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D: “I thought … maybe you pulled a muscle or something on the climb. MY legs sure are killing me.”

A: “I’m fine.”

D: “You’re fine? That’s fine. I’m fine too.” [Great vocabulary, McCrae.]

A: “Uh, Ducky? You don’t have to do this.”

D: “What?”

A: “Check up on me. One mother is enough. Just let me have my space.”

D: “OK.”

You’re upbeat. You understand.

But you want to smack yourself because you’re making Alex SICK of you — and why shouldn’t he be, when you’re hovering over him and questioning his every move — and you realize ONCE

AGAIN that YOU BETTER WAKE UP, this is YOUR life.

So.

My life …

Let’s see. It’s fifty-six degrees outside.

The math homework is impossible.

My sneakers are wearing out.

It’s almost bedtime.

Thank God.

— Up After Midnight —

This Is Beginning to Become a Habit

Well, bedtime came and went. And you sat there and tried to think of something ELSE to write, but you couldn’t, so you read and listened to the radio until you were bored and thirsty, at which point you headed for the kitchen.

Lo and behold, Ted was there, sneaking a dish of ice cream, and you grunted hello.

T: “Can’t sleep, huh?”

D: “Nope.”

T: “Girl trouble?”

(Please.)

D: “Not exactly.”

T: “Well, what, exactly?”

D: “Nothing.”

T: “Come on, bro, what’s on your mind?”

And suddenly you felt like you-know-who, all bottled up with nowhere to go, which was stupid because Ted seemed to be in a decent mood, the kitchen was quiet, and you felt comfortable in a way you hadn’t felt since before Mom and Dad returned, as if the house was yours again, just the two of you shooting the breeze at midnight.

You got a glass of water, sank into a kitchen chair, and began to talk — keeping it light, skimming the details, not wanting to bore him — until you realized THIS IS YOUR BROTHER

and he’s bored you PLENTY over the years, and if you can’t talk to him, who, then?

So you unloaded. You talked about Alex’s moods, Alex’s absences from school, the rock-

climbing incident, the way your life had become CONSUMED by Alex’s problems.

D: “My best friend is being sucked into his own private black hole, and I’m diving in after him.

My other best friends are all eighth-grade girls, and I can’t talk to THEM about this. So I keep it to myself. And it affects everything in my life. School. My friendships.”

T: “And then, in the middle of all this, Mom and Dad come home.”

D: “Right. I felt so strange at the airport, picking them up. Uncomfortable. Same thing at Disneyland. I mean, I should be happy they’re home. We’re going to be together for

Christmas.”

T: “Well, life is sometimes like that.”

D: “My life, anyway.”

T: “Hey, I feel strange about Mom and Dad too. I felt especially strange at Disneyland.”

D: “You didn’t seem that way. You were acting like a little kid!”

T: “Overcompensation. That’s like an exaggerated reaction to cover up how you’re really feeling. You’ll learn about that in Psych 101.”

(Thank you, Dr. Freud.)

D: “So that was an act?”

T: “Sort of. I mean, I feel weird even now. Listen to us, all whispery and quiet. A week ago, we’d be in here crashing around, not worrying about waking anyone up, not caring about who’ll notice the food missing from the fridge. It’s different now.”

Ever since that conversation, you’ve been thinking about that difference.

Part of you wants everything to be the same. Mom, Dad, Ted, Ducky, apple pie, Disneyland.

But you know it can’t be that way. Not totally.

Before Mom and Dad came home, you’d gotten used to a new life.

Independent. Free.

You hate to admit it, but part of you is looking forward to their next trip.

Tuesday 12/8

Study Hall

Three tests Friday. You thought they weren’t supposed to schedule so many in one day.

Big trouble. Have to cut this short.

BTW, Alex in school today. (Hooray.)

Didn’t say much to you, though. Looked tired.

As usual.

Late-night Ramblings

Half-open Eyes

Mom and Dad so quiet during dinner. Dad’s mad, I think. Don’t know why.

More details as they become available.

Midweek Checkup

or, The Remains of a Once-Vital Youth:

Ducky, We Hardly Knew Ye

Studied till 11:30 last night. Ouch.

You feel like dry toast today.

Saw Alex at lunch. He must not have seen you. He came in late and took a seat alone by the window. You had dessert with him, but he was very quiet so you didn’t force the conversation.

When you went your separate ways afterward, he didn’t even say good-bye.

On your way to class, you ran into Sunny, who looked worse than you. She was even more off-the-wall than usual — loud jokes, under-the-breath insults, sudden space-outs.

Poor thing. Her mom’s really deteriorating. It’s hard to find out exactly how much. Sunny’s not giving any straight answers.

But you were worried. So you tracked down Dawn after study hall and asked if she knew

anything.

“Sunny doesn’t confide in ME anymore,” she replied.

Well.

You wish they would patch thing sup. Sunny desperately needs a best friend.

Don’t we all.

Thursday

There’s No Place Like Homeroom

Who is DAD to lecture you about bedtimes and study habits?

Now that they’re home — NOW you’re supposed to suddenly revert to childhood? Get into your jimmies and brush your toofies and kiss-kiss before the little hand reaches the nine?

You tried to be calm about it. You ARE a reasonable guy. You explained that 10:45 wasn’t too late for a good night’s sleep, and you only had twenty more pages to read. And besides, you’d stayed up late OTHER nights this week.

WHY the explosion? WHY?

Something’s up. Mom and Dad are arguing behind closed doors — whispering, hissing.

Maybe they’re still having trouble adjusting to the return.

Welcome to the club.

Soc stud

You were walking head down through the main hall, lost in your own world, when you smelled cigarette smoke. You looked up, and you were in the mood to BLAST somebody, to ask the idiot if he could READ THE SIGNS — and you were practically face-to-face with Mrs. Snyder.

She’d just walked through the front door and she was stubbing the butt out in an ashtray.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi,” she said.

You probably didn’t stand there very long. It just SEEMED that way because you felt so AWKWARD seeing her in the middle of the school day, so you just nodded and moved on while she disappeared into Mr. Dean’s office.

Terrific. Alex has become an official Case.

Reflections on a Lousy Day

(Written at Winslow Books)

He totally ignored you at the lockers.

You sat with him at lunch. A half hour of slow chewing and window gazing.

You mentioned you saw his mom. You asked if he saw her.

Shrug. Shrug.

Finally you asked, “Are you mad at me about something?”

He didn’t answer. He stood up and left.

How much of this can you take?

Never give up?

NEVER?

Even Good Old Ducky has his limits.

TGIF

Because

YNAW

You Need a Weekend, that is.

Your chemistry exam is a killer.

English and French are no day at the beach either.

In between, you eat lunch all by yourself. Alex is at another table.

Fine.

Unfortunately, Marco and a bunch of Cro Mags sit at the table next to you and start quacking and making stupid comments, turning your lunch into sheer misery.

When the bell rings, you’re out of there. But as you’re rounding the corner to class, you feel two hands reach around your face and cover your eyes.

Your lurch away. You HATE their idiotic pranks and you HATE the fact that ruining your lunch isn’t enough, that they have to follow you into the hallway and continue their torture — and you’re ready for anything, an egg shampoo, a ridiculous hat, a fight.

But it’s Dawn. And behind her is Maggie, holding a flower. And Amalia, with a small box of chocolates.

“Don’t EVER do that again!” Great, Ducky, dump on your pals. “I mean, you scared me.”

Dawn looks shocked. “Sorry.”

“We were going to hold you hostage,” Amalia explains. “Force you to endure flowers and chocolate.”

“We thought you needed it,” Maggie adds.

You feel like a total JERK. You try to smile, but it feels phony. “Thanks, guys.”

“I mean, if you don’t LIKE chocolate, I’ll eat it,” Amalia says.

It’s a joke. You tell yourself to LIGHTEN UP.

“Whatever,” you say. “You can have it.”

“Excuse ME, sir,” Amalia says, “what have you done with good old Ducky?”

Good Old Ducky.

Good Old, Used-up Ducky.

Discovering Ducky:

A Journey to the Wild, Screaming Beaches

You wind your way among the marauding Rollerbladers.

You shield yourself from the blazing sun.

You risk bruise and blister on the sand and jetties.

And you finally find him. Here on the farthest rock, away from the noisy crowd.

He’s floating high over the silver-blue ocean. He’s crawling into a cool crevice with the starfish.

He’s billowing in the sail of a distant catamaran, and he’s riding the waves in the wake of the surfers.

You can’t really see him. He’s not a person, but you wish he were. He’s a lot of things you want to be.

He’s alone.

He’s free.

He’s not afraid.

And he knows what’s important.

Sunday

Discovering Ducky 2

You fix pancakes for the whole family. Mom is blown away. Dad smiles for the first time since, oh, Tuesday.

Ted says you should have put raisins in the pancakes, but you take it in stride. Cool and good-humored. A rising tide lifts all boats.

Next you call Alex.

He can avoid you all he wants.

He can be mad at you.

He can even end the friendship.

But he has to TALK to you first.

That’s all you ask.

Mrs. Snyder says he’s not home. He left on his bike. Somewhere.

You have a hunch where.

You find him at Las Palmas County Park, at your old spot near the creek.

You say hi and he says nada.

You fight the impulse to spin away and head right back over the bridge.

You drop your bike and sit next to him.

D: “Is it something I ate?”

A [frowning]: “What?”

D: “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

A: “Oh. That. Sorry.”

D: “Body odor, then? My political beliefs?”

A [No smile. (No surprise.)]: “I just wanted to be alone, that’s all.

D: “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

A: “Ducky — ”

D: “Do you feel BETTER when I’m not around? Do I make you feel worse?”

A: “No, but — ”

D: “I’m nosy. I try too hard. OK. But you know what? You ought to be GLAD you have a friend like me.”

A: “I AM glad.”

D: “Good. So let me do what friends are SUPPOSED to do. TALK to me. Stop telling me nothing’s wrong. I’m CONCERNED about you. I don’t know if you’re seeing Dr. Welsch

anymore. I don’t know if you’re even trying. But I want to help, Alex. Let me. Life is too short to waste away.”

A [mumbles]: “Not short enough.”

D: “Alex, stop it. You scare me when you say that!”

You’re practically shouting. He doesn’t realize how POWERFUL those words are.

A: “OK, Ducky. OK. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad week. That’s all. And I am seeing Dr. Welsch.”

D: “Do you talk to him about how you’re feeling?”

A: “Sure. But I get kind of talked out. That’s why I’m so quiet. So don’t worry, OK?”

You nod. But you’re not reassured.

You want to trust him, but that’s become almost impossible to do.

Part of you thinks he’s telling you what he thinks you want to hear. Just to shut you up.

And that part of you is mad.

But you don’t KNOW. You just don’t know.

“Well, I’ll be here,” you tell him. “You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

Alex nods and smiles faintly. “I hope not.”

Holiday Madness

at Winslow Books

That’s the sign in the window.

Couldn’t they have come up with something better?

It feels weird being here on a Monday. But at school today, Sunny asked you to sub for her.

She caught you in a rare good mood. Why? Because …

You squeaked by with a 78 on the chem, and you managed a B on the English. (You’ll find out about French
demain
.)

So you told Sunny OF COURSE you’ll work, but only until 5:30, because dinner’s supposed to start early tonight.

Dad has called a Family Meeting.

One can only guess the reason:

 They’ve decided to relocate to Palo City permanently.

 They want Ted and me to move out.

 They’ve planned another nostalgic family trip — to the Palo City Nursery School

playground.

We’re all getting bauxite in our stockings for Christmas.

You’re tingling with anticipation.

* * *

He was in school today.

Spaced out, as usual.

Although he seemed pretty upbeat, for him. He actually smiled at you. He mentioned how quiet his house will be tonight, because Paula’s going to a sleepover party at a friend’s. (That’s he first he’s even mentioned his sister in ages.)

And the last you saw of him, before you rushed off to Winslow Books, he was (gasp) cleaning out his locker.

You’re not going to get too excited, though. Don’t jump to conclusions — like your talk yesterday actually INFLUENCED him.

He probably just lost something.

And the Hits Keep Coming