Sasquatch in the Paint (4 page)

Jeremy responded with another string of curses.

Theo walked away, his cheek throbbing. Gingerly, he touched the sore spot and felt a golf-ball-size bump growing beneath his fingers.

He sighed. At least his day couldn't get any worse, he thought.

As usual, he was wrong.

THEO'S
dad's gun was sitting on the kitchen table when Theo got home.

It lay on some paper towels between the butter dish and the pepper grinder like a coiled rattlesnake. It glistened from freshly applied oil. Theo rarely saw the gun, but whenever he did it gave him both a chill of excitement on the back of his neck and a burning dread in his stomach. The excitement was because it was the thing that protected his dad, though his dad had never drawn his gun in the line of duty in his fourteen years as a cop. The bad thing was that the gun reminded Theo that his dad's job was dangerous. When you had only one parent, you didn't want to be reminded of that. You really didn't.

Theo's dad came into the kitchen then. “Sorry, T,” his dad said, grabbing the gun from the table. “I just finished cleaning it.” He hurried off to his bedroom to lock it in the gun safe. He was in such a hurry he hadn't yet gotten a look at the damage to Theo's face.

Other kids thought it was so cool to have a cop for a dad, because they figured his dad could pretty much do anything he wanted. True, his dad was big and muscular and carried a badge and a gun. But he was also gentle and soft-spoken. And he never used the fact that he was a cop to get anything. Sometimes people tried to give him free stuff, but he wouldn't take it. Not even an ice-cream cone! He insisted on paying for everything—even the speeding ticket he'd gotten during a family vacation in Santa Barbara. Theo thought he'd get out of the ticket by showing the motorcycle cop his badge. But he didn't. He just took the ticket, said, “Thank you, Officer,” and drove off.

“Why didn't you show him your badge, Dad?” Theo had asked him.

“Because I was speeding,” his dad had said.

“But you could have gotten out of it,” Theo persisted. “Saved some money.”

Then Theo's mom turned around with a smile and said, “Your dad would rather do the right thing than the easy thing.”

Theo had snorted, thinking, Another parental pearl of wisdom about Doing the Right Thing.

That year, it seemed like no matter what happened (a dirty cereal bowl, a misplaced iPod, an empty toilet roll), his mom would turn it into a Do the Right Thing lesson. But that day, when Theo saw the way his mom slid her arm around his dad's shoulder and the way his dad looked over at her, he kind of got it. Getting that bright beaming smile from Mom was worth doing extra chores, working harder on schoolwork, and, he guessed, paying speeding tickets.

Theo sat heavily at the table as he once again realized there was nothing he could ever do for the rest of his life to see that smile again. To have her hold his face in her hands, her eyes filling with tears, and say, “You make me so proud, sweetheart.”

“Mom,” he said aloud, surprising himself. He did that sometimes when he really,
really
missed her.

What would she think of him now, sitting here with a bruised cheek from fighting? After giving another kid a bloody nose? Sure, it was an accident, but if he hadn't been so anxious to show those kids what he could do, he might have been more careful. What would she have thought if she'd watched him play at school today, missing shots, letting his guy score, throwing passes that got intercepted? He'd even dribbled on his own foot, sending the ball skidding out of bounds. Someone from the stands had yelled that his nickname should be “Turnovers.”

“What the heck happened to your face?” his dad said. He stood in front of Theo with a frilly red kitchen apron over his blue police uniform. Any other time, Theo might have laughed and made a joke about it.

“Basketball,” Theo said, hoping that would end it. He didn't want to have to explain that he got into a fight.

His dad stared at him a few seconds, then turned, opened the freezer door, and pulled out a bag of corn. “Put this on it. It'll bring the swelling down.”

Theo eased it onto the bruise. The cold instantly numbed the pain.

His dad yanked some paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to Theo. “Wrap it in this first so the cold doesn't damage your skin.”

He said it in his usual calm tone, but Theo thought he could hear something in the voice. Disappointment? Not about the fight, but about Theo not knowing something as simple as needing to wrap something frozen before applying it his face. Scientifically, Theo knew that. Water freezes at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit, but the bag of corn would probably be much colder. Applying it directly to his cheek could freeze the fluids and tissues in the skin and lead to frostbite. Severe frostbite could result in the loss of skin and muscle. Theo's School Brain knew all this, but his Everyday Brain hadn't been exposed to the usual sprained ankles and jammed fingers that most kids his age had suffered. He'd never used an ice pack before. He'd always considered himself lucky that he hadn't had those injuries. Now he wasn't so sure. Maybe the experiences would have been useful. Painful, but useful.

“Okay, nursing time is over,” his dad said. “We've got us a dinner to cook.”

“But I've got to ice my cheek.” It was worth a try.

His dad opened a drawer and pulled out a roll of gray duct tape. “We could tape that bag to your face. That'll free up your hands.” He pulled a couple of inches from the roll. “We just wrap this twice around your head, thing won't budge.”

“Ha ha. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

His dad grinned and put the tape away. He threw his arm around Theo's shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “There's my helpful son.”

Theo didn't know if other fathers hugged their sons as much as his dad did. Or whether they leaned over and kissed the tops of their heads when they were sitting down doing homework. Or whether they randomly grabbed them by the necks and said, “My boy! My boy!” His dad did. And though sometimes Theo felt a little embarrassed by it, he didn't necessarily want it to stop.

“What are we making?” Theo asked, fetching the milk, butter, and eggs that his dad requested.

“I've got a better question,” his dad said. “What was your fight about?”

Theo gulped. Yup, things just got worse.

“YOU
didn't punch him back?” his dad asked while grating cheese.

“No.”

“And the bloody nose was an accident? You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“You apologized, right?”

“Yes.”

His dad continued to grate cheddar cheese on top of the casserole. Theo continued to slice tomatoes, cucumbers, and mushrooms for the salad. Neither looked at the other, they just focused on their jobs like they were safecrackers trying to break into a particularly tough safe.

“And that's the whole story. That's everything?” his dad asked.

Theo hesitated. “Pretty much.”

His dad nodded. Grated. Nodded.

“Pretty much” was the truth, but not the whole truth. Theo had left out the part about meeting Crazy Girl and Motorcycle Guy. The loud slap. The mysterious conversation (“This is your last chance!” he'd yelled. Last chance for what?). Theo wasn't sure why he didn't tell his dad. He'd always told his dad everything, especially after his mom died. When that happened, his dad suddenly needed to know every boring detail of Theo's daily life. Theo knew it wasn't because his dad was nosy, but because all the dull descriptions of Theo's routine in school made his dad feel like things were getting back to normal. A life-goes-on kind of thing. Every time Theo described a tricky problem from algebra class or a dreary discussion about the causes of the Civil War from social studies, he could see his dad relaxing, breathing easier—healing. Telling him made Theo feel better, too.

But for some unknown reason, today Theo didn't want to tell his dad everything. Any more than he'd wanted to tell Brian some of his recent thoughts. He was starting to see how his new height brought certain respect from some people. The problem was, that respect was unearned. All Theo had done was grow. Like a plant. No talent required. Yet people expected more of him. Theo was as big as an adult, so now suddenly he was supposed to act like one. So, he figured that along with those unwanted expectations should come a few cool privileges. Like keeping some stuff to himself. He didn't want to call them “secrets” exactly, because that seemed too much like lying. He preferred to think of it as a “secret identity.” Growing was his superpower, so he needed a secret identity while he figured out where he fit in now that the world saw him differently.

His dad now sprinkled fried onion bits on top of the casserole. Brown flakes fell like snow.

The IKEA clock over the sink ticked loudly.

The silence was making Theo uncomfortable, like an itch. He was starting to feel guilty about not telling his dad everything that had happened. Maybe his whole “secret identity” thing was a load of crap. He was just about to confess when his dad spoke.

“Sorry, I missed your game, T-bird,” his dad said. He looked over at Theo. “Won't happen again.”

“Not a big deal. Like I said, I wasn't very good.”

“It was only your first game. Give yourself some time. My first game on a team”—he stopped sprinkling and chuckled at the memory—“I got so excited when I intercepted a pass that I ran down the whole court and made a sweet reverse layup.”

“Yeah, not really seeing how that helps.”

“I made the layup in the
wrong
basket. I scored two points for the other team.”

Theo nodded. His dad was always sharing these stories about how he made mistakes and screwed up and failed at things, but they never helped Theo feel better. His dad had been a star football player in high school and college. He didn't talk much about that. But there it was, the unspoken punch line to all his stories about messing up: he still ended up a hero.

“I would've played better if those kids in the bleachers hadn't been hassling me,” Theo said. “Talking about my skin and stuff.”

Theo's dad put the can of onion bits down and frowned at Theo. “Feed the BIB,” he said, pointing at an old mayonnaise jar half filled with dollar bills and change. A piece of masking tape was stuck to it with
BIB
written in black Magic Marker. His mother's handwriting.

“I wasn't saying
that
,” Theo protested. “I was just—”

“Feed the BIB,” his dad repeated, sliding the casserole into the oven.

Theo dug into his pocket and counted out a dollar in change. He dumped the coins into the jar.

His mother had started the BIB jar when Theo was ten and had come home with his sixth-grade report card. He had gotten a two (out of four) in physical education. Everything else was a four. Even though his parents had told him it was no big deal and they were very proud of him, Theo had stormed around the house complaining that the teacher gave him a bad grade because Theo was black and so everyone expected him to be a better athlete. Without a moment's hesitation, Theo's mom had pulled the jar out of the recycle bin, slapped on the label, and told him to go take a dollar out of his Batman bank. “Every time you make the excuse ‘Because I'm Black,' you're putting a dollar in this jar.”

“That's not fair!” Theo had hollered. “I'm not the one who's racist.”

“Your teacher sent me an e-mail saying that you didn't want to play soccer with the other kids. You kept walking off the field.”

“I don't like soccer. It's stupid. Plus, the kids are always ‘accidentally' kicking each other when they miss the ball.”

“Not the point,” his mom said. “You refused to play, so you got a two. Nothing to do with being black. More to do with being stubborn or lazy or scared. You pick.”

Theo had placed his dollar in the jar.

“Sometimes,” his mom said, “you will get the short end of the stick because you're black. People won't always say something to your face, but you'll know. You learn to see the signs. When that happens—”

“I get my money back?” Theo interrupted.

She laughed. “No. When that happens, I still don't want you to make excuses. Most people get discriminated against sometime in their lives. Because of their religion or gender, because they're too old or too young, too fat or too thin. Too pretty or too ugly. For some folks, other people are always going to be too something or other. You can't let that stop you from moving ahead. There's no shortage of excuses for not doing your best.” She kissed his cheek. “Okay, lecture over.”

“Finally,” he teased. He looked at his lone dollar bill in the jar. Tried to figure how many dollar bills the jar would hold. A lot. “What are you going to do with the money? When it's full.”

“I'm hoping it doesn't get full. Or it wouldn't be much of a lesson.”

“Come on. Just in case. What if. What'll we spend it on?”

She smiled that big smile that showed off all her perfect teeth. “That's my secret.”

Even his dad didn't know what she'd planned to use the money for, so they just left it in the jar. Neither of them wanted the jar to get full, because then they'd have to decide.

At least Theo wasn't the only one to put money in the jar. When his dad complained about being passed over for a promotion because he was “a little too tan” for some of the brass in the department, Theo's mom had made him put a dollar in the jar. Even his mom had put in a few dollars. Once, when a plumber charged her two hundred dollars for fixing a broken toilet, she'd claimed that he'd overcharged her because she was a woman. Theo's dad had held out the jar. “Feed the BIB,” he'd insisted.

“But this was because I was a
woman
,” she'd protested.

“Close enough,” his dad had said with a grin.

She put a dollar in the jar. “Clearly you two are discriminating against me because I'm the mom.”

“Feed the BIB!” Theo and his dad had chorused. His mom had laughed. And put another dollar in.

Theo looked at the jar, remembering her laugh. Not dainty, but a loud rising sound, like running your finger across all the keys of a piano, from low to high. Not like Crazy Girl's metallic laugh.

“Did you enjoy playing?” Theo's dad said.

“What?” Theo snapped back to the present. Casserole. Salad. Secret identity.

“Basketball. Did you at least enjoy playing with the rest of the guys? Being on a team and such?”

Theo shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Forget the outcome, who won or lost. Forget your mistakes. When you were on the court, running back and forth, were you happy?”

“I don't know,” he said instantly, but he did know. Despite the fear and embarrassment, he had liked being on the court. The excitement of not knowing what would happen next. People watching him. Running with the other boys on the team. He had been outside his thoughts and worries—about Mom, about Dad, about school. He'd been happy. “Yeah, I guess,” Theo added. “It was all right.”

But if he was being honest—really honest—it was probably the most exciting thing he'd ever done in his life. The fact that he sucked at it didn't change that fact at all.

And that scared him. To want to do something you weren't good at was begging to be let down. It was like telling a bully to please be careful with that squirt gun because you're wearing your favorite clothes.

“I forgot to tell you,” his dad said too casually, in that way that said he hadn't forgotten but just didn't want to tell him. “We're driving up to Los Angeles to visit Grandma tomorrow.”

Theo groaned. “Aw, why?”

His dad's voice got stern and lecture-y. “Because she's my mother and your grandmother. That's reason enough.”

“I didn't mean it that way. I love Grandma. It's just that I'm so far behind on everything. And I was going to hang with Brian.” Desperate, he pulled out the schoolwork card. “Plus, I've got to prepare for Aca-lympics.” What parent can resist their child's plea to do
more
homework?

No sale. His dad gave him a withering look that announced End of Discussion.

Theo sighed. It wasn't visiting his grandma that annoyed him. He really did love her. She was funny and smart and let him eat whatever he wanted without a lecture about health. The annoying part was seeing his cousin Gavin.

Gavin.

Just thinking the name made Theo shudder. It was like sitting down to a dinner you knew was going to make you throw up. Theo hated Gavin. Not just hated—that was too mild. Gavin was to Theo what sunlight is to vampires. What soap was to Pigpen. What health food was to Homer Simpson.

At fifteen, Gavin was fourteen months older than Theo, and he thought he was the coolest guy who had ever lived. He was always bragging about his stylish clothes (which he claimed everyone always complimented), his awesome dancing (which he claimed everyone always wanted to learn), his music collection (“Twenty-five thousand songs and counting, son”), his hip-hop songs, which he wrote and never played for anyone but which would one day make him a multimillionaire hanging out with Kanye and Beyoncé.

Last time Theo had visited, Gavin had spent the whole time talking about what his stage name would be. “I need something kick-ass, something really
street
, ya know? Like 50 Cent or Big Rich or Bounty Killer. Those guys are tight. What do you think, Theo? You're supposed to be a big brain.” Like that. For
two
days.

Gavin lived with Grandma Esther while his mom, Aunt Talia (Theo's dad's sister), was working in Africa for some nonprofit group. She had been there for two months. Theo and his dad had Skyped her last week and she'd walked her computer around to show them the African village where she was staying. She'd even introduced a couple of young village girls in brightly colored dresses who'd smiled and waved shyly. In the middle of their conversation, her Internet connection had gone dead, as it usually did where she was.

For the millionth time Theo wondered how such intelligent, selfless women like his aunt and grandmother could raise such a selfish poser as Gavin.

Theo shook his head and groaned. Worst Friday ever.