The Mealworm Diaries (9 page)

He thought of the time when he was seven and he got a fishhook stuck in his thumb. He had cried and pulled away when his father tried to examine his hand. “There's not much choice here, Jer,” his dad had said when Jeremy finally let him look. “You'll just have to suck it up.”

Suck it up. Suck it up.

His father had thrust the sharp end of the hook up and through the flesh without warning. “It hurts less if you don't think about what's coming,” he had said. Even so, it was a while before Jeremy allowed him to cut off the jagged barb and remove the hook. That hurt too.

He ran on.
Suck it up. Suck it up
.
Running is nothing
compared to a fishhook,
he told himself. His arms pumped, his feet pounded a beat.
Suck it up. Suck it up.
Suck it up.

It was his mother's voice that broke the spell. “Go, Jeremy! Go!”

He heard her before he saw her jogging beside the path, keeping pace with him, cheering him on. “Way to go, Jeremy! Way to go!” she shouted until he entered the chute. Milly was waiting there, her face beaming. Horace greeted him with a high-five. The number on his paper was twenty-three. Twenty-third. Not as good as Horace who finished ninth, but still…

He gasped for air. “Keep walking,” his mother told him as she draped his jacket over his shoulders. Then she leaned toward him as if she was about to give him a kiss.

“Mom,” he said, his voice a warning.

She straightened, lifting her hands in pretend horror as she backed off. “Sorry,” she said. “I don't know what I was thinking.” Then she laughed so happily that Milly and Horace laughed too, and Jeremy couldn't help but join in.

The last of the boy runners was still straggling in when the starter's pistol went off again.
That will be for
the girls' race,
Jeremy thought.

“I'll be right back,” he called over his shoulder, as he slipped his arms into his jacket and hurried back the way he had come. He would go back for Karima—to run the last stretch with her, to help her finish the way his mother had helped him.

He met two of the last boy runners coming in. They were plodding, their heads down, their breath harsh in their throats, their feet barely moving. “You're almost there,” Jeremy called. “Don't stop now, you're almost there.”

He was searching for a place to wait, a place with enough shrubbery to protect him from the wind, when the sight of another runner stumbling around a curve made him groan. Only one person he knew ran like a wounded duck. Aaron.

Aaron looked as if he'd been attacked by a roving mud puddle. He was caked with the stuff, and the mud on his arms and legs was reddened by the blood oozing from his knees and elbows.

“Hey, Jeremy.” Aaron waved. He seemed happy enough in spite of the way he looked.

“Hey, Aaron.” Jeremy tried to hide his annoyance. “Keep going. You're almost there.”

But Aaron stopped. “I can't find the rabbit,” he said.

“The rabbit's long gone. Just keep going and you'll get to the finish.”

Aaron didn't leave.

“For crying out loud, Aaron!” Jeremy shouted. He didn't want Aaron around when Karima arrived. “Go! Go on!”

Aaron stayed.

Jeremy took a breath. “Come on,” he said and he began slowly jogging beside Aaron to get him restarted. Aaron started all right, but every time Jeremy stopped, he did too. Finally, not knowing what else to do, Jeremy ran on.

The girls' rabbit and the first of the girl runners lapped them as Jeremy steered Aaron into the chute to finish dead last in the boys' race.

Seconds later Karima flashed through. She disappeared into a circle of laughing girls before he had a chance to congratulate her. He realized then that waiting for her had been a dumb idea. She'd have outrun him on the way back anyway.

Still, he couldn't help being annoyed with Aaron.
He spoils everything
, Jeremy was thinking as he joined his mother and Milly, who were talking with an older woman. That woman leaned out and grabbed Aaron when he walked by. She pulled a sweatshirt over Aaron's head and helped him put his arms into the sleeves.
His grandmother? Had to be.

“You must be Jeremy,” she said with a wide smile when he approached. “It was so nice of you to go back for Aaron.”

Jeremy shook his head. “I didn't…,” he said.

“It's no wonder he talks about you all the time, says you're his best friend ever. Right, Aaron?”

Jeremy felt trapped. He was sick of Aaron. Sick of Aaron telling the whole world they were friends. “We're not friends,” he blurted out.

The woman's smile vanished. Milly and his mother exchanged glances. “We're not friends,” he said again. “The teacher says we have to work together, but we're not friends, are we, Aaron?”

If Aaron heard, he didn't answer. He was picking off the crusty layers of drying mud and blood that matted the fine hair on his legs.

“Jeremy,” his mother said, her voice filled with disapproval.

He glared at her.
I won't apologize
, he thought.
I won't.
You can't make me.
But she didn't say anything else. She just looked at him and her look was…sad? Disappointed? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't face it and he turned away.

Beside him Aaron was still picking dirt from his knees, while his grandmother fussed. “Stop that,” she said. “Stop that!” and she tried to pull Aaron's hands away. Then, sounding a little helpless, she turned to Milly. “I'll have to find someplace to clean him up.”

“They've got wet towels at the first aid station,” a new voice said, and Jeremy turned to see Karima. She smiled and gave him a little wave, but she spoke to Aaron.

“Hey, Aaron,” she said. “You're a mess. Come on, I'll show you where you can get cleaned up.” And to everyone's surprise Aaron followed her.

Jeremy watched them walk away. He could see Karima lean towards Aaron and say something. Whatever it was, it made Aaron laugh, and Jeremy felt a little jealous. That's where he wanted to be, walking beside Karima.

“I don't know how I'll ever get those clothes clean again,” Aaron's grandmother said as she hurried to catch up. “I should probably help,” Milly said and she followed too, leaving Jeremy alone with his mother.

He glanced at her. Now that everybody was gone would she tell him he had been rude? He was ready for that.
It's wasn't my fault,
he would tell her.
I never told
him I'd be his friend.

But she didn't say anything. He heard her sigh, saw her fumble in her purse, pull out a tissue, blow her nose. “I…I have to go,” she said when she was done. “My shift starts in half an hour.” He nodded and watched her walk away without saying good-bye.

She didn't even try to give me a kiss
, he thought. He wasn't sure if he would have objected this time.

In the distance, the starter's pistol went off again. It was followed by the roar from cheering spectators as a new race started, but for Jeremy the joy of cross-country running was over for that day.

EIGHTEEN

It was way past noon when the bus dropped the runners off at school. Jeremy was cold and tired and hungry, but he took his time getting home. He wasn't worried about facing his mother. He didn't think she'd say anything else about Aaron. She hardly ever got mad at him anymore. Not since the accident. Ever since his father died, she was careful not to upset him, so careful that her silence bothered him. For a while he had tried annoying her on purpose. He had ignored her calls to dinner and burped loudly at the table. Once, when she bought him a new shirt, he snapped, “That is so not cool.” Before the accident she would have reminded him about his manners, sent him to his room or yelled at him.

For sure she would have made him apologize. Now…?

Now she only frowned and looked sad. In some ways that was worse than being yelled at.

No, it wasn't his mother he was afraid to face, it was Milly.

She'd been really nice ever since they came to stay with her. Never got mad. Never shouted. Never bossed him around. But today…? Today she had looked disappointed, and he wondered what she would say.

“Hi, Milly,” he said, faking cheerfulness as he walked into the kitchen.

Milly was standing behind the ironing board. He looked for one of her welcoming smiles. It didn't appear.

She did say, “Hello, Jeremy,” but she didn't look at him, and he could tell from her tone that she wasn't happy.

“Is Mom home yet?”

“She'll be late. She has to make up the time she took off to see you run.”

The muscles in his stomach tightened. His hunger faded.

Milly walked to the stove and brought a cup of tomato soup and a sandwich to the table for him. It looked good. It smelled good. He wrapped his fingers around the cup, enjoying the warmth, but he didn't pick up the spoon.

He watched Milly return to the ironing board and pull one of his shirts from the laundry basket. He saw her lips pinch and the lines over her nose pucker. The iron came down with a
thwack
as she pressed wrinkles out of first one sleeve, then the other, flipped the shirt and smacked the iron down again. He sighed. She was mad. He could tell.

“I should have told you that I've known Aaron's grandmother for a long time,” she said.

“You mean…you're friends?”

“Yes. No. We're not close friends. We run into each other here and there. At the grocery store or the library. Like that. And we talk.”

The muscles in Jeremy's stomach clenched, and his arm wrapped protectively across his middle.

“As for Aaron. Well, that boy doesn't make life easy for her.”

No kidding,
was on Jeremy's lips, but he knew this wasn't the time for a smart remark.

Milly finished ironing the shirt before she spoke again. “Did you know that his parents are both gone?”

Jeremy shook his head. He hadn't given Aaron's parents much thought.

“He was only two when his mother died,” Milly went on. “It was some kind of cancer. The doctors gave her treatments before she knew she was pregnant. They stopped as soon as they found out, but maybe not soon enough. Some of Aaron's problems might come from that. Cancer medication and babies don't do well together.”

“What…what happened to his father?”

“He took off after his wife died. He calls every so often but he hasn't come back.”

“Oh…I thought he was sick or something.”

“What made you think that?”

“I thought Aaron said his dad had a scar on his chest.”

Milly frowned and Jeremy wasn't sure if it was because she was thinking about Aaron's father or the shirt she was folding.

Then she said, “When Aaron was little, his grandmother told him that his father left because he had a broken heart and that was something doctors couldn't fix. I suppose Aaron imagined a scar.”

She pulled a tablecloth from the basket. “It can't be easy for Aaron either: a boy living alone with his grandmother.”

“He's not alone. He's got a brother.”

“Brother? He doesn't have a brother.”

“But we saw him. On the streetcar. His name's Paul. He said he was Aaron's big brother.”

“Oh, Paul. I forgot about Paul. He's with that Big Brothers, Big Sisters organization. He's a high-school student who spends time with Aaron every couple of weeks. Nice boy, but not his real brother.”

Jeremy stared into the soup congealing in his cup. His shoulders sagged. “How come you're telling me now?” he asked.

“Aaron's grandmother says you're Aaron's best friend. I thought you should know.”

“But…I'm not his friend,” Jeremy said stubbornly. He didn't want to give in on this. “You know I've been complaining about Aaron since the first day of school. It's not my fault that he's weird. He drives
everybody
crazy. Why do
I
have to be his friend?”

Milly matched the ends of the tablecloth and folded it in half and then in half again. She ran her hands across the cloth before she looked up. “I can understand why he's a nuisance to you,” she said.

“But you're making it sound like I
have
to be his friend,” Jeremy said, prepared to argue.

“No…” Milly shook her head. “That's a decision only you can make.” She leaned down to pull the iron's plug from the wall. “But I think it's sad, isn't it, that someone you don't like at all thinks you're the best friend he has.”

She collapsed her ironing board then and carried it out of the kitchen, leaving Jeremy with a mouthful of protests and no one to hear them.

NINETEEN

On Monday Jeremy went back to school prepared to give Aaron another chance. Maybe they could be friends
some
of the time.

When Mr. Collins gave the class time to work on their mealworm projects, everything went well—for a while. He and Aaron drew a design for a maze, and when they showed it to Mr. Collins, the teacher said, “I think that experiment's worth a try.”

He sent them to borrow a bin of blocks from the kindergarten and they settled on the floor at the back of the room and began building. When the maze had an outer wall and three small rooms for the mealworms to wiggle through in their search for food, Aaron began building a tower at the entrance.

Jeremy sat back on his heels. “There's no tower in the plan,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable. “Besides, we're building a maze, not a castle.”

“But, but, but what if we put them in the tower first? It would give them a chance to see the maze from the air. An' then, an' then, they'd know where they have to go. Before, you know, before they enter the maze. An', an', an' the first mealworm that gets out of the tower gets a head start.”