Also Known as Rowan Pohi (6 page)

 

I was bored all week, and by Saturday night I was going nuts. Poobs was working a double shift at Vinny's. Marcus was in Vermont visiting his father. By nine o'clock I felt like I would explode if I stayed in that apartment one minute longer, so I decided to go out for a run. My father appeared at my bedroom door just as I was lacing up my shoes.

"You going running now?"

"Yeah, why?"

He shrugged. "It's awful late."

That surprised me. These days my father mostly let me do whatever I wanted; it was unusual for him to comment on my plans, one way or another.

"There are streetlights the whole way," I said. "It's totally safe."

"Here." He tossed me something; I caught it in the air. "Put that around your wrist."

It was a small light attached to a strap.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Universal Sports."

"You bought it for me?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't expensive."

I looked down. "Well, uh, thanks."

"Be careful," he said. "There are plenty of knuckleheads driving around out there."

The wrist-light was perfect. It weighed next to nothing, so I barely noticed it while I ran. I tried to imagine my father going into Universal Sports, picking it up from the shelf, and paying for it at the checkout counter, but the picture didn't come into focus easily. I couldn't remember the last time he just went out and bought me something.

The weather was a perfect 72 degrees. I felt great, locked-in but loose, and decided to sprint the last quarter mile. I ran full bore until my quads burned and my heart was hammering in my chest. Still I kept going. I sprinted four long blocks, and I would have gone two blocks more except a red light forced me to stop. I stood on the sidewalk, hunched over, catching my breath while the sweat trickled down my upper back. As I was wiping my forehead I happened to glance up at the street sign.

Sibberson.

I felt an unexpected tug inside me.

Isn't life weird? We truly think that we are the ones making plans. We are convinced that we are making the important decisions in our lives. But maybe not. Maybe other forces are at work to make us do this or that.

Like now. I was supposed to follow my regular route home. But standing at the street corner, I felt a definite crosscurrent pulling me hard right. When the light changed to green, I hesitated. Before I realized what was happening, I found myself on Sibberson, fast-walking toward Spence.

The sky was dark by the time I reached the abandoned lot; I was glad I had the wrist-light.

What was I doing there? Why was I standing at that lonesome spot where Rowan was buried? To bear witness? Pay my respects?

I didn't know. I simply stood there, breathing, holding on to the chainlink fence and staring into that dark lot.

Goodbye, Rowan.

And that was it. I got a feeling of peace, like now it really was finished and I could go on with my life.
Closure:
isn't that the word? I was glad I'd come. I turned to leave, but as I did, a small noise reached my ears.

Pffff. Puffff. Pfff-pffff.

Rain. The first droplets were fat. Each one made a soft, distinct sound as it struck the dust.
Pfff-pufff. Pufffff. Pifffff.
The sound paralyzed me; I stood frozen to the spot. The rain started falling harder, until soon all those separate
pfffff
s combined into one ragged noise that grew louder and louder still, like when you're making popcorn and it builds to the point when suddenly all the kernels are popping at the same time.

I was still standing outside the fence. Honestly, I hadn't planned on going any closer. But now I realized that rain would penetrate the few inches of dirt on that shallow grave, would soak through Rowan's papers. The ink would blur. All those words
—Congratulations, Rowan
!—would become unreadable and be lost forever.

I couldn't let that happen.

It was easy to find the opening in the fence. Looking around to make sure nobody was watching, I slipped underneath and moved toward the grave. Although there wasn't anybody around, I moved like an assassin, trying not to make the slightest sound. Using the narrow flashlight beam, I located the three letters in the dirt.

R I P

The letters were already starting to blur.

I knelt down, pressing my knees into the earth. The rain on my neck felt warm, but I shivered. The nerves in my body jangled like a zillion tiny bells. I wondered what Marcus and Big Poobs would think about what I was doing. They'd either clobber me or laugh like crazy, and I wouldn't blame them either way, but it was too late to turn back now.

I pressed my right hand onto the moist dirt and dug down until my fingers located the two envelopes. I pulled them from the earth and repacked the dirt, taking care to make the spot look undisturbed. With my pinkie finger, I carefully retraced Rowan's initials on top of the grave.

I stood up and brushed away the dirt clinging to my bare knees. A moment later I was back under the fence. I tucked Rowan's envelopes into my shorts, pulled my shirt over them to keep the paper dry, and sprinted home through the pouring rain.

N
EXT MORNING I WAS STARVING WHEN I WOKE UP. THERE
wasn't much food in the house, so I decided to go buy some bagels.

The city air had a fresh, rain-washed smell when I stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward Finagle A Bagel. A half dozen was our usual order: two chocolate chip for Cody, two onion for my father, and two everything for me.

"Hey there."

I swiveled around and—ba-boom!—there she was. The tall Whitestone girl I had been noticing on and off the last few weeks.

"Hi."

"Hey."

She stood in front of me like a study in whiteness: white T-shirt, white shorts, white teeth, blond hair. And long legs.

She extended her hand. "I'm Heather. Heather Reardon."

"Hi."

Awkwardly, I took her hand and shook it. She was tall for a girl; we stood eye to eye, and I'm close to six feet.

Heather grinned. "Well? What's your name?"

I met her grin, and raised her one.

"I'm Rowan," I said. "Rowan Pohi."

"
I
SWEAR, BOBBY," MOM SAID TO ME ONCE, "YOU MUST HAVE
been born on Opposite Day. Every time I expect you to do one thing, you do the exact opposite. How on earth did you become so impulsive?" She said this after I decided to go out for the volleyball team even though I had never played volleyball in my entire life.

I looked up
impulsive
in the dictionary. It means "spontaneous, reckless." Doing something without thinking it through. I guess she was right. It was definitely an impulsive decision to become Rowan Pohi.

Now we stood on the sidewalk, Heather Reardon and me, blinking in the sunlight.

"I keep seeing you around." I gave her a mock-suspicious look. "You aren't some kind of stalker, are you?"

She laughed out loud. "No, I swear!"

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"I live over on the Heights."

I nodded. "I sort of figured that."

There was an empty wooden bench, so we sat down.

"So what are you doing on this side of town?" I asked.

"I'm doing music camp at Salve Regina," she explained. "This is the last day."

"You play...?" I pointed at the instrument case she was carrying.

"Saxophone."

"But that's a guy instrument, isn't it?"

"Hey!" She lightly smacked me on the shoulder; I took this as a promising sign.

I rubbed my shoulder, like I was mortally injured. "You go to Whitestone. I've seen you wearing the Stony T-shirt."

She gave me a demure smile. "I'm glad you're paying attention. How about you? Where do you go to school?"

"Same," I said casually.

Her face flooded with amazement. "You go to Whitestone?"

"Well, I got accepted there." I leaned back on the bench and let out a sigh. "I don't know if my family can swing the money. That school isn't exactly cheap."

"They have financial aid," she pointed out. "Your parents just have to fill out some forms."

"Yeah," I said. Thinking:
That ain't gonna happen.

Heather crossed her long legs; I tried hard not to stare at them.

"Tomorrow's new-student orientation for the tenth-graders," she said. "The high school is grade ten through twelve, so all the students are new, technically, but most of us are coming from Whitestone Middle. So by now we're kind of used to the Whitestone way of doing things."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway, I'm sure they'll have somebody from financial aid you can talk to."

"What time are we supposed to be there?" I asked casually.

"Nine o'clock. I guess I'll see you there."

"I guess you will."

She regarded me closely. "Did you grow up around here?"

I shook my head. "I moved here from Arizona at the beginning of the summer. I lived way out in the desert, little town named Pinon."

She smiled. "Wow, the Arizona desert. You must have been surrounded by cactuses."

"You mean cacti," I playfully corrected her.

"Righto." She glanced at her watch and sprang up. "Oops, gotta go or I'll be late to camp. See you tomorrow, Rowan!"

"Bye, Heather."

She waved and took two steps away, but then whirled around and took two steps back.

"Sit with me at lunch, okay?"

"You got it," I told her.

When Heather left for the second time, I was thinking she looked fine coming toward me and just as fine walking away.

I felt cranked up, wired. I went into the store and bought six bagels, plus the Sunday newspaper for my father.

After that I didn't go home like I'd planned; I guess it really was Opposite Day. I made a right and headed toward Kopsky's Gifts and Novelties. I had some unfinished business there.

This time the store was full of customers. Mr. Kopsky was at his regular perch behind the counter. The man did not look happy to see me.

"Didn't I tell you not to come in my store?"

I held up my hand, palm out. "I want to buy it."

His dark eyes flashed. "Buy what?"

"The Indian necklace." My voice was strong and steady. "I've got the money."

I don't want your money
—that's what I feared he might say, and that would have shut me up. I was counting on his being a treasure troll, the greedy kind of guy who would never under any circumstances say no to money.

Kopsky stared at me, considering.

"That necklace costs a hundred and eight dollars, with the tax," he finally said.

"I'll take it."

While he went to get the necklace, I counted out five twenties and a ten. Kopsky took my money and counted it, twice. Then he made a show of carefully marking each bill with a black felt-tip marker, to make sure they weren't counterfeit, I guess. Reluctantly, he slid the necklace plus the two dollars' change across the counter to me.

"I need a bag."

Without speaking, Kopsky handed me a plastic bag. I put the necklace in the bag, tucked the bag in a pocket section of my cargo shorts, and left.

Buying that Indian necklace on top of the bagels and the Sunday newspaper had completely emptied my wallet. But I was whistling as I walked home.

N
EXT MORNING I TOOK THE NUMBER
6
CROSSTOWN BUS
and transferred to the number 1. The closer we got to White-stone, the more kids my age got onto the bus. They must have been new students too, but many of them had found a way to buy Whitestone threads ahead of time, and most seemed to know each other. I hunkered down in my seat, wearing my black hoodie. I had a nervous stomach and my heart was racing, but I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep.

"There it is," a girl murmured.

Raising my head, I spotted the gold Whitestone lettering over a tall iron gate. I had seen the entrance a few times before, driving past with Mom. Beyond the gate a sweet-looking campus appeared, with sweeping lawns and half a dozen separate buildings. You could easily mistake it for a college if you didn't know better.

Getting off the bus, we were greeted by a student who looked like she might be Indian or maybe Pakistani. "New-student orientation is inside the union," she said, pointing at a building with ivy snaking up the side.

I followed twenty other new students along a diagonal walkway. Hard to believe that so much velvety grass, so many perfectly trimmed bushes and shrubs, could be found in such a grungy city as ours. It was like walking through a park. We entered the building marked
UNION
and stepped into a foyer dominated by a huge white fountain carved out of solid marble. Craning my neck, I gazed up at the dome ceiling overhead.

We passed through the lobby into a larger room where a woman with a clipboard was checking in the students. She flashed me a smile.

"And you are...?"

"Rowan Pohi."

I tried to force myself to breathe normally while I waited for her to find the name on her list.

"There you are, Rowan. Do you have your preregistration card?"

"Uh-huh." I handed it to her.

"Excellent. If you step over there, you can get your White-stone ID. It shouldn't take too long."

I stood in the short line, trying to stay calm.

I did it,
I said to myself.
I'm inside the belly of the beast.

While I waited, I checked out the other students. Only about half of them were wearing Whitestone clothing. This included the girl in front of me, who had shoulder-length dark hair. She caught my eye and zipped me a small, tight smile. I smiled back.

"There's something extremely ... awkward about the first day of school, don't you think?" she asked.

"True," I admitted. "But we're all in the same boat."

"I'm trying not to feel seasick," she quipped.

"Didn't you go to Whitestone Middle School?"

She shook her head. "No, I went to Holy Sisters of Mercy. This place feels much different. I'm Robin, by the way. Robin Whaley."

"Rowan." I smiled. "Hey, they could make, like, a reality TV show about us. Robin and Rowan."