“ Out of the way!” Steve Kerr burst through the exit, holding a backpack over his head. A small kid from the fourth grade was hot in pursuit.
“ Give it back,” the kid wailed.
“ Catch me,” he yelled back, pushing between Arty and Carolina like a fish swimming through water, causing hardly a ripple as he weaved between the crowd of kids going home.
“ What a jerk,” Carolina said.
The pursuing fourth grader, not as successful at negotiating the throng of students, clipped Arty in the side as he shouldered his way through the crowd. Arty stumbled and grabbed on to Carolina’s shoulder to keep himself from tumbling down the steps, but he dropped her books.
“ You big jerk,” Carolina yelled at Steve’s back as he made his way across the street, running against the red light, dodging the traffic. Tires screeched, but the younger kid made it across after him, without ever knowing how close he came to never seeing the fifth grade.
Arty grabbed onto Carolina, digging his fingers into her shoulder, windmilling his other arm, struggling to keep his balance. He would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed onto him.
“ Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, gaining his balance. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” They were standing in front of the exit and other kids coming out of the school had to go around them.
“ It’s not your fault. It’s that asshole, Steve Kerr,” she said.
Arty bent over and picked up the math and social studies texts and was reaching for the English book when a foot flew by his face, kicking the book, sending it flying down the steps with the pages flapping in the wind, sailing Carolina’s English assignment on the breeze, like a paper airplane.
“ I didn’t see it, sorry.” Relief flooded through Arty. Better the blue eyes of Lynda Bingham than the snake eyes of Brad Peters.
“ That’s okay,” Arty said, “it was an accident.”
“ Is not okay,” Carolina said, “my homework is getting away.” Arty, surprised at her tone, started to protest, but was cut off by Lynda.
“ I’ll get it,” she said, darting off after the fleeing paper.
“ She did that on purpose,” Carolina said.
“ It was an accident,” Arty said.
“ Maybe,” Carolina said, softening her voice as she watched Lynda catch up with the wayward homework. “If she’d done it on purpose I suppose she wouldn’t be chasing after it. I was just thinking about what a bully that Brad was this morning and then this happens, so I thought the wrong thing.”
Hearing Brad’s name reminded Arty of why he was in a hurry. “We’re causing a bottleneck here. We can meet her halfway,” he said. He started walking toward Lynda.
“ We don’t have to be in such a hurry,” Carolina said, but Arty didn’t slow down and every few steps he snuck a glance over his shoulder.
“ Here it is,” Lynda said, jogging toward them. She handed Arty the English assignment. “Sorry again.” Then she said, “There’s my mom. I gotta go.”
“ She likes you,” Carolina said.
“ She does not.”
“ Sure she does, that’s why she kicked my book.” Sheila moved in the backpack and Carolina shifted it a little to make the ferret more comfortable.
“ That doesn’t make any sense.”
“ It does if you’re a girl. She wanted to talk to you. It gave her an excuse.”
“ She could just come up and say, hello.”
“ Some people are shy.”
“ I know about that,” he said, “but I don’t get it, nobody’s ever wanted to talk to me before.”
“ I did. Why do you think I called you Mr. Arty Smarty Pants?”
Arty looked at her and scratched his head. He saw movement in her backpack and she shifted it from her left shoulder to her right. The ferret moved again and she shifted the backpack again to accommodate it.
“ Do you have to move that pack back and forth all the time?” he asked.
“ Sure,” she said, then she asked, “Are you coming over again tonight?” They were several blocks from the school and Arty slowed to a normal walk.
“ You mean sneak out again?” He still hadn’t gotten over last night and she was asking him to do it again. He’d spent the night sleeping on the bed next to hers and would have slept right through till sunup and missed his paper route if she hadn’t awakened him. The memory of climbing in his bedroom window as his alarm went off caused him to shudder.
“ Yeah. After what happened last night, you have to come again. I can’t be alone.”
“ Your mother?”
“ She’ll probably go out again. She always does.”
“ Okay, but I won’t be able to get there till between nine and ten. If I try to leave any earlier I’ll get caught.”
“ You have to come earlier. What if those eyes come back?”
“ They won’t. Besides, it was probably just a cat or a possum.”
“ No, it wasn’t. It was a person, a peeper, and he might come back. You have to come earlier,” she pleaded. He felt his resistance starting to melt. It was tough having friends.
“ I don’t know.”
“ Maybe we should tell someone,” she said.
“ We can’t!” Now he was pleading. “I’d like to, I really would, but my dad would go ballistic.” He started chewing on his lip and a tremor ran through his shoulders.
“ Okay, we won’t tell. Besides, we agreed last night and I never go back on a promise.”
“ Yeah, we agreed, but maybe you were right. Maybe we should tell someone. It’s better that my dad hit me than something bad happen to you.” He said the words hit me low and under his breath, and all the chewing in the world couldn’t keep his lower lip from trembling.
“ He hits you? You mean spanks you if you do something wrong, right?” She stopped walking and turned to face him.
“ No. I mean he hits me. Sometimes with his fists, but mostly with a belt. He’s mean. He hits my mother too.” He felt strange talking about it. He’d never mentioned it to anyone before.
“ That’s wrong.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “You should tell someone at school. I saw a program on TV and that’s what they said you should do. You should tell someone.”
“ No, I can’t. It’s a secret. You can’t ever tell anyone, okay?”
“ Okay.”
“ Promise. You said you never break a promise.”
She saw the look of desperation in his eyes and promised.
And that’s that he thought. She couldn’t tell now. Not after she promised. Then he said, “But really, maybe we should tell about last night. I’d feel awful if something happened to you, ’cuz I kept my mouth shut.”
“ I’ll be okay,” she said. “He knows we saw him peeping, so he won’t come back. Heck, he’s probably already left town.”
“ But what about the gunshots, and that scream, and the bullets in your room? I got shot in the back, remember?”
“ I don’t know, Arty. It’s my father’s gun. Or one exactly like it, but there’s something I should tell you and it’s real hard for me, because I love my dad. I really, really love him.”
“ What?” he said.
“ My dad breaks into houses and steals things. That’s why my parents got divorced. My mother said she couldn’t take it anymore.”
“ Wow. Like a cat burglar?”
“ I don’t know. I don’t think so. He used to drink a lot and I don’t think you can break into tall buildings and climb high fences if you’re drunk.”
“ Gee,” Arty said, fascinated. Then he asked. “Has he ever been caught?”
“ I don’t know. I know he never went to jail, least not till they divorced, because he was home every single night when I got home from school.”
“ Hey, do you think your father was trying to break into your house last night?”
“ I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. Why did he shoot up my bedroom? Did he do it on purpose or was it on accident? Was he shooting at someone else and missed and the bullets went wild? That doesn’t make sense to me because he’s such a good shot. Maybe someone else got his gun and shot it off, or maybe it’s a gun exactly like his. That could be it. I hope that’s it.”
“ I think that’s it,” Arty said, not knowing what to think. Then he said, “Do you still want me to come over?”
“ I’ll be okay. I’ll lock the door if my mom goes out. If I hear anything, I’ll call the police.”
“’ Cuz, I’ll come if you want me to.” He was relieved that she was letting him off the hook.
“ Thanks, but I’ll be all right,” she said, but he could tell she really wanted him to come, and he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to be alone either.
They walked another few minutes in silence, each wandering around in their own thoughts. Arty put his father out of his mind and was enjoying the walk, living only in the present.
They rounded the corner and were a block from Carolina’s when they ran into Brad, Ray and Steve. They were sitting on the front lawn of the house second from the corner, lagging nickels on the sidewalk. Brad and Ray must have taken off from the side gate of the schoolyard and run like zebras down the next street over to meet up with Steve. Just to surprise them. It couldn’t be good.
“ You guys up to something?” Brad asked.
“ Why don’t you go get one of your daddy’s big guns and go kill something,” Carolina said.
“ Why don’t you mind your own business,” Brad said, running his fingers through his hair and sneering.
“ No, Brad. Why don’t you mind your business, and we’ll mind ours. What do ya say?” Arty felt his insides quiver and he had to go to the bathroom, but he was tired of being pushed around. He was embarrassed because he had been put down earlier in front of Carolina and he was determined not to be pushed around anymore.
“ I say I’m gonna kick your butt. By the time I get through with you your own mother won’t know you.” He continued to run his hand through his hair. He didn’t get up, “unless you say you’re sorry, right now.”
Arty clenched his fists, staring down at Brad. He thought of kicking him, but that wouldn’t be fair. Especially when he was sitting. There was no way he could win a fight with Brad, but there was no way he was gonna say he was sorry either. So he stood facing him, biting his lip for courage, waiting for Brad to make the next move.
“ Gonna say it?”
“ Arty?” Carolina said. He knew she wanted him to say it.
It would be easy. Two words. Just give in, give up and say it. But he couldn’t do it.
“ I’m waiting,” Brad said, cracking his knuckles.
But Arty stood silent. His time for running was through. Brad might beat him up, but he wasn’t gonna cower and whimper anymore.
“ Last chance,” Brad said.
“ Can’t do it,” Arty said.
And everybody knew it had gone too far.
“ This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me.” Brad pushed himself up off the grass. His shadows stood up too.
“ You gonna do it alone or are you gonna have your friends help?” Arty felt the blood rush to his head and the muscles on the back of his neck tighten.
“ You think I need help pounding you into the ground?” This was something new for Brad, he had the reputation of being the toughest kid in the school and he wasn’t used to being challenged.
“ If you’re gonna do it, then do it, else just shutup and get out of the way.”
“ I don’t believe you’re saying this. You’re in trouble, boy.” Brad moved toward Arty.
Arty stood his ground.
“ Put ’em up.” Brad raised his fists.
Arty kept his hands at his side.
“ He doesn’t even know how to fight,” Steve Kerr said.
“ Yeah. What a mama’s boy,” Ray Harpine said.
“ Be careful, Arty,” Carolina said.
“ Yeah, be careful,” Brad mimicked, dropping his fists and moving in close to Arty.
Arty stood his ground.
Brad put both hands on Arty’s chest, and pushed, causing Arty to stumble backwards, but Brad stayed with him, pushing him again.
“ Come on, Brad,” Carolina said, “everybody knows you’re tougher, so leave him alone.”
“ Hit him in the mouth,” Steve Kerr said.
And Arty hit Brad in the mouth with a roundhouse right that sent him flying and tumbling onto his back.
“ Shit,” Ray said.
“ Come on, Brad,” Steve Kerr said, but Brad didn’t need any egging on. He scrambled over on all fours and pushed himself up. He felt his lip and frowned when he saw a trickle of blood in his hand. His face started to go red. Brad was a bully, but unlike most bullies he was a fighter, too. He had earned and deserved the reputation of being the toughest kid in the sixth grade.
“ Hold this,” Brad said. He took off his leather jacket and tossed it to Steve.
“ You’re in for it now, fatso,” Steve said.
Arty put his hands up as Brad charged him, but it made no difference. Brad moved in quick and low. Arty tried to block Brad’s left, but only succeeded in deflecting it. Brad’s fist clipped him on the right ear, stinging and causing a ringing sensation that deafened him.
Brad followed with a right that Arty was too stunned to notice. The balled fist felt like his father’s as it split his lip, only his dad never hit him any place that would show. This would show big time.
“ Arty,” Carolina screamed as the heavy boy faltered and stumbled backwards, but he stayed up and stood his ground the best he could.
“ Give up,” Brad said.
Dazed, Arty put his hand to his mouth and felt the sticky blood. He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and tasted it. He clenched his fists, glared at Brad, and said, “No.”
Brad hit him again, harder than before, landing the punch square on his right eye. This time Arty fell, landing on his back. The fight was over.
“ You meanie,” Carolina said, but Brad ignored her.
“ You gotta show a little respect,” Brad said.
“ Great fight, Brad,” Steve Kerr said, patting his hero on the back, but Ray Harpine was silent, offering no congratulations, and he looked at Arty differently than he did before.
“ See ya tomorrow.” Brad turned and walked away with Steve and Ray following.
Carolina fell to her knees and put her left hand under Arty’s head, propping him up. She wiped some blood off his lip, then wiped it on the grass.
“ Are you okay, Arty?”
“ I’m bleeding.” He held the tip of his tongue against the cut on the inside of his lip to stop the flow of blood.
“ I wish I could do something.”
“ I think I got a big mouth.” His lip was already starting to swell.
Carolina used the bottom of her dress to wipe the blood off his chin and asked, “Can I see the cut?”
“ No. It hurts.”
“ I just wanna see for a second.” She gently pulled his lip back with her soft little girl fingers that felt oh-so-good on Arty’s bruised lip.
“ Wanna get up,” he said.
“ No, you can’t get up now. You have to rest a second, in case something’s broken. I saw it on a doctor program on TV,” she said, and Arty thought she watched a lot of television.
She moved around and put his head in her lap. She seemed fascinated with his damaged face, softly tracing his swollen lip with a gentle finger, then moving it to his right eye and tracing the puffiness there. “I’m gonna be a doctor when I grow up. I just decided. That way when we’re bigger and you get beat up, I’ll know just what to do.”
“ Help me up,” he begged. It was bad enough that she was seeing him like this, but he didn’t want any other kids to come along and find him flat on his back with his head in her lap. He would never be able to live it down.
“ Okay.” She scooted out from under him and stood up. Then she offered him her hand and helped pull him up from the sidewalk.
“ Jeez, Arty, you’re heavy. Did you ever think about going on a diet?” If anybody else had said it he would have been ashamed. But the way she said it, she wasn’t putting him down or making fun of him. She was just stating a fact. He was fat and he should do something about it. Still, for a second, he felt like he wanted to be somewhere else, like alone in his room.
Then she added, “But you’re awfully brave.” He might be the fattest kid in school, but he’d stood up to the toughest. He might have gotten his ass kicked, but he’d stood up and she thought he was brave. He felt like he’d just walked on the moon.
“ I’ll be coming by tonight,” he said.
“ I don’t know if my mom’s going to be home, so I’ll put a milk crate outside my bedroom window. That way it’ll be easier for you to get in.”
Thirty minutes later his dad was waiting for him on the front porch, a beer in his hand. He was wearing the kind of look a rat has when it’s torn into the food bin and it knows you can’t catch it, because it’s too fast and the other side of the kitchen is too far away.
“ Where ya been? Your mom’s got chores for you to do.” Translated that meant his mother had to work late and there was no one to clean up after him or to make his dinner.
“ Mom working late?” Arty said, without thinking.
“ Don’t back talk me.” Bill Gibson lashed out, catching Arty on the right cheek with the back of his hand. He’d never hit him in the face before. The busted lip and black eye must have given him the idea.
“ Got in a fight on the way home from school.” Arty backed away from his father.
“ I can see that. Someone whipped you good.”
“ I got my licks in.”
“ Sure ya did, kid, and the Pope’s stopping by for dinner.”
Arty wanted to say something smart, but for once he kept his flapping lips under control. His face was beat up bad enough. He didn’t need to give his father any encouragement. But he didn’t want to sound like he was just a punching bag, so he said, “I got him a good one, right in the mouth.”
“ Who won?”
“ He did, but I least I went down fighting.”
“ Good for you, kid. Now why don’t you straighten up the living room, do the lunch dishes and then see what you can make us for dinner.”
He looked in the mirror and winced. His lip looked like a fat worm sitting sideways on his chin. He reached up to touch it and shivered. It felt like he was being stabbed with a needle. He moved his hand to his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and looked at the shiner. He’d never had a black eye before. It was like a badge of courage.
He tapped the new bruise on his right cheek and vowed that someday he’d get even with his father. It wasn’t fair. He comes home with a battle scarred face, ’cuz a bigger boy had used it for a punching bag, then his father lights into him.
He reached into his back pocket, brought his comb out and ran it through his wet hair. He’d just come out of the shower, but he wasn’t in his pajamas and he wasn’t going to bed. He turned away from the mirror and went out the window like he’d done the night before. It was eight-fifteen and his parents were at their separate ends of the house, his mother in the kitchen, his father in the living room playing cards with a friend. Arty thought that was strange, because he didn’t think his father had any friends.
He felt a glow of excitement run through his body. Once again he was sneaking off into the dark. Only tonight he felt good, unafraid, steady and brave. He walked with a saunter and a slight spring in his step, but he knew sneaking out two nights in a row was tempting fate. It was dangerous, but he was looking forward to seeing Carolina. So much so, that he didn’t bother to look behind. He didn’t see the two men hanging back in the fog, following him.
He was halfway down her street when he was struck by the silence. He stopped walking and listened. He was used to the noises of the night. The silence was out of place, and so was he. Instinctively he knew the middle of the sidewalk was a bad place to be, so he moved to the curb and hunched down between two parked cars, straining his ears, searching for familiar sounds, a cricket, the cry of a cat, the bark of a dog. Something. Anything. Nothing.
He poked his head out from his sanctuary and looked down the block, toward Carolina’s and he saw it, a large dog. He’d never been afraid of dogs. In fact, he’d kind of had a way with them ever since he could remember, especially big ones, like Condor, the Bingham’s super big Doberman Pincer. But something told him to keep still and not alert this one.
The dog was walking slowly up the sidewalk, like it owned it, coming toward him, but it stopped at Carolina’s and moved into the bushes between her house and the house next door. He thought of the red eyes looking in the window and knew it wasn’t a peeping Tom. Somehow that big dog had gotten up on its hind legs and was peering in at them.
He shivered with the thought. Carolina said she would leave a milk crate outside her window to make it easier for him to climb in. He had to get over there. He had to warn her. He put his hands back on the bumpers and started to push himself up when he saw the dog come back out from between the houses. He eased himself back onto his knees.
Oh, Lord, he thought, it wasn’t a dog. He kept low. There was something in its mouth. His knees hurt. He took even, shallow breaths, because he knew that what was out there might not be able to smell him with the breeze at its back, but it had excellent hearing and he didn’t want to be guilty of making even the smallest sound.
He saw the creature’s head start to turn and for a flash of a second he thought he was finished, but before that great head with those piercing eyes came to rest on him, the wolf was engulfed in a flash of blinding red-white light that took away his night vision. Then as fast as the flash appeared, it was gone and in its place stood a stooped over old black woman. He closed and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was shuffling along the sidewalk, getting farther away from him with every small step.
He stayed silent and still, until she turned the corner, then he pushed himself up and ran to the bushes between the two houses and scooted through. Her window was open and the crate was in place.
“ Carolina,” he whispered.
“ Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered back. “I thought I heard you a minute ago, but when I looked there wasn’t anybody there.”
Arty stepped up onto the crate, put his arms through the window and squeezed in.
“ It wasn’t me you heard,” he said. Then he added, “We’re gonna need some silver bullets.”