Operation Yes (9 page)

Gari was lying on her back on the floor next to her suitcase, her feet propped up on the bed, talking into her cell phone. But she wasn't talking to Tandi. She'd forgotten that it was only six o'clock in Seattle, and Tandi would be at track practice.

But once she had the phone in her hand, she didn't want to put it down. Aunt Donna might insist that she jump rope with Bo in the garage. Like she could forget what he'd done to her that easily. Her aunt didn't know what it was like to throw up at school. How the thin white tissues the principal gave you stuck to your lips. How humiliating it was to sit in the office, waiting to be picked up, like you were a kindergartner who had peed her pants.

“You wouldn't believe how old the school is,” she said loudly into the phone, picturing Tandi on the other end. “Yeah, like thousands of years old.

“Uh-huh. Get this: On the road from the airport, I counted seven billboards for restaurants with cartoon pigs on them. In clothes. Yeah, overalls. Pink dresses. Little checkered neckerchiefs. If they think pigs are cute, why do they eat them?”

She stared up at the blank ceiling. There was no light fixture, just an expanse of whiteness, from wall to cleanly painted wall.

“Did you make more stars? Did you ask Jaiden to help you? He likes you. You know he does. Don't tell the other girls — then they won't vote for you. Yeah, I'm making more stars too. I'll mail them to you.

“No. No, I haven't heard from her yet. It takes a long time to get there. She said it might be three days. I don't know. She said she'd send pictures. She said she'd call. She said …”

She rested her head against the side of the suitcase. Its handle pressed into her cheek. She snapped the phone closed.

She flopped over and fished around for the book that she had stuffed in her suitcase at the last minute. The one her mom had left behind, the one with the bent cover and the picture of a long-haired vampire on the front.

She read the first chapter.

Holy crap! Why did her mom want to read this? Blood and more blood!

She put the book back in the suitcase and took out her camera. There was exactly one picture used up on the roll.

She took the battered army figure from her pocket and set it on top of the suitcase. She framed it through the lens of the camera.

No.

She moved the figure to the white-and-gold dresser. To the back of the closet cleared of everything but a row of tan plastic hangers. To the nightstand with the rectangular alarm clock on it.
She put down the camera and picked up the clock. She dialed it back to Seattle time. She wished she could dial herself back to when her camera had taken the first picture.

I know you want pictures, Mom. But there's nothing to show you. Nothing.

Aunt Donna tapped on the door.

“You need anything, sweetie?”

“No. I'm going to read.”

Gari slid herself under the stiff, quilted, red-white-and-blue cover. The sheets smelled new. The pillow was too high under her neck.

She read another chapter of the vampire book. It was awful. But she stayed inside its pages as Taps played outside. Her mom had said she'd love the music; said she might even want to learn to play the song on her trumpet. But the slow, mournful notes made Gari wish for a giant, thrumming rainstorm to drown out every moment of it.

She stayed inside the book all night. It didn't get any better. Gari wondered if the author had planned anything out, or just let someone die and then become un-dead every few pages. Even the books she'd read in third and fourth grade had more of a point, like
Frindle.
She should send her mom that one.

At five in the morning, Gari tore out the last page of the paperback, which was blank. She dug a pen out of her backpack. She wrote:

My plan to get out of here

Did they stop you going out the gate as well as in? She didn't think so, but there were yellow-and-black-striped barriers that could pop out of the ground and puncture a truck's tires. Bo had explained the popping to her in great detail.

Besides, the key to a successful plan was not her leaving, because she could easily be sent back. It was her mom coming home. If her mom came back to the States, then Gari could return to Seattle with her. But what would bring her home?

Gari needed to come down with a major illness. Something nearly but not totally fatal. That would be difficult to pull off, though, because she was a clumsy liar, a fact that Tandi had pointed out to her might be a bit of a problem in getting a boyfriend. Let Tandi tell Jaiden he smelled nice when he stunk like a shoe left in the rain. She wasn't any good at pretending; she was into
Planning. Executing. Winning.

But how did you do that when your opponent was the whole U.S. Army, and an entire U.S. Air Force base surrounded you? When even a minor fender bender near the front gate was reported in the paper?

She got out of bed and felt her way in the semidark through the kitchen to the den. Indy followed her. Gari booted up the computer, blinking as the screen flared light into the room. There was an e-mail from her mom.

 

Hi, Sweetie,

Greetings from the Expeditionary Medical Group in Balad, Iraq! (That's the joint forces hospital. We have people from the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines here.)

Sandstorm the day I arrived. You know what the female troops call it? Free facials! Ha!

I want to call you, but there's only one phone we are allowed to call out from, and I haven't been able to stand in line long enough to use it. We'll have to use e-mail for now. How is North Carolina? Are you and Bo hitting it off?

There's a possibility I may get to go on a FOB tour soon. I'll send pictures. You send pictures too. Don't forget!

Love you all the time,

Mom

 

What time was it in Iraq? She couldn't think. What was a FOB? Army talk, she guessed. Gari typed back:

 

Hi, Mom,

I'm here. I'm okay except that my stomach hurts. Bo's dog is nice.

 

She put her head down next to the keyboard. Indy curled up, a pleasant circle of fur and warmth, on top of her bare feet. How could she describe the last two days without lying?

She fell asleep with her glasses on. The sky outside grayed into morning. On the nightstand in her new room, the little green figure stood watch where she'd left him.

Over the weekend, Bo wished he'd taken his dad's advice and written out a list of how to be nice to Gari, because she wasn't making it easy. She didn't want to watch the University of Tennessee game on TV with them or wear his orange football jersey, even though he'd taken it off and offered it to her at halftime. She wasn't interested in the new ramps at the skateboard park, and she read every label on every can of food in their house to see if there was a trace of animal in it. She hijacked the computer, and she took showers that lasted way more than three minutes. She said
of course
she was going to the air show … what, did he think she was planning to run away or something? And she started feeding Indy baby carrots, which the dog snapped up like they were better than bologna.

Worse, she continued to ruin his life at school on Monday. The day began with this announcement:

“Staff, the School Commission will visit THIS FRIDAY. I have NOT received the majority of the assessment reports. They are NOT complete until I receive them IN the office. I must have ample time to compile a master report. Students: I expect YOU to be on your BEST behavior.”

Bo knew that meant HIM.

Miss Loupe said, “Thank you, class, for helping me finish our report despite all that … that … chaos on Friday.” She avoided looking at Bo.

He'd missed moving the Ugly, Ugly Couch to the library too. Because of Gari, all he'd done last Friday afternoon was sit in detention in the principal's office.

Then, in case somebody, somewhere, didn't know that Gari existed, Miss Loupe invited her to introduce herself.

“You don't have to come up front, but stand so we can hear you.” She smiled encouragingly at Gari.

Gari pushed herself to her feet, gripping her desk. She was across the room from Bo, to the far left. As she took a breath, he saw her finger find the deep groove that Dillon had left behind. Bo realized that with her replacing Dillon, there were now more girls than boys in the class. Now they'd
always
be outvoted.

Most of the class had turned to look at Gari. Their faces swirled together in one blurry mass. Gari tucked her hands into her pockets so no one could see them shaking. Her mom always coached her: “Keep it short. Keep it simple. Breathe.”

She focused on a chipped spot on her desk.

“I'm Gari Whaley. I live in Seattle. Well, I used to live in Seattle. I like art. I don't eat meat. My mom is in Iraq, and she's in the Army.”

She started to dive back into her seat, but Zac asked, “How come you have a boy name?”

Gari sighed. “There's an
i
at the end. It's short for Garrison. It's a fort, you know, like the Alamo?”

Allison raised her hand. “Is it true that Bo's name is really Bogart?”

There was a silence, followed by Aimee's barely controlled giggling. Gari saw her chance and sat down.

“Bogart, as in Humphrey Bogart?” Miss Loupe said to Bo.

He could barely nod. After Friday, Miss Loupe was going to pile on him too, wasn't she? But Miss Loupe's gaze didn't stay on him long. She came to stand in front of Allison.

“… Bogart, as in the Oscar-winning actor who also served in the Navy, and as legend has it, had his lip split open by the shackles of a prisoner he was escorting, but still managed to chase the guy down and turn him over to the police?”

Cool,
Bo thought.
Cool. Much cooler than Paris.

“… Bogart, the guy who played chess by mail with GIs in World War II? Bogart, the actor who was known for playing tough, smart, and funny characters, and who is ranked number one on the American Film Institute's list of greatest screen actors?”

Allison shifted in her seat and glanced over at Aimee. Aimee was looking at Miss Loupe. Listening to Miss Loupe.

Then Miss Loupe turned back to Gari.

“Thank you for introducing yourself. I respect your bravery in allowing your mom to serve. I have a brother in Afghanistan. We've started a care box for him.” She indicated the box that sat at the base of her desk. “We can start one for your mom too.”

“No, thank you,” said Gari. She folded her arms.

“Well, then …” Miss Loupe cleared her throat. She picked up a thick black marker and briskly crossed the room to stand by a
piece of poster board mounted to the wall inside the doorway. “I'd like to seize this moment for my casting call.”

At the top of the poster board she wrote:

 

THE UGLY COUCH PLAYERS
“SAY YES, AND …”

 

She paused. “Gari, I know you haven't met our namesake, the Ugly, Ugly Couch, yet —”

“Oh, yes,” said Gari. “I did. It smells like bagel chips.”

“Tortilla chips,” said Trey.

“Whatever,” said Gari.

“In any case,” said Miss Loupe. “We're starting an improvisational theater group, and the couch is part of the fun. But we'll all learn more about it over the next few weeks.”

She turned, and with a great flourish, wrote her name on the poster board. The marker squeaked as she rounded the cursive capital L in her name and again when she dashed off the last e.

“There!” She faced the class and twirled the marker through her fingers. “Who would like to add their name next?” She stopped twirling and met Bo's eye. She prepared to send the marker flying over several rows of seats to him.

Bo wanted to. He wanted to so much that he could feel his legs readying to lift him out of his chair and through the Taped Space to Miss Loupe. He could see himself writing his name, the swift downstroke of the B, then the double bounce of the sideways curves, followed by one quick round swipe of the o. The
marker would give off a sweet smell and there would be shiny dark spots at the joints of the letters until the ink dried.

But …

If he put his name on the list, wasn't he as good as saying he wanted to be here next summer? The only way that would happen was if his dad was NOT here.

He'd heard his dad call the Middle East “the sandbox.” But it wasn't play. It was for real. It might even be a sand trap.

Miss Loupe was walking forward, her hand swinging back to toss the marker. Bo's fingers itched to catch it.

But he shook his head.
No.

He couldn't put his name on that list. It felt too much like planning to not eat pickles with his dad for a whole year. An un-erasable mistake.

Miss Loupe's smile stuck in place. Her arm stopped its forward motion so suddenly that the marker nearly dropped to the floor. Bo looked down at his desk.

Miss Loupe swallowed and then lifted her chin an inch. She looked away from Bo to the rest of the class. “Anyone?”

“Why not?” said Rick. He got up, took the marker, and signed his name.

“Me too,” said Melissa, closing her notebook and getting in line behind him.

Shaunelle signed. So did Sanjay. Zac. Kylie.

“Maybe I should see about getting an agent,” said Allison as she signed.

Aimee followed Allison, the A's in their names lining up. Martina was close behind.

“Trey?” Miss Loupe said. “How about you? We could use an artist to design programs and promo material.”

Trey glanced at Bo, who was intently shredding a corner of his Student Handbook. Trey shrugged, got up, and put his name on the list.

In the end, most of Room 208 joined the Ugly Couch Players. Miss Loupe taped the marker to the side of the poster board. She regarded the list and squared her shoulders.

“Thank you for your support,” she said to the class. “I didn't mean to pressure any of you. You don't have to decide today, and, of course, my first job is to be your classroom teacher.”

Bo could hear her feet padding quietly back to her desk. He finally dared to look up. Miss Loupe was nearly hidden behind her books and papers. But he could see that she was holding the framed quote Marc had given her. Was she thinking Bo was the biggest crack in her classroom?

While everyone signed that stupid list, Gari had been thinking about Plan B. She had the torn paperback page from her mom's book hidden under her binder. She edged out the rectangle of paper and wrote:

That was always the first step in any campaign.

But who? Who would help her? Everyone here loved the Air Force. She'd seen the yellow ribbons and the bumper stickers. She guessed that meant they loved the Army too.

At lunch, she ignored the other girls and placed her little army
figure on the table, lining him up along the crack that ran from one side to the other. She knelt down beside the table until she was eye level with the soldier.

Click. Flash. Crank.

She shook a few stars out of her plastic bag. They settled around him.

Click. Flash. Crank.

“Hey,” said Shaunelle. “Where did you get those stars?”

Gari looked out from behind her camera. “I made them. I can show you with a straw wrapper.”

“Weird,” Aimee said.

“With a capital W,” Martina agreed. She blew on her soup to cool it.

“Anybody, like,
normal
, want an Oreo?” said Allison. She passed cookies to every girl but Gari and Shaunelle.

Shaunelle looked at her crumpled straw wrapper. “Later, okay?” she said to Gari. She opened her new mystery book and began to read while she sipped her chocolate milk.

Gari put away her camera. Why would her mom want pictures of a plastic soldier? She wished she could recruit thousands of supporters as easily as she could make stars. Then she could launch an attack on … well … everybody.

 

After school, there was an e-mail from her mom:

 

Honey, don't worry.

FOBs are Forward Operating Bases throughout Iraq. Some medical staff work there, instead of here at the main hospital. I'll only be
out in the field for a few days as part of my orientation. It's not that dangerous, and it's important for me to see how my patients are cared for before they arrive here. It's like a chain — every link is important.

 

Gari turned off the computer and went to the only store she could walk to. Her mom was changing their plan by leaving the safe area. Fine. Gari would change her plan too. Minutes later, she exited the Base Exchange with a shopping bag. When she got home, she checked off step one:

Below it, she added step two:

That was the tough part. What would make her mom come home? Not her careful plans to stay with Tandi. Not a fake illness. But maybe trouble would.