Stacey's Ex-Boyfriend

  “I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head.

  “Come on. We’re going to the mall before our BSC meeting. You might enjoy hanging out with some different people.”

  “All right, if you don’t think they’d mind.”

  “They all like you, Robert,” I assured him. “We’ll have fun.”

  I called Kristy as soon as I got home. I asked if she minded if Robert joined us at the mall. “It’s a free mall,” she replied. That didn’t lead me to believe she was thrilled about the idea.

  It didn’t matter. I was more concerned about Robert than anything else. I called Mary Anne, and she was more helpful. “Logan says Robert seems really down,” she said. “If it will cheer him up, sure.”

  The next day Kristy, Mary Anne, Abby, Robert, and I took the bus to the mall. Claudia had a sitting job and couldn’t come. Robert sat there like a lump while the rest of us chattered excitedly about what we wanted to buy. He did not say a single word. It annoyed me. He could at least have tried.

  “So, Robert, psyched about the big game?” asked Abby.

  “I quit the team,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” she said, looking embarrassed.

  “Why did you go and do that?” Kristy wanted to know.

  “I didn’t feel like playing.”

  “It’s not as if the team was counting on you or anything,” she said sarcastically.

  “They’ll survive without me.”

  “Of course, but can they win without you?”

  “Is it that important?” Robert slumped into his seat and turned his gaze out the window, making it clear he wanted to close the subject.

  Kristy rolled her eyes. Abby shook her head helplessly. Mary Anne sighed. I folded my arms tensely. So far, this wasn’t going well.

  The rest of the trip wasn’t much better. Every time one of my friends made an attempt to draw Robert into conversation, it fell dead. He wasn’t involved with anything, he hadn’t done anything lately, nothing particularly interested him — so he had nothing to say. After half an hour, they stopped trying. He trailed behind us like a zombie as we went from store to store. “Would you mind if I went home?” he asked eventually.

  “If that’s what you really want,” I replied. I could see he was having a terrible time. “I’ll come over to tutor you after dinner tonight.”

  “Okay,” he said as he headed toward the mall bus stop.

  I told my friends he’d left. “What am I going to do about him?” I asked.

  “I don’t see that it’s your job to do anything,” Kristy said. “He has to help himself. Anyone who would quit a team one week before their most important game …” She looked at me as if to say that the rest should be obvious. It was obvious. Robert was in bad shape, which was exactly why I couldn’t give up on him.

  During the BSC meeting, several people called, wanting us to take their kids to Strawberry Fields Forever while they shopped. We accepted the jobs, but after Mallory and Jessi’s report, we were a little worried. We decided to double up on all Strawberry Fields jobs, no matter how many or how few kids there were.

  “Want to do that sketch now?” Claudia suggested after the meeting ended.

  “I have to tutor Robert tonight. Sorry.”

  “Again?”

  “If I didn’t agree to it, he’d still be grounded,” I explained as I grabbed up my backpack.

  “Who cares if he’s grounded,” Claudia said, flopping dismally onto her bed. “He doesn’t do anything anyway.”

  I couldn’t stay to discuss it. I had to hurry home, grab a quick dinner with Mom, then run to Robert’s. “I’ll call you later,” I said.

  Later, on the way to Robert’s, I decided that he had to do something, whether he liked it or not. No matter what it was, he had to become involved again.

  “Robert,” I said decisively as soon as I arrived, “what is the one event you think you could stand to be involved in?”

  He sat at the dining room table, resting his head on his arms. “I’m not exactly sure I made a good decision about baseball,” he admitted after a moment’s thought. “Talking to Kristy today made me think. Quitting might not have been the right thing to do. And I sort of miss it.”

  “Excellent!” I cried. “Then you should rejoin the team.”

  He lifted his head, interested. “Do you think the coach would take me back?” Then he lowered his head onto his arms again. “Nah, he never would.”

  “Sure he would. He has the game to think about, and you’re an awesome hitter.” I was determined to get him back on that team no matter what it took. “Work with me, Robert,” I said. “We have to come up with a plan.”

  “I can’t do it, Stacey,” Robert insisted on Thursday afternoon. We hadn’t been able to devise much of a plan for getting Robert back on the team. I thought that perhaps he could apologize to the coach.

  If the coach wouldn’t let him return to the team, my backup idea was to see if the team would sign a petition asking to have him reinstated. I’d checked it out with Logan. He said even the guys who were angry with Robert for quitting would probably sign a petition like that, because Robert’s return would put them in a better position to win.

  Now, though, Robert was chickening out on me. We were standing by the baseball field after school. Baseball practice was starting. The guys were doing jumping jacks to warm up. The coach wasn’t busy yet. Now was the perfect time to speak to him. “Go tell him you were upset the other day. You’re sorry you quit, and you want to come back,” I said.

  “Why don’t I write him a letter?” Robert suggested.

  I pushed him forward lightly. “Go. Get it over with.” Looking very unhappy, he walked toward the coach. The coach looked up from his clipboard. I’d hoped he’d smile, but instead he scowled at Robert with a what-are-you-doing-here? expression.

  It didn’t take long. Robert turned to me and gave a thumbs-up signal. “All right!” I cheered, and returned the thumbs-up.

  That afternoon I walked home with a bounce in my step. I hadn’t felt this happy in awhile. Robert’s depression had been weighing me down too.

  Now, though, I felt proud of myself. By encouraging him to rejoin the team, I’d pushed him in a very positive direction. I was proud that I’d stuck with the problem and come up with a solution.

  I imagined the game. Robert would be the star. He’d hit a home run in the final inning. Everyone would cheer for him. His enthusiasm for sports would return, and his funk would be a thing of the past.

  This called for a celebration. Maybe I’d ask Robert to the May dance — as friends, of course. It would be a way to announce to the whole school that Robert was back in action. Not only had he won the game, but he was ready to have some fun, just the way he used to.

  While I was tutoring him that day, he told me the practice had gone well. Some of the guys had acted cool toward him at first, but they’d warmed up as practice went on. He’d played well too.

  “That’s great,” I said. “I have an idea. Why don’t we go to the May dance together. As friends. Would you like to? It’s next weekend.”

  “You don’t have a date?” he asked.

  This was the moment when I should have told him about Ethan. Ethan couldn’t go to the dance with me because he had an overnight trip to the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., with his art class that weekend. I’d already asked him. He’d offered to stay home from the trip but I told him the dance wasn’t that important. And it wasn’t. It was just a dance.

  But once again, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Robert about Ethan. I guess I was afraid the news would upset him. I couldn’t take that chance, not when things were going so well. “No, no date,” I replied. “You don’t have a date, do you?”

  He shook his head. Of course, I knew he didn’t. “Everyone will say we’re going together again,” he pointed out.

  “Oh, who cares what they say. It will give them something to talk about. And we’ll know the truth.”

&nbs
p; “All right,” Robert agreed, his face breaking into a cautious smile. “We’ll go.”

  “Great,” I said, smiling back. “Great.”

  I slept well that night. I drifted off to sleep thinking about my autobiography. I had less than a week to write it. But that would be plenty of time.

  On Friday, I didn’t go to Robert’s locker and he didn’t come to mine. I took that as a good sign. He was probably involved with his teammates.

  Instead, I visited Claudia at her locker. She was pleased when I told her what had been going on. “Now you can get back to normal,” she said. “Do you want me to do that sketch of you today after the meeting?”

  “Definitely,” I agreed.

  The BSC meeting seemed to go quickly. We had a lot of calls. Spring is always a busy time and many parents wanted us to sit for their preschoolers while they attended different functions their older kids were involved in — plays and concerts, gymnastic exhibitions, and all sorts of late-spring events. Plus, people were lining up sitters for Memorial Day events.

  After everyone left, I stayed behind in Claudia’s room. I tried to sit still while she attempted to capture my image with pastel crayons. “I’d love to read your autobiography,” she said as she worked. “Do you have it with you?”

  “Have it?” I laughed. “I haven’t even started it. I’ll work on it this weekend, though.” We sat quietly for a while as she worked and I posed. “What do you think makes a person happy?” I asked thoughtfully.

  “I don’t know,” Claudia replied. “Art makes me happy. My friends. My family. The kids we sit for. Just being alive.”

  I felt the same way. Art wasn’t important to me, of course. And math didn’t actually make me happy, although I enjoy working out problems. More than anything my connection to people made me happy.

  How had Robert lost track of that? What had thrown him so off course? It didn’t matter anymore, though. The important thing was that he was back on course. He’d realized there was something he did like to do — play baseball. And he was doing it again.

  Claudia was about half finished with her sketch when I stood up. “Robert will be back from practice soon. I’m really sorry, but I have to run home and eat, then go tutor him. I promised his mother.”

  “Okay,” Claudia agreed reluctantly. “See you tomorrow.”

  I hurried home, grabbed dinner with Mom, and was just about to leave for Robert’s house when the doorbell rang. It was Logan. “Is Robert here?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “He wasn’t at practice. I called his house and his mother said he wasn’t there either. She thought he was at practice. I was on my way to Mary Anne’s and I figured I’d stop off here and see if he was with you.”

  My jaw dropped. I didn’t know what to say. Why hadn’t he gone to practice? “The coach took him back, didn’t he?” I asked.

  “Yes. Everyone was really psyched about it too. But then today he didn’t show.”

  “What did the coach say?”

  “He was really mad. He says Robert is definitely not going to play tomorrow and he might not let him back on the team at all.”

  “Not let him … oh, no!” How could Robert have done this?

  “He just keeps messing things up for himself, doesn’t he?” Logan commented. “I can’t believe how much he’s changed.”

  I wanted to cry. But I was too stunned and worried to let tears come. Where could Robert be? And why had he backed out of the one thing that seemed to make him happy? What was he doing that was more important than baseball practice?

  On Saturday, when Kristy rang the Papadakis family’s bell, no one answered. She was certain she had the correct time and day. Mrs. Papadakis had called just the day before and requested a sitter.

  Kristy waited, then rang again. Still, no one answered.

  After a few more minutes, she decided to leave. She reached the curb just as the Papadakises’ car appeared on McLelland Road. Kristy waited there while it pulled into the driveway. Mrs. Papadakis jumped out of the passenger side as soon as her husband shut off the ignition.

  “Oh, Kristy, I am so sorry. We were delayed,” she apologized. “Were you waiting long?”

  “No,” Kristy replied with a smile. “Is everything okay?”

  Mrs. Papadakis rolled her dark eyes and brushed her hair from her tanned face. That’s when Kristy noticed the red stains on her hands. “Don’t tell me,” Kristy said. “You went to Strawberry Fields Forever.”

  Mrs. Papadakis laughed. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Yes, that’s where we were. Wait until you see the kids.”

  Kristy didn’t have to wait long. Nine-year-old Linny Papadakis joined his mother, dragging a shopping bag crammed with baskets of berries. His face was pinched and unhappy. “Mom, I don’t feel so good.”

  Mrs. Papadakis knelt so that she was face-to-face with Linny and felt his forehead. “You’re not feverish,” she observed. “I bet you ate too many berries. Does your tummy hurt?”

  Linny nodded.

  “Oh, no!” Mrs. Papadakis cried, suddenly looking down at his bag. Kristy saw the problem. The moisture from the strawberries had soaked through the shopping bag. A trail of the glistening berries led back to the car.

  At the same time, Mr. Papadakis lifted Sari, who is two, from her car seat and set her onto the lawn. Instantly, she yanked off her canvas slip-on shoes and jumped on the berries. Squash! The red and green berries oozed up between her toes. “Tickles!” She giggled.

  “Mom! Don’t let her do that,” Linny groaned, burying his head in his mother’s side. “I worked hard picking all those.”

  “You worked hard eating them too,” Mrs. Papadakis said as she ruffled her son’s dark hair affectionately. “Sari, stop, honey. Don’t squish the berries.”

  Seven-year-old Hannie Papadakis scurried from the car and began picking up the fallen berries. “Hi, Kristy,” she said, flashing that spectacular Papadakis smile, which all the kids have in common. “Look, we have our own strawberry field right here in the front yard.”

  Mr. Papadakis took an empty brown grocery bag from the trunk. “Put them in here, Hannie,” he offered. In minutes, she’d picked them all up.

  Kristy scooped Sari into her arms and followed the family into the house.

  The full strawberry baskets covered half the kitchen table. “Kristy, please take some of these home,” Mrs. Papadakis pleaded. “We have way too many.”

  “Thanks, but we have a ton of strawberries already,” Kristy told her. “Everyone has been giving us baskets of berries they’ve picked.”

  “It was hard to tell the kids not to pick any more. They were having such fun,” Mrs. Papadakis said. “We were late getting home because we couldn’t convince Linny and Hannie to stop picking.”

  “I filled ten baskets,” Hannie announced proudly. “But I dropped one on the way to the car, so now I only have nine.”

  Linny collapsed into a kitchen chair and held his head in his hands.

  “Nine is more than enough,” Mr. Papadakis commented. “Linny picked seven, and even Sari picked two.”

  “I never want to see another strawberry again in my life,” said Linny, groaning.

  “Too bad. You will,” Hannie teased him. She held a strawberry in front of Linny’s eyes, waving it back and forth. “We have a bazillion of them. You’ll be seeing them forever.”

  Linny swatted at the berry. “Get out of here with those,” he snapped at his sister. With that, he clamped his hand over his mouth and ran out of the kitchen.

  Mr. Papadakis went to help Linny. As Mrs. Papadakis wiped Sari’s red toes with wet paper towels, she explained that she and Mr. Papadakis would be going to the hospital to visit a sick friend. She put Sari down and then wrote the phone numbers Kristy needed on a pad. Furrowing her brow, she glanced at the strawberries on the table. “I’ll gladly pay you extra if you wouldn’t mind washing and cutting up those berries,” she added.

  “I’ll do it. You don’t have to pay me e
xtra,” Kristy volunteered. “I’ve been doing that job at home all week. I’m pretty fast.”

  Mrs. Papadakis went upstairs to change, while Mr. Papadakis settled Linny on the couch. “I’ve given him some Pepto-Bismol for his stomach,” he told Kristy. “I think he’ll be all right.”

  Kristy sat on the edge of the couch and told Linny how the same thing had happened to Claire Pike just the week before. Linny nodded. “I’ll never eat another strawberry,” he said with a moan.

  Kristy smiled and patted his leg. “Oh, I bet you will — as soon as your stomach stops hurting.”

  After Mr. and Mrs. Papadakis left, Kristy popped a new video into the VCR. Linny lay on the couch, groaning occasionally, and the girls stretched out on the floor. Kristy spread out a towel, then sat cross-legged on the floor and watched the video with them as she cut up the strawberries she’d rinsed.

  Whenever Kristy has any quiet time like this, the same thing happens. It never fails. Kristy’s brain starts to work overtime. The result — a great idea.

  I learned about this one right away, because she called me. When I heard the phone, I jumped for it, hoping it was Robert. I still hadn’t heard from him.

  Kristy was so caught up with her new idea that she didn’t even notice the hint of disappointment in my voice when I realized it wasn’t Robert. “What do you think about throwing a strawberry festival?” she asked.

  “A what?”

  “You know, a big festival where we make strawberry shortcake, strawberry pie, strawberry blender drinks, stuff like that.”

  “Do we know how to make all that?”

  “We’ll find out how,” she insisted. “And maybe some of our clients will donate strawberries. No one knows what to do with all of them. They’ll be happy to get rid of them. We can use the money we earn to do something fun with the kids at the end of the summer. What do you think?”

  “It sounds great,” I agreed. “What do we have to do first?”

  She thought for a moment. “We’ll call all our clients and see what they can give us. I’ll ask Watson if we can use our backyard for the festival.” She paused again. “All right. I need to start making lists.”