Wart (3 page)

Stewart lowered his head and rested it in his hands. Open House! Suddenly Mr. Harrison's breakdown seemed like nothing to be interested in. He was facing a death sentence. Open House! He had forgotten about it, but he was pretty sure his father hadn't. It would be right there on the kitchen calendar, and his dad was sure to have noticed it. The algebra grade was bound to come up. Stewart had to find a way to keep his father home.

While his geography teacher talked about Europe and pointed to countries on the map, Stewart rolled his pencil between his hands and thought. Before the bell rang, he had a plan. Georgia! His little sister could be a real mess, but the two of them got along pretty well. If Stewart worked it right, he could get his little sister to do pretty much anything he wanted her to do. He would figure out a way to get Georgia to keep Dad from talking to Mr. Payne about his algebra grade.

At home, Stewart stood on the small front porch of the yellow house for a minute before going in. His father did not have a late class on Thursday afternoon and was already home. Mrs. Davis, called Gran by the kids, had already picked up Georgia from school as usual, and Stewart could smell the roast she had put in the oven before she left. "We'll have an early supper," Dad said right off. "Remember we go to your school tonight."

Stewart's heart sank. There went any hope he had that his father might have forgotten. "It's no big deal." He went to the cabinet to get out glasses for the meal. "If you're tired, we can just stay home."

His father looked closely at him. "I wouldn't miss it."

Stewart decided it would be best not to push the not-going idea. He would just have to count on Georgia. "Guess what happened today in school," he said while they ate, but even as he told the story about Mr. Harrison, he was planning what he would say to his little sister.

After they ate, Stewart helped clean the kitchen, then went upstairs. Georgia was in her room playing with the little plastic horses she loved. Stewart dropped to the floor across from her. "Listen, Georgy," he said, "you've got to help me at my school tonight." He glanced at the door, making sure his father wasn't near. "When we are ready to go to the math room, I'll say, 'Algebra is next.' That's when you pitch a fit to go home." He put his hands on her shoulders and got his face close to hers. "This is really important. Life and Death. Don't let Dad go into that math room. Do whatever you have to do!"

Georgia looked up, her face twisted, deep in thought. Stewart knew she was pretending to consider the situation, but he was certain she would do it, would enjoy the challenge of it. "Okay," she finally said, and Stewart gave one of her pigtails a friendly tug.

On the way to school, Stewart made himself not think about algebra. He thought about the basketball team. The coach would be announcing this week who would make the real team, the one that competed against other schools. He wondered if he had any chance. With a sigh, he shook his head. Not likely.

Inside, Stewart guided his father and sister to English class first because it was first period, and because he liked taking his father to Miss Oliver first. "Stewart is a fine student. You must be very proud of him," she said to his father. Stewart looked down and resisted the urge to ask Miss Oliver if she didn't agree that in this age of super calculators math was pretty much unnecessary. Algebra wasn't until fifth period, but Stewart decided to get it over with.

They walked out of the English room, and Stewart said, "Let's go on to algebra now." He gave Georgia a meaningful look. She nodded slightly, but did nothing. Stewart stopped moving. "Algebra is just next door," he said forcefully.

They could see into the room. Mr. Payne was busy talking to one set of parents with another mother waiting.

"We could come back later," Stewart said, and he hoped he had kept his voice light. His father was forgetful. If they got away this time, he might not think of coming back.

"We're in no hurry." Dad stepped toward the door.

Stewart turned to Georgia. "Now," he mouthed.

"I want to go home," she whined, and she pulled at her father's jacket. "I'm tired and my tummy hurts."

Mr. Wright put his finger up to his lips to shush her. "In a few minutes."

"Now!" She was louder this time, and some people turned to look at the family.

"Be quiet," their father said with a determined tone.

Stewart stepped behind his father and gave his little sister a big smile and a thumbs-up sign. She threw herself on the floor and started to kick and scream. "Take me home to my little bed. I'm tired and so sick. Take me home, oh please, Daddy! Take me home." Everyone in the hall was staring now, and some people stepped out from rooms to see what was going on.

"Stop it!" Dad leaned down and jerked on Georgia's arm. Stewart was afraid she would straighten up like she usually did when their father really showed she had gone too far.

"Let me talk to her." He leaned down. "Stop acting like a little brat," he said, but all the while he smiled.

She let out an even louder wail. "I think she might be really sick," said Stewart, who was beginning to feel a little guilty for getting his little sister in trouble.

That's when it happened. That's the moment Stewart's life began to change. Suddenly there was a woman in front of them. Stewart had just time enough to notice her unusual looks. Her hair was black as the darkest night, and it hung in a big long braid down her back. The really different thing, though, were her eyes. They were the brightest green eyes he'd ever seen. Without a word to anyone else, she bent over and looked into Georgia's face. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" She put one hand under Georgia's chin. The other hand was touching a big green piece of jewelry hanging from a gold chain around her neck.

"Nothing," said Georgia in a sweet, little voice. Stewart wanted to pass out.

"I'm Wanda Gibbs," the woman said, turning to their father. "I'm the art teacher." Substitute, Stewart wanted to yell. After all, poor Mr. Harrison was just crazy, not dead. He might come back.

"How nice to meet you," Mr. Wright said, and Stewart wanted to throw up. Here was this nosy woman butting in where she wasn't wanted, and Dad was practically kissing her feet. What was even worse, Georgia was holding her hand and smiling at the woman like a perfect angel.

"Come on down to my room, darling. I'm not getting many parents." She was patting Georgia's cheek now, but her other hand was still on that green necklace. "You can color some pictures while your daddy visits with Mr. Payne." She gave Stewart's father another big smile, and Stewart thought Dad nodded in a sort of dopey way.

Then they were gone, the woman leading Georgia by the hand. His little sister didn't even look back. "How nice of Wanda," Mr. Wright said, like they were old friends. Then he turned and went into the math room.

Just as Stewart expected, his father got pretty worked up over the algebra grade. "No more TV," he said when they were in the hall again. "No more computer, no more iPod." By the time they had gone through the other classes, he had calmed down. "Okay, Stewart," he said. "I do want you to spend less time watching TV and playing games, but I'm also going to help you. We're going to work on algebra together regularly. You're too smart to make low grades."

Stewart felt better that he didn't have to lie to his dad about his algebra trouble anymore, but they had saved the art room for last, and on the way, he started to worry about what his dad was going to do if he found out Georgia's fit had been his idea. "I need to go to the restroom," he said when they were just outside the door. "You can go on in and get Georgia if you want."

He did go down the hall to the restroom and came back to wait outside the art room, trying to think what to do if his dad came out mad. The amazing thing was that his father and Georgia both came out wearing big smiles.

On the way to the car, Stewart decided to be quiet and hope for the best, but what his father said after he had started the car surprised Stewart into forgetting to worry about punishment. "I asked Wanda Gibbs to go out to dinner with me tomorrow evening," he said.

"Oh!" Georgia clapped her hands. "She might be my new mommy!"

Stewart gave the little rat the dirtiest look possible. It was too dark, though, and the look was wasted. Not only had Georgia let him down, now she was being disloyal to their mother and to Martha too.

• TWO
•

I
t felt strange the next day to sit in class and be taught by the woman his dad was going to take out to dinner. He and Ham stared at her as she talked. Then Ham wrote a note. "Why?" He scribbled in the margin of the paper where he had started to take notes about perspective. Stewart shrugged his shoulders. "She's not near as pretty as Martha," Ham added. Stewart shrugged his shoulders again.

Then Stewart quit even pretending to pay attention and started to think about Martha. He sure hoped she didn't call while his dad and Ms. Gibbs were gone. He didn't want to be the one to tell her about the date, and Martha might ask where his father was.

He sighed. Sure he had told his dad right out that he didn't like the idea of his getting married again. Still, he had always liked Martha. He didn't want a stepmother. That was all, and his dad didn't seem to be in any hurry to remarry either. Dad was like that, taking things very slowly. Martha was nice and patient, never pushing his father beyond an occasional dinner and a play. Stewart couldn't even remember how many years they had been sort of dating. He had always figured that some day his father would want a woman in their family, and he had thought that woman would be Martha.

Why would his dad suddenly want to date Ms. Gibbs? She was a short woman and definitely on the pudgy side. Stewart reached for Ham's paper and added his own note. "I'd say Gobbs might be a better name for her than Gibbs. Have you had a look at her behind?"

He poked Ham, expecting him to look down at the paper and then grin. Ham didn't respond at all.

A cold chill came over Stewart, and he knew even before he saw the hand with the long red fingernails. Slowly he turned his head, and for just a split second before he looked down, he stared into those bright green eyes. "Give me the note," she said. Stewart laid it in her hand.

The room was deadly silent. Ms. Gibbs took the note, read it, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the pocket of her sweater. Then she walked to the board, took a marker, and said, "I need to write myself a little reminder." In big letters she wrote STEWART. She stepped back for a second as if to examine the word. "Do you have a nickname?" She turned to look at Stewart as she asked the question.

"Kind of, well... sometimes." Stewart's voice sounded shaky in his own ears.

"Is it Stew?" She turned back to the board, picked up an eraser, and took off the first three letters. "Or it could be Wart, couldn't it?" She whirled back to stare at Stewart. She moved to allow her gaze to take in all the kids, and she smiled. "Time will tell, won't it, class?"

The class laughed, and for just a second, Stewart thought even Ham was going to smile. "Now," said Ms. Gibbs, "back to perspective." Stewart was glad the period was almost over.

In the hall, he leaned against the first locker he came to. "I'm dead," he said to Ham. "Did you see the look she gave me, and then that Wart business. She's out to get me."

Ham pulled at his arm. "Ah, I don't know. She could have sent us both to the office. Dooley wouldn't be very easy on us for giving her trouble. He wouldn't want her to leave him with Harrison the way he is. Cheer up. It's lunchtime."

The cafeteria always had the same smell no matter what the meal was. Stewart stood behind Ham in line and wondered about the odor. In front of Ham stood Brad Wilson, king of the eighth grade. Stewart glanced in Brad's direction, but Brad didn't turn toward them until after Jake Phillips came to stand behind Stewart. "Hey, Jake," Brad called. "I saw Coach in the hall just now, and he told me he's giving out the basketball uniforms today."

Stewart did not even hear Jake's reply. What a blow! He would be humiliated today in the gym just like he had been humiliated in art class. There were only twelve basketball uniforms and twenty-six boys in the class. Twelve would be given uniforms and allowed to play in an after-school league, against other schools! The other fourteen boys would be divided into two teams that would play each other. Stewart wanted to be one of the twelve. He wanted it desperately!

Stewart looked at Ham, who had a weak little smile on his face. Well, they both knew Ham had a chance, a small chance, but at least a chance. They didn't talk much during lunch. Ham had the good sense not to tell Stewart to cheer up, and he was glad to eat the French fries Stewart pushed toward him.

During geography, Stewart tried not to think about basketball, tried not to think about how great it would be to be on the real team. He liked the game, but it was more than that. He bit at his lip. If he could be a good player, he would be popular. He was sure of it. At Christmas he could tell Sammi. He wouldn't say anything at first. He would wait till maybe the second day they were together. Then he would say, "Oh, by the way, I am popular now." He would shrug and pretend it was no big deal. "Yeah," he would add, "I guess it sort of started after I made the team."

Between geography and science, Ham came to Stewart's locker. "You eat that candy bar you had in there yesterday?" he wanted to know. Stewart dug under a pile of books, found a mashed chocolate bar, and handed it to Ham without a word. "Don't look so worried," Ham said. "I think you're going to make the team." He unwrapped the candy bar and started to eat.

Stewart slammed his locker door. What made Ham so sure he was worried, and how could he be so skinny and stuff himself like that? "We'd better hurry. The bell's about to ring." He stomped away. Inside the science room, Stewart slumped down in his seat and waited, his eyes going constantly to the clock. Finally, the bell rang.

Ham didn't say anything on the way to the gym, and Stewart felt grateful for that. Coach told the boys to settle on the floor to wait. Stewart's heart was pounding so loud that he expected someone to say something about the noise. Brad Wilson was the first person to be called. That was no surprise. He got up and walked down to the dressing room to try on uniforms. The way he moved, so full of confidence, really got to Stewart. He considered taking one of his brand-new basketball shoes out of his gym bag and throwing it at Brad. At least that way the price of the shoes wouldn't be wasted.

Coach kept calling off names, Dave Stills, Jake Phillips, Carlos Valdez. Stewart was counting. Ham was too, putting out a finger each time the coach called a name. Two hands were almost used, only two fingers left. That meant four more names would be called. "Andrew Hamilton." Stewart felt proud of himself because he really was glad for his friend, and he managed to smile. "Matt Lawson, Obi Muonelo, Stewart Wright." Stewart couldn't believe it. At first, he thought about asking the coach if he had heard correctly, but instead he got up slowly. He wanted to walk off like he had been certain all along that he'd be included, but he couldn't. His walk was never right. Neither could he stop feeling bad for the other boys, the ones stuck on the reject teams.

Brad and Jake were already changed and standing on the dressing room steps when Stewart started down. "Hey congratulations, Wart," Brad said when Stewart passed them.

Oh great, the name was going to stick. If Brad Wilson used it, so would the rest of the school. Stewart forced a little grin and moved on. Then he heard Jake say, "Wart got lucky. Green and Russell were too fat for the last uniform."

"Yeah," said Brad. "If either of those guys had weighed ten pounds less, that Wart wouldn't have made the team."

Stewart tried not to let the comments take away his pleasure. Brad and Jake didn't know everything. You made it, he told himself. That's the miracle you wanted. Now just work hard and get your game improved. The coach let them wear their uniforms while they did dribbling drills. Feeling first-rate, Stewart put everything he had into the workout. He made a couple of layups, and didn't even mind when someone yelled, "Way to go, Wart." He was on the real team, part of the Rams.

When gym class ended, Stewart looked forward to a relaxing Friday evening alone. Georgia had taken her sleeping bag and gone straight from school to a sleep-over. His father would be out with Ms. Gibbs, which was pretty weird, but at least he would have the house to himself. He was pretty sure Dad wouldn't mention anything about not watching TV or playing games while he was gone.

Of course, the peaceful evening thing didn't work out. The first problem was Martha, who drove up just after Stewart got into the house. He saw her car from the front window just after he stepped inside. She got out of her blue Toyota and carried a paper bag toward the house. Maybe he should just go upstairs and ignore the doorbell, but she had probably seen him. Well, he just wouldn't mention his father's plans for the evening even if she came right out and asked. Why should he do Dad's dirty work? Let him tell Martha himself that he was taking out another woman.

"Dad's not here," Stewart said as soon as they had said hello at the door. He hoped she would leave right off, but she walked in and went to the kitchen with the bag. Stewart followed.

"Don't look so miserable, Stewart." She gave him a big smile. "I made pizza and had lots left over. I knew you would be eating alone tonight, so I brought some over to you."

Ordinarily the thought of Martha's homemade pizza could make Stewart forget almost any problem, but this time it didn't help. Martha knew Dad was going out tonight, but her smile made it obvious that she didn't know he had a date.

"Wow, thanks." He didn't look at her.

"Stewart, I know your father has a date with Wanda." She put the pizza in the microwave.

"You do?"

"Yes, don't worry about me. Wanda is an old college friend of mine."

Stewart studied her face. Things were sure getting weird. No one was acting the way they were supposed to. "How come you don't mind? Don't you like Dad anymore?"

Her smile had just about turned into a laugh. "Let's just say things have a way of working out for the best. You never did like the idea of your father and me getting serious anyway."

Stewart couldn't deny that. He stood there confused, saying nothing.

"Eat your pizza, and don't distress yourself over your father's romantic life. Trust him. He's a strong, intelligent man." With a wave she headed toward the door. Again Stewart followed. His father had just driven up, and he watched as he and Martha talked for just a minute in the yard.

They look right together, Stewart thought. He stepped back from the doorway. Why had he never been comfortable about his dad dating Martha? Well, Martha wasn't worried. Probably Dad would go out with Ms. Gibbs only once. Suddenly Stewart realized he was starving, and he went to the kitchen for pizza.

His father came in just before he was settled at the table to eat. "Stew," he said right off. "I talked to Wanda on the way home, and I told her you would stay with her son tonight while we go out."

"Her son?" Stewart almost dropped his pizza.

"He's eight years old. They are new in town and don't have a regular sitter."

"Rachel." Stewart motioned with his head toward the house next door. "You know Rach does lots of babysitting."

"You're doing some tonight." There was an edge to his father's voice. Then he sort of grinned, sorry he had come on so strong. "Well, Ozgood is kind of shy. You don't mind doing me a special favor, do you?"

"Ozgood?"

"So he has a strange name. Give the kid a chance. You might like him. Anyway, I need this favor. Wanda asked for you. Said she was sure she could trust you." His father looked straight at Stewart, waiting.

"Okay." Stewart knew his father didn't ask for much from him. Besides he couldn't afford to cross Ms. Gibbs. She still had his note. How bad could it be? He'd take his Game Boy.

Worse than Stewart could ever have imagined! That's how bad it was. Ozgood met them at the door. At least that's what Stewart finally figured out. At first, he thought it was just this giant pair of glasses. Then he discovered that there really was a boy wearing them.

"I'm Ozgood V Gibbs," the glasses said, and a small hand was held out to them. "I do not care to be called Ozzy. I was named for the Wizard of Oz, who, by the way, was very real, as were his magic powers."

Stewart's dad took the hand and shook it. Stewart only stared. Then
she
came down the stairs, and he had something else to stare at. No one could have convinced him that pudgy Ms. Gibbs could ever have looked so good. She had on a white dress that was all soft and flowing looking. There wasn't anything plump about her, but it was her face that was really something. It was absolutely beautiful, and her eyes danced brightly. Stewart noticed that she still wore the same green stone around her neck. Suddenly a phrase came to Stewart's mind: The bride looked radiant. He gave his head a shake to get rid of the words. He wondered whatever made him think of such a thing. His dad let out a quiet whistle. It's like a magic spell, Stewart thought.

Ms. Gibbs and his dad were talking softly to each other. Stewart sank down on the stairs. His stomach felt strange, and he had the definite feeling that life as he had known it was over.

"Have a nice evening with Stewart," Ms. Gibbs said to Ozgood." She turned to Stewart. "Of course you won't need them, but there are some emergency numbers by the phone. I don't carry a cell, but I'm sure you know your father's number. I just wrote down some others to be safe. Eat anything you want from the fridge." She gave him a little wave, and they were gone.

"If you don't mind, I believe I will now retire to my room to enjoy some music." Ozgood pushed up his glasses and started to climb the stairs.

"Wait." Stewart was failing as a babysitter. He did not want Ms. Gibbs to be mad at him. He waved the Game Boy. "Don't you want to play a game?"

"No. Thank you. I do not care for games."

Well, let the little weirdo go to his room. He'd just find the TV and some food. There wasn't one in the living room or the kitchen. He opened a door into what he thought might be some kind of family room, but it was completely empty. The TVs must be in the bedrooms. It was a good thing he had his own entertainment.

Then the music started. It was horrible, the kind of stuff from the old movies where a monster or maniac is sneaking up on the hero or heroine. And it was loud, so loud it seemed to bounce off the walls.