True (. . . Sort Of) (15 page)

T
he next morning, they were doing chores just after dawn.

“Why are you working now?” Clarice wondered.

“We're getgorlying,” Delly explained.

And Clarice, running late, didn't ask what that meant.

They hid their packs till it was time. They were wearing the boots. Delly had Galveston's old ones strung around her neck and the rope wrapped around her waist. At quarter to ten they were tiptoeing to the door.

Till Galveston caught them. “Where are you two going so early?” she demanded.

“Is it early?” Delly asked innocently.

“It's not ten yet.”

“Huh,” she said.

Galveston gazed at Delly in her boot necklace and rope belt. “So strange,” she sneered. She shook her head at the two of them, wearing rain boots on a sunny day. “Go,” she said, scowling.

So they did.

They sprinted all the way to Ferris Boyd's.

She was waiting on the stoop with the cat.

They stopped in front of her, grinning and gasping for air. Then RB started singing, “We're going on a Dellyventure,” like they were headed to the North Pole to see Santa.

“Let's go,” Delly declared.

But Ferris Boyd stayed, holding tight to the step.

Delly didn't blame her. The last time she'd taken her on a field trip, hard things had happened.

So she sat beside her. “Ferris Boyd,” she asked, “you know how you got your hideawaysis, and you like it a lot?”

The girl turned to her.

“Well, I got one, too. I want to go to it. And I want you to go with me.” She took a deep breath, because it was still hard asking the ones that mattered so much. “Will you please come with me?”

Ferris Boyd stared at the trees for a minute. Then she nodded.

“All right then.” Delly grinned. “These boots are for you.” She took them off her neck.

“We already got ours on.” RB lifted one foot, then the other.

Ferris Boyd started untying her shoes, until Delly asked, “Hey, can you swim?”

Her fingers froze, and her eyes shut tight. She whipped her head back and forth, No, no, no.

But Delly didn't talk loud or get worked up. “Ferris Boyd,” she rasped softly, “You don't have to swim. You won't even get wet if you don't want to.”

And the softness floated past the fear, so Ferris Boyd heard her. She opened her eyes.

“I promise,” Delly told her.

Still, she took a long time putting on those boots.

All the while the cat's tail was flicking against the concrete, like it had something to say. “Maoh,” it called.

“What?” Delly answered.

With a growl it warned her, She'd better be all right.

Delly leaned close to it. “Promise,” she said.

The cat lay down on the stoop, as if it would wait there till Ferris Boyd came back.

Delly turned to the other two. “Let's go.”

“To Delly's hideawaysis,” RB sang.

Then the three chumbudions went down the road to the river.

Most days, the river that ran through town was wide as Main Street. But August had been dry. It had starved the river skinny, so the sides were just rocks and sand.

“See, Ferris Boyd.” Delly pointed. “Like a path.”

The girl nodded.

“I'll go first,” Delly told them. “Then Ferris Boyd.” She took the rope from her waist. “We'll tie ourselves to each other.”

Ferris Boyd's eyes opened wide.

“It's for RB,” Delly whispered, “so he doesn't get separated,” which was almost the truth.

They strung the rope through their belt loops. They hiked along the bank. The birds sang with RB: “We're going to Delly's hideawaysis.”

After a while, though, RB quit singing and started asking questions. “Is it on the river?” he wondered.

“Sort of,” she told him.

“How'd you find it?”

“In Clayton Fitch's canoe.”

“When are we going to get there?”

Delly didn't know, though; she'd traveled a lot faster in a boat. “Soon,” she said.

But RB wouldn't let it go, asking every two minutes, “Are we there yet?”

The question was like sandpaper on her skin; it was rubbing her raw. “RB,” she yelled, “how about you slap that question on some bread and swallow it?”

Then he was quiet. For about a second.

“Delly, I'm hot,” he whined.

“Yep.”

“I'm thirsty.”

“Yep.”

“I'm—”

“We're there!” she shouted.

They'd come around a bend. The rest of the river went straight ahead. But a branch broke off from it, cutting in front of them. It disappeared into the trees.

They followed it. It flowed into the woods, then turned back to the river, making an island on the far side of it. On this side, though, was a beach. In front of the beach, the water got deep and wide. It was a pool.

“Oh, Delly.” RB sighed.

She pointed up the hill behind the beach. There was a big rock with a flat top covered with moss, like a tablecloth.

“Can we eat there?” he asked.

Delly nodded, then she turned to her friend. “Ferris Boyd, this is our other hideawaysis.” She spread her arms wide, as if she would give it all to her.

Ferris Boyd put her hands over her mouth, like she had to hold the happiness in.

“Come on,” Delly told them, and they toured the place. They went to the stone table and rubbed the moss. They peered into the pool. They sat side by side on the beach.

“It's like somebody made it just for us.” RB said it, but they all nodded.

“Delly?” he asked.

“Huh.”

“Can we go swimming?”

“Yep,” she answered.

She opened her pack. “Ferris Boyd,” she said slow and easy, “you don't have to go in the water, but I brought these for you.” She set the suit and towel next to her. “If you want to swim, I'll teach you.”

Then she asked, “Do you want to go swimming with us?”

She didn't do it right away, but the girl shook her head, No.

“Okay,” Delly said softly, and she and RB went to the woods to change.

Two minutes later they came tearing down the beach. “Whoohoohoo,” RB screamed. “Happy Hallelujah!” Delly hollered as they hurled themselves at the water.

They played Shark and Scared Swimmer. They played Tidal Wave. They raced back and forth across the pool. All the while Ferris Boyd watched.

Delly stopped. “Ferris Boyd,” she called, “the water's only up to my neck. It'd be up to your belly. Want to come in?”

She took longer to do it; still, her head said No.

The Pattisons played Divers of the Deep. They held their breaths for as long as they could underwater.

So they didn't see her disappear. Next thing they knew, she was standing at the edge of the pool, wearing Gal's suit with her T-shirt over it.

“Hey.” RB greeted her. “Want to come in?”

She stared at the water as if it might bite her. She took tiny steps till she was in it to her hips.

“Ferris Boyd,” Delly asked, “want me to teach you?”

It was the smallest nod, like a whispered Maybe.

RB piped up. “I want to teach, too.”

“You be the demonstrator,” Delly told him.

“I'm the demonstrator,” he sang.

“First, you got to hold your breath and put your head in the water,” Delly taught her. “You have to blow air out your nose, so the water doesn't go up it.”

RB nodded. “That hurts.”

“Show her,” Delly said.

He took a big breath and went under. Bubbles floated around his head. He was grinning when he popped up again. “That's how you do it.”

“Okay, Ferris Boyd, now you,” Delly directed her.

Slowly she submerged herself. She wasn't under for two seconds till she shot out of the water, sputtering.

“You're all right,” Delly said gently, and that calmed her.

RB showed her how to kick and how to scoop water with her hands. Then he put the whole thing together. “Just like Tuba.” He laughed as he paddled around the pool.

“Now you try,” Delly told her. “Stand up when you want to stop.”

They watched her push off. They watched her arms and legs splash. They watched her sink to the bottom of the pool.

“That's it,” Delly cheered when she came up. “You just got to go faster.”

She tried again. This time her arms and legs were outboard motors. She cruised across the water.

“You're swimming, Ferris Boyd, you're swimming!” RB clapped.

Then there was no stopping her; she kept going around and around the pool.

Finally, Ferris Boyd ran out of gas. She stood in the pool, panting.

Delly was deciding what to teach her next. “Dead man's float or frog kick?”

“No more lessons,” RB announced. “Let's eat.”

They went to the stone table. Delly laid everything on the moss like a holiDelly feast.

“Puhlease pawss the peanut buttah and jelly sawndwiches,” RB said.

“What's the matter with your mouth?” Delly asked.

“We're eating on a tablecloth,” he whispered. “I'm having manners.”

“Then stawp tawking with your mouwuth full,” she told him, and that ended it. For about a second.

“Ferris Boyud, would you like some watuh?” he inquired. He wiped the lip of the bottle with his towel before handing it to her.

When they were done, RB and Ferris Boyd started cleaning up.

“Hold on,” Delly said. “Dessert.”

She went in her pack and pulled out a bag of the big marshmallows and a jar of fudge sauce. “For dipping,” she told them.

“Ooooh,” RB sighed.

Ferris Boyd's eyes got wide.

They sank the marshmallows into the fudge, like they were drowning. “I'll save you,” RB would shout, and pull them out. Then they popped them in their mouths.

When they were done, RB looked as if he'd been dipped in fudge, too. “Deeelishaws,” he declared.

After lunch, they lay down on the sand with their bellies up, like beached whales.

RB and Ferris Boyd closed their eyes. Delly stayed till their breaths were sleeping ones, then went to work.

When she was done, she touched RB's shoulder. “Ferris Boyd,” she whispered, “time to get up.”

RB was rubbing his eyes. “Did you sleep?”

She shook her head. “I got wood for next time, for a fire.” She pointed to the pile. “I buried the matches by it, so we don't have to bring them.”

Ferris Boyd watched her.

“What are you going to name it?” RB wondered.

“What?”

“Your hideawaysis.”

She thought about it: Dellyland, The Delaware Territory. “Delaferbia,” she finally said. She wrote it in the sand so they could see it.

“Hey, that's part of our names,” he exclaimed.

Ferris Boyd traced the word with her finger, as if she were saying it to herself.

RB grabbed a stick. He marched around the beach waving it over his head, like a flag. In a deep voice he hollered, “I hereby name this place Delaferbia,” and planted it in the sand.

Then he asked, “Del?”

“Huh.”

“Can we go in again?”

Delly glanced at Ferris Boyd. She wanted it, too.

“For a little while,” she told them.

Those two ran into the water. But Delly had to wait till her heart quit pounding so hard with happiness, because they loved the place like she did.

“Let's be dolphins,” RB shouted.

Ferris Boyd was nodding.

“Okay,” Delly agreed. “I'll show you how.” RB squatted on the bottom of the pool, then pushed off so he flew into the air. He wiggled like a fish till he flopped in the water.

“Now you do it,” he said.

So they did.

And it was fun, shooting into the air like sea-tosky missiles. When Ferris Boyd hit the water, her shirt floated up around her armpits like a jellyfish.

Delly was crouched at the bottom of the pool, about to blast off. Ferris Boyd came down with her back to Delly and her shirt up.

And Delly saw it.

In the water, they were purple. They were slashes across her skin, like a message written in code. A bad message, ripped into Ferris Boyd's back.

It was ugly. It was awful. Delly didn't want to know it.

Ferris Boyd shot into the air again.

But Delly could still see the message. She could almost feel it, the pain that would etch flesh.

She retched. Water went up her nose and down her windpipe. She came up gagging.

The other two stopped when they heard her hacking. “You okay?” RB asked.

Delly wouldn't look at Ferris Boyd. She didn't want to see the message in her eyes, in the way her body hunched over.

“Time to go,” she told them.

They went to the woods to change. They met back at the beach, with Ferris Boyd wearing her wet shirt.

RB gazed at the woods, the beach, the water. “Nobody would ever find us here,” he breathed, and Ferris Boyd nodded. “Good-bye, Delaferbia.” He waved to it.

Ferris Boyd picked up some sand and put it in her pocket, as if she would take the day with her.

“Let's go,” Delly ordered.

So they tied themselves together and headed back to River Bluffs.

All the way home, the message wouldn't leave Delly alone. She was almost glad for RB's questions.

“Can we come back tomorrow?” he asked.

“Gal'll get suspicious.”

“Next week?”

“I don't know.”

“Every week?”

“RB!” she shouted. She never wanted to come back. She'd forget the day if she could.

“Delly?”

“What?”

“This was the best day ever.”

“Huh,” she answered. Because it was. Then it was the worst.

But if the message was true, every day was the worst for Ferris Boyd.

At the bridge they untied themselves. Ferris Boyd walked beside Delly out the River Road. RB ran up ahead, singing, “We're from Delaferbia.”

The question had been there before they were dolphins. It had been there since the day the green Impala was in the drive. Delly didn't want to ask it.

It came out of her anyway. Soft and sad, she whispered, “Ferris Boyd, what does that man do to you?”

Ferris Boyd flinched, as if something had hit her. She stopped. Slowly she turned to Delly.

Delly stopped, but she stared at the road. She was too scared to see what the girl would do. Would she run? Would she tell her about the ugly awfulness? Which would be worse?

RB heard the silence behind him, and spun around. “Hey,” he said, smiling. Then he saw their faces. “Hey?”

Ferris Boyd turned back to the road. She started shuffling again.

And Delly followed. For once she was glad not to get an answer.

When they got to the old Hennepin place, the cat ran to them. It bumped their shins with its back.

Ferris Boyd took off the boots. She held them out to Delly.

“You keep them,” RB told her, “for next time.”

But she kept pushing them toward Delly. She could forget the day and what she'd seen if she wanted.

Delly could feel the friend paper in her pocket. It was pressing her, Look at Ferris Boyd.

So she did. She glanced at the girl's face. And it wasn't ugly, or awful, like the message. It was just her friend.

Then Delly wouldn't forget the day or even seeing the message. It was all Ferris Boyd; it was all her friend. “Keep them, for next time,” she told her.

Slowly Ferris Boyd pulled them to herself.

The whistle blew.

“See you tomorrow, Ferris Boyd,” RB sang.

“See you tomorrow,” Delly promised.

At the bridge, RB asked her, “Del, what's wrong?”

Delly wouldn't tell him, though. There was nothing he could do, and he'd stop singing if he knew.

So she took his hand, and he let her hold it all the way home.

That night, Delly went to Clarice. She didn't ask; she just crawled in beside her.

“Ma,” she rasped.

Clarice kept snoring.

Delly didn't mind. She needed to talk; she wasn't sure she wanted Clarice hearing her. “It's Ferris Boyd. She's . . . ” and the rasp cracked apart. Her body shook with sobs that couldn't come out.

“Hunnhhh?” Clarice stirred.

Delly held herself still till Clarice was sleeping again. Then she said, loud enough for her mom to almost hear it, “It's bad, Ma. But I can't tell you because . . . ” She didn't know what would happen, but she was sure it'd be terrible. “Ma, I don't know what to do.”

Clarice snored once, then rolled onto her side. She threw her arm over Delly and pulled her tight.

And Clarice was a love shield, her warm softness all around Delly so nothing bad could get to her.

In the warm softness of Clarice, Delly got drowsy. But she couldn't quit thinking about Ferris Boyd, hurting all alone, with nobody like Clarice to hold her.

“I'll take care of you,” she told the darkness.

And she did.

She brought extra sandwiches to the hide-awaysis. She went to the library and got books on animals for her friend.

“This one's about the creatures of Alaska,” she told her. “And this one's just about cats.”

“What kind of cat is Mowr?” RB wondered.

“A bawlgram cat,” she answered, and it flicked its tail at her.

She didn't ask Ferris Boyd any more questions. And when RB wanted to go back to Delaferbia, she told him, “The river's too high, from the rain,” which was close-to-honest.

Every day put time and happiness between them and the message, so Delly could almost believe it wasn't true.