Jubilee (8 page)

F
or the rest of the week, Ms. Quirk moved the class around. In math we even crawled on our hands and knees, measuring the classroom, the hall, and the front steps of the school.

Mason and I were partners. He did the ruler work; I did the writing down.

I began to notice things about him. No matter how neat he started out in the morning, he was a mess before the day was half over. He attracted dirt and spills like magnets attract metal.

I didn't mind. It wasn't important.

He was lucky. He lived in a house with a whole family: a mother, a father, a brother.

Another thing: he talked. Not just one word, not one sentence. He talked every other minute. And when he wasn't talking, he was whistling.

“Shhh.” Sophie looked up from measuring with a yardstick. “I can't think straight, Mason.”

I liked the sound of his talking, his whistling, his singing, the songs he made up. I looked in Sophie's direction, but she blew her bangs off her forehead.

I realized something. Mason and I were probably the most unpopular kids in the class.

I sat back on my ankles.

It was true. I was a weirdo who didn't talk. And he was Mason, a sloppy kid who talked too much.

But the weekend was coming up.

“Meet you tomorrow morning,” Mason said when the dismissal bell rang on Friday. “Nine o'clock.”

I remembered the shoe print at Ivy Cottage. Did he mean at the pond behind it? I nodded a little uncertainly.

The next morning, Dog and I turned up the road to Windy Hill when I heard a voice. “Where are you going, Judith?” Mason called from the path below.

Dog moved before I did. He bounded back to Mason, jumping and welcoming.

I walked toward them slowly.

“You're going the wrong way.” Mason handed Dog a bacon strip.

What was he talking about? I followed him. He wasn't going anywhere near my pond.

We took the long walk along Shore Road, around to the tip of the island. We stopped at a narrow strip of beach, empty and windswept.

I'd forgotten the old wooden pier that jutted out across the water. It was falling apart, with planks missing and pilings leaning against each other.

Mason didn't stop. He walked carefully, raising one foot at a time, holding the railing that looked as if it might give way any minute.

He didn't go far, though; only a few feet.

Dog was too smart to follow. He sat on the edge of the sand, whining.

Yes, it looked dangerous. Aunt Cora would be shaking her head, warning me.

Mason lay on his stomach, yelling, “Come on!”

He wasn't looking at freshwater turtles, not in that salty sea.

“Judith!” he called again.

There was no help for it. I put my foot on the first plank, and then the second. I went one step further, and crouched down to see what he was looking at.

Dog was barking, taking a few running steps along the sand.

“I was never going to tell anyone about this.” His voice was loud above the sound of the water as it swirled underneath us. Dozens of creatures, one on top of another, grasped the pilings. They were the color of metal and looked like tanks.

A filmy jellyfish floated nearby.

And fish! Dozens of fish, a few small as my pinky nail, others fist-sized, swam around a wooden plank on the seafloor.

Mason pointed to a sea star.

He leaned on his elbows. His dark hair was damp and curled from the sea wind. “I'm not telling you because you can't tell anyone. It's because you're…” He hesitated. “…my partner.”

Just for a second, I glanced at his gray-green eyes.

I looked down at that world of ocean creatures.

Mason hadn't meant to say
partner.
I was sure of it.

He'd meant to say
friend.

He must have known I'd never had a real friend.

And maybe he'd never had a real friend either.

For that moment, I didn't care about speaking, or that everyone thought I was a weirdo.

I was reminded of something Ms. Quirk had said a couple of times.
When you get to know something, you appreciate it. It's the same with people.

Mason said, “It's a whole world down there. Why should we just write about turtles? Why not all of this?” He swept his arm around and I felt the plank beneath me tremble.

Why not?

We grinned at each other.

“And you”—he pointed—“can draw all of it.”

I nodded.

“It will be spectacular.” I almost laughed. Aunt Cora liked to say spectacular too. We crept off the pier to the sand. Then Mason pulled out paper from his pocket and bent his head to write down some of what we'd seen.

Later, we walked back along the Shore Road, the sun warming our heads.

We saw Sophie on the way.

“I guess she didn't see us,” Mason said as she passed, her face turned away.

O
n Monday at school, Harry howled so loud it made me jump. And Conor was laughing, almost like a donkey.

“Sounds like a hyena project for the two of them,” Mason whispered under his breath. “Fits, doesn't it?”

But whoever heard of a hyena on our island?

Mason and I were keeping our project a secret. He bent over his paper, writing, scratching out, writing again, as I drew cartoons of sea robins, those fish with wings, chirping.

Mason wanted us to find a leatherback turtle. He kept talking about it.

“Listen, Jude…” That was what he called me now. “They're huge, the largest of all the sea turtles. Sometimes they're six feet long, and they can travel a thousand miles in a couple of months; one even traveled almost three thousand miles in four months.”

I nodded a little, surprised that he knew so much.

He kept whispering. “They're amazing. I've seen pictures, dark gray to black, with white speckles. We need to keep our eyes open. They'll be on the lookout for jellyfish. They love jellyfish the way I like Oreos.”

I gave a sideward glance at the remains of an Oreo on his shirt.

Cold-blooded.
I wrote.

He glanced at my paper and hesitated. “Leatherbacks aren't as cold-blooded as freshwater turtles. Their temperature is a little higher than the water they swim in.”

Interesting. More interesting was learning about Mason. With his ripped shirts and muddy jeans, somehow I didn't realize how much he knew.

But I knew what he was thinking now. Ms. Quirk had told us there'd be a prize for the most original project when we showed our projects to our parents in October.

“You can't get any more original than knowing about a leatherback that's traveled three thousand miles.” He wiped fingers on his shirt. “And can you imagine seeing one?”

Wouldn't it be something: winning a prize!

And so after school, we wandered along the dock, circled the wharf, and took a few steps on the old pier, eyes down, searching the water.

But there was much more on my mind than leatherback turtles swimming near our island.

Suppose we compared them to freshwater turtles?

I'd have to give up a secret, though.

Mason would have to see the pond in back of my falling-down Ivy Cottage.

Why not? I kept asking myself. But it was hard to let go of that secret place.

Still, I'd do it.

Gideon came looking for me after school on Friday.

I'd just dropped my books on my bed and was at my window, toeing my feet into water-walking sneakers, when I saw him at the edge of the path and waved.

He looked up and put his finger on his lips, then motioned for me to come downstairs.

Aunt Cora's birthday was in two weeks. Gideon and I always had a three-person party for her. And now Dog would be there. Gideon must have been thinking of presents: he always had the best ideas. And this year I'd drawn a picture of Aunt Cora speeding along on a motorcycle.

Aunt Cora was whistling in the kitchen, pulling pots out of the cabinet, so it was easy: I tiptoed out the front door and closed it silently behind me.

“How about a walk, Red?” Gideon asked.

He didn't look exactly like himself. He tried to smile beneath his beard, but he looked…was it worried?

I raised my eyebrows in a question as we walked down toward the ferry slip.

“It's about you, my girl.”

Me? Not the birthday?

“A long story,” he went on. “Just between the two of us, now.”

I nodded.

“When you came to live with Cora, she was happier than she'd ever been. She said you were a miracle. I was glad too, more than glad. We'd be a family.”

He shook his head. “But Cora didn't think that was a good idea. She wanted to spend all her time taking care of you, loving you.”

I squinted out toward the water, the sun high and warm, trying to remember those early days. I could see the hall and Aunt Cora's arms out.

“I want to ask Cora again,” he said.

What was he talking about?

But then I heard footsteps. Was it Mason? Waiting for me to go turtle hunting with him?

I turned—yes, Mason. But he was tearing along Shore Road, his brother close behind, arms out. Trying to catch him?

Gideon was smiling at me, that uneasy smile again. “It would mean I'd be your almost-father. So I have to ask you first if that would be all right.”

I'd never thought about a father. My own father wasn't real. Not only did he have a question mark face, I didn't even know his name.

But Gideon, an almost-father. He was talking about marrying Aunt Cora. Imagine. I began to smile. But Mason was running back along the road, his shoulders hunched, crying.

Mason crying?

I knew he wouldn't want me to see him that way, so I pretended I was looking up at the dirt road that led to Windy Hill.

Next to me, Gideon said, “Guess not, right, Red?”

I shook my head. I nodded. I smiled. I opened my mouth to say it was fine, it was wonderful.

But nothing came out.

And it was too late. Gideon patted my shoulder. “It's all right. It was just an idea.”

He went away from me quickly, out onto the ramp, and disappeared onto the waiting ferry.

I would have gone after him, but the warning horn sounded; he'd be pulling away. And Aunt Cora would be wondering where I was. But I'd draw a cartoon for him. It would say I liked his idea. I loved his idea.