Bluefish (11 page)

Travis had all twenty- one words ready to rip for McQueen on Monday. He ran through the whole list, and McQueen just about did a dance in his chair.

"You've earned yourself a mid- quarter A in reading," he said. "And wait till you see the new list I've got for you.

You're going to love this one!"

It was all trees. Maple, birch, aspen, oak, hem-lock, pine.

"Do you know these trees?" asked McQueen. "Can you pick them out in the woods?"

No problem. Travis could close his eyes and picture each one - trunks, leaves, fall colors, spring buds and candles.

"Would you be able to draw any of them?" asked McQueen. "Nothing fancy, just a sketch?"

Travis nodded.

"Great. By Wednesday, draw me a sketch of each one.

Put a sign up in front with the name of the tree. All those words are on page one."

When Travis got to first period, of course Velveeta wanted to see his new list of words. He told her what McQueen wanted.

"And you can do that? You actually know what those trees are?"

"Sure."

"I knew it all along," she muttered. "Hiding behind that 'I can't read' business, and there you are with your oversize brain. You're not an undercover cop -

you're an undercover forest ranger."

All through first period, she passed him stick drawings with the word printed beneath. A tiger, an octopus, a giraffe, and something he finally figured out was a camel.

He kept the scraps in a neat stack and put them in his pocket when the bell rang.

Between classes, Travis stopped and looked at the dance posters. He didn't want to go to any dance, but maybe Velveeta did. What if he, Travis, was the one who shouldn't sit with them at lunch? Bradley fired plenty of words at her, more than Travis could come up within a month.

When he got through the lunch line, he was surprised to see Bradley sitting with Reed and Jake. Velveeta waited for him, with the book from McQueen out on the table.

"I banished Bradley today so we could lunch in peace."

She tapped the cover of the book. "The reason this book is called The Book Thief is because the girl who can't read keeps stealing books."

"Why?"

"She can't help herself. And then all kinds of things happen to her because of stealing them. And because she can read now."

"Just like that, she can read now?"

"No, not just like that. She had to work at it for a long time."

"Oh."

"But she did, and then she ends up reading out loud to everyone in the bomb shelter. She saves the day by being able to read. I wonder what day you're going to save, Traverelli. Maybe you'll save us from terrorists."

"I doubt it."

"Then maybe you'll give me your Rice Krispies bar and save me from malnutrition."

"Maybe not." He grinned at her.

"I love it when you're mysterious. I guess this time maybe means no, since you're already - oh, it's in the mouth. That's a definite no."

They picked up their trays and headed to the garbage can, Travis still swallowing the last of the Rice Krispies bar. Velveeta's Orange and yellow scarf splashed color over her shoulder, brightness laid across the smoothdark of her hair. A ray of sun through the window lit her head, so he could see the color of each hair separately - some brown, some dark red. He wanted to touch, to see if her hair would be as silky soft as he imagined.

She turned around and bumped him, almost knocking the tray loose from his hands.

"You're crowding me, Travicus."

He fumbled and dropped his tray as she stepped around him. His plate clattered on the floor, and the fork flew behind the garbage can, and everyone nearby applauded.

"Clumsy much?" Cassidy pushed past him to dump her tray.

Travis's face was so hot, he was glad to have a reason to kneel on the floor. He slowly picked up his plate and silverware. By the time he got everything sorted and thrown away, Velveeta was gone.

He drifted through the afternoon on that splash of color. The way the sun came in at just the angle to catch the red in her hair. Usually things indoors didn't look that good.

He was just opening his locker after the last bell when Velveeta came skidding up.

"Listen to this," she said. "You'll never guess who just asked me out."

Travis's stomach dropped.

"Bradley Whistler." Velveeta nodded. "To the dance.

Can you believe that?"

"What'd you say?" asked Travis.

"What should I have said?"

"I don't know. Whatever you want, I guess."

Travis turned back to his locker. He took as much time as he could, straightening his books and pens, and then pulled his hoodie out and put it on. Velveeta stood there with her hands on her hips, watching him. She fired a direct gaze into his eyes, like a super- power telescope.

He looked down so she wouldn't see his face getting red.

"I told him I'd think about it," she said. "Are you coming to the library with me?"

"What for?"

"Words! Come on, we'll go over the ones I passed you this morning."

A new wave of September heat radiated up from the sidewalk. Travis didn't really feel like doing words, but he wanted her to make him laugh, and call him Travasaurus.

He wanted her to say she'd never go to a dance with Bradley in a million years.

He kicked a rock in front of them, hoping she'd kick it next. She didn't.

Once they got to the library, Velveeta was all business. "Let's see the book."

Travis handed it over.

"Look, the whole first paragraph is uncircled! You're ready to read it."

He shook his head. Going down a list, one word a time, that was one thing. But to read a sentence out loud, thrashing through wave after wave of those words?

He was not ready for that.

"Shut up!" said Velveeta. "You know every word here.

Come on, read it!"

Travis shook his head harder.

"Okay, wait. I know. We'll do it a line at a time. I'll read it, then you read it back. You can do that."

The last part sounded like Mrs. Keatley. Come on, Travis. You can do THAT.

Velveeta read the first line, bubbling the words out like liquid candy, easy easy.

She handed the book to him.

He looked at that first line and didn't see any words. Just a stream of black marks. He closed the book.

"Travis, come on. You didn't even try."

Try. That word torched fire- hot. He took the book and shoved it into his backpack.

"I've got to go."

"I can't believe you're not even going to try."

Travis stepped back, away from her, away from the table, away from everything he wanted to hit or throw. He snatched his backpack and walked out. Her words and the way she said them burned through his chest.

Try. Stupid bluefish, that's all he'd ever be. Thought a few words meant he could read. TRY, Travis. Can't you at least try? He never should have told her about the lists of words. It would just give her and Bradley something to laugh about when they went to the dance.

on MONDAY

I was mad before we even got to the library because when I told Travis about Bradley asking me to the dance, he acted like he couldn't care less. Not like I thought he'd say, "No, go with me instead," because that would be un- Travis-like. But I did think he'd say something, or at least make a face.

Because of how it was at lunch when I almost smacked him chin side with my tray. I thought he was reaching out to touch my hair. Like in a romantic- movie way. I get it now why people say someone is hot because all of a sudden Travis made me have a fever. Kawoof, furnace on.

Look, bottom line, I gotta get real here. Travis would never like me in a romantic- movie way. Not Vida Wojciehowski, Russet Lowlife Trailer-Trash Loser and half sister of Jimmy the butt. You know what Travis was doing when I thought he was reaching for my hair? He was flicking away a trailer-court cootie.

Still, on TUESDAY MORNING

Jimmy came over for dinner, so I spent the night here at your place. I hate my life. I especially hate how I feel when Jimmy's around, like the scummiest of scum- sludge bottom- feeder bad.

It stormed all night. I tried to remember what you used to say about how storms are magical and beautiful and awe-some. But the thunder growled and barked, and I was all by myself and the electricity went off, so I couldn't watch a movie, and I couldn't find a candle or a flashlight. I started to feel like a bad thing was out there, bamming on the sides of your trailer. Howling at me. Every time I looked at a window, I expected Jack

Nicholson's face to show up saying "Heeeeeeere's Johnny," and then he'd chase me through mountains of snow with an ax. I shoved some furniture in front of the door in case the double bolt broke.

Now it's light outside, sort of. At least it's not night anymore, but it's still stormy. The lights are back on, but I don't know what time it is. You know what? I'm not leaving here until Jimmy's truck is gone. I think I will have a Velveeta movie day.

Travis let the gray drizzle fall on him. He didn't want to go to school, and he couldn't stay home. Grandpa was still in bed and was probably going to miss work. Good thing Travis hadn't gotten all on board with Grandpa's changes, because everything looked to be going off board pretty fast.

Grandpa hadn't made dinner in days, they were running out of groceries, and all the asking about homework had stopped. The whole thing had lasted, what, maybe a month?

Travis shoved himself away from the bridge railing with a sigh. He dragged his feet through town. For a while there, he'd even thought he could be a new Travis. But really, everything was the same, especially him. Same old bluefish.

He got to school late, after the first bell. On his way to social studies, he ran into McQueen.

"Mr. Roberts, pick your head up there and look around - oh. Something wrong?"

Travis shrugged.

"Problem with the reading?"

McQueen could make mud clump up in Travis's throat like nobody else.

"Come by after fourth period. Bring the book, and we'll see what tripped you up." McQueen nodded, making his eyes big. "Really, we'll fix it."

Travis paused outside Gordon's room. If Velveeta poked him in the neck, he'd just tell her to quit it. She could mind her own business for once.

Her seat was empty, though, and relief washed all over him along with a taste of disappointment.

Bradley snagged Travis in the hall between bells.

"Where's Velveeta?" he asked. "Is she sick?"

"I don't know."

At least Bradley didn't know, either.

"I'll sit by you at lunch, okay?"

"Can't, I'm busy," said Travis.

Good thing he had McQueen. Anything was better than listening to Bradley talk about Velveeta. After fourth period, McQueen sat on the desk in front of him, feet on the chair.

"So what's the problem, Mr. Roberts? Something must have happened. Give me a clue. Sounds like?"

"It's not reading," said Travis. "I mean sure, I learned some words. But when I look at the page, they don't look like anything."

"Ah," said McQueen. "You tried to jump ahead."

Wasn't Travis's idea to jump ahead. That was

Velveeta's idea.

"Hm. If you insist on jumping, let's make a jump you can do. Because getting discouraged is not on the program. Wait right here."

McQueen came back from his office witha bright orange-and-green book. He opened it in the middle and pointed at the sentence above the picture.

"Read this."

"The. Bl. Blue. Dog. Is. In." said Travis.

"Good. Now do it again."

McQueen made him do it three times. Then he said,

"Read it like you're telling me something I need to know."

"The blue dog is in."

"Read it like your hair's on fire."

"The blue dog is in." Travis said it a bit louder, a bit faster.

McQueen grinned and closed the book. "Okay, that probably is how you'd say it if your hair was on fire. Anyway, that's what most kids learn toread on. Took you maybe three minutes."

"But that's a book for little kids."

"Right. Remember when you asked why we're not using an easier book?

Because you're not a child, and this is too easy. We're using a book at your level, and it's hard, and you're doing just fine. Now, go get some lunch."

Travis was halfway out the door when McQueen stopped him.

"Mr. Roberts, is there anything else bothering you?"

Travis met McQueen's hypno eyes, and a shiver ran over him. He couldn't answer.

"If there's anything I can do, let me know. Meanwhile, show up tomorrow and we'll tackle more of Haunt Fox."

As Travis walked home after school, he remembered asking Grandpa for help with homework, way back before he was officially a bluefish. You're too little for homework.

What's wrong with those teachers? Go out and play. He never asked if Travis's homework was done, not once.

Not until he started his whole "I'm in AA. Let's talk about everything" thing.

Which was now over. The front door was unlocked, and Grandpa was in the recliner, watching TV. Travis went directly to the refrigerator. Nothing in there but O'Doul's and ketchup.

"We're out of groceries," he said.

No answer.

"Even milk."

Thick stale smoke filled the house, and several empties cluttered the coffee table.

"Why aren't you at work?"

"'Why aren't you at work?' " Grandpa whined, mocking him. "Is that all you care about, if I'm buying groceries or not? I suppose you expect me to make your dinner.

You don't care if I'm sober. You just care who's feeding your mug."

"At least do that," muttered Travis.

"You got something to say, speak up."

"Why bother?" Travis raised his voice. "You don't care."

"I don't care?" Grandpa banged down the footrest of the recliner. "I've been taking care of your butt with no help for the last ten years, and I don't care?"

"You only did it because you had to."

"Oh, yeah? Says who?"

"You. I heard you say it to Dave last summer. You were sitting on the porch.