Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink (22 page)

“Like I could be retarded?”

The mustache twitched. “Something like that.”

Januarie began to wail as if Mr. Auggy had stuck her with a pin.

“Did she get hurt in the window?” Lucy said.

“Where?” Lady Uniform said.

“She’s fine,” Mr. Auggy said. “Hey, Miss Januarie, how about some pizza?”

They disappeared into the kitchen, and Lucy watched the two Uniforms look at each other as if this were a very strange place.

They gave Dad instructions — wake her up every few hours, make her rest for two days, and don’t let her play soccer for another three. At least they didn’t treat him like he had a concussion, so Lucy decided they knew what they were talking about.

When they were gone, Mr. Auggy brought Januarie back in, carrying a piece of pizza on a paper towel. Her face was still red and tear-puffy.

“Tell Lucy what you told me, Miss Januarie,” Mr. Auggy said when she was once more enthroned on his lap like one of the cats.

Dad, who was on the other end of the sitting couch with Lucy’s legs in his lap, sat up straighter. This must be the thing they’d been tiptoeing around earlier.

“I came to tell you J.J. ran away,” Januarie said. “And then I got stuck in the window — and then J.J. came and told us you were dead in the backyard — ”

“Dead!”

“So, Miss Lucy,” Mr. Auggy said. He looked at Dad. “May I?”

“Absolutely.”

May he what? Lucy suddenly wished she’d go into that concussion thing again so she wouldn’t have to answer this.

“He disappeared again. Do you know where he might be?”

Dad squeezed Lucy’s foot. “Luce — ” he said. “You have to help J.J. — really help him.”

Lucy sucked in air. “Okay. He might be in the shed.”

“Our toolshed?”

She nodded, and things did get funny again. “I want to lie down,” she said.

“I’m on it,” Mr. Auggy said.

He left, and Lucy drifted off. When she opened her eyes, a pale J.J. stood over her, hair hanging around his face like curtains.

“See?” Dad said. “She’s okay. Mr. Auggy’s going to take you home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” J.J. said. And his eyes told Lucy it was all her fault that he had to.

“It’ll be okay,” Mr. Auggy said.

Somehow, Lucy didn’t think so.

Dad went with Mr. Auggy and J.J. and Januarie to the back door, and then Lucy heard the bathroom door close. She wasn’t quite so sleepy now. Thoughts of J.J. and Januarie going home to the yelling that was sure to be waiting for them there — those thoughts brought her eyes wide open.

She didn’t hear anything in the bathroom. Maybe Dad would be in there for a few minutes. Lucy stood up as if her head might topple off if she made any sudden moves. She hung onto the Sitting Couch and Dad’s chair and made her way to the window. With her chin resting on the sill, she could see J.J., Januarie, and Mr. Auggy at J.J.’s front gate — and then there was Mr. Cluck, as if he’d been hiding in one of the old washing machines, just waiting. He started to yell, but Lucy couldn’t make out what he was saying. She slid the window open a few inches and pressed her ear against the cold air.

Mr. Cluck’s words came out like the voice on the other end of the speaker at the McDonald’s drive-through in Alamogordo. Some were muff led. Some she heard all too clearly.

“Where . . . have you been . . . told you not to move . . . Who . . . are you?”

Mr. Auggy had both hands up. Januarie tried to slip past her father, who grabbed her by the back of the coat and held on.

J.J. just stood like a stick.

“Is Mrs. Cluck home?” Lucy heard Mr. Auggy say.

Lucy grunted. She probably was, but they wouldn’t be seeing her. She never came out when Mr. Cluck was yelling like this. She could probably hear him just fine from inside the house.

Lucy glanced over her shoulder. Things were still quiet in the bathroom. She opened the window a little wider.

Mr. Cluck kept yelling — about how J.J. was an idiot and a loser and some other things that made Lucy’s heart beat hard for her friend.
He’s
not any of that
, she wanted to scream at his father.
You’re the one —

“It may seem like that to you.” The sound of Mr. Auggy’s voice surprised Lucy. It was like a big rock. “But there are reasons for that, Mr. Cluck.”

J.J.’s dad spit out some things Lucy didn’t understand. J.J. obviously did, because he grew even stiller. Lucy was sure he wasn’t even breathing. She wasn’t either.

“I would be willing to work with J.J. after school,” Mr. Auggy said, as if Mr. Cluck weren’t now screaming so loud that Mr. Benitez’s porch light went on. “Maybe I can help him learn how to stay out of trouble. Would that be all right with you?”

“Go right ahead,” Mr. Cluck shouted. “Knock yourself out.”

“Lucy.”

Lucy jumped and nearly bonked her head again. Dad was behind her, and he didn’t look happy.

“Close the window, and get back on the couch,” he said.

“Sorry, Dad,” she mumbled.

He kept a hand on her shoulder as she went and then tucked the blankets in around her and sat again with her feet in his lap.

“I’m sorry you heard that,” he said finally.

“I’ve heard J.J.’s dad yell before — sort of.”

“He was especially out of control tonight. I’m surprised Mr. Auggy got a word in.”

Lucy rubbed at her head. She was starting to get sleepy again, and she didn’t want to.

“What did J.J.’s dad mean when he told Mr. Auggy to knock himself out?” Lucy said. “Does he mean get a concussion like I did?”

“No — he’s just saying he doesn’t think Mr. Auggy can help J.J. because
he
sure can’t.” Dad’s voice had a bitter feel.

“How come J.J. has to stay after school?” Lucy said. “When it’s his father who’s being stu — Well, you know.”

Dad patted her leg. “I don’t think Mr. Auggy spending time with J.J. is going to be a punishment. Who would you rather hang out with — him, or Mr. Cluck?”

“Hel-loo,” Lucy said.

That was the last thing she remembered until the next day — a day so strange she would have called anyone who said it would happen as it did a liar-liar-pants-on-fire.

They didn’t go to church. In fact, Dad wouldn’t even let her get off the Sitting Couch where she had slept all night, except for the three times he woke her up and then told her to go back to sleep. What was that about?

He made her walnut waffles and did everything but feed them to her, and the whole time, he looked like he was about to burst into tears. She felt so guilty she could hardly eat her breakfast, except that would have hurt his feelings, so she choked it down.

Because they didn’t go to church, Dad sat at the end of the Sitting Couch and said they were going to talk about the Bible lesson for the day. He scanned his braille New Testament with his fingers, and Lucy frowned. They never did this at home. Church was church, and home was home. Except now that Inez was doing Bible study.

“Okay,” Lucy said, “but let’s not do the ones Reverend Servidio does. Can we just talk about Ruth? I get her.”

Dad closed his Bible and nestled it into his lap as if it were Marmalade. She’d never seen him do that before. He treated it the way Inez treated hers.

“So tell me about Ruth,” he said. “Why do you like her?”

Lucy pulled the fringe on the edge of the Navajo blanket through her fingers. “She stuck with Naomi even when Naomi told her not to. She didn’t let anybody tell her what to do — she just did what she had to do.”

Dad chuckled. “I can see why you’d relate.”

“And then when she got to Bethlehem — only she was a Mo-balite — or a — ”

“Moabite?”

“Yeah.” Lucy stopped pulling on the fringe. “How did you know that?”

He smiled his sunlight smile. “I read it somewhere. So go on.”

“Yeah — she was like the only foreigner, but she just took care of Naomi and didn’t get all freaked out if the other girls ignored her or treated her like she was weird.”

Something went out of Dad’s smile. “Does that remind you of anything?”

“Uh, hello — yes! I’m the only ‘foreigner’ — ” She found herself making quotation marks with her fingers like Mora did. “And the Hispanic kids used to ignore me. Till now. Which — having them pay attention to me isn’t all that great.” Lucy held her arms out to Lollipop, who jumped onto her chest and curled up.

“What else does it remind you of?” Dad said.

“Huh?”

“Ruth taking care of Naomi — does that remind you of your life?”

Dad’s voice made her feel squirmy.

“You mean, like me helping you?” Lucy said.

“Exactly.”

“I guess so,” Lucy shrugged. “But that’s just the way it is, Dad. It’s not like I mind.”

He didn’t answer right away, and that made Lucy feel even squirmier.

“I like it that way,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. Now he sounded like
he
had a knot in his throat. “Tell me what you think when you and Inez do the next part.”

She grinned. “I have a concussion — I don’t think I can do Bible study tomorrow.”

“You’ll be right here on this couch, so what else are you going to do? Inez will be here before I leave for work.”

Lucy was ready to protest, but the next strange thing happened. There was a knock on the kitchen door, and the next thing she knew, Mr. Auggy was back in Dad’s chair. Lollipop jumped from Lucy to him like the turncoat she was.

Dad fixed tea — which lifted Lucy’s spirits some, although it seemed weird to her that an athlete like Mr. Auggy also liked tea — and Mr. Auggy chatted away like he belonged in their living room. Lucy was sure he was going to dive into the Sunday comics next, but he finally said, “I have news about J.J. and Januarie.”

Lucy didn’t care then if he moved right into their spare bedroom.

“They still get to play soccer,” he said.

“On the big soccer field?” Lucy said “On weekends?” She didn’t add,
And do I?

“As long as I’m there,” Mr. Auggy smiled his small smile. “Which I will be every Saturday. No Sundays. I think we all need to kick back one day if we’re going to practice five days at recess and all day Saturday.”

Lucy could feel her heart sinking. Mr. Auggy was totally taking over.

But the sinking stopped at her belly button. Without Mr. Auggy, they wouldn’t get to use the big soccer field. And they wouldn’t have Gabe and Dusty and Veronica so they could play real soccer, because J.J. for sure wasn’t going to play with Gabe again if somebody didn’t make him.

“You have any problem with that, Miss Lucy?” Mr. Auggy was looking at her with his head tilted, as if he were worried at what she might say. The day just kept getting stranger. “Now’s the time to speak up. It started out as your team after all, so you should have some say in how it’s run.”

She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. And yet —

“I do have one problem,” she said. “And that’s Januarie.” She rearranged herself under the Navajo blanket. “J.J. hates playing with her because, well, she stinks at soccer.”

“Luce!” Dad said.

“We-e-ll,” Mr. Auggy said, “she’s not an athlete, I’ll give you that.”

Ya think?

“I have to include her at school. As a teacher, that’s my job. But on Saturdays — ” Mr. Auggy blew some air out of puffed-up cheeks. “What would it take for you to consider her un-stunk?”

“She has to be able to keep up — dribble more than, like, two inches — pass to actual people instead of into nowhere — not get in the way when you’re trying to get to the goal.” Lucy sighed. “Like that’s ever gonna happen. And it’s not just because she’s too fat — ”

“Lucy Elizabeth!” Dad said.

“Dad — she got stuck in a window. Let’s be honest here. But I would never say that to her — not like some people.”

Mr. Auggy looked like he had antennae going up in his brain. “Someone told her she was too fat to play soccer?”

Lucy stopped. “I didn’t hear it myself, but she says it was — well, you’d have to ask her.”

“Ding-ding-ding!” Mr. Auggy said. Dad looked confused.

“Tell your dad why I do that,” Mr. Auggy said.

“You get a ding-ding when you do something that has integrity in it.” Lucy felt her cheeks get warm. “That’s my first one.”

Mr. Auggy leaned toward Dad, to Lollipop’s obvious annoyance. “Your daughter gave us a definition of integrity in class. One of the reasons I came by yesterday was that I wanted to meet the man who taught her that.”

Dad gave his sunlight smile. “I’m proud of Lucy.”

“I am too, which is why I’m making her team captain.”

“Of the Posse?” Lucy said. “Gabe’s gonna have a hissy fit.”

“No — of the eight-person soccer team I’m training. Nine if Januarie passes whatever test you decide on.”

“Me?”

“You’re the captain.”