Lost in the Sun (12 page)

She didn't need to tell me any more.

“Okay,” I said. I wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, or something, to calm her down. But I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do. How was I supposed to know what to do? “Well, but you can't walk around with mashed potatoes all over you. Why don't you wait here and I'll get paper towels from the boys' room? I'll be right back.”

“No, it's okay,” Fallon said. She'd stopped shaking. “I know where we should go.”

So that's how we ended up outside Ms. Emerson's room. Which is pretty much the last place I wanted to be.

“Why
here
?” I asked. I already had to see Ms. Emerson a million times a day. I definitely didn't want to make it a million and one.

“She has a sink,” Fallon said, peeking in through the window of the door, still clutching her lunch tray. “And I know she'll let me use it. I have her for social studies, and she's nice.” That was when I
started to think that somehow the mashed potatoes had made Fallon go insane. Could mashed potatoes make you go insane? “Good, she's there,” Fallon said. “Come on, let's go in.”

“Wait, no,” I said, tugging on her arm so she'd stop trying to open the door. “Ms. Emerson is awful. There must be another teacher you can go to.”

“She's not awful,” Fallon told me. “I like her.”

“She
hates
me,” I said.

“So you stay outside then. I'm going in.” And just like that, she left me standing in the hallway.

I guess I could've left. Gone to the library by myself, or gone back to the cafeteria, or even worked on my Book of Thoughts inside the boys' room, if I'd wanted to. But I hadn't told Fallon I was going to leave, and what if when she came out, she wondered where I'd gone?

I waited.

It took fifteen minutes. Or longer, I wasn't sure. I didn't have a watch. Anyway, I stood there, in the hallway, holding my stupid lunch tray, not doing anything. I didn't even finish my lunch. I wasn't hungry. Every once in a while I'd peek through the window. Ms. Emerson was helping Fallon at the sink, handing her paper towels. She didn't look like a wrinkled old crone when she was talking to Fallon, but I knew better. Anyway, I felt pretty weird staring at the two of them through the window, so mostly I stared at my feet. Whenever someone walked by and looked at me funny, I acted like I was opening the nearest locker.

When Fallon came out, she said, “You're still here.” And she
seemed happy about that. She smiled at me. Her face wasn't red anymore.

I smiled back. “Still here,” I said.

“So”—she looked around her—“where should we go?”

“The library?” I said.

“Sure.” I tossed my lunch tray in a garbage can in the corner, and we took off down the hall.

“By the way,” I said. “I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“How you got your scar.” Fallon tilted her head to the side, watching me. “When you were born,” I told her, “you had a Siamese twin. Joined at the nose. And when they separated you in the hospital, you were left with a giant scar.”

Fallon's smile grew even wider. “I like that one,” she told me.

The rest of lunch wasn't too bad, after that.

•   •   •

When the final bell rang, it was time. I made my way through the gym, outside to the ball field, where intramurals were meeting. One foot after the other. Slowly. Very slowly. The walking was hard. The thinking about it was harder.

The first thing I saw, when I got outside, was a group of kids, all guys, sitting on the benches that lined the field. My new teammates, I guessed. I took another step. Bend the right knee, bend the ankle, set it down, shift the weight, left leg up. And repeat. Made my way over.

I was almost all the way there when I noticed Noah Gorman, sitting on the very end of the bench.

Noah Gorman. Great.

He was staring at his sneakers, looking about as angry as a person can look. I guess I must've just been standing right in front of him, watching him—which, okay, was kind of weird. Because after a few seconds or so of that, he noticed I was there and lifted his head up and said, “What do you want?” in about the least friendly way you can say such a thing.

“Are you on the team?” I asked him. I didn't mean to say it not-friendly. It just sort of came out that way.

He glared at me. I swear,
glared.
Like he'd been taking lessons from Annie Richards. “Looks that way, doesn't it?” he said.

“Ah!” came a booming voice behind me. “Our old pal Trent!”

I turned around, even though I didn't have to. I knew who it was already, without even looking.

“I didn't think I'd see you here.” It was Mr. Gorman himself.

I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging open. I couldn't help it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him. Which, okay, was sort of a stupid question.

Mr. Gorman laughed at that. “I'm coaching intramural baseball, Trent,” he said. Big smile. Like a wolf. “The real question is, what are you doing here? You joining the team, son?”

I looked around. Everybody on the benches was staring at me. Everybody.

And that's when I heard it, from right behind me. The sharp, distinct
CRACK!
of a bat hitting a ball dead-on.

So I flinched. So what?

“I . . . ,” I said. I took a step back. “I . . .”

My arms had gone clammy. That fast, and it had happened.

“I . . .”

“Trent?” Mr. Gorman asked me. He looked genuinely confused. Lowered his clipboard to look at me and everything.

“I messed up,” I said. It was hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. “I didn't mean to come here.”

Mr. Gorman was not looking less confused.

“I'm supposed to be at Movie Club,” I said. And with that, I took off. Back toward the gym. Walked off that field as fast as a person can walk without sprinting.

I missed sprinting.

•   •   •

When I showed up at Fallon's house, she didn't even ask what had happened. She just opened the door and let me inside. Her father barely looked up from his eggs.

Anyway,
Little Big League
was a pretty good movie.

There was one good thing about Jewel Annabelle Hoffsteader Zimmerman, at least. Apparently just her being born made Dad and Kari so tired that they couldn't even
contemplate
doing anything else, including spending time with the three children Dad already had. So for almost a whole month, I didn't have to think of a single excuse for missing out on dinners at St. Albans, or weekends at Dad's either. Doug and Aaron got out of it, too, without even trying.

I didn't hear anyone complaining.

I guess I technically didn't have to go to Movie Club all that time, but I went anyway. I figured Fallon would be upset if I didn't go. After a while we got sick of baseball movies (which I didn't know was possible, but I guess it was), so even though there were lots more baseball movies left in the world, we moved on to other types. Mostly Fallon picked the movies, because she was very opinionated when it came
to those things, and arguing with her was the pits. But I didn't too much mind most times.
The Princess Bride
and
Coraline
were good. I could've lived my whole life without watching
Little Women,
though.

Anyway, Dad must've finally remembered he had sons, because one Saturday morning, three days before Halloween, I was stuck in the car with Aaron and Doug, heading over to their place Whether I Liked It or Not. (You can guess if I liked it or not.) I thought Mom might give me a break, but she said when it came to meeting my baby sister, she wouldn't hear any excuses. That, she said, was a thing you just
did.

If you asked me, she was only excited to get all us boys out of the house. She said she hadn't made it to book club in a thousand years.

•   •   •

The baby was a poofed-up pink jellybean of fuzzy fleece, lying in a motorized baby-rocking thing in the living room. That was the first thing we saw when Dad opened the door—the pink baby in her pink motorized rocking thing, with Kari perched on the edge of the couch, cooing at her.

We went over to examine the baby. I'm not sure any of us cared too much about babies, but it just seemed polite.

“Wash your hands, will you?” Kari told us. “Before you get too close. We don't want to give Jewel any germs.”

Jewel. Like she was the most precious thing in the world.

•   •   •

“So what do you think?” Dad asked when we were all sitting around the table eating turkey sandwiches. (Aaron and I made the sandwiches ourselves, because Dad said now that we had a baby in the house, we
all had to “pitch in.” Doug had to vacuum the living room while we were on sandwich duty, though, so I think Aaron and I won.) Well, Kari wasn't eating, because she was rocking Jewel, who also wasn't eating, because she was screaming. She did that a lot. You'd think it would be impossible to hold a conversation with a screaming baby in the room, but spend more than an hour with a month-old infant, and suddenly you're a pro.

“What do we think about what?” I asked, chewing on my sandwich.

Dad laughed. “About your sister.”

“Oh.” I swallowed. “She's fine.” She looked like a fat pink grape with arms, but I didn't think that was the kind of thing you were supposed to say.

Under the table, Aaron kicked me. “She's beautiful,” he told Dad.

“We think so,” Kari replied from her chair. I noticed she didn't say anything to us unless it was about the baby.
“The doctor said she was the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen. Isn't she the most beautiful baby you've ever seen?” “Do you like those little socks? They're darling, aren't they?” “Don't you think she has your father's nose? I think she has your father's nose.”
All sorts of questions that didn't really require answers. “Aren't you the most beautiful baby girl, little Jewel?” She bounced her in her arms, and Jewel gave a little growly squeak and finally stopped screaming. “Aren't you?”

“Can I have your chips?” Doug asked Aaron. Aaron pushed his chips across the table.

I was glad Dad and Kari had a baby to be excited about. Really, I
was. Having a baby was probably the best thing ever. Babies couldn't disappoint you.

“What are we going to do today?” I asked. I was just trying to make conversation, really. Not like I really cared what we did. But Dad usually had something planned for the weekends. He'd take us to a baseball game or a football game or a movie, or to go bowling at least. We always “got out of Kari's hair” for a while, and sometimes if you could ignore Dad and just focus on the thing you were doing, it could kind of even be sort of fun.

Dad looked around the room. “This is pretty much it,” he said. “Unless you want to go with me on a diaper run later.”

It was practically impossible to leave your house after you had a baby. That's what I learned that Saturday.

What we did instead of anything fun was we sat around and stared at Kari staring at the baby. We weren't even allowed to turn on the TV, because Kari said it was bad for Jewel's developing eyes, not like she was even watching it.

I almost said I'd go on the diaper run, just for something to do. But I thought better of it.

About four o'clock, I went to the bathroom (talk about excitement). And I didn't think I was in there that long, but when I came out, Dad and Kari were nowhere to be seen. It was just Doug and Aaron sitting on the couch. And Aaron had Jewel snuggled in his arms.

“Where'd everyone go?” I asked.

“Dad's getting diapers,” Doug told me. I should've known. “And Kari decided to take a nap.”

I plopped down next to Aaron on the couch. Looked at my little sister in the face, the closest I'd gotten to examine her since we'd arrived. She was a fat pink grape for sure, but she
was
sort of cute, under all that fleece.

“Does Kari know you're holding the gemstone?” I asked.

Aaron shrugged, without disturbing Jewel in his arms. “Kari asked if I wanted to,” he told me. “So I said yes.”

Watching Aaron hold the baby was pretty much exactly as interesting as watching Kari hold the baby, except that every once in a while Aaron would make fake farting noises at her, so that was better at least.

When Dad got back fifteen minutes later, he smiled at Aaron on the couch holding Jewel and said the two of them looked pretty nice together. He even got out his phone to take a photo. Dad and Kari already had more framed photos of their month-old daughter than they had of me and Doug and Aaron combined. I noticed that the egg-race trophy was still on the bookshelf, though. Half tucked behind a photo of Jewel being held by Kari's mom and dad, but still, it was there.

Probably Dad hadn't gotten a chance to toss it into the garbage yet, what with taking care of his new baby and all.

“Here, Trent,” Aaron said, leaning closer to me while Dad went off to the baby's room to put away the diapers. “You take a spin.”

And before I could say, “Huh?” there was a tiny baby in my arms.

“Be sure to support her head,” Aaron told me. “Yeah, that's good.”

I'm not sure what I'd thought holding a baby was going to feel like. I guess I'd never thought about it before. Mostly it was warm. Jewel snuggled herself into my arms like she was getting good and
ready to stay there for keeps. She let out a little baby sigh and smacked her baby lips together.

It was kind of nice, actually.

For about three seconds.

That's how long it took before Kari came out of her bedroom, yawning, and said, “Thanks, you guys, for letting me take a little na—”

She stopped as soon as she saw me with Jewel. And maybe I was making it up (only I knew I wasn't making it up), but there was something in Kari's eyes I didn't like.

She cleared her throat, then smiled, a real big smile. She rushed over to me. “Let me just . . . ,” she said. “Tom!” she called into the nursery to my dad. “I think Jewel needs a diaper change.” And just like that she scooped Jewel out of my arms.

Dad poked his head out of the baby's room and looked at Kari, rescuing their precious baby from his least favorite son. “Oh,” he said, like he was taking something in. Something important. “Oh. Um . . . Who wants to learn how to change a diaper?” he asked us.

Aaron said he did. I don't know why. Obviously that wasn't a thing that anyone wanted to learn.

As he got up, Aaron squeezed my knee.

I don't know why he did that either.

I tried to ignore the burning in my chest. It was nothing, I told myself. I was making things up.

•   •   •

Dinner was spaghetti with sauce from a jar and salad from a bag. Kari apologized nine times that we weren't having something homemade,
but the truth was that's what we had half the time at Mom's anyway. And it wasn't awful.

After dinner Aaron and Doug and I got ready for bed, even though it was all of eight thirty. And now that Jewel Annabelle Hoffsteader Zimmerman was in our lives, we all had to sleep in one room, in Dad's office. There was one bed in the corner with a pullout trundle underneath, and one person had to sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag.

“I'll rock-paper-scissors for the bed,” Doug said when we were in the bathroom brushing our teeth.

“Don't worry about it,” I said, spitting over his shoulder into the sink. “I'll sleep on the floor.”

“You will?” Doug sounded surprised. Aaron glanced at me in the mirror. I gargled a mouthful of water and didn't answer. I hated it here anyway, and sleeping on the floor wasn't going to make things any worse.

“If you have to get up in the middle of the night to pee,” I told my brothers, “don't step on my face.”

“No promises,” Aaron said. And then he slugged me in the arm.

•   •   •

When I woke up on Sunday morning, there was a horrible howling sound, like a great tornado gale of wind, swirling around the room. I shot straight up in my sleeping bag.

“Whoooooooo-eeeeeeeeee!”
the noise went.

“What was that?” I said. The noise was loud but tinny. Like nothing I'd ever heard before.

Aaron was sitting up in his bed, too, on the top part above the
trundle. “I don't know.” He rubbed his eyes. “It sounds like it's coming from the closet.”

“Whoooooooo-eeeeeeeeee!”
came the noise again.
“I'm the Ghost of Nightmares. I've come to haunt your dreeeeeeams!”

Doug. It was very clearly Doug. Who, now that I thought about it, was very much
not
asleep in his bed.

Aaron and I looked at each other, both of us trying not to laugh.

“Oh, man,” Aaron said in his loudest voice. “Trent, did you hear that? I think it's a ghost!”

“Yep,” I said, just as loudly. “I think maybe”—I pointed—“there's a ghost in the closet.”

“I'm not in the closet,”
the voice said.
“I'm in your dreeeeeeams! Whoooooooo-eeeeeeeeee!”

It was definitely the closet.

Aaron and I got up at the same time. I unzipped the side of my sleeping bag, and he pulled back his covers. Quietly. We tiptoed to the closet. Quietly. And we opened the closet door.

“Whoooooooo-eeeeeeeeee!”

The surprising thing was that Doug
wasn't
sitting in the closet, howling at us from behind the door.

“Whoooooooo-eeeeeeeeee!”

But that's definitely where the noise was coming from.

“What the . . . ?” Aaron said.

I pointed to the top shelf. There was a small white plastic square of something, with a tiny plastic antenna.

“Whoooooooo-eeeeeeeeee!”

A baby monitor.

Aaron pulled it down from the shelf.

“Oh boy,” he said, still super loud so Doug could hear, wherever he was. “What is going on? I think there really is a ghost in here.”

“Man, I'm scared!” I shouted. “What should we do?”

“The only way out is to leeeeeeave your dreeeeeeams!”
Doug howled on the other end of the monitor.
“You've got to— Hey, what the . . . ?”

“Doug Zimmerman!”
Suddenly Kari's voice shot out of the other end of the monitor. She did not sound happy.
“Just what do you think you're doing? That monitor is not a toy.”

Aaron and I couldn't take it anymore. We broke down laughing.

“Trent and Aaron!”
Kari screeched through the monitor.
“You two bring me that right now!”

From the other room, we could hear Doug pouting like a little baby.
“You totally ruined my prank,”
he told Kari. I'd've bet anything his lip was sticking out, too.

•   •   •

Sunday was about as exciting as Saturday was, which is to say, not very. Aaron said we couldn't leave till five o'clock, which was exactly when Game 4 of the World Series started, and even if it was just the stupid Phillies versus the stupid Orioles, I still wanted to watch it.

Aaron said we could listen on the radio while we were driving.

I must've really been dying for something to do, because when Kari asked me if I wanted to take a walk with her to the corner store, I actually said yes. I thought maybe she'd ask Doug or Aaron, too, since she actually liked the two of them a little, but nope. It was just me and her.

We were mostly quiet on the walk.

I guess on the way back from picking up the milk, Kari decided she was sick of the silence, because she asked me, “So, how's school going?”

I shrugged. “Fine,” I said. It was mostly true, anyway.

“I heard you're in a club.”

“Yep,” I said.

She was quiet some more.

“You know, we're all rooting for you, Trent.” That's what she decided to say after a while.

I looked down at my feet. One step after another. Just kept walking.