True (. . . Sort Of) (7 page)

D
elly's team left her as soon as the whistle blew. They walked wide around her, like she was a stinking dead skunk in the road.

“Doesn't matter,” she muttered; but it did.

She stayed on the court, slumped over. “It was all supposed to change,” she mumbled.

The feeling bad that filled her said, “It did. It's worse.”

“At least I'm not in trouble,” she rasped.

“No, you're not trouble,” the bad feeling told her. “You're a loser. And so are those other kids, because of you.”

Delly didn't go to the locker room. She didn't want to see the smirks or hear the giggles. “I'll just go to class,” she grumbled, “I'll sit there, stinking in my sweat, till three o'clock.”

That wouldn't fix it, though. Because tomorrow and every day after, kids would be calling her names and laughing at her. That's what they did to losers. Counting couldn't keep her out of that many fights.

“What are you going to do about it, loser?” the feeling bad asked her.

Delly didn't know.

Till she heard his footsteps. Her whole body tightened, knowing he was near.

“I can't fight,” she told herself, but she couldn't hear it with him howling, “This place stinks, like loser!”

That did it. She grabbed a jump rope off the wall as she stomped toward him. “I'm going to hogtie you,” she snarled. “I'm going to throw you in Clayton Fitch's canoe and send you down the river.”

“Try it,” Novello taunted her.

She knotted the rope like a lasso and swung it over her head. “Hope you like Hickory Corners,” she sneered.

And Ms.Gerwitz shut down the rodeo. From her office, she hollered, “Delly Pattison, come over here. Novello, get to class.”

Neither of them moved.

“Now,” she commanded.

Novello squinted and stamped away.

Delly growled all the way to Ms. Gerwitz's door.

“Delly, look at me,” the teacher ordered.

So she did.

“I'm proud of what you did today.” Ms. Gerwitz smiled.

“Huh?” Delly grunted.

“Choosing the kids nobody else picks. That was really good. You didn't win, but you did. Know what I mean?”

Delly didn't. “We got killed,” she said.

“You lost the game. So what? In my book, you win.”

Delly stared at her, to see if she was kidding. “Me?”

“You. You did good.”

Being Ms. Gerwitz's good was like being Clarice's pride. Right away Delly felt better.

“You should get to class,” the teacher told her.

Delly turned toward the gym. She wasn't slumping anymore.

“I won,” she told the wall as she put the rope back.

“I'm a winner,” she said to the ceiling.

She turned to the exit. “I'm goo—”

And surprise shot her in the air, like a copper-curled basketball. Because there was Ferris Boyd, drooped beside the gym door.

“What the glub?” Delly rasped when she landed.

Ferris Boyd stayed hunched over, like the saddest loser ever.

Delly knew how that felt. Full of Ms. Gerwitz's goodness, she walked over to her. “Hey, Ferris Boyd,” she said, “Ms. Gerwitz says we won even if we didn't. Know what I mean?”

The girl didn't glance at her.

Now, as fine as Delly was feeling, that felt bad. Because she was trying to give Ferris Boyd something good, and the girl wasn't taking it. Again.

So she said, “Ferris Boyd, how come you just keep standing there doing nothing?”

The girl didn't move.

The good feeling was fading fast. And now Delly was remembering how they could have been winners, but for real, if Ferris Boyd had done something besides slouch there.

“Hey,” she hollered, “I'm talking to you. How come you didn't take the ball and shoot it? Do you want to be a loser?”

Delly didn't do it to be mean; she did it because she forgot. While she shouted, “Because I know you can do it. I saw you play,” she grabbed the girl's arm.

Ferris Boyd's head jerked up, and her eyes were wild. Her arms flailed around her head.

“Shikes.” Delly pulled her hand away.

It was too late. Ferris Boyd was running, like wild dogs were after her, down the hall and out the back door.

“Double shikes.” Delly followed her. But the girl was already sprinting across the playground.

“Ferris Boyd!” Delly cried, and headed out the door.

Till Ms. Niederbaum snagged her. “Where are you going?”

“It's Ferris Boyd,” she rasped. “She . . . she's gone!”

“Where?”

Delly pointed.

“Why are you here and not in your room?”

“I . . . I was with Ms. Gerwitz,” Delly answered, which was sort of the truth.

“Go to your class.” Ms. Niederbaum directed her.

So she did.

Delly spent the afternoon worrying that they wouldn't find Ferris Boyd, and worrying that they would.

“She might be hurt.” She fretted. “But if they find her, she'll tell. I'll be out of here before Ms. McDougal can say ‘You're expelled.'”

Just before three o'clock Ms. Niederbaum came to the classroom. She and Lionel Terwilliger whispered.

Delly prepared for her banishment to Badkidville, as Lionel Terwilliger walked toward her.

At her desk he leaned over. “Ms. Boyd has been located,” he said softly. “She is at her home and will return tomorrow.” Then he put his hand on her shoulder. “Delaware, your awareness and concern are valued.” He was thanking her.

Delly wanted to shout, “Happy Hallelujah!” because Ferris Boyd was safe and she wasn't in trouble. Yet. But the way Lionel Terwilliger said it, like she was decent, made her hang her head.

“Hunh,” she mumbled, and he left her.

A
t three o'clock, Delly raced across the playground, over the bridge, and out the River Road. At the end of the drive she checked: there was no car, no cat. And no basketball-playing girl. She ran to the front door of the old Hennepin place and banged on it. “Hey, Ferris Boyd,” she hollered, “I got to talk to you.”

Nobody came.

“Ferris Boyd, this is a Dellymergency,” she shouted.

That didn't do it.

She stood back and looked at the house. The curtains in the upstairs window fell together.

“I got to know if tomorrow's my last day at that school,” she muttered to herself.

Breaking in would probably be trouble. Throwing rocks could go wrong, too.

There was one more thing Delly could try: tell the truth. “Bawlgrammit,” she grumbled, and sat down facing the house.

“Okay, Ferris Boyd,” she told the window, “here's the truth. I'm trouble. I've been bad for a long time.” That was hard to say; Delly sat with it for a second.

“I've been better, though, so they made me captain.” She went on. “I didn't want to do it. Till I got this idea: you, me, all those kids that got no friends— we could be a team. We could help each other.”

The curtains pulled back, just a little. Delly'd have to tell more truths.

“Okay, here's the real truth. I saw you at school with those animals, and it was something. Then I followed you here and watched you play, and you were awesome. So when Ms. Gerwitz picked me, I picked you—because I knew, with you on the team, all us losers could be winners for once.

“But then you just stood there. I didn't mean to touch you; I just wanted to know what happened.”

The curtain pulled back some more.

“Okay, here's the real, real truth,” Delly rasped. “If I do one more bad thing, they'll kick me out of school. I don't care what happens to me”—the rasp cracked—“but I can't make my ma cry again. That's why I need to talk to you.”

The curtains closed.

Delly's chin fell to her chest. “Chizzle,” she mumbled.

The mail slot in the door creaked open. A small piece of paper slipped through it and fluttered to Delly's feet.

She picked it up. Big, dark letters told her,
No Yelling. No Touch.

Delly got too excited. “Okay, Ferris Boyd!” she shouted, “I won't—” and stopped herself. “I won't yell,” she whispered.

The door opened a crack.

“And I won't touch you,” she murmured.

It opened some more.

“Hey, Ferris Boyd.” Delly just breathed it.

The girl stepped onto the stoop. She sat down, facing the trees.

Then there was one more truth Delly had to tell. “Ferris Boyd,” she said, “I'm sorry.”

The girl just stared ahead.

Now, Delly Pattison didn't like apologizing. She had a hard time doing it and getting nothing back. She was about to ask, loudly, Hey, did you hear me? I said, Sorry.

And that black cat ran across the yard. It set itself between them. “Mowr,” it growled, with all its claws sticking out.

So Delly kept quiet, while the three of them sat.

At first it was almost as bad as counting, sitting there like that.

But Delly could hear the creatures all around them. She watched Ferris Boyd's back rise and fall with her breaths. She felt the breeze on her face.

The cat stretched out and put its front feet against her.

Bawlgram cat, she thought, but she didn't move.

Then it wasn't so bad, just sitting. It felt good not being alone.

The whistle blew. “Shikes,” Delly whispered, “I got to go.” She stood up.

She sat down again.

“Ferris Boyd,” she said, eyeing the cat's claws, “I just got to know—how come you didn't take the ball and shoot?”

The girl stayed still.

This time, Delly didn't push it. “Okay,” she said softly.

As she got up to leave, though, Ferris Boyd pulled a pad and pen from her pocket. She wrote something, set the paper on the stoop, and walked into the house.

Delly snatched the note quick, before the cat could claw her.

She sprinted all the way home. Sitting beside her bed, she opened it.

You didn't ask, it told her.

She was silent for a second.

Then her mouth exploded. With laughter. “Ask,” she whooped. “Ferris Boyd, I don't ask to do anything.”

She held the note in front of her, chuckling at it. “You don't ask to do stuff. You just do it and then . . . and then . . .”

She wasn't laughing anymore. “Then there's trouble,” she mumbled.

Delly lay down on her bed. She thought about every time she'd gotten in trouble: the chickens, the canoe, the holiDelly days. They were all different, but they ended the same—with her deep in it. “Started the same, too,” she rasped. “I didn't ask.

“But I hate asking,” she grumbled. “If you ask, they say no. They never let you do anything.”

She put the note in her left pants pocket. It was just paper, but she could feel it pressing on her. “Huh,” she said.

“Huh,” she kept saying, through dinner and while she did her homework. “Huh.”

Sometimes, when Delly couldn't sleep, she'd go to Clarice.

About midnight she showed up at Clarice's side of the bed. The woman was deep asleep.

Delly crouched so her mouth was near her mother's ear. “Ma,” she rasped.

Clarice's eyes flipped open. “Delly,” she groaned.

“If I asked Ms. Silcox for brownies, you think she'd give me some?” Delly asked.

Clarice, still groggy, murmured, “Probably so.”

“If I asked Clayton Fitch to borrow his canoe, you think he'd let me?”

“No,” she told her truly.

“If I asked you if I could take a boat down the river, would you say yes?”

Suddenly Clarice was wide awake. “Absolutely not,” she shouted.

“What if I asked you to take me?”

That calmed her. “Probably so,” she said.

“And I wouldn't have gotten in trouble.”

“Nope.”

It was quiet. Then Clarice had a question. “Delly?”

“Ma.”

“Can I go back to sleep?”

“Probably so,” Delly answered.

“'Night, Ma,” she whispered at the door.

“Nnnn . . .” Clarice replied.

F
riday morning Delly jerked awake. “Bawlgrammit,” she gasped, “I didn't ask her not to tell.”

“One, please don't tell, two, please don't tell . . .” She counted as she pulled on her pants. Then she stopped. “She won't tell.” She gulped. “She'll write it.

“Three, please don't write, four, please don't write . . .” She dashed down the stairs.

She was ricocheting around the kitchen, grabbing her bag and throwing things in her mouth. She had to get to school early and talk to Ferris Boyd, before Ms. McDougal did.

“What's going on in there?” Clarice called.

Any other day, Delly would have hollered, “I'm out of here!” and run at the door. And Clarice would have arrested her. “Hold it! You go back to your room and begin again.” It would have been ten minutes of starting over, leaving the bad taste of trouble in both their mouths.

But this day something in Delly's left pocket pinched her. “Ouch,” she yelped. She pulled the paper out. You didn't ask, it reminded her.

Delly chewed the mess in her mouth. Then she asked, “Ma, can I go to school early? I got something to take care of.”

The question cast a spell on Clarice; she couldn't say no to it. “All right,” she agreed.

“I'm coming, too,” RB announced.

“I'm running,” she warned him.

“I know.”

They sprinted all the way, burping up their breakfasts. Delly slowed to drop RB at his door, but he didn't stop. So she did.

“What?” she said.

“What what?” he replied.

“Get in there,” she ordered.

“I'm coming with you.”

The worry was making her wild. She grabbed RB to hurl him into his room. But there it was again, pinching her.

She took a breath. “RB,” she asked, “will you let me do this on my own?”

She wasn't yelling or nocussing him. She was being nice. “What's wrong with you?” he wondered.

“Please?” she said.

The questions charmed RB, too. “Okay,” he told her.

And she was gone.

Delly stood by the back exit. The first bell rang, but no pale, skinny girl showed up. The second bell rang.

I'll wait, she decided.

Ms. Niederbaum disagreed. “You don't want to be late.” She grabbed Delly's shoulder and guided her to class.

“She must be out today,” Delly murmured as they got to the room.

But Ferris Boyd was already there, slouched over her desk.

“Shikes,” Delly exclaimed, and started toward her.

“Ms. Pattison.” Lionel Terwilliger stopped her. “We are ready to commence. Assume your seat.

“Ms. Boyd,” he said, “please approach my desk.” Lionel Terwilliger whispered to her, and Ferris Boyd slumped out the door.

She was gone for 1,768 seconds, because Delly counted.

When she came back, she set a note on Lionel Terwilliger's desk.

“Ms. Pattison,” he called out, “Ms. McDougal requests your presence.”

“Chizzle, chizzle, chizzle,” Delly muttered as she trudged down the hall.

They made her sit outside the office through recess, because that was the cruelest thing to do.

When she finally got in, Ms. McDougal took a deep breath. “Delaware,” she said, “you know about Ferris Boyd's disappearance yesterday.”

A gurgle came out of Delly, like she was drowning. Her head dropped.

“I've spent time with Ferris this morning, trying to understand what happened.” The principal went on. “I asked her why she ran away, but she won't communicate with me about it.”

Delly's head popped up.

“As you know, it's unacceptable for a student to leave school. But Delly, Ferris is special, and I've decided to let it go this time. I hope you understand why she's being treated differently from the way you were.”

Delly couldn't believe it—Ms. McDougal was asking if it was okay to let Ferris Boyd off the hook. She nodded and got up to go.

“There's more,” the principal told her.

She slid down again.

“I'm worried about Ferris, that she's always alone. I asked her if she had a friend she could share with. This was her reply.” Ms. McDougal pushed a small piece of paper across her desk.

Delly picked it up. A big, dark
No
was written in the middle of it. But there was a line through that. In tiny letters at the bottom of the page was Delly.

Suddenly there was a warm spot in the middle of Delly's chest.

“Delly, I am . . .” Ms. McDougal's voice cracked, like she was choking on it. “Proud of you.”

Delly choked up, too. “Can I keep it?” she rasped.

“I think that would be all right,” Ms. McDougal answered.

Delly put the paper in her right pants pocket. As she walked to her room, the warm spread out to her fingers and down to her toes.

“I got a friend,” she whispered to the world, and her mouth couldn't keep from smiling.