Strays. Part 4

"And this," Megan asks, "is a real job?"

I nod.

"Didn't some guy in the Bible eat locusts and honey?" Astin asks.

Megan pretends to be stunned. "You never fail to surprise me."

"Mrs. Rafter used to read me stories while she gave me a bath."

"Lucky Mrs. Rafter. And so dexterous."

I tell them, "There's a tree called a locust, which is a kind of carob. So that guy was probably eating honey and chocolate."

Megan nods. "You must be one of the smart ones."

I shrug and say, "And you must be one of the popular ones."

"Oh, sweetie," she protests. "I'm just visible. There are girls in this school who could knock me down and give me a black eye and I'd just be grateful for the attention. And you can tell how divine they are because they are never on the phone. I, on the other hand, could not live without mine."

Hers goes off right on cue. She grins, showing advertis.e.m.e.nt-quality teeth as she says, "Hi. In the Pit. Sure." Then she tells Astin, "Belle's coming."

"Then we should either get the crops in early or take the babies and get out of the way."

Megan slaps at Astin the way girls do when they're with boys they like.

When her phone rings again, he pretends to be fed up and pushes her out of the way.

"Your cla.s.ses okay?" he asks me.

"I guess. In English I learned Shakespeare was a playwright."

"Who's your homeroom teacher?"

"Mr. Decker."

"He's cool. How about your counselor?"

"Skinner."

"That jerkwad. He still calls me Tex."

"Because Astin sounds like Austin, which reminds him of Texas."

"Bingo. Where's C.W., anyway?"

"Eating with his new friends."

Astin shakes his head. "I'm telling you, man, drop one of the brothers in the middle of nowhere and before you know it four or five hood rats show up and they make a rap video."

This girl, who must be Belle, glides through the door leading out of the cafeteria. She's pale and thin and dressed in gauze. She kisses Astin on the cheek, and he acts like he's getting a penicillin shot. Then she clings to Megan, who chants, "Belle, Ted."

Belle winds herself around me like this boa constrictor my parents had in the shop for a while. "Oh, my G.o.d," she says. "It's the orphan."

It's a Sat.u.r.day morning. The house is almost empty. Mr. Rafter's truck, a Ford F-150, is gone, and so is Astin's motorcycle. C.W. left right after breakfast to play basketball.

When I'm alone like this and I know Astin's not coming back for a while, there's this thing I do. I put on one of his leather jackets and get out my homework. I pretend I'm somebody else. Not Astin, but not me either.

This boy, whoever he is, isn't president of his cla.s.s or valedictorian, but he's still smart. He knows a lot of people but only has a few close friends, kids he's known almost all of his life. If somebody has a problem, they call him and talk. He doesn't pick fights, but he never backs down.

Basically he's just a guy who lives in a nice house. He's got an okay car and a girlfriend who doesn't want to go all the way. His parents love each other and take turns cooking dinner.

That's it. When the essay for English is done or I've solved all the algebra problems for Monday, I hang the jacket back up. Then I'm just Ted O'Connor again, who's got an appointment with his social worker.

At twenty after ten, Ms. Ervin shows up in her rattletrap van. I meet her at the door and we shake hands.

"Do you mind if we talk on the porch, Teddy? It's not cold out and I have to keep an eye on these boys."

I can see both of them with the hoods of their sweats.h.i.+rts up. They might be monks on their way to a retreat. But they're not; they're kids that n.o.body wants.

She sits down in one of the phony Adirondack chairs. Her watery eyes flick from the papers in her lap to the van and back again.

"How are you getting along, Ted?"

"Pretty well, I guess."

"Any problems?"

I feel like she's in my room, going through my things. I just need to get through this and she'll leave me alone. I lean toward her. "I like that blouse. Those are mother-of-pearl b.u.t.tons."

She asks, "How in the world do you know something like that?"

Her smile is so big and real that I'm kind of sorry I can't do what she wants and start crying big-time. But that would mean I'd have to remember everything all at once.

"Dad hated paying babysitters, so Mom dragged me to thrift stores and yard sales when I was little. My job was checking b.u.t.tons."

All of a sudden she stands up and shouts, "LeBraun! What do you think you're doing? Take Winston and get back in the van!"

LeBraun says, "We was just gonna play some catch."

"Well, not in the street," Ms. Ervin says. "By the side of the van, where I can see you." Then she returns to me. "I'm sorry, Ted. Where were we?"

"We were talking about my mother."

"Oh, that's right. Do you miss her?" She tries to act casual, but we're in Freudland now. On our left is Sigmund Village, and on our right the Oedipus Complex.

I say, "She drove me crazy sometimes. You know what good clothes are?" I ask.

She nods, glances at the orphans, then back at me. "Sure. Things to wear to dinner out or church. Anything that isn't everyday."

"Right. Well, I had clothes that were supposedly so good I couldn't wear them."

"Never?"

I nod.

"And how did you feel about that?"

Oh, man. Right out of chapter 1: Dealing with the Troubled Child.

"They were used, Ms. Ervin. Somebody else wore them. Why couldn't I?"

"And that made you angry."

"How do you know how I felt about anything?"

"Good, Teddy. Let those emotions boil up. So you had intense, painful feelings. You had them then and you have them now. How do you handle them? Do you cry, do you throw things, do you sleep twelve hours in a row?"

I've got to start some serious lying.

I swallow hard and whisper, "I cry at school sometimes."

That makes her sit up. "Really?"

"Only in Dr. Skinner's office. Not, you know, where people can see me. Just where it's safe."

"And this Dr. Skinner is -?"

"My counselor. He's real accessible, and he likes me a lot."

"So there's someone you can open up to."

I nod. "And Astin, sometimes. And C.W. They're good guys."

"Not the Rafters?"

"Gee, I couldn't cry in front of Mr. Rafter. He'd tell me to drop and give him twenty."

She leans back and laughs. It was the "Gee" that did it. She closes her folder and gets to her feet. "Well, I think we made some real progress here."

Which is exactly what I want her to think. But all the lying just wore me out. What's the point of telling anybody how you really feel, anyway? How many times did I stop the vice princ.i.p.al and tell him somebody was picking on me? How many times did I go to my mother and have to get in line behind a Dalmatian with worms? And as far as my dad goes - forget it. All he wanted to hear was the sound of the cash register.

"Remember, Teddy. People experience grief and loss in different ways. There's no right or wrong way."

"Yes, ma'am."

She wants to hug me, but I'm out of my chair and at the screen door. "Do you want to say hi to Mrs. Rafter? I'll keep an eye on the kids."

"That's very nice of you, Ted. I will say h.e.l.lo."

When she's inside, I head for the van, where the two boys are playing catch.

LeBraun tosses the ball to me, and it bounces off my chest.

"You get the iron glove award, man."

It's a relief to get away from Ms. Ervin. I feel like she's been poking me with a stick. I tell LeBraun, "I guess I'm not Cool Papa Bell."

"Who's he?"

"Black baseball player when there was so much segregation that there had to be a Negro League."

"He have good hands?"

"Uh-huh. And he was so fast he could hit the light switch then jump in bed before the room got dark."

LeBraun looks suspicious. "How you know about him?"

"My father told me."

At the magic word - father - the other boy starts to cry. LeBraun just sneers. "Here come the f.u.c.kin' waterworks again."

"What's his story?" I ask.

"He adopted by white folks, then they up and die and the relatives are all, 'I don't even like chop suey.' So the next thing you know he in the system. Somebody take him, though. For good I mean. He all clean and exotic. They's ten thousand little knuckleheads like me. I be lucky somebody don't beat my a.s.s to death and toss me on the side of the road."

"Let's go, boys." I watch Ms. Ervin herd them like ducks. They scramble into the van. She slides the heavy door shut. "You call me, all right, Ted? Any little thing, you call me."

"Yes, ma'am."

She walks back to me. "How's C.W. doing? We had an appointment and he didn't show up. I don't have time for that."

"He's the most popular kid at school."

She snorts, but wants to believe it.

I open the door for her, then wait until she pulls away. I'm still thinking about Cool Papa Bell. He really was an amazing athlete. Dad told me all about him while we drove to minor league ballparks. He made sure we got there after the seventh-inning stretch because then admission was free.

That late in the game, we could almost always sneak into the boxes behind the dugout. He'd pick up a program somebody had thrown away so he could hara.s.s the players by name ("Don't just stand there, Sanchez. Get around on it!"). Then he'd rag on the umpire while I sank lower and lower in the seat we hadn't paid for.

That was his idea of a father-son night out.

I have another bad night. I toss and turn. The lions make a circle around my bed and growl at something out there in the dark. In a dream, my parents crawl out of their graves. Finally I hear Astin get up, and then a little later the sound of his motorcycle. I guess I go back to sleep, but it's nine or so before I stagger downstairs.

Mrs. Rafter is still in the kitchen, wearing crinkly-looking gold pants and a gold zippered top. She looks like a big souvenir from Fort Knox.

There's syrup and b.u.t.ter on the table, a big blue bowl beside the stove.

"Where is everybody?" I ask.