Eight Keys (5 page)

I picked to start with Mrs. Wakefield’s get-to-know-you survey. Now the problem was having to use my left hand. I had nothing to weigh down the paper and it scootched around when I tried to write. I got so frustrated that I threw my pencil. “Grrr!”

Aunt Bessie came over. “What’s the matter?”

“My work looks like it was written by chickens!”

“What does that mean?”

“That’s what teachers always say to kids who write messy.”

Aunt Bessie smiled, as if she couldn’t help it. “You mean chicken scratches.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Here.” Aunt Bessie sat down. She slid the paper away from me and found a new pencil. “Your writing hand is injured, and that’s difficult. I’ll be your scribe.”

“You’ll write for me?”

“Sure. Whatever you dictate.”

I hadn’t realized how tight and heavy it had felt inside
my chest until the feeling lifted. I answered Mrs. Wakefield’s questions about what my favorite subjects were and who lived in my house with me and what I liked to read, and Aunt Bessie wrote everything down. Then we moved on to math, which was harder, because moving the pencil helps me think. Luckily the beginning-of-the-year review stuff isn’t that hard. When Uncle Hugh came in from the barn, expecting dinner, Aunt Bessie hadn’t made any and we had gotten through only three assignments. So Uncle Hugh made dinner. He always makes beans and rice. But it was warm and yummy, and afterward I took my social studies book to the den to read.

Aunt Bessie woke me up there later.

“Go to bed, Cricket.” She lifted the book from my lap.

“But I only did four assignments.”

“How many do you have?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen? You can’t expect to do them all tonight. You’re healing. Tomorrow’s another day.”

She cleaned and rebandaged my thumb, and helped me into pajamas with a button-up shirt—the kind I never wear, really—so that it would be easier with my sling. She gave me pain medicine and I went to bed.

I never really caught up on the homework. Mostly I just sat in my classes without a clue what was going on.

Every morning when I got to school, Amanda was waiting. Waiting to make me miserable. She called me and Franklin names, which never seemed to bother him the way
it bothered me. She wrecked my lunch, and when I told Mrs. Wakefield about it again, she still didn’t seem to care. She considered it part of learning to share the locker, told me that I couldn’t switch and I needed to learn to get along with my partner.

It became harder and harder just to get to school.

One morning, after rushing to wash my face and brush my teeth with one hand, I left with only a few minutes to catch the bus. I had to hurry, but instead, my steps got smaller and smaller, and slower and slower. By the time I got to the bus stop, nobody was there.

I couldn’t stand at the bus stop all day, so I turned around and went back home.

When Aunt Bessie heard the front door open, she came from the kitchen to see who it was. She was already dressed in her catering clothes. “What happened?”

“I missed the bus.”

“How did that happen?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“I have a tasting this morning.… ” Aunt Bessie seemed pretty stressed out by my reappearance. She sighed. “Get in the car. I’ll take you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was an accident.”

That first morning, we all thought it was an accident.

Feeling Stuck

When you get to the bus stop in the morning and nobody’s there, it means one of three things:

(1) You missed the bus.

(2) It’s Saturday, but you forgot.

(3) School has been miraculously canceled, but no one told you.

Who am I kidding? I missed the bus. Again.

Today there wasn’t actually
no one
at the bus stop. Franklin was there, sitting by the side of the road, knees pulled up, baseball cap and backpack on. When he was crunched up like that with his head down, you couldn’t see his pale hair or pale skin or pale blue eyes, or his faded freckles.

If you get to the bus stop in the morning and just Franklin is there, it means one of two things:

(1) Franklin missed the bus, too.

(2) Franklin was there when the bus came, but you weren’t, so he waited to keep you company.

Franklin’s a good friend that way. Not that we talk about things like that. How Franklin would miss school just to make
sure I’m okay. If he got in trouble—well, that was his choice, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to wait for me.

“Hi, dorkus,” I greeted him.

“Hi, Elise,” he answered, ignoring the “dorkus.” That was new, the name-calling. Everyone in middle school threw around hurtful names like they were meaningless, so why shouldn’t I? Franklin hadn’t picked up the habit, but he didn’t seem offended by it.

“You don’t have your sling or your bandage.”

“Yesterday the doctor said I didn’t have to wear them anymore. He said kids heal pretty fast.”

I sat down as Franklin examined his watch, with its big navy face and large white numbers.

“Damage?” I asked.

“Bus comes—seven-forty-eight. School starts—eight-fifteen. Now—eight-twenty-four.”

“Dung cookies.”

After attendance in the morning, if you aren’t there, and no one from home has reported your absence, the school calls your house. That’s how I always get found out. After that first morning, I never felt good trudging home. It seemed like this happened a lot, although I wasn’t sure how many times. Five, maybe?

Sure enough, it was only a few minutes—“eight-thirty,” Franklin reported—until Uncle Hugh came puffing up the hill on his bike. We watched him pedal in silence, his cheeks turning red above his white beard. His beige button-up shirt and tan shorts billowed as the wind caught them. Finally, he
was close enough to stop and talk to us without having to shout. He said, “Hop on, Cricket.”

I still fit, sort of, in the basket on the front of Uncle Hugh’s bike. The basket digs into the backs of my legs and they swing around as we go, but sitting sideways is okay.

I sighed and climbed into the basket. Instead of continuing up the road to school, Uncle Hugh turned around.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Home,” Uncle Hugh said. “You too, Franklin, I spoke with your mother.”

Franklin trotted along with us. With me in the basket, Uncle Hugh was moving very slowly, pedaling just fast enough to keep us from tipping over.

“Why don’t you let me walk with Franklin?” I asked. I might have been a toddler strapped into a plastic seat.

“This way,” said Uncle Hugh, “I can keep an eye on where you’re going.”

Uncle Hugh didn’t seem angry as he parked the bike and gave me a hand hopping out of the basket, but he didn’t say anything as he turned and walked into the house.

I looked at Franklin, who shrugged. We hurried after Uncle Hugh. He led us into the kitchen. He opened three cream sodas and set the bottles on the table. Franklin and I dropped our backpacks and sat down.

Uncle Hugh took a long drink.

“Listen, Cricket,” he started. “We’ve had very few problems as you’ve grown up, would you agree?”

“I guess so.”

“You’re about to be twelve next week.”

“I know.”

“I think that we have suddenly come to a problem.”

“About me turning twelve?”

“Turning twelve is no problem. But you are starting to have more responsibility, right?”

I shrugged.

Uncle Hugh addressed Franklin. “Are you not expected to be more responsible, now that you’re in middle school?”

“Well …” Franklin put down the bottle he’d been slurping from. “We have to get to our classes on our own and remember our homework and books and supplies.”

I rolled my eyes.

“That was my impression, too,” Uncle Hugh said. “Now, my dear Elise, you have me quite worried. How are you to learn to be responsible to get to your own classes and remember all your homework and books if you can’t even get to school?”

He waited. I looked down at the soda bottle I was twisting in my hands. “I don’t know.”

“Franklin, how long have you been in sixth grade?”

“Three weeks and three days.”

“Right. Cricket, you missed the bus on six different mornings. That’s a lot. Franklin, how many minutes does it take to walk from here to the bus stop?”

“Six and a half.”

Uncle Hugh nodded. “According to Bess, Elise, you weren’t late when you had breakfast, and you left with twenty
minutes to get to the bus. So something happened on the way to the bus that took longer than it should have.”

I didn’t know how to explain how lately I had had more thoughts than ever before whirring through my head and sometimes when I stopped to think about them I lost track of time. Or how Aunt Bessie didn’t know that I’d left my math book and homework in my room and had to go back for them. Or how it was easy to drag my feet on the way to school because it wasn’t like anyone there besides Franklin even cared that I existed.

Uncle Hugh seemed to soften as I took longer and longer to figure out what to say. Franklin finished his drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Can I have another soda, Uncle Hugh?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Uncle Hugh said. “It’s nine in the morning. Your mother will have me shot. Have some water.”

Franklin shrugged and got a glass of water.

A car honked outside.

“That’s your mother,” Uncle Hugh said. “She’s going to take you to school. Get your stuff.”

Franklin swung his backpack on. “Elise, you coming?”

“No, don’t worry,” said Uncle Hugh. When Franklin had left, he said, “You’re going to stay home, catch up on some of your work, and figure this out. There must be a reason why you don’t want to go.”

Was Franklin’s mother going to be mad at him? She never seems to get mad about anything.

“Are you or Aunt Bessie going to start walking me to the bus stop and putting me on the bus?” I asked.

“What would you learn then? What would be different?”

“Nothing.”

Uncle Hugh isn’t really the mad type, either. He’s the let’s-learn-something-from-this type.

“First, head to your room. You’re not being punished. I just want you to do some thinking in your own space, okay?”

Soon Aunt Bessie slipped into my room and shut the door.

“Hugh told me he wants to talk to you and I thought,
Men can be so obtuse sometimes
, so I decided to come in myself to see if you wanted a woman to talk to.”

I laughed. “Aunt Bessie! It’s nothing like that!”

“That’s a relief,” she said, sitting down on my bed with me. “But still, why talk to men at all when girls are just such better listeners?”

I put my head on her soft shoulder. Aunt Bessie’s the best.

“Now,” she said, “what’s keeping you from getting to school?”

“I don’t know.”

“Teachers?”

“Maybe. None of them ever call on me. No one holds up my work and says to the rest of the class, ‘Your work should be like this!’ None of them give me check-pluses, just plain old checks. They all think I’m stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Aunt Bessie said. “But you are going
from a small school, where all your teachers knew you, to a big school, and it’s a lot harder to stand out. What about friends?”

“What friends?”

“Come now, Lise, you have friends.”

“I don’t. Most of the kids from my old school are hanging out with other people or they’re in different classes, so I don’t see them. I was never really friends with any of them anyway.”

“You have Franklin.”

“Lot of good he is.”

“Has something happened with Franklin?”

“No,” I said.

No one likes me because I’m friends with that dweebus Franklin. He makes me look like a baby
.

“It’s not fair,” I said out loud.

“What’s not, sweetie?”

It wasn’t fair for no one to like me because I’m friends with Franklin. I can not-like Franklin sometimes if I want to, but it’s not right for anyone else to not-like Franklin; they don’t even know him. And it’s definitely not fair for them to not-like me because of him. Not fair.

Really, though, the worst thing would be if they didn’t like me because of me. Maybe I was a baby.

I was trying to do my late math homework when a car came down the driveway, so I went out on the front porch and leaned on the railing. Annie parked the car, got out, and waved. “
Hello!
”

I lifted one of my elbows enough to wave back.

Aunt Bessie came flying out of the front door.

“Annie!” She ran down the steps to hug Annie. I always thought it was funny that Aunt Bessie had a sister who was almost twenty years younger.

“Elise! Aren’t you going to come down here and welcome our family?” Aunt Bessie called up to me.

I walked slowly off the porch.

Annie opened the backseat and Aunt Bessie swooped in, unbuckling the baby and lifting her from the car. Then she started cooing. Ava let out a happy shriek. She looked pretty cute. I didn’t go anywhere near her.

“How are you, Elise?” Annie asked, putting an arm around me. Her eyes were on the baby. I’d never seen anyone look so lovingly at anything.