Dawn and the Older Boy

  “What will I say? How do I look?” I asked desperately. Mary Anne smiled and didn’t answer me. She was already waving hello to Travis and heading back toward the house. I know she was giving us the chance to talk privately (Mary Anne is always tactful), but suddenly, I didn’t want her to leave. I was afraid to be alone with Travis, afraid that I would make an idiot out of myself. (Also, Richard and my mom have very strict rules about us having boys over when they are not home. Boys are not allowed in the house. Period.)

  “Hi, there,” Travis said, walking up to me. (He certainly wasn’t nervous.) He looked fantastic in a pair of jeans faded to just the right blue-white shade, and a heavy, new SHS (Stoneybrook High School) jacket.

  “I didn’t know you could drive,” I blurted out. What a brilliant remark. For some reason, whenever I was around Travis, I seemed to lose the power of reasonable speech.

  He shrugged, not the least bit embarrassed. “I’ve been driving since the day I turned sixteen.”

  I should explain that it’s legal to drive at sixteen in Connecticut, but I don’t know anyone who really starts driving at that age. The parents of Charlie Thomas, and a lot of other kids I know, make them wait until they’re seventeen before they can drive alone. Some parents even make their kids wait until they’re seventeen just to take the driver’s test.

  “Um, I like your car.” This wasn’t the world’s most fascinating remark, either, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

  “Thanks.” Travis looked pleased, and we automatically started walking back toward the house. I waited about fifteen seconds for him to say something (it seemed like fifteen hours) and finally asked him if he’d like some lemonade.

  “Maybe a little later,” he said, turning on that thousand-kilowatt smile. “Why don’t we sit out here and talk for awhile.” He touched my elbow and gestured to the front step.

  “Sure.” I gulped. So Travis really had come over just to talk to me. You’re probably wondering why I didn’t know this all along. I guess I did, but I couldn’t believe it. I nearly asked him what he wanted to talk about but caught myself just in time. I decided it was time to stop making stupid remarks and try to start a real conversation. Before I had a chance to open my mouth again, he beat me to it.

  “Fifty thousand miles on her, but you’d never know it,” he said, pointing to the Chevy.

  I nodded, not sure how to respond. Was fifty thousand miles good or bad? It sounded like a lot of miles, but since I don’t drive, I’m not really up on things like this. I decided to play it safe. “It’s nice that your parents let you borrow it,” I said.

  Travis laughed. “Borrow it? She’s all mine. I can drive her whenever I want.” He paused and pulled out a package of sugarless gum. After offering me a stick (I refused — the last thing I wanted to do was get gum stuck to my teeth during an important conversation) he went on. “I have to pay for the gas and the insurance.”

  I nodded again. I was beginning to feel like one of those doll heads that bob up and down in the back windows of cars. “It looks very … shiny,” I said finally.

  Travis beamed and I knew I had said the right thing. “Three coats of Super-Gloss,” he said proudly. “You see, Dawn, the whole trick is to dry the car thoroughly in between each coat. A lot of people don’t take the time, and that’s why they get water spots.”

  “Oh,” I said appreciatively. I had never thought about water spots before, but Travis made them sound almost interesting. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  “And always use an old terry cloth towel. It doesn’t scratch the finish, but it gives you a nice shine. That’s extremely important.” I smiled and tried to look encouraging.

  We could probably have talked about cars a little more, but Travis abruptly changed the subject. “So tell me, how do you like Stoneybrook Middle School?”

  “Oh, I think it’s great,” I began. “All my friends are there —”

  “That’s nice,” he cut in. “I make friends easily, too. A lot of people think it’s tough to change schools, but not for me. I make friends wherever I go.”

  “So I guess you like Stoneybrook High —”

  “You bet!” Travis said enthusiastically. “The first day I was there, I was invited to join five clubs. Five!” He ticked them off on his fingers. “The debate club, the drama club, the pep club, the computer club … oh, yeah, and the Latin club.”

  “That’s nice,” I said weakly. The Latin club didn’t surprise me a bit — I was pretty sure it was all girls.

  “And once they found out I play soccer and tennis,” (Travis shook his head in mock amazement) “they drafted me on the spot.”

  “Wow!” That was all I could manage before Travis revved up again. I had never met anyone so energetic. (Or so talented, or so good-looking …)

  “It was really funny,” he added, “but the next day, Coach Higgins and Coach Reilly both showed up at the same time. One wanted me for basketball and the other wanted me for football.” He laughed. “It was like a tug-of-war.”

  “I can imagine.” I laughed a little to show I was getting into the spirit of things.

  “Well, that’s enough about me,” he said suddenly. “Let’s talk about you.” He pulled out a small white box. “I brought you something.”

  A present? I nearly fainted. Even my daydreams hadn’t prepared me for this. “What is it?” I cried.

  “Open it up and see.” Travis grinned at me. “I think you’re going to like it.”

  My first present from Travis. My hands were shaking as I untied the bow. “A necklace!” I lifted a string of beautiful blue beads out of the box.

  “There’s more,” Travis said. I found two hair combs nestled in the tissue paper. They were deep blue, like the beads.

  “But it’s not my birthday or anything,” I protested.

  Travis leaned forward and gently lowered the necklace over my head. “When I saw this, it just made me think of you. That’s all. It’s the same shade as your eyes.”

  “It is?” I felt ridiculously pleased.

  “Definitely. And I had a special reason for buying the combs. I saw a girl on TV who had her hair swept back at the sides, like this.” He lifted my fine blonde hair and tucked it behind my ears. “This is a much better style for you. It brings out your eyes and your cheekbones. I think you should try it.”

  “I guess I could,” I said, flustered. “Usually, I just brush my hair and wear it straight. It’s so long.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s another thing I wanted to mention.” Travis picked up a strand of hair and looked at it critically. “When’s the last time you got your hair cut?”

  “Cut? I never get it cut. Well, sometimes I have the ends trimmed a little.”

  Travis gave me a very serious look. “I think you should lose a few inches, maybe three or four. It will give your hair more lift, you know?”

  “Maybe,” I said doubtfully. I like my hair the way it is — very long and fine. Whenever I try a new style, I usually hate it and go right back to wearing it straight.

  “I’m not talking about anything drastic,” Travis went on, “just a sort of trim. You could just ask the hairdresser or someone to shape it up if you want.” He laid his hand very gently over mine, just for second. “Think about it, okay? For me.”

  For me! I nearly slid off the step. I knew that Travis must be really interested in me or he never would have gone to all this trouble.

  “Of course I will,” I told him.

  He grinned and stood up. “I’ve got to run. My mom wants me to go shopping for her.”

  “Thanks for the necklace and the combs —” I began awkwardly.

  “That’s okay,” Travis interrupted, heading toward the car. “But remember, I want to see you in that new hairstyle.” He started the engine, waved good-bye, and headed down the street.

  I stood rooted to the spot with a silly grin on my face. Travis liked me!

  I could have stood there daydreaming forever, but I didn’t want
to waste a minute. I picked up the combs and dashed inside the house.

  “Mary Anne!” I yelled, thundering up the stairs. “Get a brush and some scissors. We have work to do!”

  Jessi’s baby-sitting job with the Hobarts turned out to be one of the best afternoons of her life. Who would think that putting on a play with five kids (the three Hobart boys and two of the Perkins girls) could be so much fun?

  When the Hobarts first moved into the neighborhood, naturally everyone was very curious about them. Some of the kids said that the Hobarts talked just like Crocodile Dundee, so we decided to see for ourselves. What did we find? Four boys, all with red hair and great accents! But a few kids actually made fun of the way the Hobarts talked, and we thought this was incredibly rude. After all, maybe the Hobarts thought we sounded funny with our American accents.

  But back to Jessi’s baby-sitting job. Mrs. Hobart asked her to come over at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. She and her husband were going out shopping and they needed someone to watch the three youngest boys, James, age eight; Mathew, age six; and Johnny, who is only four. Ben, the oldest boy, is in my class, so he obviously didn’t need a sitter. And anyway, he was taking Mal to the movies that afternoon.

  The three younger boys were playing outside when Myriah and Gabbie Perkins ran over to say hello.

  “Hi, Jessi Ramsey,” Gabbie yelled. Gabbie is two and a half and calls most people by their full names. She has two sisters, Myriah, who is almost six, and Laura, who is just a baby. The Perkinses moved into Bradford Court when they bought Kristy’s old house. They have given the BSC lots of business, and we love to sit for them.

  All three girls are great, and Myriah is especially theatrical. She can sing and dance (tap and ballet), and is even into gymnastics. Since Jessi is a dancer, she feels that she has a lot in common with her. Jessi says she’s always impressed when little kids can get up and perform, because she knows how hard it is to face an audience. Myriah can sing “On the Good Ship Lollipop,” and she knows “Tomorrow” from Annie by heart. A lot of kids love to sing, but Myriah is really good at it. She’s just like someone you’d see on TV. When she sings, she knows every word. She’s right on pitch and she even gets the timing right.

  Anyway, when the Perkins girls ran over, they didn’t come alone. They brought their dog with them. Chewbacca is a huge black Labrador who is extremely friendly. (Sometimes too friendly!) He looks like a small bear but acts like a puppy.

  “Chewbacca, quit that!” Myriah shouted. Chewbacca was running in circles, trampling the Hobarts’ flower beds. “He’s just had a bath,” she explained, “and that always makes him crazy.”

  “Bring him over to the patio,” Jessi said. “Let’s all sit at the picnic table and play a game.”

  “What kind of game?” Mathew asked. He still has a trace of an Australian accent. “Something fun?”

  “Definitely something fun.” Jessi looked at Chewbacca. Playing Frisbee was out. Chewbacca had already chomped his way through three of them.

  “Let’s have a rehearsal,” Myriah suggested. “That’s my favorite thing to do in the whole world.”

  “A rehearsal?” Jessi said blankly. “I was thinking of playing ‘I Packed My Grandmother’s Trunk’ —” She was immediately outvoted.

  “No, we want to rehearse!” James and Mathew yelled. “We’ll show you our play.” I should tell you that the Hobart kids are very interested in drama, and Mathew was given the lead in his school play.

  “You’re putting on a play?” Jessi asked.

  “An original one,” James said proudly. “I’m writing it.”

  An eight-year-old kid writing a play? Jessi was impressed.

  “We’ve been working on it for a couple of weeks,” Myriah piped up. “Do you want to see how far we’ve gotten?”

  “Sure,” Jessi told her. And she saw the perfect opportunity to send Chewbacca back to his own house. “But don’t you think you better take Chewy home first? You could leave him on the sun porch so he won’t interrupt the rehearsal.”

  “No, Chewbacca has to stay,” Myriah replied. “Mommy says we have to keep him outside till he dries off.” She grinned. “Besides, he’s our star.”

  Oh, no. Jessi groaned inwardly. Then she poured herself a glass of lemonade and sat back to watch the show. After a few minutes, she found herself getting really interested. Even though there was a lot of giggling (and almost everyone forgot some of their lines), the play was good.

  The story was very simple. Chewy (the hero) was a lost dog who wandered up and down a busy shopping mall, looking for his owner. Jessi started to point out that dogs aren’t usually allowed in malls, but she knew that would spoil the fun.

  Myriah had the opening lines. “Hello, doggie,” she said brightly. “Don’t you have a home?” She walked up to Chewy and pretended to inspect his neck. “Uh-oh,” she said, making a face. “No collar.” She rolled her eyes. “Now it’s going to be really hard to find your owner.” Chewy jumped up and started licking her face. “Down, Chewy,” she said sharply. “I mean, down, doggie.”

  Gabbie cleared her throat, eager to get into the act. Myriah nodded and started walking across the patio with the dog. “Let’s see if any of the people who work in the mall know your owner,” she said. “We’ll start with the shoe store.”

  “Want some shoes?” Gabbie asked. “We’ve got all kinds — yellow, green, and red. And all sizes.”

  Myriah stopped so suddenly that Chewy stumbled into her. “Not today, thanks,” she said very seriously. “I’ve got a problem. This is a lost dog, and I’m looking for his owner.”

  “How about some shoes?” Gabbie persisted.

  “That’s not right,” James cried. “You’re supposed to talk about the dog, not the shoes.”

  Myriah frowned. “Think hard,” she said to Gabbie. “Have you seen his owner?”

  “We have sneakers,” Gabbie continued. “And cowboy boots —”

  Myriah sighed. Gabbie must have forgotten the script. Myriah would just have to make the best of it. “Let’s go, doggie,” said Myriah. “Maybe your owner stopped for a slice of pizza.” She walked over to the barbecue grill, where Mathew was pretending to throw pizza dough in the air. “Excuse me …”

  “Not while I’m making the dough,” Mathew said. “I can’t talk until I get this in the oven.”

  Myriah looked annoyed. It was obvious that Mathew was adding some new lines to his script. “Look,” she said, “this is an emergency.”

  Mathew shook his head and refused to look at her. He twirled the imaginary dough in his hand, pretending to toss it high in the sky. Finally he spread some pretend-pizza sauce on it and put it in the oven. Then he wiped his hands on a pretend-apron (a nice touch, Jessi thought) and grinned. “Okay, what do you want?”

  Myriah repeated the story about the lost dog while Mathew listened intently. “Afraid I can’t help you,” he said, twirling another piece of dough.

  Jessi was beginning to wonder what Myriah would do next when Zach came tearing around the corner on his bicycle. Zach is a good friend of James, but he is very bossy and always tells James what to do.

  When he saw Myriah leading Chewy around the patio, he came to a stop. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re rehearsing a play,” Myriah said.

  “Can I watch?”

  “I guess so,” she replied. She waited until Zach settled himself on a huge tire that was suspended from a rope and then went on with the play. She had just taken Chewy into a department store, when Zach burst out laughing.

  “This is the dumbest play I’ve ever seen,” he hooted.

  “It is not,” James said angrily. “I wrote it.”

  “You wrote it?” Zach laughed so hard, he nearly fell off the swing. “It stinks!” He jumped off the tire and headed for his bike. “And what are you doing playing with girls, anyway?”

  “They’re part of the play,” James began, his face a bright red.

  “I don’t believe this,” Z
ach said, still chuckling. “First you hang around with that loser, Susan Felder, and now you’re playing with a bunch of little kids.” (Susan Felder is a handicapped girl whose family lives in the neighborhood. She goes to a special school, doesn’t talk, and doesn’t know how to play with other kids.)

  Jessi thought it was really mean of Zach to call her a loser and said so.

  “Yeah, well, she is,” Zach said bluntly. He wasn’t even embarrassed. “You know something, James?” he said, swinging onto his bike. “If you really want to be an American, you’ve got to change. You need to hang around with me and the other guys. You need to spend more time on your skateboard. And you should dump these girls. Oh, yeah. One more thing. Quit calling your mother ‘Mum.’”

  James just stood there listening, his hands clenched at his sides. Finally he spoke up. “You know what your problem is, Zach?” he said very quietly. “You’re just jealous because you’re not in the play.”

  “He probably can’t even act,” Mathew said, and Jessi giggled.

  “I can so!” Zach said hotly. “Maybe I just don’t want to hang around with a bunch of girls!” Zach pedaled as fast as he could down the driveway, chanting, “James is a gi-irl, James is a gi-irl!”

  James’s face fell, and Jessi felt sorry for him.

  Nobody said anything for a moment, and then Chewy barked. “I think he’s trying to tell us it’s time to go back to the play,” James said. Everybody laughed. James clapped his hands loudly. “Okay, places everyone. Let’s take it from the top.”

  Jessi felt very proud of him.

  Last Tuesday I got the biggest shock of my life! You’re going to really be surprised when I tell you about it.

  School had just let out, and Stacey and I had walked Kristy to her bus. Claudia and Mary Anne were trailing behind us, and everyone was trying to decide what to do next.

  “Why don’t you come over to my house?” Claudia offered. “Mom bought a gallon of Pecan Crunch ice cream.” She glanced at Stacey. “And there’s homemade applesauce, too. The kind with no sugar.”

  Stacey smiled. “It sounds good, but I’ve got an English test tomorrow. So do you, Claudia,” she added teasingly. “In case you’ve forgotten.”