Kathryn Magendie (5 page)

At the fork in the creek, Sweetie grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “Lissa! Stop!”

I jerked my arm away. “Leave me alone!” I was panting and sweating, my clothes stuck to me. “I don’t understand you!”

She lowered her eyes, then looked back up at me, her eyes back to how they always were. “You are my friend. I will not try to make you scared, okay?” She sighed, then said, “But if you want to be my friend, you got to unnerstand things. You got to is all.”

“But I
don’t
understand.”

She washed her finger in the creek, dried it on her dungarees, and held up her finger to me. “See, I didn’t catch it too much. Just a little.” She bent it and straightened it. “Not broken.”

Her finger was swollen and the scab had scraped off, but it didn’t look as bad as I’d thought it would, from the sound of that crunch. Maybe most of that sound was rock against rock instead of rock against finger. Maybe I’d over-reacted like Father said I did when I didn’t think things through scientifically.

“Okay now?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Being friends with Sweetie was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. I was invited to her secret world when no one else was. I said, “Let’s go,” and we walked together down the trail, following the creek.

She jumped over rocks and twigs and sang, “Cinderella, dressed in yella, went upstairs to kiss a fella, made a mistake, kissed a snake, how many doctors will it take? Onesies (jump) twosies (jump) threesies (jump) . . . ”

I wondered what she would do next. Maybe I could study her, like Father did the magicians, find out how she did her tricks. Find out all the secrets to her and the whys and hows. Let her lead me wherever she went, to places I’d never been before.

SIX

The last day of school, T. J. followed me around during recess and on the way to the lunchroom, calling me names and snorting like a pig. I’d heard it all before and knew how to ignore it. I asked Sweetie to ignore it, too, and not make any trouble. She narrowed her eyes.

At the end of class, we lined up at the door while Mrs. Patterson handed out her world’s best ever famous in the whole county fudge, wrapped in wax paper and tied up with bright pink ribbons for the girls and dark blue ribbons for the boys. Sweetie and I were at the end of the line and I was itching to get out of there and enjoy the first afternoon of summer vacation. I didn’t even have to go home after school. Mother was at her ladies’ club meeting and I had the afternoon to do whatever I wanted.

I’d made straight A’s, except for one B in math. Father hated how I always made a B in math, said math was logical, whereas, he said, the non-logicals were more subjective and harder to define. One plus one was always and forever without debate two, but Shakespeare’s sonnets were up for discussion. Three times two was always and forever six, but the sunset, though explainable through science, was made romantic.

And, “Math is indisputable, Princess. Love is a biological process, but Shakespeare attempted to romanticize it beyond all recognition and
blah blah boom biff bleah blah
.”

Mother would sigh, look away from Father, and later tell me love was an emotion to be felt and kept sacred, not studied like a germ under a microscope.

Sweetie didn’t ever show me her report card. She only paid attention when we read certain books she liked, or when we did math. She happened to love math. When I asked her why she missed so much school, she answered, “Mama gets headaches.” And that was all she’d say about that.

Mrs. Patterson had stopped me before recess one day, pointed to a chair for me to sit down, and asked, “Does Sweetie ever talk about her mother?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Have you been to her house? Is it clean? Do they live alone there? Is there a man?” When she asked the last part about the man, she leaned forward and whispered it.

At first, I thought she cared about Sweetie, but then I wondered if she just wanted to gossip like Mother did with her friends. I said the truth, “I haven’t seen her house.”

She tapped her fingers on her desk. “How did she get all those scars? Does she talk about it?”

“N-no Ma’am.”

“Is someone hurting her, Melissa?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Ma’am. She’d t-tell me. We’re best friends.” But I wondered right then. Wondered if maybe someone
was
hurting Sweetie. Maybe her mother. Everyone said Sweetie’s mother was weird. Some said she was a witch and that her own mother had weird powers to turn people into animals. And her grandfather would go up on the ridgetops, raise his hands to the sky and say things nobody could figure out the meaning to; and even after he died, some said they still saw him up there. It made my stomach hurt to think of someone hurting my friend. But I said, “I think Sweetie is just accident-prone.”

“Yes. Yes. She does play rough and tumble, doesn’t she?” Mrs. Patterson smiled with a load of horse teeth showing, then asked, “Well, you’ll let me know if Sweetie takes you to her house, won’t you? And then tell me how things are? What you see?”

“I g-g-guess, Ma’am.”

“There’s speech therapy for that stutter. I can arrange something?”

I looked down at my shoes.

“Well, no matter. You can go out to recess now.” She’d stood from her seat and began writing the afternoon assignment on the board.

When it was my turn to take fudge from Mrs. Patterson, she patted my head. Sweetie was behind me, and Mrs. Patterson said to her, “Here, this is my phone number, in case you ever need me.”

From behind me, Sweetie said, “Well, I’ll be.”

On the way out of the school doors for the last time until fall, I stuck my glasses in the case and put the case in my satchel. Sweetie had been brewing me tea she said would help my eyes. I’d been drinking it for five days straight and only had two more to go. Already I was seeing better.

I said, “I can’t believe Mrs. Patterson gave you her phone number.”

“Huhn. I done threw it away.”

“But what if you ever need help from a grownup?”

She gave me one of her looks. “I can take care my own. Like always.”

We ran behind the school and towards the woods. Sweetie never took the bus, and the few times I was allowed to walk home, I found out she took the longest way so she’d not have to go into the neighborhoods. She hated walking through neighborhoods and never went into town, at least as far as I knew.

At the small creek in the woods behind the school, we searched for ancient discoveries of the unknown and known universe. The water rushed over the rocks, tumbling in a song I liked to hear over and over, never growing tired of it, or of the way the sun peeked through the tree branches and touched the water with kaleidoscope sparkles. Green moss grew on rocks jutting out from the water and we carefully stepped over them from rock to rock. Sweetie told me names of the trees that grew all around, like tulip poplar, buckeye, locust, and walnut. She knew the names of flowers, and sayings that went with them, like the jack in the pulpit,
Fair is the canopy over him seen; penciled by nature's hand, black, brown and green; green is his surplice, green are his bands; in his queer little pulpit the little priest stands
. I wrote those things in my diary so I could remember them.

There were all kinds of creatures, too. Once, while wading in the creek I’d reached for a pretty white rock and a salamander jumped out at me. I let out a yelp and fell on my behind, my pants soaking, while Sweetie slapped her thighs and laughed. Another time, a snake slithered in front of me as we climbed up to the old log trail and I fell backward, rolling in a heap until I grabbed a thick vine and held on, nothing hurt but my pride. Sweetie laughed that time, too.

On our treasure hunts, we found things I knew Mother wouldn’t let me keep, but Sweetie could. There was the turtle shell with the bones still inside. The turtle must have died and decayed away in that very spot. Sweetie wrapped it in her leather pouch so as not to disturb the bones. She was always picking up special rocks, bird feathers, interesting-shaped bark, nests blown out of trees, a deserted hornet’s nest. I imagined her room over-filled with her treasures. I wanted to see where she lived, but she hadn’t invited me yet. I hadn’t invited her to my house, so I couldn’t say a thing about that.

We crossed to the other side of the creek. Sweetie plucked a sparkly rock, turned it over in her hands. Her pinky finger was healed, but the nail didn’t grow right, and with the swelling gone, the first knuckle looked a bit crooked to me. She held out the rock. “You can keep a little rock in your room, right?”

I smiled, stuck the rock in my satchel, next to the fudge. I couldn’t wait to eat my treat. Sweetie was teaching me to be patient about things. Before Sweetie, I would have gobbled down that fudge soon as I left the classroom. But with Sweetie, I’d eat it with my back against a tree, enjoying every little nibble.

Sweetie stopped so suddenly, I bumped into her. She put her finger to her lips. “
Shhh
. Listen.”

I stood still, but didn’t hear a thing. “What?”

“We best get going.” Sweetie pulled my arm. “Come on.”

“What is it? Sweetie?”

“Just hurry.”

“Sweetie?” I was slipping and tripping, trying to keep up with Sweetie.

“I am not in the mood for no boys.”

“Boys?”

Then I heard it. T. J.’s big mouth. When he stepped out from behind a clump of weeds and bushes, he stopped and stared at us. Three other boys from his Posse spilled out, laughing like a pack of hyenas. Beatrice and Deidra pranced out next, swinging their satchels back and forth, and giggling, of course.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Ugly Fat Fart Face and her weirdo friend.”

“You best get on away, T.J.” Sweetie turned her back on him.

I couldn’t stop looking at T. J., as if he’d cast a spell on me and I was in a trance, a trance that caused my stomach to slosh around.

T. J. spit, and then looked at me. “What’re you looking at, Fat Ass?”

Sweetie swung back around. “Boys, get on somewhere’s else and leave us be.” She said to Beatrice and Deidre, “Miss Prissies, go on with them.”

Behind T. J. and his Posse, Beatrice and Deidra giggled again.

T. J. came to the edge of the creek. It was only a few feet to the other side, where Sweetie and I were. He put the toe of his shoe in the water and splashed. “We’re thinking we’d like to have your fudge, Fat Ass. Less’n you gobbled it up already.” He made piggy sounds, pretended to stuff food in his face.

My face turned hot.

“I am warning you,” Sweetie said.

“You are? Well, gee whiz. Let me think on this development. See if I care.” T.J. put his finger on his chin, then shook his head. “Nope, don’t care.”

Deidra struck a pose, fluffed her curly black hair. “I’d like to have weirdo schmeirdo’s fudge and Beatrice could have that other girl’s.” When Deidra said, “that other girl’s” she’d pointed to me and made a disgusted face.

Beatrice said, “I don’t care about fudge. I have to watch my figure.”

“Oh shut up, Beatrice,” Deidra said.

T. J. said, “I’ll get that fudge. If I got to beat it outta them.”

Sweetie held her hands together as she had the day she smashed her finger on Whale Back. Maybe just like the day she’d smashed her pinky, she was praying to Mountain Spirit to take away her pain. I didn’t have a mountain spirit to take away my pain and I didn’t want to think about what kinds of pain T. J. could dish out in his beating.

T. J. splashed more water. “You can make this easy or you can make this hard.”

“It’s not w-w-worth it, Sweetie. Let’s give him the f-f-fudge.” I reached into my satchel, but Sweetie grabbed my arm. She looked at me with her eyes flickering bright, fire leaping up, blazing. She shook her head
No
.

“Yeah, guh guh guh give it.” T. J. turned to his friends and laughed a big fake laugh. He then stepped onto the first rock to cross over to us.

With pleading eyes, I searched out Jeremy to send him a secret message to make T. J. go away. I held a secret love for Jeremy, with his brown eyes and shiny brown hair. He told me hello once, or he was about to when the bell rang and he had to run to class, and he kind of sort of smiled at me one day. In my diary on page fifty-three, I wrote how I would kiss him one day under a willow tree. I’d also drawn a picture of Jeremy’s eyes and mouth, put it next to the candy bars and bubble gum I hid from Mother in the secret hole in my mattress. Jeremy was staring at Beatrice, not me.

T. J. had stepped onto the biggest rock jutting out from the water and was pin-wheeling his arms, pretending he couldn’t get his balance and was about to fall into the water, making his Posse and the girls laugh and giggle.

Sweetie shook my shoulder. “Pay attention, Lissa.”

I turned my eyes to her.

“You let a boy like that get over on you, he won’t ever leave you be.” She looked at me deep and deeper, dove way down into my eyes, so far down I wondered what she saw there. Something strong and alive from her shot inside me and I grew taller and stronger and my breaths felt even, filling up my lungs and leaving my lungs, in and out, full and fuller, empty and emptier, then full again. It was as if she gave me her own breath; I took it right out of her body and into my own.

T. J. stepped onto the last rock and balanced on one leg. “Look at me,
whoop whoop
!” He jumped onto the grass and stood three feet from us.