning against the outside of the rail.

I think he’s going to jump.

“Mr. Joseph!”

He doesn’t hear me. The noise of the
creek and car engines in the distance, drown out my voice. I call
again.

“Mr. Joseph!”

I keep calling until finally his head
lifts up and he looks out towards my voice.

“Mr. Joseph, hi!” I slow up now that I
got his attention and catch my breath. “I thought that was
you.”

Mr. Joseph’s eyes jerk from my face to
Mikala’s to the creek pooling below. His knuckles are white as he
grips onto the rail on either side of his body.

There’s a moment where it feels
like the world stops.
Don’t do
it
. He’s breathing heavy, like a rabbit caught in a
trap.

His eyes glaze and I think he’s going to
cry.

Please Mr. Joseph, I mouth.

He takes one hand off the rail.

No.
I turn
away not wanting to watch. Mikala’s eyes are wide with terror too.
Then she points.

I’m afraid to look, but I do.

Mr. Joseph climbs back over to the other
side of the rail. He stares at the pavement and then starts walking
back into Haywire like he was just out for a stroll or
something.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Owen True – The Pray-er

 

 

WHEN MIKALA AND I GET BACK to Gramps’,
he makes this big announcement.

“Owen, I think it’s time I go back to
church.”

I don’t really want to go to church. All
the times in the past I’d gone with Gramps and Gran, church was
boring. Just a bunch of old people singing out of tune and
listening to some guy talk.

I’d almost made it the whole time in
exile without going, and tomorrow is the last Sunday before I
leave. Only six days left of my sentence and I’m still alive.
Barely. Time to get the heck out of Haywire.

“Do I have to go?”

BOOK: It's a Little Haywire
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ads

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