Quinny & Hopper (2 page)

My parents thank Mrs. Porridge. Then they give me a big talk about not running off by myself. Then they send me up to my room. By myself.

I trudge up the stairs, all slumpy and sad. Pee-U Piper is up here in the hall, smirky-smiling. Nothing makes her happier than when I’m in trouble. She’s also holding my snowball cooler—which reminds me I forgot to put that snowball in the freezer!

She hands me the cooler and says, “Ha-ha, your snowball gotted all melty.”

“
Gotted
is not a word!” I grab that cooler and slam my door in Piper’s face.

Then I sit there, all alone in my lonely new room. No pet chicken, no new friends, no nothing. Just a cooler, dripping dead snowball onto my feet.

Moving here was the grumpiest idea ever.

Two

Making a foot is not easy.

That’s because a human foot has twenty-six bones in it. Some are as tiny as a screw. I spread them all out on my bed. I start by connecting the calcaneus to the cuboid.

“Hopper Benjamin Grey!” calls Mom from downstairs. “Let’s go!”

I connect the cuboid to the fifth metatarsals.

Our minivan’s horn beeps.

“Come on!” calls Dad from the driveway. “
We
’re late.”

I put my foot bones back into their box. I slide the box under my bed and walk downstairs.

Aunt LuAnne’s barbecue party is today. That means we all have to go to it.

In the front seat of the minivan, my parents joke and laugh.

In the middle seat, my big brothers, Trevor and Ty, shove each other.

In the back, I sit by myself and look out the window. Freya, the stray chicken, is eating from our songbird feeder again. I don’t think she knows who she really is.

We
get to Aunt LuAnne’s party. She pushes her big, mushy face down to mine and kisses me hello with orange lipstink. “Cheer up, Hopper!
Yo
ur cousins are here!” she booms up my nose.

Dad rubs my hair, hard. “Go on, have fun!”

He means his kind of fun. I try my best, but I’m no good at his kind of fun. The yard is crowded. And hot. Everybody here is talking at the same time. Some people are shouting, for no good reason. Some people are laughing, even though nothing funny is happening.

Trevor and Ty run around with a bunch of giant middle-school cousins. They knock things over. They almost knock me over.

Cousin Ally finds me. She wants to paint a daisy on my cheek.

I dodge her paintbrush and get in line at a long table of food. The coleslaw is warm and soupy. The hamburgers are black and burnt. The bowl of potato chips is down to crummy bits.

But there’s one hot dog left. And plenty of pickles.

I fix myself a plate and look for a place to sit. All the spots in the shade are taken.

Cousin Max wobbles over to me. He’s two. He steals my hot dog, drops it, and screams.

“Hopper, please be nice to him!” says Mom, coming over to us. “Max is just a baby.”

Actually, he’s a toddler, but it’s not worth arguing about. The outside of my head feels soggy from the hot sun. The inside of my head feels scratchy from all the crowded-party noise.

A flying Frisbee bonks me on the ear, and some girl cousins laugh.

Things aren’t going well for me at Aunt LuAnne’s barbecue party. There’s nobody here my age. There’s nobody here my style. But if I try to stay alone, a grown-up will stop me. Already I see Dad across the yard, pushing Trevor and Ty to come over here and “include” me, which in their brains means “hit.”

My brothers walk toward me, smiling now. The problem is, Trevor and Ty are twins. This means that whenever Trevor flips me upside down, Ty helps. And whenever Ty pounds me into the ground, Trevor helps. They’re a team.

And they’re getting closer.

If I stay put, I’ll be dead meat. If I run, they’ll chase me.

Then I notice that nobody is sitting underneath that long table of food.

Yet.

Sometimes it is easier to be with people’s feet than people’s faces.

It’s quiet here under the table. No one rubs my head like I’m a puppy or forces me to have their kind of loud, hurting fun. I eat my pickle. I eat my empty hot dog bun.

Then a hand lifts the tablecloth.

“Hopper, why don’t you come play in the sandbox,” says Mom.

Because I’m eight years old, that’s why.

“Hopper, why don’t you come hang out with Grandpa Gooley,” says Dad, right behind Mom. “He just got here.”

I look over and see Grandpa Gooley giving piggyback rides to the little kids. After a while, he can’t stand up straight. So I sit with him in the shade.

“Hopper, I know exactly how you feel,” he says with a sigh.

I’m not sure exactly how I feel. I wonder how Grandpa Gooley could know. At least he doesn’t tell me to cheer up.

I’m relieved when it’s time to leave Aunt LuAnne’s barbecue party.

Back home, I climb the stairs, two at a time. I push open the door to my room.

I pull the box out from underneath my bed and get back to work connecting foot bones. I connect the calcaneus to the talus. I connect the talus to the navicular. Everything clicks into place.

My room is my favorite place in the world.

In my room, I feel calm enough to juggle. I feel relaxed enough to draw. I can have my regular personality in here and nobody will say, “Cheer up, Hopper!” I can feed my fish and put together body-part models. I can look at my favorite science book,
Atlas of Human Anatomy
by Frank H. Netter. (Grandpa Gooley gave it to me for my eighth birthday. It’s the best and biggest picture book of body parts ever—real doctors even use it.)

In my room, I can be quiet without people thinking that it means I’m sad.

But today, just as I’m connecting the navicular to the cuneiforms, all my quiet stops.

A squeaky noise replaces it. It’s coming from outside my window.

I go over to the window and peek outside. My muscles freeze. My breath gets stuck in my throat. Because there’s someone out there, waving at me. Squeaking at me.

It’s a girl.

And boy, she’s got a lot of words in her mouth.

Three

I’m so busy pouting on my bed that I don’t even notice him at first. But then I look out my window and there he is, right past the trees, right inside the house next door.…

A boy! And he’s kind of almost just about my size!

But the boy doesn’t notice me back. So I open my window and holler, “Hey!
Yo
o-hoo! Over here! Hello? Hi there! How are you? I’m Quinny! Quinny Bumble! I just moved here from New
Yo
rk and I’m almost nine and my ceiling looks like coconut frosting! Who are you?”

Four

I was afraid this would happen.

When Mr. McSoren moved out of the house next door, I knew somebody else would probably move in. That house is pretty big for just one person, so I figured it might be a group of people. A family.

I wonder how many of them there are. I hope they’re not all as loud as this one.

Five

The boy stares back at me like he’s never seen a girl before.

I’m about to keep talking to him, but then I hear Daddy’s knuckles knock on my door.

“Daddy, come look! There’s a boy next door, a real, live boy!” I yank him over to my window, but that boy is gone. “He was there! He really was—honest!”

“I believe you, Quinny,” says Daddy. “His name is Hopper.”

“It is?”

“His mother just came by to welcome us.”

“She did?”

“She was also wondering if you wanted to go over there and meet Hopper.”

I jump up so fast that I almost fall down—the answer is YES!

We
hurry next door. Hopper’s house looks just like the gingerbread house I decorated in school last year. He’s lucky he gets to live in a tasty dessert house, not a stinky red barn-house.

Hopper’s mom welcomes us in and starts talking to Daddy, and I wait for Hopper to start talking to me, too. But he just stands there, hiding behind his scruffy hair and peeking out at me with two big looking-looking eyes. His forehead is crinkled and his mouth is tiny, and I can tell he is trying to be brave. I can tell it is not working.

I know with shy dogs you are supposed to move slowly and speak gently and let them sniff your hand first. Same with shy humans, except for the sniffing.

“Hi, Hopper, remember me? I’m Quinny.
We
just met in our rooms, and I’m very, very, extra-very glad to meet you again, even though you’re shy. I’m not shy, but some people are, and that’s okay. I’m just excited you live next door and you’re not as old as Mrs. Porridge!”

Hopper stares at me. His mom pushes him forward a little. “I’m Hopper,” he says, barely.

Then he stares at something on my head that isn’t my eyes. “Is that your real hair?”

“It is,” I tell him. “My mom thinks it’s beautiful.”

Hopper doesn’t say if he agrees with Mom or not. A lump bumps up in my throat.

“Yo
u do have fabulous hair, Quinny,” says Hopper’s mom. “Hopper, would you like to show Quinny your room?”

Hopper doesn’t answer, but his mom pushes him along. I follow him upstairs and almost crash into him as he stops suddenly by a closed door. He blocks that door with his whole body.

Then he stares at my head again. “What are those holes in your cheeks?” he asks.

Another lump bumps up in my throat. “What holes?” I ask.

But Hopper doesn’t explain. The next thing he says is, “How many teeth do you have?”

I don’t know. But that’s a good question. So I open my mouth and we count them.

Number of teeth in my mouth = 22.

Then we count Hopper’s teeth.

Number of teeth in Hopper’s mouth = 22, too!

“Oh, wow, Hopper, we have the exact same number of teeth! How cool is that! Do you have any loose ones? I still have two wiggly ones that are almost about to fall out—”

“Please don’t shout so loud up my nose,” Hopper says.

“Sorry.” I step back an inch. “Is that better?”

Hopper doesn’t answer this question. So I ask another one.

“What’s behind that door you’re blocking?”

“Body parts!” answers somebody else.

It’s a big boy talking now—a bulky, bully-faced boy holding a soccer ball as he stomps down the hall toward us. He bounces that ball off Hopper’s forehead. Ouch. Then a second bully boy, with the exact same face as the first one, shows up and shoves Hopper’s shoulder. “Dead, rotting body parts.” He snorts, sneering at me. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“
We
ll, you’re not me,” I say. “Now, could you please stop bothering my friend?”

“Yo
ur what?” Both bully boys laugh. They bounce that ball off Hopper’s head again.

“My friend,” I repeat.
“A
nd how would you like it if someone threw a ball at your face?”

“Hopper has a girlfriend! Hopper has a girlfriend!”

Those bullies make kissy-poo noises and mean laughing snorts. Then they grab Hopper and flip him upside down and swing him around. He doesn’t look too happy about it.

“Leave him alone!” I pound a big bully arm and push a big bully stomach, but this two-headed bully monster swats me away like I am just some pesky little girl.

We
ll, I am
not
just some pesky little girl. Those bullyheads don’t realize it, but I am a tae kwon do green belt. They have no idea what I had to
do
to earn that green belt. (Believe me, it was not pretty.) If they knew, they would be afraid. Very, very, extra-very afraid.

I get into my fighting stance. I pretend I am back at my
dojang
in New
Yo
rk City.

I front-kick a strong, fast foot, and I scream my spirit scream, “KEEEE-YAAAP!”

And
thwwwack
!

I kick that soccer ball right out of bullyhead #1’s arms, and it flies high through the air.…

And down the hall.

And down the stairs.

Then I hear the crash and smash of something hard breaking into a million pieces.

Uh-oh. The louder something sounds when it breaks, the more expensive it usually is.

That two-headed bully monster lets go of Hopper and glares down at me with fireballs of meanness shooting out of its four eyeballs.

“Yo
u’re gonna get it!” growls bullyhead #1.

“Yo
u’re dead meat!” snarls bullyhead #2.

“Wrong! I’ll scream like a scared little baby, and you’ll be the ones in trouble!”

“Quinny, what’s going on here?”

I turn around. It’s Daddy. He looks at me, half confused and half suspicious.

Hopper’s mom rushes up the stairs behind Daddy, and she cries,
“T
revor? Ty?
Yo
ur grandmother’s vase is broken! How many times have I told you: no playing ball in the house!”

“
We
didn’t!” roars bullyhead #1.

“T
hat girl broke it!” roars bullyhead #2. “She kicked the ball right out of my arms!”

Everyone looks at me. I try to smile, all sweet and innocent. Just a harmless little girl.

But there’s one problem: Pee-U Piper.

I have no idea how she even got here, but my four-year-old twit-ster is suddenly sitting on the stairs, and she squawks, “It’s true! Quinny hitted those boys and kicked their ball!”

That sneaky little thing was spying on me this whole time.

“
Hitted
is not a word,” I point out.

“I sawed the whole thing,” she says.

“
Sawed
isn’t a word, either. Learn to speak English!”

“Quinny, please,” says Daddy. “Is it true? Did you kick that ball down the stairs?”

“No! And even if I did, it was only because those big bullies made kissy-poo noises and tried to scare me with dead, rotting body parts, and then they turned Hopper upside down and—”

Daddy tries to interrupt me, but my engine is running too fast to stop.

“A
nd they wouldn’t cut it out, so I had no choice, because the
sabom
at my
dojang
always says we need to build a better, more peaceful world, which means you shouldn’t hold people upside down by their ankles and spin them around without their permission, right?”

Hopper’s mom looks totally confused now. So I fill her in.

“I happen to be a tae kwon do green belt, which is the belt right after yellow with a green stripe, and right before green with a blue stripe. For my belt test I broke a giant, thick piece of wood in two with just my bare foot.”

I show Hopper’s mom a strong, elegant side kick. She moves out of my foot’s way.

“T
hat’s…well, that’s very interesting, Quinny,” she says.
“T
hank you for sharing.”

“I’m sorry about your vase,” I also share.

Daddy tells Hopper’s mom that we will pay for the vase. I don’t know why, because none of this was my fault in the first place.

Hopper’s mom says that is “out of the question,” and then she turns to her own kids and says, “Boys, I’m disappointed in you. All three of you. This isn’t how we behave with guests.
Yo
u’ll spend the rest of the afternoon in your rooms, thinking about how to use better manners.”

“What?” wails bullyhead #1.

“No fair!” howls bullyhead #2.

Hopper’s the only one who doesn’t look upset to be stuck in his room for the rest of the day. I don’t understand that boy.

“T
o your rooms—now!” Hopper’s mom says.
“A
nd no video games, either.”

The bully twins glare at me with tiny-meany eyes. One of them growls and the other whisper-shouts, “Dead meat!”

I stick close to Daddy, who’s a lot bigger than they are. He picks up Piper and pulls me toward the stairs by my shirtsleeve. “Let’s go, girls.” His voice sounds like it has a headache.

“Bye, Hopper.” I wave back at him with a smile. “See you soon!”

But Hopper doesn’t wave or smile or say anything. He scowls at me like I’ve got cooties. Then he scurries into his room and slams the door.

I guess he hates me now, for some reason. I guess I didn’t make a new friend after all. As we walk away from Hopper’s house, Piper makes that smirky-sneaky smile that she always makes when I’m in trouble.

“T
attletale for sale!” I call out.
“T
attletale for sale!”

“Quinny, please,” Daddy sighs. “I can’t believe
what happened back there.”

“Neither can I.”

“Yo
u’ll help to pay for that broken vase out of your allowance.”

“But it wasn’t my fault! I was just standing there, doing my own life, when those bullies started bugging Hopper, so I tried to help him because I thought he was my friend. But I was wrong—he’s not my friend. That boy hates me, which is fine because it’s a free country, so let’s just move on, shall we?”

There’s a sniffle in my nose, but I’m not letting it out for some boy who hates me.

Not. Going. To. Happen.