Something to Hold (3 page)

The stomping on the stairs sounds different, not like the soft thump of summer sneakers. Bill stops in the doorway to let us admire him. His new side-tie shoes are slick with polish, and white socks peek out from beneath his pegged pants. The new shirt fits him perfectly, like he's some teen idol in stupid glasses.

"Nice threads," Dad says, reaching for bacon.

Bill jabs a pancake off the plate before his bottom hits the chair. "Gotta get going," he says. "Jimmy's saving me a
good
seat on the bus."

Mom hands him a glass of milk and says, "Take it easy. Don't slop breakfast all over my handiwork."

The first-day-of-school routine is different this year because we won't all be together. Bill will abandon us for a long bus ride that climbs out of the canyon to the junior high in Madras. Joe and I will carry our new tablets a few blocks to Warm Springs Grade School. Makes me want to throw up.

"Honey?" I realize Dad's talking to me. "You want me to walk you to school this morning?"

Joe shakes his head before I can get my mouth open. "You don't need to come."

Yes, you do!
I finish off my orange juice instead of saying so. Too embarrassing to have your dad take you to school in the sixth grade, no matter how much you need him.

"OK. I've got a timber meeting in Prineville, but I'll be back before dinner. You can tell me all about it then."

Mom checks the clock over the stove. "Bill, scoot!" She shoos him with her hands, and we all scatter in different directions.

All the way across the campus, I think about what is ahead. When we get to the stop sign by the basketball court, I see a thread of students climbing up over the lip of the hill from Shitike Road. Indian kids. Joe and I are the only white kids, and even with our brown hair and summer tans, we stick out.

The school is flanked by two dormitories—for girls on one side and boys on the other. Not long ago, this was a boarding school just for Indian kids. Last year, the Bureau of Indian Affairs turned the school over to the county. Now everybody in grade school comes here. Some Indian kids stay in the dorms if their homes are way out on the reservation.

My throat gets tighter when I see the mass of kids around the stone steps of the school building. Not a grownup in sight.

"I'm going to go find Howie," Joe says.

"
What?
No—" I blurt, but he takes off toward the playground, leaving me exposed on the sidewalk.

I take a deep breath and tell myself,
Today's the first day of school everywhere. All you have to do is look for somebody standing all alone, smiling. Better yet, somebody scared spitless. Go say hi. Simple as that.

A pack of girls pushes out through the doors of the dormitory across the way. Then the door of the boys' dorm bursts open behind me, and I'm caught in a swirl of black-haired kids. Not one of them looks half as scared as I feel.

I grip my tablet and work my way to the edge of the crowd. That's when I see a white kid about my age standing off to the side of the playfield. There's something odd about him, like his face wasn't put together right. Plaid shirt buttoned up all the way and tucked into his pants, belt cinched tight. He has a big grin plastered on his face. I walk over, and I'm about to say something when Joe trots up. "Hey, Howie. I was looking for you."

Howie points at him. "Joe," he says to me.

"Yeah, I know. I'm his sister."

Joe looks around at the crowd. "Lotta kids here, huh."

Howie nods. "Huh."

What's with this kid?
I look over at Joe. "I thought you said you and Howie are in the same class."

"We are," Joe says. "He's my friend."

But he's older than you. And what's wrong with him?
I can't ask this in front of Howie, so I smile and say, "Oh. Nice to meet you."

Howie glances over my shoulder, and the grin disappears. I turn to see Jewel and another girl slice through the mob. The other girl stops right in front of me, her feet bare in scuffed white flats, like she's trying to look cool. Jewel stands beside her, watching. I hold my breath, trying not to flinch.

"Looks like the
re
-tard found some company," the girl says.

I wish I could disappear.

Howie's shoulders sag. "That's not nice, Norma," he says.

I'm stunned. How can that girl be so mean? I can't think of a thing to say.

Joe tugs on his sleeve. "C'mon, Howie. Let's go." My little brother has the nerve to stare back at Norma. He and Howie push through the crowd of kids that has gathered around us.

Norma smirks, turning back to me. "Friends of yours?"

Jewel hasn't said a thing this whole time, but I can feel her eyes on me.

I don't know where it comes from, but I'm not scared anymore. I'm mad. "Yeah," I say. "And you leave them alone."

I turn away, cross the street, and start up the steps to the front door. A bell suddenly begins to clang, and the students of Warm Springs Grade School surge into the building.

T
HE
main hallway is a cavern. A tall man stands inside the door, nodding over the crowd like he's counting heads. This must be Mr. Shanahan, the principal.

He spots me. "You're new," he says, like I might not know.

"Uh-huh."

I'm supposed to go to the office to check in. Mr. Shanahan steps into the traffic to create a narrow opening, and I slip through it into the office. It is quiet in here, just a lady standing on the other side of the counter filling out a form. The other students must already know where they belong.

"My mom called last week?" I say when she doesn't look up. "To register us?" I have no idea where Joe is. He's supposed to be in here with me. I run my hand nervously through my short hair.

"Oh, right," the lady says. She sets down her pen and pulls a file card out of a box in front of her. "Kitty and Joe Schlick?" I nod. "You're in sixth grade with Mr. Nute. Your brother is in third with Miss Tutwiler." She looks behind me. "Where is he?"

I sigh and shrug my shoulders. The lady smiles slightly. "We'll find him, make sure he gets to the right place. You go on to class now."

When I come out of the office, it's hard to see with so many kids pushing through the hall. Mr. Shanahan says, "Down there," and points to a classroom straight ahead where two hallways meet.

Just above the crowd, I see a bald head standing sentry outside the door. This must be Mr. Nute. I go with the tidal wave of kids right into the classroom.

Inside, the desks are bolted to the shiny wood floors. Straight rows all facing front. A name card written in ragged script is taped to each smooth, slanted desk. We have assigned seats. I hope mine is by the windows, out of the way.

Jewel stands at the first desk in that last row. She's staring at me. Suddenly, I'm not as sure of myself as I was a few minutes ago.

"You," she calls across the room, and points to a desk about halfway down the next row.

A boy whirls around when she speaks. He is short and skinny, and his shirt is pulled out of his pants. He peers down at the name card on the desk. "
Kitty,
" he says, smirking. "Here kitty, kitty!" Then he laughs like an idiot.

Oh, geez.
It seems like the whole room freezes, everybody turned toward me. In that spray of faces, only one other is as light as mine—a kid who looks like a bozo with a blond crew cut and black-rimmed glasses. I quickly slide past Jewel and into the seat.

"Shut up, Orin," she says to the skinny kid.

One of the boys grins and pokes Orin on the arm. "She told you." And the pack turns and chews on one of its own.

I just can't figure this Jewel out. I concentrate on the smooth plane of my desk. Then something catches my eye. Raymond stands in the doorway. His steady eyes hold mine for the instant before I look away.

Another bell rings and Mr. Nute pivots into the classroom, pulling the door shut behind him. Everyone scatters and sits.

Mr. Nute spends a minute writing on the board, his name appearing in chalk in the same slanty print as on our name cards. Then he turns to face us, hands clasped behind his back like a soldier at ease. There is a weird symmetry to the way his stomach mirrors the shape of his bald head. His pants are cut wide to fit around him, and they sag over shined cowboy boots.

"Good morning, class," Mr. Nute says. "Welcome to sixth grade."

Reading from his clipboard, he calls the roll. Albert, Brunoe, Charley. Then a pause. "Cull-piss," he says.

The boy beside me snorts and then slaps his hand over his mouth. Giggles ripple across the rows, but no hand goes up.

Mr. Nute repeats himself, this time scanning the class. "Here or not?"

A girl in the next row throws a look over her shoulder. "Orin—that's
you!
" she hisses. Orin slowly raises his hand.

"Tomorrow," Mr. Nute says, "answer me the first time." He traces his finger down the list. "Dan-zuck—"

"Excuse me," Jewel says, rising from her desk.

Mr. Nute looks up, brow creased.

"His name is Orin Culpus."

"That's what I said.
Cull-piss.
"

"No," she replies, her voice calm and clear. "It's Culpus."

Mr. Nute looks at her for a long moment, then back down at his list. "Dan-zuck-uh."

"
Danzooka.
" Jewel blends the syllables in three graceful beats. "Here," she says, and sits back down.

Shaking his head, Mr. Nute makes a mark and then repeats, correctly this time, "Danzuka."

Slouched down in his seat, Raymond lifts his hand a couple of inches off the desk, index finger up. Mr. Nute scans the room before he sees it.

"Say 'here,'" Mr. Nute says.

"I'm here."

Are Raymond and Jewel related to each other?

Mr. Nute makes his way through a whole string—Franklin (the kid with the blond crew cut), Kishwalk, Moses, Polk. All the hands go up.

He takes another glance at the list, another pause. "Shil-ick."

I hate having a name that nobody can pronounce. I sigh and raise my hand. Every year I have to do this. "It's Schlick."

Mr. Nute nods. "Good German name," he says.

***

At recess, I stand at the edge of the field. In Virginia, I could join any group on the playground and feel welcome. But not here. Not after this morning.

A crowd presses around the backstop of the baseball diamond. I go over there so I don't feel so stupid out in the open. Nobody moves over to make room for me right by the fence, so I stand a little bit behind the other kids. The only thing to do is act like I don't care.

Raymond leans over first base, razzing the batter, a kid named Benson whose desk is next to mine. Jewel stands on the mound, ready to pitch. She and Raymond look like they might be brother and sister. I wonder why they're in the same class.

Jewel hurls the ball, and Benson swings hard and misses for the third time. "You're out!" yells Raymond, and Benson tosses the bat and jogs off toward the outfield.

They're playing work-up. You start in left field, and with every out you work your way up until you bat. Jewel trots over to the backstop to join the batters, and the fielders all rotate.

Raymond moves over to the mound as Franklin, the other white kid in my class, wags the bat over his shoulder. He crowds home plate, a wide grin on his freckled face.

Raymond wipes it right off with his first pitch. He rears back and fires a pitch that hits the batter square on the arm. Franklin howls, twisting away. The bat flies out of his hands and lands in the grass. "Stay off the plate!" Raymond hollers as Franklin drags himself to first, folded up around his elbow.

The boys who are waiting to bat all shrink away from the plate. Jewel steps around them and shakes her head, disgusted. She picks up the bat and holds it over her shoulder. Calm and cool, she stares back at Raymond.

Something passes between them. I can't read it, but all the kids stand still. Then Raymond winds up as the recess bell clangs. He throws a bullet straight toward home.

Jewel hammers it—out over the players, the street, and the playground beyond. The ball clears the fence, bounces once on the highway, and vanishes into the tumbleweeds on the far side.

Jewel stands on the plate glowering at Raymond. "You don't throw at the batters," she says, and turns back toward the school, carting the bat with her.

Wow. Where'd she get the nerve to do that?

***

After school, Joe is waiting for me in front of the building, like Mom told him to. I shake my head. "Where were you this morning? We were supposed to go to the office first."

Snapping at him doesn't make me feel any better. I'm actually proud of him for sticking up for Howie.

"Howie took me to class," Joe says. "Miss Tutwiler let me sit behind him."

As we head for home, he fills the air with his nonstop talking, and for once I'm grateful for his chatter. This feels normal—like the old days when we walked down the hill from our school in Virginia.

At supper, Dad acts normal too. "So, how did it go?"

Bill jumps right in, rattling on about how cool it is to change classes every hour. This gives me a few minutes to sort through my day. Mr. Nute taking roll seems better than all the other embarrassments I could tell them about.

When I get to the part about Jewel correcting him, Dad shakes his head.

"There was a Danzuka on the tribal council a few years back," he says. "This is the girl from down at the creek?"

"Yeah."

"If she's from the same family, she's been raised to speak up."

I'm not sure what he means. Jewel didn't speak up when Norma called Howie a retard. She just stood there.

But she told Orin to shut up when he made fun of my name. And she corrected Mr. Nute. She even stood up to Raymond on the baseball field.

After helping with the dishes, I settle in at the dining room table with the spelling list Mr. Nute had scribbled across the board.
I have to go back tomorrow. And it'll be as bad as today.

My throat feels tight, and the words on the paper are blurred by my tears.