The new kid, p.5
The New Kid, page 5
She paused.
“And … did I hear you say a bad word?”
“Absolutely not. ‘Dagnabbit’ is not a bad word, and besides, I almost broke my ankle. Now run along, Eva. I’ve had enough style tips for one day.”
“Fine, but I think you’d be safer wearing flats and not jelly beans.”
“I heard you.”
“Or maybe some heels—not too high. Really, they’d look better—with that skirt. And maybe lose the cuckoo accent pin.”
Mrs. Crabbly made her eyes big at Eva. “Okay, okay—I get it!” she told her. “One trip to Italy and I’ve suddenly got a self-appointed fashion cop on my hands.”
“I’ve been to Italy twice. Once with family and once with my aunt Liz.”
“Fine. Ciao! It’s lunchtime.”
“We also went to Paris.”
“Fine. Au revoir. That’s French for scram.”
She stooped down and picked up the empty sandwich bag and most of the gummy bears. “Just how I wanted to spend my lunch hour,” she mumbled to herself. “Conducting an investigation of sandwich vandalization.”
“Come on, Carson,” said Nancy. She dragged Carson away by his sleeve. Luciana caught up to them and grabbed the other sleeve, and they towed him toward the cafeteria.
Carson sat with a bunch of other kids on a long table in the noisy cafeteria and ate cheese pizza and apple slices. He drank his carton of milk and ate three small fig bars. It wasn’t barbecued tri-tip, but it was good!
But after lunch, he didn’t feel like playing on the field.
He went outside and sat on a bench under the tall pine tree, alone. He missed Gavin and Case. What were they doing right now?
He missed Rainbow Ridge Montessori and everything about it.
He didn’t understand why Wes would want to trash his lunch. What had he done to Wes?
Carson blinked back tears. He scooted over and moved into a patch of sunshine. It disappeared. Clouds were building on the horizon, and they looked like big gray bags of rain.
Pretty soon he saw Ms. Pierson heading his way with Wes in tow. “Carson?” she called. “Wes has a note for you.”
“Don’t look at me,” Wes called to Carson. “ ’Cause I didn’t do it.” He looked over at Ms. Pierson. “I didn’t pierce anybody’s lunch. And there are no witnesses and no proof!”
Ms. Pierson folded her arms on her chest and shook her head. “Whatever you say, Wes. Just give him the note.”
Carson unfolded it. Hey, New Kid had been written and erased and changed to Hey, Carson. Then I’ve just been told that somebody trashed your lunch but it wasn’t me, it wasn’t. From, Weston.
Carson handed the note back to Wes.
“It was the sixth graders that did it,” Wes said. “Bet you anything. Because just before I went up to the office, just as I was leaving the lab, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two sixth-grade girls stop in the yard and stare. This is how they looked. Like this.”
Wes cupped his hand over his eyes, curled his upper lip back, bit his bottom lip with his front teeth, and wrinkled his nose like a rabbit.
It was so silly that if the situation hadn’t been so serious, Carson would have laughed.
Ms. Pierson said, “I’m a busy woman, Wes. Too busy for nonsense. Back to the office you go!”
“Wait!” said Wes. He walked closer to Carson and unzipped his lunch bag. “Want half?”
“What is it?”
“A jam sandwich.” Wes glanced at Ms. Pierson and whispered behind his hand, “And orange soda! Want a swig?”
“I already ate pizza and drank milk,” said Carson.
He paused.
“What kind of jam is it?”
“Strawberry. Actually, it’s strawberry ice cream topping. Same difference.”
“Are we allowed to have orange soda in our lunches at this school?” Carson quietly asked.
“Not bottles or cans of orange soda,” Wes whispered. “But my orange soda is in an aluminum water container. And it’s a small amount. A limited amount. And it’s flat! No bubbles anymore, so it’s not really soda. Do you want to come to my whole birthday party on Saturday the twenty-second at the demolition derby? My grandma is giving it for me. She has a pit pass.”
A pit pass?
Wow!
So he wasn’t telling a whopper about his grandma after all!
At this point, there was no actual proof that Wes had trashed Carson’s lunch. It could have been someone else. It could have been sixth-grade girls. They were definitely persons of interest, under this particular set of circumstances. Since a birthday party at a car race was involved, Carson decided to give Wes the benefit of the doubt. He said, “I’ll ask my dad.”
“Tell him: six o’clock, twenty-second, Atlas Speedway. Bring the Porsche.”
“Wes!” yelled Ms. Pierson. “Move it!”
Wes dug into his lunch bag, found his sandwich at the bottom, unwrapped the plastic wrap, pulled the sandwich in half, and gave half to Carson. Wes squeezed his half into a ball and stuffed it into his mouth. “Don’t forget,” he said with his mouth full. “The twenty-second!”
“Hop to it!” called Ms. Pierson.
Wes turned and stuck his tongue out in her direction.
“Knock it off,” she called.
“I’m catching raindrops.”
“It’s not even raining!”
“Yes it is! See all the black spots on the asphalt?”
Carson sat back down and watched Wes and Ms. Pierson walk back to the office.
He ate his half of the jam sandwich.
Squishy white bread.
Mmm-mm!
A crow swooped down from the branches above and landed on the ground on one scaly, spindly leg. It flapped its wings at Carson and opened its black beak and squawked again. Then it flew onto the roof.
Looking up at the gutter, Carson saw the head of the crow, then the tail of the crow, then the head of the crow, then the tail of the crow.
He got up and wandered away.
Carson strolled around the yard.
The lunch bell rang. Carson and the kids filed into the classroom and sat down.
“Where’s Wes?” asked Mr. Lipman.
“In the office.”
“Again? What this time?”
“Well … let’s just say there was an issue,” said Chloe. “Involving Carson’s lunch.”
“And Mrs. Crabbly’s lost gold pen,” Zoe added. “Put two and two together and …”
Mr. Lipman put his hands on his hips and frowned. “Good gravy. Are you serious?”
Chloe and Zoe both closed their eyes and slowly nodded their heads.
“Carson got pizza, though,” said Luciana. “We escorted him to the cafeteria.”
“How was the pizza, Carson?”
“Good.”
9. HELLO,
Bob
Carson was happy when school was over and his dad pulled up.
Genevieve was in the front seat! She slobbered a few kisses on Carson’s neck and ear as he climbed into the back, and then she looked through the windshield and softly woofed at a crow flapping in a treetop.
“How did it go today?” Carson’s dad asked as Carson buckled up.
“Great!”
Carson’s dad began slowly driving out of the parking lot. “How was your lunch?”
“Fine! I had a double lunch. My original lunch got trashed.”
“Your lunch got trashed? By who!”
“Not sure. Two sixth-grade girls are persons of interest. They were seen in the area looking suspicious. Like this. Look in the rearview mirror.”
Carson shaded his eyes, scrunched up his nose, and bit his bottom lip.
“It took me twenty minutes to make that lunch!”
“Well, I got free pizza from some friendly ladies with nets on their heads in the cafeteria, and also Wes shared his sandwich with me.”
“That was nice of him.”
“And guess what. He invited us to his birthday party!”
“Really? A party invitation for the new kid on the block? Terrific!”
“It’s a demolition-derby party. The whole thing is at Atlas Speedway. Six o’clock on the twenty-second.”
His dad put on the brakes. “That’s this Saturday! Let me get this straight: for this kid Wes’s birthday party, his parents think I’m going to drag you out to a dilapidated old speedway?”
“His grandma does.”
“His grandma is hosting this event? And this woman thinks we’re going to sit on rickety old bleachers? And watch a bunch of wrecked-up cars roar around a track in the mud? With their tires flat and their radiators belching steam? It’s supposed to rain this weekend!”
“Can we, Dad?” said Carson.
“Are you kidding me?” He looked at Carson in the rearview mirror. “Of course!”
In the morning, Carson woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, packed his pack, and played with Genevieve.
Carson loved playing with Genevieve but was hoping for some two-legged friends in the near future.
He was making some headway in the friendship department at school.
It was slow going, but he was beginning to feel more a part of things. Patrick and Oswaldo invited him into their games, and that helped.
And Nancy was always friendly.
He could depend on Nancy to be nice.
Luciana, Shelly, Sydney, Matthew, Zach, and the others were welcoming.
They waved hi and bye.
Maybe someone would invite him over to their house someday after school or on a weekend.
If it was Wes, Carson would say he was busy.
The next morning, right after the bell rang, Mrs. Crabbly appeared in the doorway of the class. She looked over the top of her glasses at the class and then at Mr. Lipman. “I’m sorry for the interruption.”
A mouse head came out of her Swiss cheese pin and squeaked eight times.
“But I have an announcement.” She turned to Wes. “First, I apologize to you, Weston, on behalf of myself and Ms. Pierson.”
She turned back to the class.
“Thanks to the keen observations of two sixth-grade girls, we have now concluded that Carson’s lunch was not, in fact, ripped to shreds by an individual wielding a gold pen.”
She paused.
“The lunch was annihilated by a large black crow with a bent beak. A Nuisance Bird has been identified. We believe it is the same shabby individual who wintered here several years ago and went by the name of Bob. The sixth graders recognized Bob from when they were in kindergarten.
“A warning to all: if you get swooped down upon from above, do not launch objects into the air to defend yourself.”
She turned to Wes: “And next time you find my pen under a chair, mister, give it back to me! Finders Keepers does not apply at this school, as you well know. And may I add that you also well know that a pen is not a projectile. A pen should not be thrown under any circumstances. Plus, you broke it.”
She looked at Wes like she was boring a hole through his head with her eyeballs. “I didn’t even get to use it once.”
Then she said to the class, “If dive-bombed by a big belligerent bird with a slightly bashed-up beak, cover your head with your arm or hoodie hood and run away quickly. Then report the incident to the office. Carson?”
“Yes?”
“Ask your parent to buy you a Bob-proof lunch bag.”
“Go to Shop Rite,” said Eva. “It’s out by the fairgrounds.”
“And Atlas,” added Wes.
Mrs. Crabbly looked over at Mr. Lipman. “I’m thinking of stopping by the Spring Campout for the evening barbecue and bringing my husband, Lee. If that’s all right with you.”
“By all means,” said Mr. Lipman.
Carson couldn’t wait to tell his dad what happened with Bob.
“Animal quiz, Dad,” he said as he climbed into the car.
“Did they find out who trashed your lunch?”
“First clue: Claws. Carnivore.”
“Tiger?”
“Black. Attacks from above.”
“Panther?”
“Nope.”
“Bear?”
“Bears don’t attack from above, Dad. Next clue: Eats bears.”
“Eats bears?”
“Small juicy ones.”
“No way!”
“It does! It eats very small, very colorful juicy bears and large oatmeal cookies.… And tri-tip.”
“What?!?!”
“Yup. A bird named Bob got my lunch, Dad.”
“Weird. And he drank the guava juice?”
“Some of it.”
“So it wasn’t the girls or Wes who did it. That’s good to know.”
“I agree, but we need to get me a Nuisance Bird–proof canvas lunch bag, on the double.”
“You can say that again!”
“But we need to get me a Nuisance Bird–proof canvas lunch bag, on the double.”
They planned it perfectly. They would get the canvas bag, buy Wes a present, and pull into the entrance of Atlas Speedway at six o’clock sharp.
Late Saturday afternoon, Carson and his dad went to Shop Rite and selected a canvas lunch bag with a picture on it of two moose standing at the edge of a river with the Grand Teton mountain range in the background.
They bought a present for Wes and stuck it in a birthday bag with a tag on it. Carson borrowed a pen from the cashier and signed it: Your friend, Carson.
Carson heard a voice squeal: “Carson! Hey!”
It was Eva, and she hurried over, followed by a stylish woman in a red dress and backless red high-heel shoes. She was even wearing a red felt hat with a red feather and a small black veil with a brim that sloped down a little over one eye!
And matching red lipstick, and lots of it.
“This is my aunt Liz.”
Everybody said hi.
“So I see you got a lunch bag,” Eva said. “Awesome. Did you see the shorts on sale?”
Eva waved them over to a rack of shorts, 75 percent off. “These would look so good on you, Carson.” She held up a big, baggy pair of navy blue shorts with a lot of pockets and zippers.
Aunt Liz stood back and put her finger on her cheek. “They look like they’d fit,” she said. She glanced at Carson’s dad.
Carson’s dad said, “Up to him!”
Aunt Liz walked a few feet away and waved a neon green T-shirt on a hanger at Carson’s dad. “Can you believe it?” She checked the tag. “Two bucks.”
She shook it at him. “Size L?”
“Sounds about right.”
They all walked outside together and waved good-bye in the parking lot. Eva and her aunt zoomed off in a little red convertible.
“To be honest, I don’t really know if I like baggy shorts with pockets and zippers all over them,” Carson said as they got into the car.
“No worries. I’m sure we can return them if they don’t work out.” Then Carson’s dad added, “Keep in mind that you don’t have to change your style in order to fit in. And you don’t have to fit in, regardless. Be yourself, son.”
“I will, Dad. Do you like your new T-shirt?”
“Not that much, but it’s the price of a greeting card.”
“I’ve never seen you wear a Day-Glo T-shirt with a Nor Cal logo on it before, Dad.”
“Well, we’ve never lived in Northern California before. And I’d also like to learn to snowboard sometime, since the mountains are closer now.”
“You would? Me too!”
“Maybe we can take a trip to the snow before it melts.”
“That’s a great idea, Dad!”
Wow.
A trip to the snow—now that would be newsworthy!
So would the demolition derby! “Don’t forget to take lots of pictures, okay, Dad? So we can email them to Case and Gavin!”
“I won’t.”
“Did I ever tell you that Abby Crabbly’s husband’s name is Lee? Lee and Abby Crabbly—see if you can say that five times fast without messing up!”
The brief T-shirt-and-shorts shopping expedition had thrown them off schedule, but not by much.
Before Carson’s dad could properly say Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, Lee and Abby Crabbly, they had pulled into Atlas Speedway.
Minor detail: Wes and his grandma weren’t there. In fact, no one was there but them. There was no demolition derby at all—none. Nothing was going on. Just a chain-link fence, rickety bleachers, an empty racetrack, and a shut-down concession stand that had PIZZA HOT DOGS BURGERS FRIES ICE CREAM painted on the side. A sign that had fallen onto the ground said CLOSED UNTIL JUNE.
They went home.
Both had gotten into the mood for demolition-derby concession-stand food, so they picked up a package of hot dogs, a package of squishy buns, and a can of chili.
Carson’s dad said, “There must have been some mistake about the date of the birthday party.”
But there wasn’t a mistake.
Wes told a whopper and Carson fell for it—hook, line, and sinker.
He felt bad about that.
Mad, too!
It was mean of Wes.
After dinner, he ripped the Your friend, Carson tag off the birthday bag. And threw it away.
“I hate Wes,” Carson told his dad.
“Don’t say that, Carson.”
“I dislike Wes,” Carson told his dad. “Intensely!” he added.
“Have you called Case or Gavin recently? Why not touch base with them in the morning.”
“Last time we talked, Case said they were going camping together this weekend.”
“Ah.”
“In the mountains behind Pasadena. In an Air-stream trailer.”
“Ah.”
Carson felt a twinge.
Did Gavin and Case even miss him?
Probably not that much.
They had each other to hang out with now.
Carson had no one to hang out with, and nothing new to report.
He had hoped to be able to tell them about a demolition derby.
Why call them at all?
10. GOOD-BYE,
