Jake and Lily (9 page)

A
ll of a sudden some of that funny stuff about Soop doesn’t seem so funny anymore. It’s like we see him with different eyes now. Yesterday he made us laugh. Today he makes us mad.

But I don’t think it’s happening just because Soop didn’t answer a question. Let’s face it, he didn’t really lie to us. Okay, maybe, technically, it was a lie about having to go see his mother, but that’s a pretty harmless lie. And knowing how honest most goobers are, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.

No, the fact is, whether he did or didn’t answer some question, sooner or later this was going to happen. It happens with all of them. I can’t explain it. For once, don’t blame the goober. The goober
never changes. He still says
ahnt
instead of
aunt
. Or he still wears a beaded belt with reindeer on it. Or he still can’t bounce a basketball twice in a row. No, it’s not the goober. The goober is forever. It’s you. It’s you who changes. Something inside you that used to tickle—now it feels like a pinch. You’re done laughing. You just want to smack him.

So today it was different as we parked at Soop’s house. For one thing, we were now off the street and on the sidewalk. And we were calling him Soop right to his face. Of course, goobers being goobers, he probably didn’t even notice.

We got an early taste of the new deal when Soop looked up from his work, which today was digging holes. He said, “So guys, how are those blisters coming along? Ready to jump in yet?”

And Bump said, “Nah. We ain’t jumpin’ in.”

Soop looked surprised—“Oh”—and then sympathetic. “Boy, you guys must have yourselves some awful blisters. Do they really hurt bad?”

“Nah,” said Bump. “They don’t hurt at all. In fact, we don’t even have blisters.”

I could see Soop getting a little confused. “Oh…well…that’s good.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” said Bump. “In fact we never did have blisters. We just told you that. We lied.”

Now Soop was standing there blinking at us—goobers blink a lot—the spade hanging in his hand. All he could say was, “Oh.”

“Yeah, we didn’t want to help, so we made up that lie about the blisters. We’d rather just sit here and watch you do all the work.”

Burke picked it up. “Yeah, Soop, and then when you’re done making the clubhouse, we’ll all move in with ya.”

At that point a normal person would have sneered and said, “Yeah, right,” and thrown the hammer at us, not to mention a mouthful of choice words. But goobers…goobers are like sponges. They take all the crap you throw at them and just soak it up and nothing comes back. So Soop just breaks out this massive grin and pumps his fist and says, “Yes!” As if the only thing he heard was
we’ll all move in with ya
.

Nacho jumped in. “Hey, Soop, how come you wear goggles and gloves?”

Soop jammed the spade into the ground. “To
protect my hands and eyes,” he said.

“Did your mommy make you wear them?”

“I wouldn’t say she
made
me,” he said. “She suggested it. And I thought it was a good idea, so”—he held up his gloved hands so all the world could see—“I did it!”

I had been holding back, but now the words just came blurting out: “You da man, Soop!” And he gave a fist pump and another “Yes!” And I’m thinking,
Hey, yeah, I can do this
.

“But Soop,” said Burke, “nobody else would be caught dead wearing gloves and goggles. Don’t you feel like a dork?”

And Soop actually leaned on the spade for a second and frowned like he was seriously thinking over the question. Then he gave a quick snap of his head and said, “Nope,” and went back to digging.

That’s how it went, us asking dumb question after dumb question. If you could compare it to a boxing match, we were jabbing him in the nose—
bam bam bam bam
—round after round.

“Hey, Soop—you look bald. Why don’t you let your hair grow a little?”

“Hey, Soop—where’s your Mickey Mouse shirt?”

“Hey, Soop—is everybody as cool as you where you came from?”

“Hey, Soop—where did you get that hankie from? Your grandpa? Is it fulla boogers?”

And Soop—bless his little goober heart—he answered every question all serious like it was on a test.

P
oppy says there’s two of me. There’s the Jake-and-Lily me. And there’s the Just Lily me. It’s the Just Lily me who needs a life. Because right now she’s nobody.

“So how does Just Lily get a life?” I asked him. I was combing Poppy’s long white hair. I had pulled the rubber band off the ponytail.

Poppy thought about it. “Attitude,” he said. “I think it starts with that. Attitude.”

“Don’t I already have attitude?” I said.

“The Jake-and-Lily you does,” he said. “But Just Lily? She’s”—his hands went thumbs-down—“
fssst
.”

“What’s
fssst
?” I said.

“Blah. Empty. Zip. Zero. Nada.”

“There’s a lot of ways to say nothing,” I said.

He nodded. “I should know. I was nothing for a long time.”

The comb went through his hair a lot easier than it goes through mine—when I comb it once a month. “Was that after Grandma died?” I said.

“It was,” he said. “Bad time for your Poppy.”

“So how did you get out of it? Did you get attitude?”

He thought. He nodded. “Yeah, I guess I did, come to think of it.”

“Do you have another rubber band?” I said. “So what attitude did you get?”

He found me another rubber band. “Well, I guess it started with getting mad. I got mad.”

“Mad? What at?”

“Me. Myself.”

“Why?”

He thought some more. I felt like my combing was helping him think. “I’m remembering a day in Cape Town. That’s South Africa. I had a day off but I hadn’t even left the boat. I was standing at the rail, looking over the harbor. Lots of little sailboats, like white butterflies. Then comes this speedboat.
Zoom! Right through all the butterflies. I watched it till it went out of sight. It never turned. Never slowed down. Making a beeline to somewhere. And, I don’t know, something just clicked inside me. Like,
Hey pal, he’s going somewhere.
Somewhere.
He’s
alive.” Poppy shrugged. “Next thing I knew, I was mad at myself. Not sure why. Because I was a butterfly and not a speedboat, I guess. I went down to the docks and walked into the city. Ate me some wild oysters. Really just…walked. Walked. Watched. Listened. Smelled. Came alive. I worked my way straight back to California and called your mom and dad and told them I was coming here to live. All because I saw a speedboat. What are you doing up there?”

I looked down. I started laughing. I guess I was listening so hard to Poppy I didn’t notice what I was doing to his hair. It was now in twin pop-up pigtails. Without a mirror, all he could do was feel around up there. “How’s it look?” he said.

“Fabulous,” I told him. “So Poppy, what are you saying? If I want a life of my own, I need to go to South Africa?”

He shook his head, which shook his pop-up
pigtails. “You need to get mad. Start with that. Yesterday you said you were scared. Mad is better than scared.”

“What do I get mad at?”

He pulled me around in front of him. He pointed between my eyes.

“Me?” I said.

“Who else? It worked for me.”

“How do I do it?”

“That’s where attitude comes in,” he said. “You gotta say to yourself, ‘Hey, girl, wise up. Look at your brother. He’s off having a great ol’ time with his pals. He doesn’t need you. And look at you. All you’re doing is crying because your big bad brother won’t play with you. Boohoo. Where’s your self-respect? Toughen up, girl.’” He gave me a little arm punch. I punched him back. He grinned. “Now you’re talkin’.”

So off we went to do some shopping at the strip of stores three blocks away. Since we were walking we could only buy as much as we could carry. We got blackberry jelly, chocolate syrup, a used egg-shaped mirror, duct tape, flashlight, batteries, and some other stuff. I kept saying to myself
Wise up,
girl…wise up…ya big baby….

As we were unloading the bags back at the house, I said, “It’s not working.”

“What’s not?” he said.

“Getting mad at myself. I’ve been trying for a couple hours now. I can’t seem to get the hang of it.”

He wagged the chocolate syrup. “Want some?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re aiming at the wrong target.”

“What’s the right target?”

He grinned. “Guess.”

“Jake?”

“The one and only.”

He made my chocolate milk and set it on the table. “But I’m already mad at him,” I said.

“I’ll bet you could get madder.”

I took a sip. “You think so?”

“Sure. You might only be using twenty percent of your mad capacity. I’ll bet you have a lot left in you.”

I drank. I thought about it. “But Poppy, wouldn’t that be dangerous? If I used up all my
mad on him, I could blow up what’s left of our goombla.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No way. You still love him, don’t you—even though you’re mad at him?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly. And the more you love someone, the safer it is to be mad at them. Love can handle mad, no problem.”

“Cool,” I said. And I thought,
Get ready, Jake. You got an avalanche of mad coming your way.

I was starting to feel a little flicker of a life already.

I
guess every once in a while you have a day you just want to toss in the trash can. This was one.

As my parents were getting up from the breakfast table this morning, my mother looked at me and said, “I’d like you to go riding with your sister today.”

I was just chomping into an apple strudel Pop-Tart. I looked up in midchomp. “Huh?”

“Go riding with your sister today.”

I stared at her.

“I’m waiting for you to nod your head,” she said. “That’ll mean you heard me.”

“Why?” I said.

She hitched on her tool belt. “I just think it would be nice. Won’t kill you.”

“But
why
?” I think I screeched.

She put her hands on the back of Lily’s chair. Lily looked as stunned as I did.

“Because I think you’re going a little overboard with these new friends of yours. Morning, noon, and night. I can’t remember the last time I saw you two together. I miss it. Do it for me. That enough reasons?”

I shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go riding with her.”

She stared at me. She gave a chuckle. She tweaked my nose. “Jakey, Jakey. You almost got me.”

“What?” I said.

“You’re going to listen to me, aren’t you? You’re going to ride with her to the end of the block and back. One minute of your time, right?”

“I’m not a babysitter,” I said.

“No,” she said, “you’re a brother. And you’re starting to make me mad because you think it will kill you to spend a little time with your sister.” She was glaring at me now. “So here’s what you’re gonna do. I’m not asking you now. I’m telling you. You’re gonna spend the whole day with her.”

My sister and I both shrieked.
“What?”

Her pointing finger was aimed between my
eyes. “The. Whole. Day. Do not let her out of your sight.”

Was this really happening? “Mom, you’re taking her side. You’re believing all this crap she’s saying.”

Lily whined, “Mom, I don’t even
want
to.”

Mom swung to her. “Don’t
you
start.” She took a final swig of orange juice. “You have your orders.”

She went out the door. And came back. Stuck her head in the kitchen. “Be very, very careful.” She kind of sang it with a smile and was gone. That’s when I knew there was no way out. You don’t mess with that smile and voice. I never finished my Pop-Tart.

So started the longest day of my life.

We cleaned up the kitchen after we ate. When our mother says, “Be very, very careful,” we’re never sure exactly what she’s referring to. So to be on the safe side, we just make sure we’re perfect for that day. Meaning we do all our jobs: clean up the kitchen after meals, make our beds, pick up our rooms, brush our teeth, put the toothpaste caps back on, check the porch for UPS deliveries.

Then we headed off on our bikes. At the end of the block I turned right, she turned left. In the
first instant I thought,
Great! I’m rid of her!
In the second instant I remembered:
Do not let her out of your sight.
I U-turned and went after her.

And that’s pretty much how it went. She led me all over town, like I was her puppy or slave or something. I prayed she wouldn’t go past Ernie the goober’s house. I didn’t want the guys to see what had happened to me. My prayers were answered.

Around noon she headed for Bert’s Deli. She got a cheese hoagie with hot peppers and an orange Crush. I got nothing. Because, stupid idiot that I am, I didn’t bring any money with me. We sat at one of the little round tables in front of Bert’s. She unwrapped the hoagie real slow. She looked at it. Smelled it. A drop of olive oil glistened in the sun. She licked it away. The hoagie was cut in half. She took about ten minutes to decide which half she would eat first. By now the hoagie smell was seeping into my bones. My elbows were smelling it. I would have paid two months’ allowance for a cheese hoagie with hot peppers. She took the first bite. She chewed and chewed and chewed. I died. About twenty people went in and out of Bert’s before she even got to the second half. When she finally fin
ished, she licked the paper, wrapped it into a ball, and finished off her orange Crush. Then, like suddenly she changed from a snail to a squirrel, she shot out of her seat, tossed away the can and paper, and jumped onto her bike.

She headed for home. She turned on the downstairs TV. She put on one of her DVDs of
The Gray Shadow
. It’s a stupid cops-and-robbers show for kids. She thinks she’s going to be a detective. After five minutes I couldn’t take any more. I was on my way out when I heard her say Mom’s words from the morning: “Don’t let her out of your sight.” I came back. She has ten
Gray Shadow
episodes. I had to watch every one of them. When I heard Mom and Dad coming in the kitchen door, I went upstairs and slammed my door.