图书在版编目（CIP）数据

怦然心动：中英双语版／（美）文德琳·范·德拉安南著；陈常歌译．—南昌：百花洲文艺出版社，2018.1

ISBN 978-7-5500-2584-4

Ⅰ．①怦…　Ⅱ．①文…②陈…　Ⅲ．①长篇小说－美国－现代　Ⅳ．①I712.45

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2017）第306593号

江西省版权局著作权合同登记号：14-2017-0529

FLIPPED

by Wendelin Van Draanen

Copyright © 2001 and 2016 by Wendelin Van Draanen Parsons

Simplified Chinese translation copyright © 2018 by Beijing Xiron Books Co., Ltd.

Published by arrangement with Curtis Brown Ltd.

through Bardon-Chinese Media Agency

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

怦然心动

PENG RAN XIN DONG

［美］文德琳·范·德拉安南　著　陈常歌　译

出版人　姚雪雪

责任编辑　杨　旭　陈　蓉

出版发行　百花洲文艺出版社

社　　址　南昌市红谷滩新区世贸路898号博能中心I期A座20楼

邮　　编　330038

经　　销　全国新华书店

印　　刷　北京嘉业印刷厂

开　　本　880mm×1230mm　1/32

印　　张　16.5

字　　数　350千字

版　　次　2018年3月第1版第1次印刷

书　　号　ISBN 978-7-5500-2584-4

定　　价　59.80元

赣版权登字：05-2017-520

版权所有，侵权必究

发行电话：0791-86895108

网址：http://www.bhzwy.com

如发现图书质量问题，可联系调换。质量投诉电话：010-82069336

目 录

怦然心动

Chapter 01　下潜

Chapter 02　心动

Chapter 03　哥们儿，小心点！

Chapter 04　无花果树

Chapter 05　嘿——嘿——嘿！快走开！

Chapter 06　鸡蛋

Chapter 07　伙计，放松点儿

Chapter 08　院子

Chapter 09　越变越大，越变越臭

Chapter 10　探视

Chapter 11　极度紧张

Chapter 12　晚餐

Chapter 13　怦然心动

Chapter 14　篮子男孩

来自文德琳的致意

Flipped

Chapter 01　Diving Under

Chapter 02　Flipped

Chapter 03　Buddy, Beware!

Chapter 04　The Sycamore Tree

Chapter 05　Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!

Chapter 06　The Eggs

Chapter 07　Get a Grip, Man

Chapter 08　The Yard

Chapter 09　Looming Large and Smelly

Chapter 10　The Visit

Chapter 11　The Serious Willies

Chapter 12　The Dinner

Chapter 13　Flipped

Chapter 14　The Basket Boys

怦然心动

“我们为这本奇妙的小说，勇敢的女孩朱莉和它智慧而精妙的结局而心动。”

——《芝加哥论坛报》

“可爱！令人愉悦！！青春期少年专享。”

——Book Page（著名书评网站）

“一位会令孩子们疯狂喜爱的魅力超群的女主角，两个叙述者之间富有吸引力的互动，一个能引发共鸣的结局，这本小说有着远超于构成它的文字的意义。”

——《出版人周刊》（星级评论）

“一本精彩而轻松的小说。”

——《图书馆对话》杂志

“一项带着嘲讽的性格研究，一场坚实与缥缈的浪漫爱情故事。”

——Booklist（美国图书馆协会书评网站）

“一出极其令人愉快的浪漫爱情喜剧。”

——《科克斯书评》

谨向克尔顿和康纳献上无限爱意，他们让我感到自己远远超过了我的各部分之和。

尤其要感谢我的丈夫马克·帕森斯，是他让我领略到不可思议的魔力，以及我出色的编辑南希·西斯科，为了她的细心与洞见（以及帮助我坚持节食）。

此外，我还要向泰德·卡拉汉与帕特里夏·加贝尔表达我无尽的谢意，是你们在我最需要的时候给予及时的帮助。

最后，感谢珍妮·马德里以及Casa De Vida（生活之家）的员工——愿你们天天愉快！

Chapter 01

下潜

我只有一个愿望：让朱莉安娜·贝克别来烦我。快点给我走开！——我只想让她离我远点。

这一切都源于一年级暑假，从我家的卡车停在她家隔壁开始。眼下，我们都快上完八年级了，也就是说，整整五年，我不得不忍受着社交上的不便，对她实行“战略性回避”。

她可不只是闯入了我的生活，而且是千方百计地非要在我的生活里占领一席之地不可。难道是我们邀请她爬进搬家的卡车里，在箱子上爬来爬去的吗？才没有！可她就是不请自来，好像这是她的家，是她朱莉安娜·贝克的特权似的。

爸爸试图阻止她，“嘿！”她在车里跳来跳去的时候，爸爸喊道，“你在干什么？你把烂泥弄得到处都是！”没错，她的鞋上糊满了泥巴。

可她根本没想从车上下来。正相反，她一屁股坐在车厢里，开始用脚推起一个大箱子。“你难道不需要帮忙吗？”她朝我这边瞥了一眼，“我觉得你真的需要别人帮忙呢。”

我一点儿也不喜欢她的暗示。虽然我爸也整天用这种眼神看我，可我敢说，他也不喜欢这丫头。“嘿，别推了，”他提醒道，“箱子里有贵重物品。”

“哦，好吧。那我搬这个吧？”她挪到另一个贴着“LENOX（餐具）”标志的箱子旁边，又看了我一眼，“我们可以一起推！”

“不，不，不用！”爸爸把她抱起来，“你是不是应该回家看看？你妈妈也许正在担心你跑到哪儿去了。”

这是我头一次见识到这姑娘到底有多么不识趣，毫无自知之明。作为一个孩子，当别人礼貌地请她离开的时候，难道不是应该立刻乖乖地回家吗？她才不会。她说：“哦，妈妈知道我在哪儿，她说没关系。”然后她指着街对面说，“我家就住在那儿。”

爸爸看着她所指的方向，念叨着：“唉，上帝啊！”然后他看着我，边眨眼边说，“布莱斯，你是不是该回家给妈妈帮忙了？”

我马上明白过来，这是个甩掉她的小花招。可我从来没跟爸爸排练过这出戏。拜托，怎样甩掉盯梢可不是你平时能和爸妈讨论的话题。想想看，告诉孩子可以甩掉别人，这可是违背了做父母的原则，不管这个人有多讨厌或是身上沾了多少泥巴。

但是爸爸情急之下还是这么做了，而且，他真的不用一直冲我使眼色吧！我笑了，答道：“没错！”然后跳出车门，冲向我们的新家。

我听见她跟了上来，但我不敢相信。也许只是听上去很像她追上来了，也许她只是走向另一个方向。但是，在我鼓足勇气回头之前，她已经赶上来，猛地抓住我的胳膊。

这太过分了。我停下脚步，想告诉她快滚开，这时却发生了最最诡异的事情。我抡起胳膊想摆脱她，可是手臂落下来的时候却变成了挽着她的姿势。我简直不敢相信，我竟然挽了这只“泥猴”的手！

我想甩开她，但她把我的手攥得紧紧的，拉着我说：“来吧！”

我妈妈从屋里走出来，立刻摆出了一副最糟糕的傻笑着的表情：“嗨，你好！”她跟朱莉打招呼。

“你好！”

我还在挣扎着想摆脱她，但她死死地拽着我。看到我们握在一起的手，还有我又红又热的脸，妈妈笑了：“你叫什么名字，亲爱的？”

“朱莉安娜·贝克。我家就住在那儿。”她用那只空着的手指点着。

“哦，我想你已经认识我儿子了。”妈妈还在笑着。

“是的！”

我终于挣脱出来，做了一件七岁男孩唯一能做的充满男子汉气概的事——我躲到了妈妈身后。

妈妈用手臂环着我：“布莱斯，亲爱的，你是不是应该请朱莉安娜参观一下我们的新家？”

我用尽全身的力气向妈妈发出警告，可是她完全没有察觉。她推着我说：“去吧。”

朱莉没有马上被允许进入房间，因为妈妈注意到那双脏鞋并且要求她脱下来。等她脱下鞋子，妈妈又说她的脏袜子也不许穿进屋里。朱莉全然没觉得尴尬，一点儿也不。她只是拽下袜子，随手扔在我家门廊里。

我没有认真地带她参观，而是把自己反锁在厕所里。我冲她叫喊了将近十分钟的“不，我决不出来”之后，客厅里终于安静下来。又过了十分钟，我鼓足勇气从门缝里往外看。

没看到朱莉。

我蹑手蹑脚地走出来，看了一圈，没错，她走了！

这一手不算太高明，但我毕竟才七岁嘛。

不过，我的麻烦还远远没有结束。她一次又一次地来找我，每天都来。“布莱斯能出来玩吗？”我藏在沙发背后，听见她这样问道，“他准备好了吗？”有一次她甚至穿过院子从窗户往里看。我恰好观察到她的动向，马上潜伏到床底下。不过朋友，我得告诉你一些关于朱莉安娜·贝克的事。她完全不知道“私人空间”为何物，不尊重别人的隐私。全世界都是朱莉的地盘，当心——她只会越来越过分！

幸运的是，我爸爸希望保护我。他徒劳地试了一次又一次，他告诉朱莉说我很忙，说我在睡觉，或者说我不在家。他真是我的大救星。

作为对立面，我的姐姐却逮住一切机会陷害我。利奈特就喜欢这样。她比我大四岁，从她身上我学会了不去和命运抗争。她是个浑身上下写满了“抗议”两个字的家伙。只要谁看了她一眼——不用斜着眼睛，或是吐着舌头看——仅仅是看她一眼，就能让她跟你吵起来。

跟她在一起，我一向采取消极抵抗的态度，但是这也没有用。女孩子从来不搞公平竞争。她们拽你的头发、抠你、掐你，明明是你挨了打，她们却率先跑到妈妈面前告状。然后你被关了禁闭，凭什么？不，我的朋友，诀窍在于千万不能上当，不要跟她们正面交锋。你得不慌不忙地四处迂回，对她们的挑衅一笑置之。过不了多久她们就会放弃了，把注意力转移到别人身上。

起码这套伎俩在利奈特面前行得通。有这么一个让你如芒在背的姐姐，唯一的好处就是，在她身上试验成功的方法，多半对于别人也适用，比如老师、学校里的怪胎，甚至是爸爸妈妈。真的。你永远吵不赢父母，为什么不能学着放松点呢？与其时不时地被父母修理一通，不如下潜到自己的世界里，别在他们眼前出现。

好笑的是，利奈特在对待父母的态度上依然很幼稚。她总是直接进入战斗状态，把精力全放在争执上，却来不及深吸一口气，潜入冷静的水中。

而她还认为我是个傻瓜。

不管怎么说，和往常一样，起初利奈特想用朱莉引我上钩。有一次她甚至背着爸爸带朱莉进入我家，到处搜捕我。我蜷成一团躲在壁柜最上面一层，幸好她们谁也没想起往上看一眼。没过几分钟，我就听见爸爸大喊着让朱莉离那些古董家具远一点儿，她又一次被赶走了。

头一个星期，我记得自己根本没出过家门。我帮忙拆箱，看电视，在爸爸妈妈摆放家具、争论着帝国风格的靠背椅和法式洛可可餐桌是否能放在一个房间里的时候四处闲逛。

所以，请相信，我那时候疯了似的想出去。但每次把目光投向窗户，我都看到朱莉出现在她家院子里。她要么在练习头球，要么是在高抬腿跑，或是在车道上盘球。假如她没有在那里卖弄，就是坐在路边，把足球夹在两脚中间，望着我们家的房子。

妈妈完全不理解为什么被“那个可爱的小姑娘”拉了手，是件糟透了的事。她认为我应该跟朱莉交朋友。“我以为你也喜欢足球呢，亲爱的。为什么不出去在附近踢一会儿呢？”

因为我可不想被人当球踢。在七岁半这个年纪，我也许嘴上说不出来，却已经本能地意识到，朱莉安娜·贝克是个危险的家伙。

而且她一旦出现，就是个躲不掉的危险。当我走进叶尔逊夫人的二年级教室，我就开始任人宰割了。“布莱斯！”朱莉尖叫着，“你也在这儿。”接着，她冲过整间教室按住了我。

叶尔逊夫人想把这次袭击解释成“用拥抱欢迎你”，可是，那根本不是什么拥抱，明明是个真刀真枪、硬碰硬的抢断动作。虽然我把她挣开，但已经晚了，我就此打上了一生的烙印。人人都嘲笑我，“布莱斯，你的女朋友呢？”“你结婚了吗，布莱斯？”课间休息，当她追着我、试图亲吻我的时候，全校学生都唱起了拉拉歌，“布莱斯和朱莉坐在树梢上，K-I-S-S-I-N-G……（kissing，接吻）”。

我搬到这里的第一年，简直是一场灾难。

三年级也好不到哪儿去，她坚持到处堵着我。四年级也是一样。到了五年级，我终于决定反击。

这个主意来得并不突然——有些想法，你明知道它不对，却总是盘旋在你脑海里。不过，它出现的次数越多，我就越觉得，要想摆脱朱莉、明确地告诉她“你不是我喜欢的类型”，没有更好的办法了。

于是，我策划了一个方案。

我和雪莉·斯道尔斯约会了。

要知道，朱莉和雪莉有不共戴天之仇，所以你明白这个办法有多聪明了吧。朱莉一直看雪莉不爽，我始终想不通这是为什么。雪莉是个好姑娘，待人亲切，头发又长又密。她有什么缺点呢？但朱莉就是不喜欢她，而我要用这件事解决我的问题。

我本来指望，雪莉只需要跟我一起吃个午饭，也许还可以散散步。顺利的话，只要朱莉出现，我要做的只不过是和雪莉表现得更亲近一点儿，剩下的事情就会顺其自然地发生。可惜，现实毕竟是现实，雪莉太认真了。她跑去告诉每一个人——包括朱莉在内——说我们在恋爱。

结果，朱莉和雪莉立刻上演了一场女孩子之间的火并。一架打完，雪莉还在喘息的时候，我所谓的挚友加利特——这个主意的幕后策划者——却把实情跟她交了底。他从来不肯承认，可我从此明白了他就是个重色轻友的家伙。

那天下午，我受到了双重考验，可我没那么容易被击败。我不断地向她道歉，说自己根本不知道事情会闹成这样。最后，她终于放过我了。

雪莉哭了好几天，在学校里追着我，搞得我像个真正的怪胎，比身后有朱莉这个盯梢还要糟糕。

整出闹剧在一个星期后渐渐烟消云散，雪莉正式宣布抛弃我，开始和凯尔·拉森出双入对。朱莉又朝我抛来了媚眼，而我又回到了原点。

进入六年级，状况又变本加厉了，这很难用语言描述。我记得六年级时朱莉并没有再追着我，而是变成嗅我。

没错，我说的就是嗅我。

一切都得归罪于我的老师——马丁斯先生。是他促使朱莉黏上我的。马丁斯先生对于安排座位很有些心得，他翻来覆去地研究我们应该各自坐在哪里，然后顺理成章地把朱莉安排在我的邻座。

朱莉安娜·贝克是那种一心要展示自己聪明才智的人，因此特别惹人讨厌。她总是第一个举手；她回答起问题总是长篇大论；她的作业永远交得最早，永远被老师拿来打击其他人。老师们经常举着她的作业说：“同学们，这才是我想要的。这是篇A+的模板。”她做了这么多，生怕自己还不完美，我敢说她门门功课都没有低过120分。

但是，自从马丁斯先生安排朱莉坐在我旁边，她的各项知识就变得有用了。忽然间，朱莉把课堂提问的完美答案，都写成一张字迹潦草的小字条，转瞬之间经由过道转移到我手里。这件事我们不知道干过多少次。我开始门门功课不是得A就是得B了！这太棒了！

不过，马丁斯先生又开始换座位了。他的“优化定位学”又有了新的理论。当一切尘埃落定，我被安排坐在朱莉安娜·贝克的前座。

她就是从这时开始嗅我的。这个疯姑娘向前靠过来，闻我的头发。她把鼻子架在我的头皮上，就那么嗅——嗅——嗅。

我试过用手肘撞她，回身踢她；我试过把椅子往前拽，把书包夹在后背和座位之间，不管用。她还是会凑上来，或者离得稍微远一点儿，然后嗅——嗅——嗅。

终于，我忍不住去找马丁斯先生换座位，但他说什么也不肯。理由似乎是“不希望打破教育能量的微妙平衡”之类的话。

不管怎么说，我被她闻定了。并且，由于再也看不到她完美的小抄，我的成绩急转直下，尤其是拼写课。

有一次听写的时候，她正在闻我的头发，忽然发现我拼错了一个词。不止一个，是很多词。忽然，她不再闻我，而是跟我说起悄悄话。起初我不敢相信自己的耳朵。朱莉安娜·贝克作弊？没错，她真的帮我拼出了那些词，就在我耳边。

朱莉嗅我的时候确实很隐蔽，从来没被人发现过，这让我非常困扰。不过她帮我作弊的时候也同样隐蔽，关于这一点我倒是很满意。不过它的坏处在于，我开始依赖她在我耳边的提示。说实话，当你不用学习就能拿到好成绩，干吗还要努力呢？不过，她帮了我那么多次，我总有种受惠于她的内疚感。当我还欠着人情的时候，怎么能把对方赶走或是让她别再嗅我呢？你想想就知道，这是不对的。

于是，在别扭与难受当中，我度过了整个六年级。我总是忍不住想，明年，只要到了明年，事情就有转机了。

明年我们将升入初中——那是个大学校——我们会进入不同班级。那是个全新的世界，有太多的人和事等着我去探索，再也不用担心遇到朱莉安娜·贝克。

我们之间终于要画上句号了。

Chapter 02

心动

遇见布莱斯·罗斯基的第一天，我就对他怦然心动。呃，好吧，实际上我对他完全是一见钟情。是因为他的眼睛。他的眼神里有某种东西。他有一双蓝色的眼睛，在黑色睫毛下一闪一闪的，让我忍不住屏住了呼吸。

六年了，我早就学会隐藏自己的感觉了。不过想想最初的日子，还是让人哭笑不得。最初的那几年，我想我大概是太执着地想跟他在一起了。

事情源于二年级开学的前两天，虽然几周之前就有了先兆——妈妈告诉我，有一家人要搬到对街的新房子，带着一个跟我同龄的男孩。

足球夏令营已经结束了，街坊邻居没有一个人陪我玩，真是无聊死了。附近也有几个孩子，可他们全都是大孩子。对我哥哥们来说当然不错，可我却只能一个人孤零零地留在家里。

妈妈也在家，不过她有的是比踢球更重要的事情要做。反正她是这么说的。对于当年的我来说，没有什么比踢球更好的了，尤其是跟洗衣服、刷盘子、拖地板比起来。但我妈妈不同意。单独跟妈妈待在家里就有这个危险，她会抓住我帮她洗衣服、刷盘子、拖地板。而且她绝对不能容忍我在做家务的间隙踢两脚球。

为保险起见，我在屋子外边晃荡了几个星期，生怕邻居来早了。真的，足有几个星期。为了自娱自乐，我开始跟我的狗“冠军”踢球。大多数时间它只能把球扑住，毕竟狗不是真的会“踢”球。但它有时会用鼻子去捅。不过，球的气味对狗来说一定是难以抵挡的诱惑，因为到最后“冠军”总会试图把它吃下去，然后输球给我。

当罗斯基家的卡车终于到来的那一天，我家里的每个人都欢欣鼓舞。“小朱莉安娜”终于有个玩伴了。

作为一个极度敏感体贴的成年人，妈妈硬是让我在家里待了足足一个小时才出门见邻居。“给他们留点时间伸个懒腰，朱莉安娜，”她说，“他们需要一些时间休整。”她甚至不允许我从院子里往外看，“我很了解你，宝贝。没准儿最后你的球不知怎么就掉到人家的院子里，而你不得不过去捡回来。”

所以，我只好趴在窗户旁边，隔几分钟就问：“现在能去了吗？”她每次都回答：“再给他们一点儿时间，好吗？”

这时电话响了。当我能肯定她正心情愉悦并且全神贯注在电话上时，我就拽着她的袖子问：“现在好了吗？”

她点点头，轻声说：“好吧，但是放松一点儿！我马上就过去。”

我太兴奋了，忍不住横穿了马路，但我努力在接近卡车的时候保持了礼貌。我站在车外朝里望去，破纪录地保持这个姿势挺长时间，但是这太有难度了，因为差不多等到一半的时候，我看到了他！我坚信即将成为我新的最佳死党的人——布莱斯·罗斯基！

其实布莱斯并没有做什么。他只是在那边晃荡着，看他爸爸把箱子搬到汽车尾板上。记得当时我真的很同情罗斯基先生，因为他看上去疲惫不堪，全靠他一个人在那里搬。我还记得他和布莱斯穿着相同款式的蓝绿色Polo衫（一种休闲服装），非常可爱。真是太好看了。

我不好意思再呆呆地站在那儿，于是朝车里喊道：“你们好！”布莱斯惊得跳了起来，然后像只蟋蟀似的迅速开始推起一只箱子，假装他一直在工作。

布莱斯的内疚感让我猜到，他本来应该乖乖地帮忙搬箱子，但他却烦透了这活儿。没准儿他已经干了好几天了！很明显，他需要休息。他需要喝点什么，比如果汁！同样很明显，罗斯基先生不可能放他走。他可能准备干到自己累倒为止，那时候布莱斯估计已经累死了——他大概都没机会走进新家！

眼前的这一幕惨剧推动我走进了卡车。我必须去帮忙！我必须救他！

我走到他身边，准备帮他一起推箱子，这个可怜的孩子实在太累了，他只是让出位置，把活儿交给了我。罗斯基先生不想让我帮忙，但我至少救出了布莱斯。我在卡车里最多只待了三分钟，他就被他爸爸发配去屋子里帮妈妈整理行李。

我追着他上了人行道，从这一刻起，一切都变了。这么说吧，我追上他，抓住他的胳膊，只想在他被困在屋里之前截住他，跟我玩一会儿。然后突然之间，他牵起我的手，直直地看着我的眼睛。

毫无原因地，我心脏就那么漏跳了一拍。我的人生中第一次有了那样的感觉。就像整个世界在你四周，从你身体由内而外地翻滚，而你飘浮在半空中。唯一能绑住你不会飘走的，就是那双眼睛。

当你们两个人的眼睛被一种看不见的力量连接在一起，在外面的世界旋转、翻腾并彻底分崩离析的时候，一把抓住了你。

那天，我差一点儿就得到了我的初吻。我十分肯定。但是紧接着他妈妈就从屋子里走出来，他尴尬得脸都红透了，接下来他就躲进了洗手间。

我在门厅里等他出来，这时他的姐姐利奈特发现了我。她看上去比我大，更成熟一些。她问我怎么回事，我就简单地说了一点儿。不过，我不该告诉她的，因为她摇晃着洗手间的门把手，疯狂地嘲笑起布莱斯。“嘿，小弟弟！”她朝门的那一边大声喊着，“外面有个漂亮小姑娘在等你！你怎么不敢出来？怕她身上有虱子吗？”

这太尴尬了！我拽着她的胳膊想让她停下来，但她不肯，最后我只好走开了。

我看见妈妈正在门口和罗斯基太太说话。妈妈送给她一个漂亮的烘烤柠檬蛋糕，那恐怕应该是我家今晚的甜点。上面的糖霜看起来又白又软，蛋糕还热着，散发着甜甜的柠檬香气。

看到它我的口水就流出来了！但它现在属于罗斯基太太，再也回不来了。我只能在她们讨论杂货店和天气预报的时候狠狠地吞咽着空气中的香味。

然后我就和妈妈回家了。这太奇怪了。我根本没能和布莱斯一起玩。我只记得他那双闪闪发亮的蓝眼睛，他有个不靠谱的姐姐，以及他差点亲了我。

晚上，我想着那个本该发生的初吻睡着了。被人亲吻到底是什么感觉？不知怎的，我知道它一定和爸爸妈妈的晚安吻不一样。毫无疑问，虽然它们看起来差不多，却有本质上的不同。就像狼和狗——只有科学家才会认为它们同属一个科目。

回首二年级，我总是希望自己至少有一部分是出于对科学的好奇，才如此执着于我的初吻。但诚实地说，恐怕更重要的原因是那双蓝眼睛。从那一刻起，直到三年级结束，我无法自拔地追随着他，坐在他旁边，希望自己至少能离他近一点儿。

到了四年级，我学会控制自己。看到他——想到他——仍然让我的心怦怦直跳，但我已经不再真的追着他跑。我只是在那里望着，想着，盼望着。

五年级的时候，忽然冒出了一个雪莉·斯道尔斯。她是个傻瓜，一个爱发牢骚、爱传八卦、爱背后中伤别人的家伙。她总是把一件事对一个人说成是黑的，对另一个人说成是白的。现在我们都升上了初中，她是个无可争议的演技派天后，就算回到小学时代，她也知道该怎么装样子。尤其是体育课上，我既没见过她跑圈也没见过她做操。相反，她会奉上一出“完美”的表演，声明她的身体在跑步、跳高和伸展运动的折磨下，一定会晕倒。

这很管用，每年都很管用。她带来医生的证明，并在学年开始的那几天小小地晕倒几次，然后逃过一年当中任何需要力量的事情。甚至放学的时候都不搬自己的椅子。唯一经常得到锻炼的肌肉是她的嘴唇，而且动起来几乎一刻不停。假如奥运会增加一个比赛说话的项目，雪莉·斯道尔斯一定能横扫一切奖项。好吧，至少是金牌和银牌——上下嘴唇各得一项。

其实，我烦恼的倒不是她不用上体育课这件事——说实话，又有谁愿意跟雪莉分在一组呢？我烦恼的是，只要谁有心，就一定能看出妨碍她上课的根本不是哮喘、脚踝有伤或是她表现出的那种“娇弱”，而是她的头发。她有那么多头发，一会儿卷成这样，一会儿卷成那样；一会儿剪短，一会儿缀上珠花；一会儿编辫子，一会儿盘成发髻。她的马尾辫就跟旋转木马的尾巴差不多。那段时间她总是披散着头发，把它们当成毯子似的把自己的脑袋裹在里面，所以别人只能看到她的鼻子。

在脑袋上裹着一床毯子玩抛球游戏？还是算了吧。

我对待雪莉·斯道尔斯的方式是无视她，这一直都很奏效，直到五年级的时候我看到她握着布莱斯的手。

那是我的布莱斯，是那个始终为了二年级开学前两天握了我的手而害羞的家伙。是那个因为太害羞，除了“你好”以外不敢跟我多说一句话的家伙。

是那个一直还欠我一个初吻的家伙。

雪莉怎么敢把她的手塞进他的手心里？这个爱出风头的娇气小公主根本没理由和他混在一起！

当他们经过的时候，布莱斯时不时小心翼翼地回头看，他看的是我。我首先想到的是，他是在向我表示抱歉。然后我忽然领悟了——他是想让我帮忙。没错，只能是这个意思！

雪莉·斯道尔斯太娇弱了，让布莱斯不好意思甩掉她，而且她太缠人了，让他挣脱不掉。她一定会心碎的，然后开始抽搐，这对布莱斯来说得有多尴尬！这件事男生做起来姿态绝对不好看。

只能由女生来代为完成。

我根本没有考虑过是否还有其他人选——两秒钟之内我就把她从他身边拽开了。一挣开，布莱斯立刻跑掉了，但是雪莉没跑。哦，不——不——不！她冲我过来了，对着她能够到的地方又抓又扯又拧，说布莱斯是属于她的，她绝不放手。

真是太娇弱了。

我满心希望这时候冒出一大群老师，看看真实生活中的雪莉·斯道尔斯到底是什么样子，可惜等人们来到这里已经太晚了。我蓬头垢面地被她夹住脑袋，而她的双手被我反剪到背后，不管她怎样尖叫、抓人，都不可能让我在老师到达之前放开她。

最后，雪莉带着一头乱发提前回家了，而我则留下跟校长复述情况。舒尔茨夫人是个健硕的女人，也许私下里会欣赏一记正确的飞踢，但是她告诉我最好还是让别人去解决他们自己的困境，她完全明白雪莉·斯道尔斯和她的头发是怎么回事，还说她很高兴看到我能够控制住自己，没有做出除了制止她以外更离谱的事。

第二天，雪莉带着满头的辫子回来了。当然，她成功地让所有人都在私下议论我，但我根本不理他们。事实是不言自明的。在这个学年剩下的时间里，布莱斯从来不走近她。

这倒不是说布莱斯从此跟我走在一起了，但他开始变得友善一些。尤其是六年级马丁斯先生把我们安排在倒数第三排成了同桌之后。

坐在布莱斯旁边感觉很好。他会每天早上对我说“朱莉，你好”，偶尔我会发现他在看我。他总会脸红，转回去做他的事，然后我就不由自主地笑了。他太害羞了，而且那么可爱！

我们聊天的机会也更多了。尤其是马丁斯先生安排我坐在他后面以后。马丁斯先生会让拼写不合格的人留堂，比如，25个词里写错7个的人午饭时分必须跟着他，一遍又一遍地抄写自己的名字。

留堂的阴影把布莱斯变成了惊弓之鸟。虽然良心上有点过意不去，但我还是会靠向他悄悄说出答案，希望自己也许有机会和他一起吃午饭。他的头发闻起来有股西瓜味，耳垂上长着绒毛，柔软的金色绒毛。我十分好奇，为什么一个长着黑头发的男孩耳朵上的绒毛却是金色的？它们为什么会长在那里？我在镜子里研究自己的耳垂，但上面什么也没有，我注意到没有一个人像他这样。

我想过在马丁斯先生跟我们讨论科学史的时候，提出耳垂绒毛的问题，但我没问过。相反，整整一年时间我都趴在他耳边拼着单词，闻着西瓜味道，想着自己是不是和初吻无缘了。

Chapter 03

哥们儿，小心点！

好吧，七年级是充满变化的一年，但是最大的变化并非发生在学校，而是在家里。邓肯外公搬来和我们一起住了。

最开始的时候是有点奇怪，因为我们中间没有谁真正认识他。当然，除了妈妈。虽然她用了一年半的时间告诉我们他是个多么伟大的人，但在我看来，他最喜欢做的事就是从临街的窗户朝外望。除了贝克家的前院，那里没什么好看的，但他不管白天黑夜都待在那儿，坐在和他一起搬进家门的大号安乐椅上，望着窗外。

好吧，他也读汤姆·克兰西的惊悚小说、看报纸、做填字游戏、看看股票行情，但这些不过是对他看街景这件事的插花。没人提出反对意见，这人总是看着窗外直到睡着为止。虽然也说不上有什么不对，但这样真的……挺无聊的。

妈妈说，他眺望窗外是因为想念外婆，但外公是不会和我讨论这件事的。实际上，他从来不跟我讨论什么事，直到几个月前，他在报纸上看到了朱莉。

不像你想的那样，朱莉安娜·贝克并不是作为八年级的未来的爱因斯坦登上了《梅菲尔德时报》头版。不，伙计，她能登上头版是因为她不愿意从一棵无花果树上下来。

虽然我分不清无花果树、枫树和桦树，但朱莉显然知道那是什么树，并且守在那里把这个常识分享给她遇见的每一个人。

所以，这棵树，这棵无花果树，长在山坡上克里尔街的一片空地里，很大很大，而且又大又丑。它的树干扭曲，长满节疤，弯弯曲曲，我总觉得一阵风就能把它吹倒。

去年的某一天，我终于听够了她关于这棵蠢树的唠叨。我径直走到她面前，告诉她那棵无花果树一点儿也不美，实际上，那是有史以来最难看的一棵树。你猜她怎么回答？她说我的眼睛大概有毛病。眼睛有毛病！这就是那个邻里环境破坏之王家的姑娘说出来的话。她家的灌木长得比窗户还高，到处杂草丛生，谷仓前面的空场快变成野生动物园了。我是说，她家有狗、猫、鸡，甚至养了几条蛇。我敢对天发誓，她哥哥在卧室里养了条大蟒蛇。十岁那年，他们把我拽进屋子，强迫我看着那条大蟒蛇吞下一只耗子。一只活蹦乱跳、眼睛滴溜溜转的耗子。他们提着那只啮齿动物的尾巴，大蟒一下子就整只吞下去了。这条蛇让我做了一个月的噩梦。

不管怎么说，我平时很少关心别人家的院子，但贝克家一团混乱的院子是我爸爸最大的心病，而他则把这种挫折的情绪倾泻在我家院子里。他说，我们有义务让邻居看看一个正常的院子该有的模样。

所以，当麦克和马特忙于投喂蟒蛇的时候，我只好忙着给院子除草、修剪草坪，打扫车道和水沟，而且依我看，我好像还真干得越来越投入了。

如果你以为朱莉的爸爸——一位又高又壮的砖瓦工——会打理院子，那就错了。据我妈妈透露，他把全部业余时间都用来画画了。他的风景画对我来说没什么特别的，但是从价签上看，他很看重这些画。每年梅菲尔德县交易会上都能看到它们，我爸妈从来只说一句话：“如果他肯把花在画画上的时间拿来打理院子，世界会变得更美好。”

我妈妈和朱莉的妈妈有时聊天。我猜想妈妈比较同情贝克夫人——她说她嫁了一个梦想家，所以，他们俩当中总有一个人过得不快乐。

那又怎样。也许朱莉对美的敏感正是遗传自她爸爸，并不是她的错。但朱莉总觉得那棵无花果树是上帝送给我们宇宙中这个小小角落的一份礼物。

三年级和四年级的时候，她经常和哥哥们一起坐在树杈上，或者剥下大块的树皮以便沿着树干滑到杈弯。无论什么时候妈妈开车带我们出门去，总能看见他们在那里玩。我们等红灯的时候，朱莉就在树杈间荡来荡去，总是快要摔下来跌断每一根骨头的样子，于是妈妈就会摇着头说：“你永远也不许像这个样子爬树，听见没有，布莱斯？我永远也不想看到你这样！你也是，利奈特。实在太危险了！”

姐姐一般会翻个白眼，说“废话”。而我则把头躲到车窗下面，祈祷在朱莉还没把我的名字喊得震天响之前赶紧变灯。

我确实试着爬过那棵树，只有一次，在五年级。在那之前一天，朱莉帮我把风筝从树上那些会“吃玩具的叶子”里取了下来。为了取我的风筝，她爬到特别高的地方，下来之后一脸淡定。她没有扣下风筝作为“人质”，也没像我担心的那样噘起嘴巴不理我。她只是把风筝递给我，然后转身走了。

我松了口气，同时觉得自己太逊了。当时我看到风筝挂住的位置，马上认定它已经回不来了。但朱莉不这么想。她二话不说就爬上树帮我拿下来。嘿，这真让人尴尬。

我默默地计算了一下她到底爬了多高，然后第二天计划至少爬到比她高出两根树枝的位置。我攀上了第一个大的杈弯，向上爬了两三根枝杈，然后——只是想看看自己进展如何——我向下看去。

大——错——特——错！我仿佛站在帝国大厦的顶层，没系安全带。我试着抬头寻找昨天风筝挂住的位置，但是根本看不见。我是个不折不扣的爬树白痴。

上了初中，我以为朱莉会从此消失的梦想也破灭了。我需要坐校车，而那个名字也不能提的人也是。我们这一站大概有八个学生一起等车，总是吵吵嚷嚷的，算是缓冲地带，但绝不是个安全地带。

朱莉总想站在我身边，跟我说话，或者用别的什么方法来折磨我。

最后她选择了爬树。一个七年级的女孩，开始爬树——爬得高高的。为什么？因为这样她就能居高临下地冲我们喊：校车离这儿还有五……四……三条街！一个挂在树上的流水账式的交通岗哨！每个初中同学每天早上听到的第一句话就是她说的。

她想叫我爬上去跟她待在一起：“布莱斯，上来呀！你绝对无法想象这儿的景色有多美！太神奇了！布莱斯，你一定要上来看看！”

是啊，我都能想象出来：“布莱斯和朱莉坐在树上……”二年级的往事，难道还阴魂不散吗？

一天早晨，我刻意地没有向树上看去，她忽然从树杈上跳下来，生生地撞到了我。害得我心脏病都要犯了！

我的背包掉在地上，还扭到了脖子，都赖她。我再也不愿意跟这只从精神病院跑出来的发疯的猴子一起在树下等车了。从此以后，我总是拖到最后一分钟才从家里出来。我设置了属于自己的校车站，看到校车快到了，就冲到山坡上去登车。

没有朱莉，就没有麻烦。

这种状况贯穿了七年级和八年级的大多数时间，一直延续到几个月前的一天。那天，我听到山坡上一阵骚动，几辆卡车停在克里尔街平时的校车站。一些人仰着头冲朱莉喊着什么，而她当然是在五层楼高的树顶上。

孩子们也慢慢朝树下聚拢过来，我听见他们说她必须从树上下来。她很好——对于任何一个耳朵没有问题的人来说都听得出来——但我不明白他们在吵什么。

我冲上山坡，当我离得近一点儿、看清那些人手里拿的是什么，我立刻明白了为什么朱莉拒绝从树上下来。

那是一台链锯。

千万别误解。这棵树长满了多瘤的树脂，纠结成难看的一团。和那些人吵架的人是朱莉——全世界最麻烦、最霸道、永远全知全能的女人。但是一瞬间我的胃就抽搐起来。朱莉爱这棵树，虽然听起来很蠢，可她就是爱这棵树，砍树就等于在她的心里砍上一刀。

每个人都劝她下来，包括我在内。但她说绝不下树，永远也不，然后她试图说服我们。“布莱斯，求你了！上来跟我一起。如果我们在这儿，他们就不敢砍树了！”

我思考了一秒钟。但这时校车来了，我告诉自己不要卷进去，这不是我的树，同样这也不是朱莉的树，虽然她表现得好像是她的。

我们登上校车，把她一个人留在那里，但这些都没有用。我忍不住一直在想朱莉，她还在树顶上吗？他们会不会把她抓起来？

放学后，当校车把我们送回来的时候，朱莉已经不见了，一起消失的还有上半棵树。顶部的树枝，我的风筝曾经卡住的地方，她最最心爱的栖身之地——统统消失了。

我们在那儿看了一会儿，看链锯如何开足马力，冒着浓烟，就像在把木头嚼一嚼吞下去似的。大树看起来摇摇欲坠，毫无还手之力，没过多久，我就非得离开那里不可。这活像是在观察一个分尸现场，有生以来，我第一次有种想要尖叫的感觉。为了一棵愚蠢的、我痛恨已久的树而尖叫。

回到家里，我试着忘掉这一切，但总是不由自主地想到，我是不是应该爬到树上，和她在一起？那样会有用吗？

我想给朱莉打个电话，说我很抱歉他们还是把树砍掉了，但始终没有打。我不知道这是不是会显得，呃，很奇怪。

第二天早上，她没有出现在校车站，下午也没有坐校车回家。

那天晚上，快要吃饭之前，外公把我召唤到前厅。他并没有在我经过那里的时候叫住我——那样就显得我们已经是朋友了。他只是告诉了我妈妈，然后妈妈再转告给我。“我不知道他想干什么，亲爱的，”她说，“也许他准备更进一步地了解你。”

很好。他已经认识我超过一年半了，却选择眼下这个时候来了解我。可我又不敢放他鸽子。

我的外公是个高大的人，他长着一只肉乎乎的鼻子，灰白的头发向后梳成背头。他常年穿着室内拖鞋和运动衫，我从来没见他留过胡须。胡子确实在长，但他几乎一天要刮三遍。对他来说，这是一种休闲娱乐活动。

除了一只肉肉的鼻子，他的手也又大又厚。我想人们大概不会太在意别人的手，但那只结婚戒指会让你意识到他的手有多结实。它从来没有被摘下来过，虽然妈妈说婚戒本来就不该摘下来，但我想恐怕只有切断它才能从他手上拿下来。如果外公再胖上几磅，戒指就会勒断他的手指。

当我见到他的时候，那双手握在一起，盖在他膝盖头的报纸上。我说：“外公，你找我？”

“坐下，我的孩子。”

孩子？大部分时间他根本就像不认识我一样，而现在我却忽然变成了他的“孩子”？我在对面的椅子上坐下，等着他说话。

“跟我说说你的朋友朱莉安娜·贝克吧。”

“朱莉？她不算是我的朋友……”

“为什么？”他冷静地问，好像早就知道我会这么说。

我开始辩解，然后停下来：“你为什么要问这个？”

他翻开报纸，抚平上面的折痕，我这才发现，朱莉安娜·贝克上了今天《梅菲尔德时报》的头版。

那是一张她在树上的大照片，周围是一整支消防队，还有警察，旁边配了几张小图片，我看不清楚。“能让我看看吗？”我说。

他把报纸叠起来，但没有递给我：“她为什么不是你的朋友，布莱斯？”

“因为她……”我猛摇头，试着向他解释，“你认识了朱莉自然会明白。”

“我很想认识她。”

“啊？为什么？”

“因为这姑娘很有骨气。你为什么不找个时间请她来家里玩呢？”

“有骨气？外公，你不明白！她是我遇到过的最大的麻烦。她是个活宝、百事通，还固执得不可救药！”

“真的吗？”

“没错！千真万确！而且她从二年级就开始跟踪我！”

他皱起眉头，然后望向窗外：“他们在那儿住了这么久？”

“我觉得他们简直在隔壁住了一辈子了！”

他眉头上的皱纹又加深了，目光回到我的身上：“你知道吗，不是每个人的隔壁都住着一个这样的女孩。”

“那他们真是太走运了！”

他长时间地、深深地审视着我。我问他：“怎么了？”但他没有退缩，而是继续盯着我看，而我退缩了——把目光转向一边。

别忘了，这是我和外公之间的第一次对话。这是他第一次想要跟我说点除了“把盐递过来”以外的话题。而他是想了解我吗？不！他只想了解朱莉！

我真恨不得马上跳起来逃跑，但还是按捺住了。不知怎么的，我知道如果我真的离开这里，那他就再也不会跟我说话了，连递盐这种话也不会再说。我坐在那儿，像受刑一样。他生气了吗？他凭什么对我生气？我根本什么也没做错！

当我抬起头的时候，他坐在那里把报纸递了过来。“看看这个，”他说，“不要有偏见。”

我接过报纸，而他又开始眺望窗外，我知道——我被丢在一边了。

回到自己的房间里，我气坏了。我关上卧室的门，把自己摔到床上，对外公生了一会儿气之后，把报纸塞进了书桌最下面的抽屉。谁愿意再多了解朱莉安娜·贝克的事啊！

吃晚饭的时候，妈妈问我为什么拉着一张脸，还不停地把目光停留在我和外公身上。看来外公不需要我递盐给他，幸好如此，否则我很可能会把盐瓶扔给他。

不过，姐姐和爸爸都和平时一样。利奈特从她的胡萝卜沙拉里挑出两个葡萄干吃了，然后把鸡翅剥掉皮、切成几段、细细地从骨头上啃下软骨；爸爸则占领了大家的耳朵，谈论着办公室政治和高管换血的需要。

没人在听——每次他说起这些“假如我是老大”的白日梦，都没人认真在听——但是这一次，甚至连妈妈都没有假装在听。

而且今天她也没有试着说服利奈特多吃点。她只是一直看着我和外公，想找出我们彼此怒目相向的原因。

他没什么理由可生我的气。我到底怎么惹着他了？没有，我什么都没做。但他确实生气了，我能看得出来。而我则彻底不去看他，直到晚饭吃到一半的时候，我才偷偷地向他瞥了一眼。

好吧，他在端详着我。他的目光即使不算是恶狠狠的、冷酷的，也至少是严格的、坚定的，让我觉得如坐针毡。

他到底想干吗？

我不再看他，也不看妈妈，继续专心吃饭，假装听爸爸聊天。一有机会，我就找了个借口回到自己的房间。

我打算像平时一样，在心烦意乱的时候给我的朋友加利特打个电话。号码拨出去了，我却不知道该说些什么，只好又挂了电话。当妈妈进屋的时候，我假装自己已经睡着了。这是好几年都没有发生过的事了。整个晚上，我都被这种奇怪的情绪包围着，只想一个人待着。

第二天，朱莉没有出现在校车站，星期五的早晨也是。她去学校了，但如果没有亲眼见到她，你根本感受不到她的存在。她没有挥着手要求老师叫她回答问题，也没有冲过走廊奔去上课。她没有在老师讲课的时候抢着接下茬，也没有制止不按顺序排队的孩子。她只是坐在那儿，安安静静地坐着。

我想说服自己，说她现在这样很好——就像她根本不存在一样，这不是我长期以来的希望吗？但是，我仍然高兴不起来。因为她的树，因为她在图书馆里一个人狼吞虎咽地吃午餐，因为她哭红的眼眶。我想跟她说：“嗨，我真为你的无花果树感到难过。”但始终没有说出口。

接下来的一个星期，他们又花了几天的时间运走那棵树。工人们清理了土地，还试图挖出树根，但它顽固地不肯动地方，所以人们转而锯掉树桩，让剩余的部分隐没在土里。

朱莉仍然没有出现在校车站，周末的时候，我听加利特说她骑了一辆自行车。他说上个星期有两次看到她在路边骑着一辆生锈的老旧十挡变速车，链条拖在变速器上。

我猜她会回来的。去梅菲尔德中学的路很长，等她把树的事忘在脑后，就会重新回到校车上。我甚至发现自己会不由自主地搜索她的身影。不是有意去找，只是希望能看到她。

一个雨天，我以为她肯定会来等校车，但她没有。加利特说看到她穿着一件鲜黄色的雨衣踩着单车，数学课上我发现她的裤子从膝盖以下全湿透了。

下课以后，我跟在她后面，想说服她重新乘坐校车，但是在最后一刻，我还是放弃了。我到底在想什么？朱莉根本不会在意一句友善的关怀，并且完全可能误解我的意思。嘿，伙计，你要注意了！最好还是离她远点吧。

不管怎么说，我最不希望看到的事情，就是让朱莉安娜·贝克以为我在想她。

Chapter 04

无花果树

我喜欢看爸爸画画。或者说，我其实是喜欢听他一边画画一边和我聊天。当他描画出层层风景时，那些话语总是变得温柔，似乎还有些沉重，那并不是悲伤。也许带着几分疲倦，但却充满平静。

爸爸没有画室，车库又总是被一堆以为有用却从来没有派上过用场的东西塞得满满的，所以，他在户外作画。

室外能看到最好的风景，但我家附近却没有什么风景可言。因此，爸爸习惯在卡车里放上一架照相机。作为泥瓦匠，他有很多机会去不同的地方，经常留心去寻找一片美丽的日出或夕阳，也许只是一处牛羊成群的田野，之后他从照片当中挑出一幅，夹在画框上，开始作画。

那些画还不错，但我总有点为他感到难过，不得不在模样欠佳的后院里画出美丽的景色。院子里从来就没什么好风景，自从我开始养鸡以来，就更糟了。

不过，爸爸画画的时候，似乎从来不会注意到院子本身，或是那些鸡。他看到的也不仅仅是照片和画布，而是更为庞大的东西。他的目光中流露出的神情，就像是已经超越了我家院子和邻居家，也超越了整个世界。当那双长茧子的大手握住小小的画笔扫过画布的时候，他就像被某种灵动、飘逸的东西附身了。

在我小时候，爸爸在门廊上画画的时候喜欢让我坐在他身边，只要我乖乖地不出声。保持安静对我来说有点难，不过我发现，只要五到十分钟不去看他，爸爸自己就会开始说话了。

我就是这样了解了爸爸的很多事情。他给我讲过各种故事，比如他在我这个年纪都做些什么，还有其他的——比如他怎样得到了第一份运送干草的工作，还有他多渴望能上完大学。

等我长大一点儿，他仍然给我讲他的故事，以及他的童年，但也开始问我一些问题。我在学校学了什么？最近在读什么书？还有我对各种事物的看法。

有一天，他出乎意料地问起了布莱斯的事。问我为什么对布莱斯这样着迷。

我给爸爸讲了他的眼睛、他的头发、他脸红的样子，但我觉得自己根本没有解释清楚，因为爸爸听我说完之后摇了摇头，语重心长地对我说，我需要抬头看看整个世界了。

我没太明白他的意思，却忍不住想反驳他。他怎么可能会理解布莱斯呢？爸爸根本就不认识他！

不过我们没有真的吵起来。在屋子里我们也许会吵架，但在院子里不会。

长时间的沉默之后，他亲了亲我的额头，然后说：“合适的光线就是一切，朱莉安娜。”

合适的光线？这是什么意思？我坐在那里想了又想，但不敢开口问他，生怕一开口就证明了自己还没有成熟到足以理解他的意思，虽然某种程度上这是明摆着的。他真以为我能理解吗？

从此以后，他不再多谈他做过的事情。等我长大一点儿，他似乎变得更加具有哲学气息。我不知道是他真的变了，还是他认为我已经超过十岁，能够听懂这些东西了。

大部分时间，他的话都被我当成了浮云，但我偶尔也能完全听懂他到底在说什么。“一幅画要大于构成它的那些笔画之和。”他这样说道，然后解释说为什么一头牛只是一头牛，一片草地只是一些花和草，太阳照射着树木只是一束光线，而把它们放在一起就有了一种魔力。

我明白他在说什么，但在我爬上无花果树的那天之前，我从未真切地感受过这句话的魅力。

这棵无花果树一直矗立在小山丘的最顶端。那儿有一大片空地，春天它为小鸟提供一个筑巢的空间，夏天它投出一片阴凉。它也是我们的天然滑梯。树干向上盘曲伸展，几乎长成一个完美的螺旋形，从上面滑下来真是乐趣无穷。妈妈告诉我，这棵树小时候遭受过损害，却生存下来了，一直屹立到百年后的今天，她认为这是她见过的最大的一棵树。她管它叫“坚毅的象征”。

我经常在树上玩，但是直到五年级，我去取一只挂在树杈上的风筝时，才真的爱上了爬树。我先是看着风筝自由地从天上滑落，然后眼看它一头栽到小山坡上无花果树的附近。

多年放风筝的经验告诉我——有的时候它们一去不复返，有的时候它们就等在你去拯救它们的路上。有些风筝很幸运，有的也很难搞。两种我都遇到过，一只幸运的风筝才值得你去追寻它。

这只风筝看来就很幸运。它的样子并不出奇，只是个传统的带蓝黄条纹的菱形风筝。但它用一种友善的方式跌跌撞撞地飞了一阵，当它掉落的时候，也是以某种疲倦的姿态栽下来，与那些态度恶劣的风筝截然相反。难搞的风筝们总是恶意地向着地面俯冲轰炸。它们从不疲倦，因为根本没有在天上待够那么长的时间。它们一般飞了十米左右就冲你坏笑一番，然后坠落，只是为了好玩而已。

“冠军”和我跑向克里尔街，在路上找了一会儿，“冠军”开始朝着无花果树的方向吠叫。我向上看去，也发现了枝杈间闪烁的蓝色和黄色。

看上去要爬很长一段距离，但我决定试试运气。我攀上树干，在树弯上寻找捷径，开始向上爬。“冠军”密切注视着我，一路吠叫，我很快便爬到了从未达到的高度。但是风筝却还在遥不可及的树梢上。

我向下看去，发现布莱斯正走过街角，正在穿过空地。从他向上窥探的方式，我能看出那是他的风筝。

原来这个风筝是这么、这么地幸运！

“你能爬到那么高吗？”他朝树上喊道。

“没问题！”我喊回去。我要向上、向上、再向上！

树枝很粗壮，并且提供了足够的交叉点，让攀爬变得容易起来。爬得越高，我就对上面的景色越惊讶。我从来没有见过这样的风景！就像是在飞机上俯瞰所有的屋顶、所有的树木。我在全世界最高的地方！

然后我向下望去，看到树下的布莱斯。忽然间我觉得有点头晕，膝盖也软了。我离地面有好几英里呢！布莱斯喊道：“你能够到它吗？”

我喘了口气，努力喊回去：“没问题！”然后强迫自己把注意力集中在头上的蓝黄条纹，在攀爬的过程中只盯着它。我终于摸到了，一把抓住它，那风筝现在就在我手里！

可是，风筝线缠在了头顶的树枝上，我没法把它拽出来。布莱斯对我喊：“把线扯掉！”我尽量照他的话去做了。

终于摘下了风筝，在下树之前我必须休息一下。我不再把目光投向地面，而是抱紧树干向外看去，朝着屋顶的方向。

忽然间，因为爬得太高而产生的恐惧感不见了，取而代之的则是一种“我正在飞翔”的神奇感觉，就像翱翔在大地之上，航行于云朵之间。

我突然发现，原来微风的味道是那么好闻。它闻起来就像……阳光。像阳光、野草、石榴和雨滴！我不由自主地大口呼吸着，我的肺被这种最甜蜜的味道一次又一次地充满。

布莱斯向上喊道：“你被卡住了吗？”我这才清醒过来。小心地向下退去，手里抓着那只珍贵的条纹风筝，我在下树的过程中看到布莱斯正绕着大树一直看着我，以确保我的安全。

当我爬到树弯处，爬树时那种让人飘飘然的感觉已经变成了一个让人飘飘然的现实：布莱斯和我正单独待在一起。

单独待在一起！

把风筝拿给他的时候，我的心脏狂跳不止。还没等他接住风筝，“冠军”就在背后轻推着我，我能感觉到它那又湿又凉的鼻子蹭在我的皮肤上。

蹭在我的皮肤上？

我向身后摸去，才发现牛仔裤的屁股后面撕了一个大口子。

布莱斯紧张地笑了笑，我知道他已经看到了，一瞬间，我的脸上火烧火燎。他拿着风筝跑开了，把我留在那里检查裤子的破洞。

我最后还是把裤子带来的尴尬抛在了脑后，却一直无法忘记树上的风景。我不断地想起坐在高高的树枝上的那种体验。

我还想再去看，再去体验。一次又一次地体验。

没过多久，我就不再害怕爬到高处，并且找到了一个只属于我的地方。我在那里一坐就是几个小时，什么都不做，只是向外眺望整个世界。夕阳美不胜收，有时候是紫色夹杂着粉色，有时候是烈焰般的橙色，把地平线附近的云彩都点着了。

就这样，某一天我忽然顿悟了爸爸所说的“整体大于局部之和”的道理。无花果树上的风景，已经超越了那些屋顶和云朵本身。

它有一种魔力。

而我开始惊讶于自己竟然同时体验到了卑微与宏大。这怎么可能呢？我的内心为何充满了平静，同时又充满了惊叹？简简单单的一棵树，怎么会让我体验到如此复杂的感情？它让我感觉到自己的存在。

一有机会，我就爬到树上。初中的时候几乎每天都爬，因为克里尔街有个校车站，正好在无花果树下。

一开始，我只想看看在校车到站之前能爬多高，没过多久，我就早早地出门，只为了爬到我独享的位置，欣赏日出，看小鸟振翅，看其他的孩子聚在路边。

我曾经试图劝其他等车的孩子跟我一起爬上来，哪怕只爬一点点高，但是他们全都不想把衣服弄脏。因为怕脏而拒绝一个感受奇迹的机会？我简直不敢相信。

我从来不敢把爬树的事告诉妈妈。她是个特别敏感的大人，一定会说爬树太危险。我的哥哥们，作为兄弟，他们才不管我呢。

还有爸爸，我知道他会理解我。不过，我还是不敢告诉他，他会告诉妈妈，然后他们很快就会禁止我再爬树。所以我保留了这个秘密，继续爬树，在俯瞰世界的时候感受着一份孤独的快乐。

几个月以前，我发现自己开始跟树说话了。一段完整的对话，只有我和树。从树上下来的时候，我有点想哭。为什么没有一个人愿意和我说话呢？为什么我不像其他人一样有个最好的朋友在身边？我当然认识学校里别的孩子，可他们中间没有一个人和我算得上亲密。他们对爬树不感兴趣，也一点儿都不关心阳光的味道。

那天晚饭之后，爸爸到户外去画画。寒冷的夜晚，在门廊刺眼的灯光下，他准备给一幅还未完工的日落风景添上最后几笔。

我穿上外套，来到屋子外面，在他身边坐下，安静得像一只小耗子。

过了一会儿，他说：“你在想什么，亲爱的？”

以前我们在一起的时候，爸爸从来没有问过这个问题。我看着他，却说不出话来。

他把两种不同色调的橙色混在一起，然后非常轻柔地说：“跟我说说吧。”

我重重地叹了口气，把自己都吓了一跳：“我理解你为什么到这里来了，爸爸。”

他故意逗弄我：“那你可以帮我跟妈妈解释一下咯？”

“我没有开玩笑，爸爸。现在我明白你说的‘整体大于部分之和’的意义了。”

他停止调色：“是吗？怎么回事？说说看。”

于是，我给他讲了无花果树的事。那里的风景、声音、色彩、风，还有爬到高处时飞翔般的感觉。如同一种魔力。

他一次都没有打断我，当我把憋在心里的话都说完，我看着他，低声说：“你能和我一起爬上去吗？”

他思考了很长时间，然后露出了笑容：“我很久不爬树了，朱莉安娜，但是我愿意试一试，真的。你看这个周末怎么样？白天我们有很长时间可以用来爬树。”

“太棒了！”

我带着激动的心情上床去睡觉，我想整晚我睡着的时间不会超过五分钟。星期六眼看就要到啦。我已经等不及了！

第二天早上，我起了个大早冲向校车站，爬到树上。正赶上太阳冲破云层，把火焰般的光束洒向世界的每一个角落。我在心里默默地列出一个清单，写满了要给爸爸看的东西，忽然听到树下一片嘈杂。

我朝下面望去，两辆卡车就停在树下，都是巨型卡车。其中一辆拖着长长的空拖车，另一辆装着一架车载式吊车——就是用来修理输电线和电线杆的那种。

四个男人站在那里聊着天，端着热水瓶喝水，我差一点儿就想对他们大喊：“对不起，这里不能停车……”

我的后半句话“这里是校车站”还没说出口，其中一个人就开始从卡车上卸下工具。手套、绳子、防滑链、耳罩，最后是链锯，三把链锯。

我还是没反应过来。我朝四周看去，想找到他们来这里到底想砍什么。这时，一个坐校车的学生走过来，和他们交谈起来，一会儿他伸手指了指树上的我。

其中一个人喊道：“嘿！你最好快点下来，我们就要砍树了。”

我紧紧地抱住树枝，忽然之间我觉得自己快要掉下去了。压抑住快要窒息的感觉，我问：“砍树？”

“对，现在赶紧下来吧。”

“可是，谁让你们来砍树的？”

“树的主人！”他喊道。

“为什么？”

即使在十几米的高空，我都能看到他的眉头皱了起来。他说：“因为他想建一座房子，这棵树挡了他的路。快点下来，姑娘，我们要工作了！”

大部分学生已经在车站等车了。没有人跟我说一句话，他们只是看着我，不时交头接耳。这时，布莱斯出现了，我知道校车就快到了。我越过房顶搜索了片刻，确定校车离这里已经不到四条街了。

我又惊又怕，心脏狂跳。我不知道该怎么办！不能眼睁睁地离开让他们砍了这棵树！我尖叫道：“你们不许砍树！就是不许！”

一个工人摇了摇头：“你再不下来，我就要叫警察了。你这是擅自妨碍我们工作。你是下来，还是想跟树一起被我们砍倒？”

校车离这里还有三条街。除了请病假，我从来没有因为任何原因逃过学，不过潜意识里我知道今天一定会错过这趟校车了。“你连我一起砍倒吧！”我喊道。忽然我想出一个主意。如果我们所有人都爬到树上，他们一定不敢再砍了！“嘿，伙伴们！”我招呼同学们，“上来陪我吧！如果我们都在树上，他们是不敢动手的！玛西亚！托尼！布莱斯！来呀，朋友，不能让他们砍树！”

学生们只是站在那里，盯着我看。

我看到校车了，就在一条街以外：“上来吧，伙伴们！不用爬这么高，一点点就够！快来吧！”

校车晃晃悠悠地开过来，停靠在路边，就停在卡车前面，车门一开，所有同学一个接一个地上车了。

之后发生了什么事情，在我的记忆里有点模糊不清。我记得邻居们聚在一起，警察拿着扩音器。我记得搭起了消防云梯，有个人跳出来说这棵倒霉的树是属于他的，我最好赶紧从树上下来。

妈妈被人叫来了。一改往日的理性形象，她又喊又叫，求我从树上下来，可我就是不动地方。我不会下去的。

后来，爸爸也赶了过来。他从卡车里跳下来，跟妈妈交谈了一会儿，然后请吊车司机把他升到我所在的地方。这时我只有缴械投降的份儿了。我哭了，我试着让他俯瞰房顶上面的景色，但他不肯。

他说没有什么风景比他小女儿的安全来得更重要。

爸爸把我从树上接下来，然后送我回家，但我根本待不下去。我受不了远处传来的链锯声音。

于是，他只好带着我去工作，在他砌墙的时候，我坐在卡车里哭泣。

我至少哭了整整两个星期。当然，我又去上学了，努力做出最好的表现，但再也不坐校车了。我改骑自行车上学，虽然要骑很长一段路，但不必每天到克里尔街等车了，也不用面对一堆木屑，它们曾经是全世界最美的无花果树。

一天晚上，当我回到自己的房间，爸爸走进来，拿着一件用毛巾盖住的东西。我看出那是一张画，因为每当在公园做展览的时候，他总是这样运输他的重要作品。他坐下来，把画放在面前的地板上。“我一直很喜欢你的树，”他说，“甚至在你告诉我之前，我就喜欢上它了。”

“哦，爸爸，没关系。已经都过去了。”

“不，朱莉安娜。你不会忘记它的。”

我哭了：“只是一棵树……”

“我不希望你这样说服自己。我们都知道，这不仅仅是一棵树的问题。”

“但是爸爸……”

“听我说完，好吗？”他深吸了一口气，“我希望这棵树的灵魂可以一直陪在你身边。我希望你记住爬到树上的感觉，”他犹豫了一下，把画递给我，“所以，我给你画了这幅画。”

我掀开毛巾，看到了我的树。我美丽、庄严的无花果树。他在枝条中间添上了火焰般的阳光，而我似乎能感觉到微风吹拂着树叶。树顶上，一个小女孩正在向远处眺望，她的脸蛋红红的，染红它的是风，是欢乐，是魔力。

“别哭了，朱莉安娜。我想帮助你，不是想惹你伤心。”我擦去脸上的泪痕，轻轻地抽着鼻子。“谢谢你，爸爸，”我抽泣着说，“谢谢你。”

我把画挂在床对面的墙上。它是我每天早上睁眼之后看到的第一样东西，也是晚上闭眼之前看到的最后一样东西。现在我见到它不会再掉眼泪了，在我眼里，它已经不仅仅是一棵树，我理解了树上的时光对我来说意味着什么。从那一天起，我对待周遭事物的看法开始改变了。

Chapter 05

嘿——嘿——嘿！快走开！

我害怕鸡蛋，也害怕鸡。好吧，你想笑就笑吧，不过我确实没有骗你。

关于鸡蛋，那是六年级的事了。

这里面还有一条蛇。

以及贝克家的兄弟们。

贝克家的两兄弟名叫马特和麦克，不过直到现在我也分不清谁是谁。他们一向形影不离。虽然不是双胞胎，但两个人的长相和声音却出奇地相似，他们都和利奈特一个班，所以其中的一个也许留过级。

反正，我从没见过哪个老师心甘情愿地连续两年教这两个疯子，无论哪一个。

不管怎么说，马特和麦克让我见识了蛇怎么吃鸡蛋。我说吃鸡蛋，是指连壳也不剥，囫囵吞下去的吃法。

如果不是利奈特，我可能一辈子都无法摆脱对爬行类动物的小小恐惧。利奈特和住在三条街以外的斯凯勒·布朗是死党，一有机会，她就跑去看他练习打鼓。就是那种，咚——咚——砰什么的，好像跟我也没什么关系，对吧？但是后来斯凯勒和朱莉的哥哥组了一个乐队，他们起名叫“神秘小便”。

妈妈听说以后，快要气炸了：“哪个父母会放任孩子组织什么‘神秘小便’乐队？太下流了。真是恶心！”

“这就是他们要达到的目的，妈妈，”利奈特试着给她解释，“名字什么也代表不了。只是为了惹那些老家伙生气。”

“你在说我老吗，年轻的女士？因为我确确实实生你们的气了！”

利奈特只是耸耸肩，表示妈妈随便怎么想都可以。

“去！回到你房间去。”妈妈恶狠狠地说。

“为什么？”利奈特也恶狠狠地回答她，“我什么也没说！”

“你当然知道这是为什么。现在给我回屋去，好好反省你的态度，年轻姑娘！”

于是，利奈特就这样再一次因为青春期的冲动被关了禁闭，从此以后，只要晚餐时间利奈特迟到了两分钟以上，妈妈就会命令我去斯凯勒家叫她回家。利奈特大概觉得很尴尬，但我感觉更糟。我还在上小学，而“神秘小便”的成员已经上中学了。他们成熟，穿着讲究，邻里之间都听得到他们的电吉他奏出的强力和弦，而我看起来就像是刚从主日学校回家的小孩儿。

我紧张得不得了，叫利奈特回家吃饭的时候连声音都变尖了。真的，我一点儿也不夸张。不过没过多久，乐队就把名字里的“神秘”二字去掉了，“小便”斯凯勒和乐队其他成员也慢慢习惯了我的出现。他们不再对我怒目相向，而是对我说：“嘿，小弟弟，过来一起玩一会儿！”或是“嗨，布莱斯弟弟，想跟我们来段即兴吗？”

于是，我就这样混进了斯凯勒·布朗家的车库，身边围绕着一群中学生，观看一条大蟒蛇吞鸡蛋。我早就在贝克兄弟家的卧室里见过它吃下一只老鼠，所以“小便”的把戏没那么容易吓到我。况且，我意识到他们是存心保留这个小节目用来捉弄我，于是打定主意不能让他们得逞。

不过，这还真有点难度，亲眼见证蛇吞下一只鸡蛋，要比想象中更令人毛骨悚然。那条蟒蛇把血盆大口张到吓人的程度，含住鸡蛋，只听“咕噜”一声，那只鸡蛋就滚进了它的喉咙。但是戏还没演完。蟒蛇吞下三个鸡蛋之后，马特——也许是麦克——说：“布莱斯弟弟，你知道它怎么消化这些蛋吗？”

我嫌恶地耸耸肩，试图保持住正常说话的声音，然后答道：“胃酸？”

他摇头，装出一副天机不可泄露的表情：“它需要一棵树，或者一条腿。”他冲我咧嘴笑着，“你愿意把腿借给它吗？”

我向后退了两步，眼前全是那个怪物把我整条腿当成餐后甜点一口吞掉的画面。“不——不行！”我说。

他笑了，指着正在爬过房间的大蟒：“噢，太糟糕了。它选择了另一种方式，打算用钢琴代替你的腿。”

用钢琴！这到底是条什么蛇啊？姐姐怎么能容忍跟这些疯子待在同一个房间？我看着她，虽然利奈特仍然表现出一副无所谓的样子，但我了解她——她早就被吓出一身鸡皮疙瘩了。

蛇把身体在钢琴脚上绕了三圈，然后马特——也许是麦克——竖起食指：“嘘！嘘！安静安静。看好了！”

蛇停止蠕动，开始收缩身体。随着收缩的过程，我们听到了鸡蛋在体内碎裂的声音。“天哪，太恶心了！”女孩子们感叹道。“哎哟，我的天！”男孩子们说。麦克和马特相视大笑：“准备开饭！”

面对蟒蛇，我希望保持冷静，但事实上我开始做噩梦，梦里全是蛇在吞鸡蛋、吞老鼠、吞猫。

还有我自己。

真正的噩梦由此开始。

在斯凯勒家车库里看完那场秀大约两周后的一天早上，朱莉出现在我家门口，猜猜她手里拿着什么？半箱鸡蛋。她蹦蹦跳跳的，就像在过圣诞节：“你好呀，布莱斯！还记得艾比、邦妮、克莱德和德克斯特吗？还有尤尼斯和佛罗伦斯？”

我一头雾水地看着她。圣诞老人的驯鹿好像不叫这个名字呀。

“你知道吧……我养的鸡？去年科技展孵化出的那些。”

“哦，没错。当然忘不了。”

“它们下蛋了！”她把纸箱塞进我手里，“拿着！这是送给你和你全家的。”

“哦。呃，谢谢。”说着，我关上了门。

我以前很喜欢吃鸡蛋。尤其是炒蛋，配上培根或者番茄酱。可是，就算没有蟒蛇在其中作梗，我也知道这些鸡蛋无论怎么烹调，吃在我嘴里必定味同嚼蜡。因为生蛋的鸡是朱莉安娜·贝克在五年级科技展上孵出来的。

那是典型的朱莉作风。她完完全全支配了科技展，而她的项目自始至终都是在观察鸡蛋。要知道，孵蛋的过程其实没什么值得大书特书的细节。调好光线，摆好容器，铺上碎报纸，就是这样。没有别的了。

但是，朱莉决心要写一篇冗长的报告，还要加上图表——线图、柱状图和饼图——来描述鸡蛋的活动。几个鸡蛋而已！

她还计算了孵蛋的时间，控制它们在展览当天晚上孵出小鸡。她干吗非得这么做啊？我辛辛苦苦做了一个火山喷发的实景模型，结果人人都去关心朱莉的小鸡怎么破壳了。我也亲自去看了一眼——完全客观地说——太无聊了。小鸡只花了五秒钟的时间就破壳而出，而后的五分钟里就躺在那儿一动不动。

我听见朱莉叽里咕噜地对评委们说着什么。她拿着一支教鞭——你能相信吗？不是铅笔，而是一支真正的可伸缩的教鞭，以便她站在孵化器旁边也能指着那些图表，介绍观察小鸡21天孵化过程的兴奋之情。

她只差没穿一身小鸡戏服了，朋友，我敢保证——如果她真的想穿，早就穿上了。

不过，这件事已经过去了。这就是朱莉会做的事，对吧？但是一年后的今天，眼前突然跑出来一箱自家出产的鸡蛋。刚好妈妈从走廊里探出头来问我：“刚才是谁啊，亲爱的？你拿着什么东西？是鸡蛋吗？”这时候我很难压住火气，不去想她那个得了大奖的愚蠢的项目吧。

从妈妈的表情来看，她正在忙着做饭。“是的，”我把鸡蛋递给她，“不过我只想吃麦片。”

她打开纸箱看了看，然后笑着合上了。“真不错！”她说，“谁送来的？”

“朱莉。她下的。”

“她下的？”

“呃，她家的鸡下的。”

“是吗？”妈妈的笑容退去，她重新打开纸箱，“这样啊。我不知道她还……养了鸡。”

“记得吗？去年科技展的时候，你和爸爸花了一个小时看它们出壳。”

“好吧，可是我们怎么才能知道……这些鸡蛋里有没有小鸡？”

我耸耸肩：“我说过了，我只吃麦片。”

那天我们吃的都是麦片，但谈话的内容一直是鸡蛋。爸爸认为它们完全可以吃——他小的时候吃过农场养殖的新鲜鸡蛋，非常鲜美。但妈妈无法摒弃她会从鸡蛋里敲出一只死鸡的念头，然后话题迅速转向了公鸡的问题——我抱着我的麦片只好无语了。

最后利奈特说：“如果他们养了一只公鸡，你觉得我们会不知道吗？所有的邻居会不知道？”

嗯，我们都认为她说到点子上了。但是妈妈仍然不甘心：“也许他们养了一只不会打鸣的。你知道——就像不会叫的狗一样？”

“一只不会打鸣的公鸡。”爸爸说，就像听到了最最荒谬的故事一样。他看了妈妈一眼，意识到自己最好还是附和她关于公鸡不会打鸣的主意，而不是取笑她。“呃，”他说，“我从来没听说过，不过这也是有可能的。”

利奈特耸耸肩，对妈妈说：“你去问问他们好啦。给贝克夫人打个电话就知道了。”

“哦，”妈妈说，“好吧，我可不想问她关于鸡蛋的问题。这听起来不太礼貌，对不对？”

“问问马特或者麦克。”我对利奈特说。

她怒视着我，从牙缝里说：“闭嘴。”

“怎么了？我什么也没说！”

“你没发现我再也不去他家了吗，白痴！”

“利奈特！”妈妈喊道，就像是头一次听到姐姐用这种态度对我说话似的。

“嘿，这是真的！他怎么会不知道呢？”

“我正想问你呢，亲爱的。出什么问题了？”

利奈特站起来，把椅子推回去。“别装得好像你真的关心我似的。”她咬着牙说，然后冲回房间去了。

“唉，天哪！”爸爸说。

妈妈站起来：“不好意思。”然后跟着利奈特去了走廊。

妈妈走了以后，爸爸说：“好吧，孩子，为什么你不去问问朱莉呢？”

“爸爸！”

“就问个简单的问题嘛，布莱斯。没什么大不了。”

“但是她会拉住我解释半个小时！”

他盯着我看了一分钟，然后说：“男孩不应该害怕女孩。”

“我不是怕她……”

“我觉得你是。”

“爸爸！”

“真的，孩子。我希望你去问问她。克服恐惧，回来告诉我们答案。”

“问他们养没养公鸡？”

“是的，”他站起来，收起盛麦片的碗，“我得去上班了，你也要去上学。我希望今晚听到答案。”

好极了。真是好极了。这一天还没有开始，就被毁掉了。在学校，我跟加利特讲了这件事，他却只是耸耸肩说：“好吧，她就住在你家对街，是不是？”

“对，怎么了？”

“你爬上围栏去看看呗。”

“你让我偷偷摸摸去侦察一下？”

“当然了。”

“可是……我怎么才能知道他们养没养公鸡？”

“公鸡嘛……我不知道……体形大一些。羽毛更多。”

“羽毛？你是说我要去数羽毛？”

“不，笨蛋！我妈妈说公鸡的羽毛更鲜艳。”他笑了，“不过对你来说，我就不确定了。”

“谢谢。你帮了我大忙，伙计。太谢谢了。”

“记住，公鸡的个头更大，羽毛更鲜艳。你知道吧，就是屁股后面那些长长的羽毛。红色，或者黑色，或者别的颜色。还有，公鸡是不是头上长了些红色的软乎乎的东西？还有脖子上也是？没错，反正公鸡在脑袋的四周都长着红色的软东西。”

“所以你的意思是，我应该爬上围栏，寻找长了长羽毛和红色软东西的家伙。”

“哦，等等，万一小鸡也长了那些红色的软东西呢。你看着办吧。”

我朝他翻着白眼，差一点儿就想说，我还是问问朱莉算了。但他忽然说道：“如果需要的话，我陪你去。”

“真的吗？”

“当然，哥们儿。真的。”

于是，我和加利特·安德森就这样在下午三点半来到贝克家的后墙，紧张地朝院子里偷窥。不是为了行动隐蔽，而是不这样就没法在当天晚饭时间向爸爸交差了。

我们行动得很迅速。下课铃一响，我们就从学校溜出来，因为在计划里，如果我们到贝克家够早，就能在朱莉到家之前搞定一切。连书包都没放回家，我们就直接冲下小路，准备实施偷窥计划。

其实不一定要爬上贝克家的围栏。我发现，从外面几乎可以直接看到院子里的景象。但是加利特执着地抻着脖子向上看，我不得不照计划行事，不过潜意识里我还是想到，加利特不住这附近，而我还要继续住在这儿呢。

后院乱得一塌糊涂，这倒没有出乎我的意料。灌木已经长疯了，用木头和铁丝搭的鸡笼摆在一边，院子里没铺草坪，而是一层肥沃的土壤。

加利特先发现了那条狗，它睡在露台上两张丑陋的折叠椅中间。他指指狗：“你觉得它会给咱们捣乱吗？”

“我们不会在里面待太久的，不至于惹上麻烦！那些该死的鸡在哪儿？”

“也许在笼子里。”他捡起一块石头，朝那堆胶合板和铁丝网组成的破烂扔过去。

只听见一阵掀动羽毛的声音，后来其中一只拍着翅膀走出来。它没走多远，却也足够让我们看到它的羽毛和红色的冠子。

“怎么样？”我问，“这是公鸡吗？”

他耸耸肩：“我觉得像小鸡。”

“你怎么知道？”

他又耸耸肩：“我就是知道。”

我们看着它翻动泥土，然后我问：“好吧，母鸡长什么样？”

“母鸡？”

“是啊。有公鸡、小鸡，也有母鸡。母鸡长什么样？”

“那里就有一只。”他指着贝克家的后院说。

“那么，小鸡什么样？”

他看着我，就像我是个疯子：“你在说什么？”

“我说小鸡！小鸡什么样？”

他往后退了一步，说：“布莱斯弟弟，你疯了吗。那就是一只小鸡！”他弯腰捡起另一块石头，正要往外扔，这时露台的玻璃门被推开了，朱莉从屋里走出来。

我们一起缩回头。我一边透过围栏向里面望着，一边问道：“她什么时候回来的？”

加利特小声抱怨着：“就在你抽风问起那只小鸡的时候。”然后悄声说，“不过，这么一来倒是简单了。她是不是拿着篮子？她大概要过来捡鸡蛋。”

但是她要先宠爱一下她那条脏兮兮的狗。她弯下腰，把狗搓圆揉扁地爱抚了一通，然后唱起了歌。

她竟然真的在唱歌，用尽全力扯着嗓子：“在阴天中的一缕阳光，外边还很冷，这个月已经是五月，我猜测你会说是什么让我们走上这条路，我的女孩，我谈论的女孩……”

她朝鸡笼里望去，咕咕地叫着：“你好呀，弗洛！下午好，邦妮！过来呀，我的小宝贝！”

鸡笼不够大，她不能走到里面去。它更像一个单面坡顶的小屋，连狗都很难往里钻。不过，什么事情也难不住朱莉安娜·贝克。她弯下身，手掌和膝盖着地，一头扎进去。鸡们咯咯叫着，拍着翅膀跑出来，转眼院子里全是鸡，朱莉只露出一双沾满鸡粪的鞋在笼子外面。

我们听到的不光是鸡叫。她在笼子里继续颤声唱道：“我不需要金钱财富和名誉，我已经很富有，亲爱的，你就是我想要的，我猜测你会说是什么让我们走上这条路，我的女孩，我谈论的女孩……”

有那么一瞬间，我的注意力根本不在寻找小鸡身上有没有红色的冠子或是羽毛。我低头看着朱莉安娜·贝克的脚，好奇这世界上怎么会有人趴在东倒西歪的鸡舍里、鞋子上沾满鸡粪，却还是那么快乐。

加利特让我重新回到现实。“这些都是小鸡，”他说，“你看。”

我迅速地把视线从朱莉的鞋子上收回，开始研究那些鸡。先是清点数量，1——2——3——4——5——6，都在这里了。

不管怎么说，谁能忘了她当初孵出了六只小鸡呢？这是本校有史以来的最高纪录——县里的每一个人都听说了。

可我还是不知道该怎么开口请教加利特。没错，它们全是小鸡，这能说明什么问题？我不想让他再有机会数落我，但还是没看出其中的意义。最后，我还是问他：“你是说，这里没有公鸡？”

“绝对没有。”

“你怎么知道？”

他耸肩：“公鸡走起路来趾高气扬的。”

“趾高气扬？”

“是的。可是你看——这里没有一只鸡长了长羽毛，还有那些红色的软软的东西，”他点点头，“是的。它们肯定都是小鸡。”

那天晚上，爸爸开门见山地问：“好吧，儿子，任务完成了吗？”他边说边用力刺向碗里的意大利面，在叉子上卷成一团。

我也把面条如此处理，朝他微微一笑。“嗯哼，”我的语气就像是播报新闻，“它们都是小鸡。”

他翻卷叉子的手忽然停住了：“所以？”

我感觉到有什么不对，但不知道是哪里不对。我试着继续保持微笑，说：“什么所以？”

他放下叉子，盯着我的脸：“她是这么回答你的？‘它们都是小鸡’？”

“呃，不完全是。”

“她到底是怎么回答的？”

“呃……其实她什么都没说。”

“这是什么意思？”

“意思是我跑去她家然后自己看了一眼。”我努力说得像是一项了不起的成就，但是爸爸不买账。

“你没问她？”

“我不需要问，加利特很懂行，我们一起去观察得出了结论。”

利奈特回来了，她刚才去洗掉了仅剩的几根面条上的干酪酱。拿过盐瓶，她瞪了我一眼：“你才是小鸡。”

“利奈特！”妈妈说，“你注意点。”

利奈特停止撒盐：“妈妈，他去偷窥了。你明白吗？他从别人家的围栏向里偷窥，难道你能容忍他这么做？”

妈妈把头转向我这边：“布莱斯，这是真的吗？”

现在人人都在盯着我看，我觉得有必要维护自己的脸面：“这算什么？你让我去搞清楚他们家养了什么鸡，我就去了！”

“嘿——嘿——嘿！”姐姐发出低低的吼声。

爸爸没有恢复咀嚼。“而你的答案是，”他字斟句酌地说，“它们都是……小鸡。”

“是的。”

他叹了口气，叉起一口面条，嚼了很久很久才咽下去。

我的心迅速地往下沉，却还是一头雾水。为了打破尴尬，我说：“所以，你们可以放心吃那些鸡蛋了，不过我连碰都不想碰，千万别再跟我提到它们了。”

妈妈一边吃着沙拉，一边用目光在爸爸和我的脸上反复逡巡，我相信她在等待爸爸对我侦察邻居家的壮举做出表示。但爸爸什么都没说，于是她清清喉咙，说道：“为什么？”

“因为……呃，因为……我不知道该怎么说。”

“说出来。”爸爸忽然开口。

“呃，因为，你知道，那里到处都是屎。”

“哦，太恶心了！”姐姐边说边扔下她的叉子。

“你是说鸡的粪便？”妈妈问。

“是的。那个院子里连草坪都没有。到处都是土，还有，呃，你懂的，鸡屎。小鸡踩在上面，在鸡屎里啄来啄去，还……”

“天哪，恶心死了！”利奈特哀号道。

“真的，就是这样！”

利奈特站起来：“你觉得我听了这个还吃得下去？”然后昂首阔步地走出房间。

“利奈特！你必须吃点东西再走。”妈妈朝她身后喊道。

“不，我不吃了！”她喊回来，一秒钟以后，她转过头，探进客厅说，“而且你再也别指望我吃一个鸡蛋了，妈妈。‘沙门氏菌’这个词对你而言一点儿意义都没有吗？”

利奈特冲向走廊，妈妈说：“沙门氏菌？”她把头转向爸爸，“你觉得鸡蛋上有沙门氏菌吗？”

“我不知道，佩西。我更担心的是，我儿子是个胆小鬼。”

“胆小鬼？瑞克，别这么说。布莱斯才不是胆小鬼呢。他是个出色的孩子，他——”

“他害怕一个小姑娘。”

“爸爸，我不怕她，是她总来烦我！”

“为什么？”

“你知道为什么！她也来烦过你。她做事太过分了！”

“布莱斯，我希望你克服恐惧心理，可是你总是半途而废。如果你喜欢她，那就是另外一回事了。爱是一种让人害怕的东西，但你面对的不是爱，是尴尬。是的，她话太多了，她对每一件小事都过分热心了，可是，那又怎么样呢？敲门进去，问她问题，再走出来。勇敢地面对她，把你的问题大声说出来！”

“瑞克……”妈妈说，“瑞克，冷静点。他确实回答了你问他的问题……”

“不，他没有！”

“你这是什么意思？”

“他告诉我说，那里全都是小鸡！它们当然都是小鸡！我的问题是，有几只公的，几只母的。”

爸爸的话好像一下一下敲进我脑子里，好吧，我觉得自己是个彻头彻尾的傻瓜。难怪他讨厌我。我真是个白痴！它们都是小鸡……上帝！加利特假装自己是个鸡类专家，其实他什么也不懂！我怎么会相信他的话呢？

但是太晚了。爸爸已经认定我是个胆小鬼，为了帮我克服恐惧，他决定让我把那盒鸡蛋送回贝克家，并告诉他们我家不吃鸡蛋，或者我们对鸡蛋过敏，任何借口都行。

妈妈插了进来：“你看看你都在教他什么呀，瑞克？这不是真的。如果他把鸡蛋还回去，难道不应该跟他们说实话吗？”

“怎么说？说你害怕沙门氏菌？”

“我？你不是也有点担心吗？”

“佩西，这不是重点。重点是，我不想有个胆小的儿子！”

“所以你教他说谎？”

“好吧。那就把鸡蛋扔掉算了。不过从现在开始，我要求你正视那个厉害小妞的眼睛，听见没有？”

“好的，长官。”

“好，就这样吧。”

接下来的八天里，我完全忘记了这件事。第九天，她又出现了，早上七点钟，在我家门廊上手里拿着鸡蛋，蹦蹦跳跳地说：“嗨，布莱斯！给你。”

我试着直视她的眼睛，礼貌地谢绝，可是该死的，她看起来那么高兴，我根本没有完全睡醒，不敢就这样拒绝她。

她兴奋地把又一盒鸡蛋塞进我手里，而我紧张地把它们塞进厨房的垃圾桶，赶在我爸爸下楼来吃早餐之前。

这种情况一直持续了两年。两年哪！它已经变成我早上的固定节目。我得留心朱莉的到来，这样就能在她敲门或者按门铃之前把门打开，我还得在爸爸出现之前及时地把鸡蛋毁尸灭迹。

终于有一天，我搞砸了。那段时间，因为无花果树被砍，朱莉其实已经不怎么出现了，但是突然有一天早上，她又回到我家门口的台阶上来送鸡蛋。像平时一样，我接过它们，然后想拿去丢掉。但是厨房的垃圾桶太满了，盛不下这个盒子，所以我把它们放在垃圾的最上面，提起垃圾桶，推开房门，打算把它们一股脑儿地倒进门外的垃圾箱。

猜猜谁像个雕塑似的站在我家门廊上？

当然是送蛋的小母鸡。

我差点把垃圾桶翻倒在门廊上。“你怎么还在这儿？”我问她。

“我……我不知道。我只是在……想事情。”

“想什么？”我绝望了。我急需找到什么东西用来转移她的注意力，在她发现这堆垃圾最上面是什么之前。她把目光移开了，就像难为情似的。朱莉安娜·贝克会觉得难为情？我认为这是不可能的。

不过，管他呢。这是个难得的机会，我可以把一本湿漉漉的杂志盖在盛鸡蛋的盒子上，而我抓住了这关键的机会。然后，我试图向侧院里的垃圾箱发起快攻，但她竟然上来封堵我。没错，她走过来严严实实地挡住了我的去路，然后伸出手臂，就像在断球。

她追着我不放，堵住我。“怎么回事？”她追问道，“是摔碎了吗？”

太好了。我怎么没想到？“是的，朱莉，”我告诉她，“我真的很抱歉。”

而我心里想的是，求求你，上帝，哦求求你，上帝，让我把它们扔进垃圾箱吧。

但上帝一定是睡着了。朱莉抓住垃圾箱，翻出她宝贵的鸡蛋，马上就发现它们都好好的，连裂纹也没有。

她手里拿着鸡蛋，定定地站在那里，而我倒掉剩下的垃圾。

“你为什么要扔掉它们？”她问，可听上去完全不像平时的朱莉安娜·贝克。那声音轻轻的，带着颤抖。

于是，我告诉她我们害怕被传染沙门氏菌，因为她家的院子实在太脏了，而且我们不想伤害她的感情。我说得好像我们是对的，她才是错的，但我觉得自己就像个浑蛋，一个假惺惺的浑蛋。

她说，有几家邻居从她那里买鸡蛋。花钱买。

当我的脑子还在处理这个惊人的消息时，她已经迅速地心算过了。“你有没有想过，为了给你这些鸡蛋，我已经损失了超过一百美元？”她的眼泪汹涌而出，转身跑过街道。

我只能努力说服自己，并不是我开口向她要这些鸡蛋的——我从没说过我们想要、需要或是喜欢它们——事实上，我从来没见朱莉哭过。不管是体育课上摔断了手臂，还是在学校被别的孩子欺负，或者被她的哥哥们戏弄。即使他们砍倒无花果树的时候她也没哭。刚才，我可以肯定她哭了，但我并没有真的看见她的眼泪。

对我来说，朱莉安娜·贝克那么坚强，不可能掉眼泪。

我回到自己的房间收拾上学用的东西，感到自己是地球上有史以来最糟糕的浑蛋。我躲着她、躲着爸爸鬼鬼祟祟地扔了两年鸡蛋——我成什么了？我为什么不能站出来说，不要再送了，谢谢你，我们不想要，我们不需要，我们不喜欢……把它们留给蛇吃吧，为什么不告诉她？说什么都可以！

难道我真的害怕伤害她的感情？

或者，我害怕的是她？

Chapter 06

鸡蛋

无花果树被砍倒以后，似乎一切都分崩离析了。“冠军”死了，然后我发现了关于鸡蛋的真相。“冠军”到了该离开的时候，虽然我很想它，但是对我来说，接受“冠军”的离去比接受鸡蛋的真相还要来得更容易些，我仍然不敢相信鸡蛋的事。

在这个事件当中，鸡蛋比鸡来得更早，而狗要比它们两个都早。我六岁的一天晚上，爸爸下班回来，卡车车厢里拴着一条已经完全长大的狗。有人在十字路口中间打它，爸爸停下来查看它的伤势。他发现这个可怜的小东西瘦得像根铁轨，没带任何证明身份的东西。“它饿极了，完全迷了路。”他告诉我妈妈，“你能想象有人这样抛弃他们的狗吗？”

全家人都聚在门廊上，我几乎挤不进去。一条小狗！

一条美妙的、快乐的、棒透了的狗狗！现在我明白了，“冠军”长得一点儿也不漂亮，但在你六岁的时候，任何一条狗——不管它有多脏——都是漂亮的、讨人喜欢的。

对哥哥们来说，它也非常好，不过从妈妈那纠结的表情来看，我知道她在思考。丢掉这条狗？哦，没错。我肯定她是这样想的。但是，她只是简简单单地说：“家里没有地方养动物。”

“特瑞纳，”爸爸说，“这不是养不养的问题。这是同情心的问题。”

“你不是在对我说想养它当……宠物吧？”

“绝对不是这个意思。”

“那你是什么意思？”

“给它好好地吃一顿饭，洗个澡……然后我们也许可以打个广告，给它找个家。”

她隔着门槛注视着他：“没有‘也许’。”

哥哥们说：“我们不能养它？”

“没错。”

“可是，妈——妈。”他们抱怨着。

“没什么可讨论的。”她说，“给它洗个澡，吃点东西，在报纸上登广告。”

爸爸一只手搂着马特，另一只手搂着麦克：“总有一天，孩子们，我们会养条小狗。”

妈妈已经转身向屋子里走去，听到这里又回过头：“除非你们先学会让自己的房间保持整洁，孩子们！”

一周之内，狗狗被起名为“冠军”。第二个星期，它的领土从后院延伸到厨房。没过多久，它就完全跑到屋子里活动了。看来没人想要一条已经长大的、快乐地叫个不停的狗。嗯，除了贝克家五个人中的四个。

妈妈发现了一种味道。一种来源不明的神秘味道。我们也都承认自己闻到了，但不同意妈妈说这是“冠军”的味道。她要求我们那么频繁地给它洗澡，所以这不可能是它身上的味道。我们每个人都认真地闻过它，那是完美的玫瑰香味。

我私下里怀疑是马特和麦克没有好好洗澡，但我可不想靠近去闻他俩。由于无法确定“冠军”是不是味道的来源，我们只好把这味道称为“神秘的气味”。整个晚餐时间，我们都在谈论这个“神秘的气味”，哥哥们认为这很好玩，而妈妈可不这么想。

有一天，妈妈解开了这个谜。要不是爸爸出手营救、把狗儿赶跑，妈妈没准儿会打破“冠军”的头。

妈妈气得发疯：“我说过一定是它。‘神秘的气味’原来都是来自‘神秘小便’！你看见没有？看见没有？它刚才就尿在了茶几上！”

爸爸拿着一卷手纸冲向刚才“冠军”待过的地方：“在哪儿？在哪儿呢？”

三滴液体正顺着桌子腿流下来。“那儿，”妈妈说，颤抖的手指对准那片潮湿，“就在那儿！”

爸爸把它擦干净，检查着地毯：“这里一滴都没有。”

“没错！”妈妈叉着腰说，“这就是为什么我从来都找不到。从现在起，狗只能待在外面。听见没有？它再也不准进屋了！”

“车库怎么样？”我问，“它可以睡在里面吗？”

“让它给里面所有东西都尿上标记？没门！”

麦克和马特相视而笑：“神秘小便！我们可以拿它当成乐队的名字！”

“是的！酷毙了！”

“乐队？”妈妈问，“等等，什么乐队？”但他们已经飞身下楼，跑向自己的房间，嬉笑着讨论Logo（徽标或商标）的设计去了。

那天剩下的时间里，爸爸和我四处嗅着，捣毁一切犯罪证据。爸爸拿着一瓶氨水喷雾，我拿着消毒剂紧随其后。我们本来想叫上哥哥们，但他们很快开始用喷雾瓶打起水仗，结果都被关了禁闭，当然，对他们来说也没什么不好。

从此，“冠军”成了一条养在室外的狗，而且有可能成为我家唯一的宠物，直到五年级的科技展览会为止。

我身边人人都想出了好点子，可我还什么想法都没有。这时候，我的老师布鲁贝克夫人把我叫到一边，说她的一个朋友有几只小鸡，还说她能给我拿到一个受精的鸡蛋来做项目。

“可我对孵蛋一窍不通啊。”我告诉她。

她笑了，把手放在我的肩膀上：“你不用对什么事情都那么精通，朱莉。学习新东西才是目的。”

“万一我把它养死了呢？”

“没关系。用科学的方法记录你的工作，还是能得到一个A，如果你担心的是这个。”

得到一个A？我问的是一只雏鸡的死——而她以为这是我最关心的问题。突然间，我觉得自己还不如去做个人造火山、制造合成橡胶，或者演示几个传动装置算了。

可惜，对于布鲁贝克夫人来说，一旦开始就停不下来了，她不再跟我讨论，从书架上抽出《养鸡初学者指南》递给我。她说：“阅读人工孵化的章节，今天晚上做好准备。我明天就把鸡蛋拿来。”

“可是……”

“别太担心了，朱莉，”她说，“我们每年都这么做，它总是科技展上最好的作品之一。”

“可是……”我还想说些什么，但她已经走了，去替其他学生解决犹豫不决的问题了。

那天晚上我比之前还要焦虑。我至少把人工孵化的章节读了四遍，仍然不知道从何入手。我手边根本就没有恰好存着一个旧水族箱！我们也没有一支孵化温度计！不知道烤箱用的温度计合适不合适？

我还得控制湿度，否则小鸡就要遭殃了。太干了，小鸡无法破壳而出；太湿了，小鸡可能会死于蔫雏病。蔫雏病？

作为一个通情达理的人，妈妈对我说，只要简单地告诉布鲁贝克夫人，我没办法孵出小鸡就行了。“你有没有考虑过种豆子？”她问我。

不过，另一方面，爸爸理解我为何不能拒绝老师的分派，而且答应我一定帮忙。“孵化箱不难做。吃完晚饭，我们就去做一个。”

爸爸竟然能在我家车库里准确地找到每一件东西，这实在是个宇宙的奇迹。看到他在一块旧有机玻璃上钻出一英寸的洞，我才知道，他真的会做孵化箱。“上高中的时候，我曾经孵出过一只鸭子，”他咧嘴笑着，“也是科技展的项目。”

“鸭子？”

“是啊，不过家禽孵化的原理都一样。保持稳定的温度和湿度，每天把蛋翻转几次，过几个星期你就会孵出一只叽叽喳喳的鸟儿了。”

他递给我一个灯泡，还有一个连在插座上的延长线。“把这个穿进有机玻璃上的洞里。我来找几支温度计。”

“几支？我们需要不止一支？”

“我们还需要做个湿度计。”

“湿度计？”

“为了检查孵化箱里的湿度。就是在一支温度计的球泡上缠上湿纱布。”

我笑了：“不会得蔫雏病？”

他也笑了：“绝对不会。”

第二天下午，我已经拿到了不是一个，而是六个鸡蛋，躺在舒适的38.9摄氏度的孵化箱里。“不是每个鸡蛋都能孵出小鸡，朱莉，”布鲁贝克夫人告诉我，“希望能孵出一只。最好成绩是三只，那个成绩已被记录在案了。做个小科学家。祝你好运。”说完她就走了。

记录在案？这跟我有什么关系？我必须每天翻动鸡蛋三次，调节温度和湿度，但是除此之外还有什么要做的？

那天晚上，爸爸从车库拿出一个硬纸管和一只手电筒。他把两样东西捆在一起，让光线从管子中间直射过去。“我来教你怎么检查鸡蛋。”他边说边关上车库的灯。

我在布鲁贝克夫人的书里看到有对光检查鸡蛋的内容，但还没来得及读。

“为什么管这个叫‘烛光检查’？”我问爸爸，“你为什么要检查它们？”

“从前，在用上白炽灯之前，人们点燃蜡烛检查鸡蛋，”他捡起一只鸡蛋，贴在管子上，“光线能帮助你透过蛋壳看到胚胎的发育，剔除那些发育不良的蛋，如果有必要的话。”

“杀了它们？”

“剔除掉。拣走那些发育不良的。”

“可是……这还是会杀了它们呀？”

他看着我说：“留下发育不良的蛋，可能对其他健康的蛋造成毁灭性的打击。”

“为什么？它们只是孵不出来而已啊？”

他继续用光线照射着鸡蛋：“它们可能会爆开，把细菌沾染到其他鸡蛋上。”

爆开！蔫雏病、鸡蛋爆炸、剔除坏蛋，现在这个项目变成了最差的选择！然后爸爸说道：“看这儿，朱莉安娜。你能看到里面的胚胎。”他把手电筒和鸡蛋拿出来，让我也能看到。

我向鸡蛋里面看去，爸爸说：“看到那个小黑点了吗？在中间，所有脉络汇集的地方。”

“那个像豆子似的东西？”

“就是它！”

忽然间，我体会到一种真实感。这个鸡蛋是有生命的。我迅速地检查了剩余的蛋。它们全部都有一个小小的豆子似的宝宝在里面！它们当然都要活下来。它们当然都能做到！

“爸爸，我能把孵化箱拿进屋子吗？你觉得晚上外面会不会太冷？”

“我正想这么说。你可以去把门打开吗？我帮你搬出去。”

接下来的两个星期，我把时间全用在孵小鸡上面。我给鸡蛋标上A、B、C、D、E和F，可是没过多久它们就有了自己的名字：艾比、邦妮、克莱德、德克斯特、尤尼斯和佛罗伦斯。我每天给它们称重，透光检查，给它们翻身。我甚至认为它们应该听听鸡叫声，有一段时间我真的这样做了，但是鸡叫声太烦人了！还不如给我的安静的小小鸟群哼歌呢，于是我用唱歌取代了鸡叫。很快，我就会不假思索地对着它们唱起歌来，因为在这些蛋周围，我很开心。

我把《养鸡初学者指南》从头到尾读了两遍。为了我的项目，我用图表的形式画出胚胎发育的不同阶段，做了一张巨大的小鸡海报，记录下每天温度和湿度的波动，用一张曲线图表示每只鸡蛋失去重量的情况。鸡蛋们从外面看来很乏味，但我知道里面正在发生什么！

科技展前两天，我对光检查那只叫邦妮的鸡蛋时，发现了某种情况。我把爸爸叫到我房间：“看，爸爸！看看这个！这是不是心跳？”

研究了一会儿，他笑了，说：“叫你妈妈过来。”

我们三个人挤在一起，观察着邦妮的心跳，连妈妈也不得不承认，这实在太神奇了。

克莱德是第一个出壳的。当然，它选择在我马上要去上学的时候。它小小的喙啄穿了蛋壳，当我屏住呼吸等待下文的时候，它开始休息了，休息了很久。终于，它的喙又戳了出来，但是它几乎同时又缩回去休息了。我怎么能扔下它去学校呢？如果它需要我帮忙怎么办？这是个多么正当的待在家里的理由，至少可以多待一会儿！

爸爸试图向我保证，出壳的过程可能会持续一整天，我放学以后还能看到很多东西，但我完全不想听。哦，不——不——不！我想亲眼看着艾比、邦妮、克莱德、德克斯特、尤尼斯和佛罗伦斯它们中的每一只来到这个世界。“我绝不能错过出壳！”我对他说，“一秒钟都不能！”

“那你把它们带到学校去吧，”妈妈说，“布鲁贝克夫人不会介意的。不管怎么说，这是她的主意。”

有时候，有个通情达理的妈妈还是值得的。我只当是早点为科技展做准备就行了，我能做到！我收拾起所有的设备、海报、图表什么的，然后坐上妈妈的车直奔学校。

布鲁贝克夫人一点儿也不介意。她正忙着帮别的孩子准备他们的项目，所以我几乎有一整天时间来观察小鸡孵化的过程。

克莱德和邦妮是最早出壳的。一开始，我有点失望，因为它们只是湿漉漉、乱糟糟地躺在那里，样子又累又丑。

但是等到艾比和德克斯特破壳的时候，邦妮和克莱德的羽毛已经蓬松起来，蠢蠢欲动了。

最后两只小鸡等了很久都没有动静，但布鲁贝克夫人坚持不准我帮忙，最后收到了很好的效果，因为它们正是在科技展的当天晚上才孵出来的。全家人都出席了，虽然马特和麦克只看了两分钟就跑去了别的展位，但爸爸妈妈留下来看完了全过程。妈妈甚至把邦妮捧在手里，拿脸去蹭了蹭它。

展览结束之后，我收拾东西准备回家，这时妈妈问我：“这些是不是要送回给布鲁贝克夫人？”

“把什么送回给布鲁贝克夫人？”我问她。

“这些小鸡，朱莉。你不是想自己养着它们吧？”

说实话，我还从来没想过孵化以后的事情。我的注意力一直集中在怎么把它们带到这个世界上。但妈妈说得对——现在它们出生了。

六只毛茸茸的可爱小鸡，每只都有自己的名字，以及——我几乎可以预见到——自己独特的个性。

“我……我不知道，”我结结巴巴地说，“我去问问布鲁贝克夫人。”

我去找布鲁贝克夫人，可我打心眼里希望她不需要把小鸡还给她的朋友。不管怎么说，是我孵化了它们，是我给它们起了名字。是我保护它们远离蔫雏病！这些小鸡是属于我的！

布鲁贝克夫人说，它们当然是属于我的，全都是我的。这让我松了口气，却成了妈妈的噩梦。

“祝你养得开心。”说完，她就急匆匆地跑去帮海蒂拆除她的伯努利定律实验装置了。

回家的路上，妈妈一直很沉默，我能看得出来——她不想要这些小鸡，就像她不想要一台拖拉机和一只山羊。“妈妈，求你了，”当车停下来的时候，我小声央求道，“好不好嘛？”

她抚着额头：“我们在哪儿养鸡，朱莉？养在哪里？”

“后院？”我不知道还有什么地方。

“那‘冠军’怎么办？”

“它们能和平相处，妈妈。我会教它的，我保证。”

爸爸轻声说：“它们都是些独立的动物，特瑞纳。”

可是哥哥们又跳出来捣乱：“‘冠军’会在它们身上撒尿，妈妈。”他们忽然之间得到了灵感，“没错！可是你根本不会发现，因为它们本来就是黄色的！”“哇！黄毛——好名字。”“真的！但是，等等——别人会以为这是说我们的肚子上长出了黄毛！”“哦，好吧——忘了它吧！”“是啊，让狗杀掉小鸡吧。”

我的哥哥们瞪大了眼睛瞧着对方，突然又喊了起来：“杀死小鸡！就用这个名字吧！怎么样？”“你是说我们成了小鸡杀手？或者是我们杀了小鸡？”

爸爸扭过头：“出去。你们两个，下车。去别的地方想名字去吧。”

他们走了，只剩下我们三个坐在车里，小鸡们发出细小的吱吱声不时打破平静。终于，妈妈重重地叹了口气，说：“养它们花不了多少钱，对吧？”

爸爸摇摇头：“它们吃虫子，特瑞纳。还要添一点儿饲料。它们很省钱。”

“虫子？真的吗？什么虫子？”

“地蜈蚣、毛毛虫、牛屎虫……也许还有蜘蛛，如果它们能抓到的话。我想它们也吃蜗牛。”

“你确定？”妈妈笑了，“好吧，如果是这样的话……”

“哦，谢谢，妈妈。谢谢你！”

就这样，我们开始养鸡了。我们没有想到的是，六只小鸡捉起虫来不仅清除了家里的害虫，也顺带毁掉了草坪。半年之内，我家院子里就什么也不剩了。

我们也没有想到，鸡饲料不仅招来了老鼠，还招来了猫、野猫。“冠军”很擅长把猫赶出院子，可是它们就在前院和侧院附近徘徊，等“冠军”一打盹，就悄悄潜入院子，扑向软软的鼠灰色小点心。

哥哥们开始捉老鼠了，一开始我以为他们是在帮忙。直到有一天，我听见妈妈在房间里撕心裂肺地尖叫。谜底揭晓，原来他们养了一条大蟒蛇。妈妈疯狂地跺着脚，我猜她想把我们，连带蟒蛇，一股脑儿地全扔出去，但是后来我有了一个惊人的发现——鸡开始下蛋了！美丽、晶莹、奶白色的蛋！一开始，我在邦妮身下发现了一个，然后是克莱德——我当即把它的名字改成了克莱蒂特——佛罗伦斯的窝里还有一个。它们下蛋了！

我奔回屋里拿给妈妈看，她惊愕地看了一会儿，瘫倒在椅子上。“不，”她轻声说，“不要更多的鸡了！”

“它们不是鸡，妈妈……这是鸡蛋！”

她仍然苍白着脸，不说话，我在她旁边的椅子上坐下。她说：“我们没养公鸡啊……”

“嗯。”

她的脸上又有了血色：“确实没养？”

“我从来没听见打鸣的声音，你听到过吗？”

她笑了，“上帝保佑，我忘了数数了，”她直起身，从我手里接过一个鸡蛋，“鸡蛋，哈，你猜它们能下多少蛋？”

“我不知道。”

结果，我的母鸡们下的蛋，我们根本吃不完。一开始我们试着把蛋存下来，可是没过多久，大家就吃腻了各种煮蛋、腌蛋和炒蛋，妈妈抱怨说这些免费的鸡蛋反而成本更高。

一天下午，我去捡鸡蛋的时候，邻居斯杜比太太靠在围栏上对我说：“如果你有多余的蛋，我很愿意买一点儿。”

“真的？”我问。

“当然。散养的鸡蛋是最好的。你觉得两美元一打怎么样？”

两美元一打！我笑了：“没问题！”

“好，那就说定了。什么时候有多余的蛋，就给我送过来。昨天晚上我和赫尔姆斯太太在电话上讨论过，不过我想先来问问你，这样就能保证你优先把蛋给我了，好吗，朱莉？”

“当然可以，斯杜比太太！”

多亏斯杜比太太和隔着三座房子的赫尔姆斯太太，我家的鸡蛋过剩问题得以圆满解决。我本来应该把钱交给妈妈，作为毁掉后院的赔偿，但她只是说：“没用的，朱莉安娜，钱你留下吧。”于是我就理所当然地开始偷偷存私房钱了。

有一天我在去赫尔姆斯太太家的路上，罗斯基太太刚好开车经过。她冲我微笑挥手，我怀着负疚意识到，也许在鸡蛋的问题上，我表现得不像个好邻居。她还不知道赫尔姆斯太太和斯杜比太太向我买鸡蛋的事。也许她以为我只是出于好心才把鸡蛋送给她们。

也许我根本就不应该卖掉鸡蛋，可我还从来没有过一笔稳定的收入呢。

零花钱在我家从来都是随意发放的。爸爸妈妈通常会忘记这事。卖鸡蛋挣钱让我有种隐秘的快感，我可不想让良心破坏掉这种感觉。

但是，我越想越觉得，罗斯基夫人理应得到一些免费的鸡蛋。

她是个好邻居，在我家没钱的时候借我们生活费，在妈妈需要开车出门而车子发动不起来的时候，宁愿自己上班迟到也要送妈妈一程。送她一点儿鸡蛋……虽然微不足道，但这是我力所能及的报答。

毫无疑问，这还给我提供了一个遇到布莱斯的绝好机会。在清晨寒冷的阳光下，他的眼睛一定比平时更蓝。他看着我的样子——脸上的微笑和害羞——那是和我在学校里遇到的完全不同的布莱斯。学校里的布莱斯看上去把自己隐藏得更深。

第三次去罗斯基家送鸡蛋，我发现布莱斯在等我。

他会等在门口为我开门，然后说：“谢谢，朱莉，”再加一句，“学校见。”

一切都是值得的。即使赫尔姆斯太太和斯杜比太太后来提高了购买鸡蛋的价格，我仍然觉得值得。因此，六年级、七年级和几乎整个八年级，我都给罗斯基家送鸡蛋。那些最好、最晶莹的鸡蛋被直接送到他家，作为回报，我有机会和全世界最闪亮的眼睛独处几分钟。

这真划算。

后来，无花果树被砍倒了。两个星期之后，“冠军”死了。它大部分的时间都在睡觉，虽然我们不知道它具体的年龄，但是当某天晚上爸爸出去喂它，却发现它已经死了的时候，没有人感到惊讶。我们把它埋在后院，哥哥们为它竖了一个十字架，上面写着：

这里安葬着“神秘小便”

愿它安息

有一段时间我心情低落，头晕目眩。那时候经常下雨，因为不愿意乘校车，我骑自行车上学，每天放学回到家里，我就躲进房间，躲进小说的世界，基本上忘记了捡鸡蛋。

是斯杜比太太让我重新回到正常生活。她打来电话，说在报纸上看到无花果树的新闻，她对此感到遗憾，但是过了这么久，她开始怀念那些鸡蛋，并且担心我的鸡是不是不再生蛋了。“悲伤会使鸟类褪毛，我们不愿意看到这个景象！到处都是羽毛，却看不到一个鸡蛋。要不是对羽毛过敏，我也想养一群鸡呢，不过这没有关系。等你好一些了再把蛋送来吧。我打电话过来只是想告诉你，对于那棵树，我感到很遗憾。还有你的狗。你妈妈说它去世了。”

于是，我回到工作状态。我清理了之前被忽视的鸡蛋，恢复每天捡蛋和清理鸡窝的工作。收集到一定数量，我又开始挨家挨户送鸡蛋了。先是斯杜比太太，然后是赫尔姆斯太太，最后是罗斯基家。站在罗斯基家门口，我意识到自己已经很久没见过布莱斯了。当然，我们每天都在同一所学校里，但我沉浸在其他事物当中，几乎可以算作没看见他。

我的心跳开始加速，当门咯吱一声开了，他的蓝眼睛望向我的时候，我准备好的话全都不见了。我只好说：“拿去。”

他接过半箱鸡蛋，说：“你知道，你其实不用送给我们……”

“我知道。”我低下头。

我们沉默地站在那儿，时间是破纪录的长。最后，他说：“那么，你会回来坐校车上学吗？”

我抬头看着他，耸耸肩：“不知道。我从那之后就没有到过那里……你知道的。”

“那里现在看上去没那么糟了。全清理干净了。可能很快就会开始打地基。”

对我来说，实在是太可怕了。

“呃，”他说，“我得准备去学校了，一会儿见。”他笑着把门关上。

不知道为什么，我又在那里站了一会儿。感觉很奇怪，心情莫名地低落。我觉得自己和周围的一切都失去联系了。我是不是应该回到克里尔街等车？我最后还是得去，至少妈妈是这么说的。我是不是在把事情弄得越来越复杂？

门突然打开了，布莱斯匆匆地从屋里出来，手里拿着一个装得满满的厨房垃圾桶。“朱莉！”他说，“你还在这儿干什么？”

他也把我吓了一跳。我也不知道自己在这儿干什么。我慌张得恨不得马上跑回家去，要不是他开始翻弄垃圾，把里面的东西使劲塞进去的话。

我走近了一点儿，“需要帮忙吗？”他看起来都快把垃圾弄得溢出来了。这时，我看到了装鸡蛋的盒子从中露出一角。

那不是随便什么盒子。那是我拿来的盛鸡蛋的盒子。是我刚刚拿给他的。透过小小的蓝色纸板的缝隙，我看到了鸡蛋。

我看看他，又看看鸡蛋，然后说：“怎么了？你把它们扔掉了？”

“是的，”他迅速答道，“是的，我很抱歉。”

他想阻止我把盒子从垃圾里拿出来，却没有拦住。我问：“全都扔了？”我打开盒子，喘着气。六个完整的、完美的鸡蛋，“你为什么要扔掉它们？”

他推开我，绕过屋子走到垃圾箱旁边，我一路跟着他，希望找到一个答案。

他把垃圾倒掉，然后转身面对我：“你对‘沙门氏菌’这个词没有概念吗？”

“沙门氏菌？可是……”

“我妈妈认为我们不能冒这个险。”

我跟着他回到门廊上：“你是说，她不吃这些鸡蛋是因为——”

“因为她不想中毒。”

“中毒！为什么？”

“因为你家的后院就像——嗯，到处都是鸡屎！我是说，看看你住的地方，朱莉！”他指着我家的房子说，“看看吧。那里就像个垃圾场！”

“它不是垃圾场！”我叫道，但是街对面的房子清清楚楚地摆在那儿，让人无法抵赖。我的嗓子忽然堵住了，哪怕说一句话都让我痛苦不已，“你……一直都把它们扔掉吗？”

他耸耸肩，眼睛看着地上：“朱莉，听着。我们不想伤害你的感情。”

“我的感情？你知不知道斯杜比太太和赫尔姆斯太太付钱从我这里买鸡蛋？”

“你在开玩笑。”

“没有！她们付我两美元买一打鸡蛋！”

“不可能。”

“这是真的！我给你的这些鸡蛋，完全可以拿去卖给斯杜比太太和赫尔姆斯太太！”

“哦。”他别开目光，然后，他瞪着我说，“好吧，那你为什么白送给我们？”

我强忍着泪水，但是这很难。我哽咽着说：“我只想对邻居友好一些……”

他放下垃圾桶，然后发生的事让我大脑停止了运转。他搂着我的肩膀，看着我的眼睛，说：“斯杜比太太也是你的邻居，对不对？还有赫尔姆斯太太也是。为什么只对我们友好呢？”

他想说什么？我对他的感觉还不够明显吗？如果他知道，为什么又对我这么狠心，周复一周、年复一年地扔掉我送的鸡蛋？

我不知道该说些什么，一句话也说不出来。我只是望着他，望着他清澈湛蓝的眼睛。

“对不起，朱莉。”他轻声说。

我跌跌撞撞地跑回家，满心尴尬与困惑。我的心已经碎成了片。

Chapter 07

伙计，放松点儿

没过多长时间，我就意识到，我和朱莉安娜·贝克之间的老问题已经完全转化成一系列新问题。从很远的地方我都能感觉到她的怒气。

让她生我的气，比她纠缠着我还要更糟。为什么？因为这完全赖我自己，就这么简单。是我把鸡蛋的事暴露了，把责任推给她家的院子也无济于事。她无视我，或者说，高调地躲着我的方式，就像是大声提醒着我是个浑蛋。一个假惺惺的浑蛋。

一天放学后，我跟加利特分开后走在回家的路上，朱莉站在她家院子里，正在修剪一丛灌木。她狠狠地抽打着，枝条飞溅在她的肩膀上，隔着一条街，我清楚地听到她一个人念念叨叨：“不……你……不要！你可以来……找……不管喜欢还是……不喜欢！”

这让我觉得舒服吗？不，朋友，我一点儿也不舒服。没错，她家的院子是一团糟，也确实是时候应该有人出来做点什么了，但是拜托——她爸爸呢？马特和麦克在哪儿？为什么偏偏是朱莉？

我让她觉得尴尬了，这就是原因。我从来没感觉这么糟过。

我悄悄溜进屋里，试图忽略掉这个事实：在我的书桌、我的窗户正对面，朱莉正在抽打一丛灌木。可我没法集中精力。根本不行。我一点儿也做不下去功课。

第二天，我在学校试图鼓起勇气跟她说话，可是完全没有机会。看样子她不会让我靠近她。

回家的路上，我想出一个主意。一开始我被这个想法吓了一跳，但我想得越深，就越觉得可行，没错，帮她整理院子将会一举改变我在她心目中浑蛋的形象。假设她不会把我指挥得团团转，也不会像一块橡皮糖一样黏着我。不，我要勇敢地走上去，对她说，我不想给她留下一个浑蛋的印象，我愿意帮她割草、修枝作为补偿，就是这样。如果我这样做了，而她还生我的气，那我也没办法，那就是她的问题了。

而我的问题在于，我根本找不到机会。我辛辛苦苦地从校车站跑回家，却发现已经有人在替我做好事了——我外公。

我真的被吓到了。一时间，我陷入了迷茫。外公根本不打理院子。至少他从来不在我打理院子的时候帮忙。而且外公常年穿着室内拖鞋——他从哪儿弄来了一双工作靴？还有牛仔裤和法兰绒衬衫——这是怎么回事？

我躲在一户邻居家的树篱下面看着他俩，十到十五分钟的光景，好吧，我越看越生气。几分钟之内，我外公跟她说的话已经超过了这一年半以来住在这里和我说话的总和。他跟朱莉安娜·贝克有什么关系？

爬过两道围栏、踢开邻居家傻乎乎的小梗犬，我悄悄潜回家里，不过这一切都是值得的，起码让我避开了街对面那场庭院派对。

我又一次没做家庭作业。看得越多，我越生气。当朱莉跟外公一起发出笑声的时候，我仍然是个假惺惺的浑蛋。我什么时候看见他笑过？真正的微笑？我根本想不起来！可是现在，他站在及膝的杂草中间，哈哈大笑。

吃晚饭的时候，他出现了，换回平时穿的衣服和室内拖鞋，可是他的样子完全变了。就像有人给他充了电，打开了开关。

“晚上好，”他说，就像他终于发现了我们的存在，“哦，佩西，看上去很好吃！”

“嗯，爸爸，”妈妈笑着说，“看来在对街做的运动对你很有好处嘛。”

“是的，”爸爸说，“佩西告诉我，你一下午都在那儿。如果你想搞个家庭改造运动，完全可以告诉我们啊。”

爸爸只是开了个玩笑，可我觉得外公把它当真了。他盛了一勺奶酪酿土豆，说：“可以把盐递给我吗，布莱斯？”

好吧，爸爸和外公之间确实有种奇怪的紧张感，可是我猜爸爸如果马上转变话题，气氛也就随之改变了。

但是爸爸没有放弃。他反而继续问下去：“那一家终于有人跳出来给院子做点修整了，为什么是那个姑娘呢？”

外公小心翼翼地给土豆撒上盐，然后注视着餐桌这一头的我。啊哦，我想，被揭穿了。电光石火之间，我知道我再也藏不住那些愚蠢的鸡蛋了。整整两年，我偷偷把它们扔进垃圾桶，我避免提起朱莉、她的鸡蛋、她的小鸡，还有她每天早晨的造访，这都是为了什么？现在外公全知道了，我能从他眼睛里看出来。他马上就要揭穿我了，那时候我就有得熬了。

可是奇迹出现了。在外公的凝视下，我一动都不敢动地坐了一分钟，而他转向我爸爸，说：“她就是想这么做了。”

我的额头上汗如雨下，听到爸爸说：“好吧，是该有人做点什么了。”外公把目光转回来看着我，而我知道——他不会让我轻易忘掉这些。我们刚刚经历了一次别样的交谈，这一次他绝不会放过我。

吃完晚饭，我回到房间，可是外公马上跟了进来，关上门，坐在我床上。整个过程悄无声息。门没响、床没响、听不到呼吸声……我发誓，他就像幽灵一样潜入我的房间。

当然，我惊得撞到了膝盖，把铅笔掉在地上，还打翻了一碗果冻。不过我努力保持平静，说：“你好，外公。你是来查岗的吗？”

他把两片嘴唇闭得紧紧的，凝视着我。

我投降了：“好吧，外公，我知道我搞砸了。我应该告诉她的，但我做不到。我一直以为它们不会再继续下蛋了。我是说，一只鸡能连续下多久的蛋？它们在我五年级那年就孵出来了！离现在都三年了！它们的产蛋期不会结束吗？而且，我还能怎么做？告诉她我妈妈害怕沙门氏菌感染？还是告诉她我爸爸希望我跟她说我家对鸡蛋过敏？拜托，谁会相信呢？所以我只好一直……嗯……扔掉它们。我不知道她在卖鸡蛋。我以为它们只是多余的。”

他缓缓地点了点头。

我叹了口气，接着说：“谢谢你吃晚饭的时候没有说下去。我欠你一个人情。”

他拉开窗帘，朝对街望去，“一个人的性格是在童年时代养成的，孩子。你现在作出的选择将会影响你的一生。”他静静地站了一会儿，放下窗帘说，“我不想看到你走得太远，却又无法收场。”

“是，长官。”

他皱起眉头：“别对我说‘是，长官’，布莱斯。”他站住了，又加上一句，“想想我说的话，下次面临选择的时候，作出正确的决定。从长远来看，对所有人的伤害都是最小的决定。”

说完，他一阵风似的走了。

第二天放学后，我去加利特家打篮球，他妈妈把我送回家的时候，外公甚至都没注意。他正忙着在朱莉家的院子里充当木匠呢。

我想在早餐台上写作业，可是妈妈下班回来了，在旁边叽叽喳喳地说话，后来利奈特也来了，她们俩开始争论，到底利奈特是不是把自己的妆化得活像一只受了伤的浣熊。

我保证利奈特绝对不会吸取教训。

我收拾东西逃回房间，当然，这根本无济于事。他们在对街开动电锯，发出阵阵哀号声，在电锯切割的间隙，我还能听到锤子乓乓乓的敲击声。

我从窗户望出去，看到了朱莉，她从嘴里吐出钉子，把它们敲进正确的位置。没错。她把钉子排成一排叼在嘴里，就像一排铁做的香烟，同时她抡圆了铁锤，高高地挥过头顶，把钉子打进木桩，就像插进奶油里一样轻松。

有那么一瞬间，我觉得她的锤子仿佛敲在我的脑袋上，然后它像蛋壳一样裂开了。我颤抖着放下窗帘，丢下作业，跑去看电视了。

他们干了整整一星期。每天晚上外公回家的时候总是两颊通红，胃口大开，并且盛赞妈妈的厨艺。然后到了星期六。当外公在朱莉家院子里翻土植树的时候，我绝不想待在家里。妈妈企图说服我去整理自家的院子，可是，当外公和朱莉在对街帮那里脱胎换骨的时候，我在这边给草坪来个微调，岂不是很荒谬？

所以，我把自己反锁在屋里，给加利特打电话。他不在家，我找过的任何一个人都有事要做。央求妈妈或者爸爸开车带我去电影院或者商场肯定没希望了。他们一定会说，我本来应该去整理院子的。

我感觉自己被困住了。

结果，我不由自主地透过窗户傻乎乎地望着朱莉和我外公。这实在很诡异，可我确实这么做了。

而且我还被人发现了，是外公发现的。当然，他把我指给朱莉看，这让我在她面前凭空又矮了一头。我放下窗帘，撞开后门，跳过围栏。我非要出去不可。

那天我恨不得走了十里路。我也不知道该生谁的气——外公，朱莉，还是自己。我这是怎么了？如果我想跟朱莉和好，为什么不能直接走过去帮忙？是什么阻止了我？

我来到加利特家门口，上帝，我从来没有那么高兴见到谁。

让加利特帮我忘掉这一切吧。

这正是这位老兄擅长的。我们打篮球、看电视、聊起今年夏天坐水滑梯的事。

当我回到家，朱莉正在给院子洒水。

她看见我了，这也就算了，可是她既不跟我打招呼也没有露出笑容，她什么也没做，她只是转开了目光。

假如是平时，我大概会假装没看见她，或者飞快地挥挥手，然后溜进屋里。可她已经生我的气很久了。自从她撞见我扔鸡蛋的那天起，就再也没有跟我说过一个字。

几天前的数学课上，我冲她微笑，想告诉她我很抱歉，可她彻底地无视我的存在。她没有笑、没有点头、没有任何反应，只是转过头去，再也不看我一眼。

我甚至在教室外面等着跟她说几句话，说什么都行，比如她整修院子的事，或者告诉她我有多难过，但她躲着我从另一个门出去了。在这之后，任何时候我只要一靠近，她就找机会从我旁边溜掉。

现在，她在那里给院子洒水，让我觉得自己像个浑蛋，我受够了。我走上去对她说：“院子漂亮多了，朱莉。干得不错。”

“谢谢，”她板着脸说，“大部分都是查特做的。”

查特？我思考着。查特？她是怎么想的，敢叫我外公的名字？

“听着，朱莉，”我努力回到自己的本意，“对我做过的事，我感到非常抱歉。”

她看了我一会儿，然后转过头去继续盯着水雾洒在土地上。

最后她终于开口了：“我还是不明白，布莱斯。你为什么就不能直接告诉我呢？”

“我……我不知道。没法解释。我应该告诉你的，而且我不应该说你家院子的坏话。那些话，你知道，真是太过分了。”

我感觉好多了，好了很多。只听朱莉说道：“好吧，也许一切都会好起来的，”她用前脚掌跳了跳，就像原来一样，“这里看上去怎么样？查特教了我很多东西，太棒了。你真幸运，我的祖父母都不在了。”

“哦。”我不知道该说些什么。

“不过，我真为他难过。他肯定还在想念你的外婆。”然后她笑了，摇摇头说，“你能相信吗？他说我让他想起了你的外婆。”

“什么？”

“真的，”她又笑了，“就是这样，不过他说得更婉转。”

我看着朱莉，想象我八年级时外婆的样子，这太难了。我是说，朱莉有一头蓬松的棕色长发，一个长满雀斑的鼻子，而我外婆总是以金发的形象示人，而且外婆以前擦粉。松软的白色粉末，她擦在脸上，头发上，还有鞋子和胸脯……所有的东西上面。

我想象不出朱莉擦上粉是什么样子。好吧，也许可以沾些黑灰色的火药粉末，但是白色的香粉……还是算了。

我想自己一定在盯着她看，因为朱莉说：“瞧，这不是我说的，是他说的。我只是挺高兴听他这么说。”

“是啊，管他呢。哦，祝你的草能活下来。我敢肯定它们会很茂盛的。”我说出来的话让自己都吃了一惊，“我了解你，你连小鸡都能孵出来。”我没有任何别的意思，只是说出我真实的想法。我笑了，她也笑了，我离开她家的时候也是一样——给未来的草坪浇着水，面带微笑。

我已经好几个星期没这么高兴过了。鸡蛋事件终于被我抛在脑后。我有种如蒙大赦的感觉，解脱并快乐着。

晚餐时分，我花了几分钟的时间才意识到，我是唯一一个心情愉快的人。利奈特和平时一样闷闷不乐，就不去管她了。而爸爸一上来就劈头盖脸地因为草坪的事骂了我一顿。

“没问题，”我告诉他，“我明天一定去。”

这样一来，我也变得满面愁容。

妈妈对外公说：“爸爸，你今晚很累？”

他坐在那里安静得像块石头，我几乎没注意到。

“是啊，”爸爸吃完他面前的饭菜，“那个姑娘让你干了太多活儿？”

外公用餐巾擦了擦叉子，然后说道：“那个姑娘的名字叫朱莉，不，她不像你说的冷酷无情，‘让我干太多活儿’。”

“冷酷无情？我？”爸爸笑了，“你现在对那个姑娘真是情有独钟啊，不是吗？”

有那么一个瞬间，连利奈特似乎都不再噘着嘴了。这是挑衅，人人都看得出来。

妈妈用脚推着爸爸，可是这让事情变得更糟。“不，佩西！我只想知道，为什么你爸爸连跟他自己的外孙玩玩棒球都做不到，却有那么多精力和愿望跟陌生人交朋友！”

哦，是啊！我也这么认为。但我又记起来——我欠外公一个人情，欠他一个巨大的人情。

我想都没想就脱口而出：“冷静点儿，爸爸。朱莉只是让外公想起了外婆。”

所有人都闭上嘴，朝我看过来。于是我看着外公说：“呃……是不是这样，外公？”

他点点头，继续摆弄叉子。

“让你想起蕾妮？”爸爸看看妈妈，再看看外公，“不可能！”

外公闭上眼睛：“她的性格让我想起蕾妮。”

“她的性格？”爸爸说。他就像在跟一个说谎的幼儿园小孩儿对话。

“没错，她的性格。”外公沉默了一会儿，问道，“你们知道贝克家为什么直到现在都没有修整院子吗？”

“为什么？这是明摆着的。他们全是些废物，就是这样。他们有一间破破烂烂的房子，两辆破破烂烂的车和一个破破烂烂的院子。”

“他们不是废物，瑞克。他们是好人，诚实的人，努力工作的人——”

“也是些对自己展现给他人的形象一点儿自豪感也没有的人。他们住在我家对街已经超过六年了，对于现在的状况，他们找不到任何借口。”

“没有吗？”外公深吸一口气，像是在心里权衡了一下，然后他说，“瑞克，告诉我。假如你有一个在心理或者生理上有严重缺陷的兄弟姐妹，或是子女，你会怎么做？”

就像外公在教堂里放了个屁一样，爸爸的脸皱成一团，摇着头，最后说道：“查特，这有什么关系吗？”

外公盯着他看了很久，然后轻轻地说：“朱莉的爸爸有个智障的兄弟，而且——”

爸爸打断了他，笑着说：“好吧，这很说明问题了，对不对。”

“很……说明问题？”外公轻声地、冷静地问道。

“当然！这足够说明那家人为什么像现在这样！”他笑了，轮番看着我们。

“那是遗传病。”

人人都看着他。利奈特露出惊讶的表情，她头一次语塞了。妈妈说：“瑞克！”爸爸只能紧张地笑了笑：“我是在开玩笑！我是说，他们家一定有什么地方出了问题。哦，对不起，查特。我忘了，那个姑娘让你想起了蕾妮。”

“瑞克！”妈妈再一次叫道，现在她真的生气了。

“哦，佩西，拜托。你爸爸过分煽情了，他搬出一个不知道在哪里的弱智亲戚，只是想让我因为批评邻居而感到内疚。每个家庭都有每个家庭的问题，可他们还是会收拾好草坪。他们应该对自己的产业有点责任感，哦，真让人受不了！”

外公的脸因为激动而发红，但他的声音一直很平静：“那所房子不是他们的产业，瑞克。房主本应该负责房屋的清洁工作，但他没有做到。由于朱莉的爸爸要对他的兄弟负责，所以他们全部的收入都用来照顾他的兄弟了，这显然要花很多钱。”

妈妈的声音很轻很轻：“政府部门不管他吗？”

“我不清楚细节，佩西。也许附近没有这样的政府救济部门。也许他们觉得私人陪护对他更好。”

“还是一样，”爸爸说，“政府有相应的救济措施，如果他们不去依靠，那是他们的选择。他家有什么染色体变异的问题并不是我们的责任，我一点儿也不觉得内疚——”

外公一拍桌子，几乎站了起来：“这跟染色体没有任何关系，瑞克！那是由出生时缺氧造成的。”他放低了声音，却让他的话听上去更有说服力了。

“朱莉的叔叔出生时脐带绕颈两周。前一秒钟他还是个完全正常的婴儿，就像你儿子布莱斯一样，后一秒钟他就留下了永久性的创伤。”

妈妈忽然歇斯底里地爆发了。几秒钟之内，她哭得泪如泉涌，爸爸搂着她，试图让她镇静下来，可是没有用。她根本哭得无法自拔。

利奈特扔下餐巾嘟囔着“这个家简直是个笑话”，然后走了。妈妈匆忙地离开房间，用手捂着脸，抽泣着，爸爸跟在她后面，临走时扔给外公一个我从来没见过的凶狠表情。

现在只剩外公和我对着一桌冷掉的食物。“哇，”我终于开口，“我不知道这是怎么回事。”

“他们还没有告诉你。”他对我说。

“什么意思？”

他像块花岗岩一样沉默着，然后靠在桌子上对我说：“你觉得是什么让你妈妈这么难过？”

“我……我不知道，”我挤出一个勉强的笑容，“因为她是女人？”

他几乎不动声色地笑了笑：“不对。她很难过，是因为她知道自己差一点儿就跟贝克先生有一样的遭遇。”

我认真地想了想，然后说道：“她的兄弟出生的时候也是脐带绕颈？”

他摇摇头。

“呃，那是……”

他靠得更近了，低声对我说：“是你。”

“我？”

他点点头：“绕颈两周。”

“可是……”

“给你接生的医生很能干，而且脐带绕得不算太紧，所以他能够在你出生的时候把它松开。你没有在出生的时候被自己勒死，但悲剧很可能就这样发生了。”

如果早几年，甚至早几个星期有人告诉我出生的时候可能被勒死，我一定会拿来开开玩笑，而且我大概会说，是啊，这很好，但是现在，我根本不想跟谁讨论这件事。

但是经历了这么多，我已经接近崩溃了，我的脑子里不能自已地徘徊着一个问题。如果情况不同，我会怎么样？他们会怎样对待我？听爸爸的意思，他不会花太多心思在我身上，这是肯定的。他会把我放在某个精神病院，或其他什么地方，然后忘记我的存在。但我又想，不！我是他儿子，他不会那么做……

他真的不会吗？

我环顾家里的一切——大房子，白色的地毯，古董和艺术品，诸如此类。他们会为了让我过上更好的生活而放弃这一切吗？

我很怀疑，非常怀疑。我会是个让他们难堪的东西，是他们极力想忘掉的东西。我的父母一向看重事物的外在，尤其是爸爸。

外公轻轻地说：“不要去设想没有发生的事，布莱斯。”他仿佛能看到我的想法，又加了一句，“为了他没做的事而谴责他，是不公平的。”

我点了点头，试图平静下来，却仍然思绪万千。他说：“对了，谢谢你刚才帮我说话。”

“什么？”我问，喉咙里感到一阵抽搐和肿胀。

“关于你的外婆。你怎么知道的？”

我摇摇头：“朱莉告诉我了。”

“哦？你终于跟她说话了？”

“是的。实际上，我去跟她道歉了。”

“哦！”

“这让我感觉好多了，不过现在……上帝，我觉得自己又变成浑蛋了。”

“别这样。你道歉了，这才是最重要的。”他站起来说，“我想出去走走。你要跟我一起去吗？”

出去走走？我现在只想回到房间，锁上门，一个人待着。

“我觉得这有助于清空头脑。”他说。我发现这不仅仅是出去走走——而是邀请我和他一起去做点什么。

我站了起来：“好，我们出去吧。”

外公从一个只会对我说“把盐递过来”的人，变成了一个真正健谈的朋友。我们在附近越走越远，我发现外公不只懂得很多，还是个有趣的人。这很微妙。不仅是他所谈及的东西，还有他讲话的方式。我想，这种感觉真的很酷。

在回家的路上，我们经过无花果树曾经屹立的地方，那里现在是一所房子。外公停下来望着夜空，说：“那里一定曾有过壮观的景色。”

我也把头抬起来，头一次发现这里的夜晚能看到星星。“你见过她爬上去吗？”我问他。

“有一次开车经过这里的时候，你妈妈曾指给我看过。她爬得那么高，把我吓了一跳，不过，读了那篇新闻，我明白她为什么要这么做。”他摇摇头，“树被砍掉了，可是她仍然保留着那棵树给她带来的快乐和感动。你明白我的意思吗？”

我很高兴自己不用回答这个问题。他只是笑了笑，接着说道：“有人住高楼，有人在深沟。有人光万丈，有人一身锈。世人万千种，浮云莫去求。斯人若彩虹，遇上方知有。”

走到我家的门廊，外公把手放在我的肩膀上：“很高兴跟你一起散步，布莱斯。我很开心。”

“我也是。”我告诉他。然后我们一起走进屋子。

我们马上意识到，走进了一个战场。虽然没有人叫喊哭泣，但从父母的表情我就能看出来，我和外公出门的时候，这里经历了一次重大危机。

外公悄悄地对我说：“我想，我得去修修这道‘围栏’了。”他走向客厅，去和爸爸妈妈谈一谈。

我对眼前的气氛束手无策。我直接回到房间，关上门，扑倒在床上，陷入一片黑暗。

躺在那儿，我在心里回放着晚餐时的争执。心烦意乱之间，我坐起来，望着窗外。贝克家的房子里亮着灯，街灯亮得刺眼，可是夜幕仍然是一片厚重的黑色。似乎比平时还要暗，也许更沉重。

我靠近窗户，仰望天空，但是看不到一颗星星。

我不知道朱莉有没有在夜里爬上无花果树，坐在满天星斗中间。

我摇摇头。平庸，华丽，或是灿烂。那又怎么样？对我来说，朱莉安娜·贝克从来都是平淡而枯燥的。

我打开台灯，从抽屉里翻出报道朱莉的那份报纸。

和我想的一样——他们恨不得把朱莉写成捍卫国会山的斗士。他们管她叫“来自都市荒原的强大呼声”以及“一座光芒四射的灯塔，阐明了我们的需求：遏制对我们曾经古雅安宁的社区的过度开发”。

饶了我吧。我是说，一个人为了在自己的土地上盖房子而砍掉一棵树，这有什么不对呢？那是他的土地，他的树，他的决定，就是这样。这篇文章让我想吐。

除了文中引用的朱莉自己的话。也许是为了和记者的观点作个对比，但是有关朱莉的部分并不像我想象的那样自伤自怜。我不知道该怎么说，它们看起来……呃，很深刻。坐在树上让她变得非常富有哲理。

奇怪的是，她的话我完全能够理解。她讲述了坐在树上的感觉，还说那不仅仅是空间上的区别。“远离地面，被风吹拂着，”她说，“就像你的心被美撞了一下。”你认识的哪个初中生能说出这种话？反正我的朋友里一个都没有。

不只是这些，她还说了什么整体可以远远大于组成它的各部分之和，以及人们为什么需要某些东西带着他们抽离日常生活，让他们感受到生命的奇迹。

我把关于她的部分读了一遍又一遍，想知道她什么时候开始思考这些东西。我是说，不开玩笑，朱莉安娜·贝克很聪明，但这些东西已经远远超过了功课全A的范畴。

如果我一个月前读到这篇文章，我会把它当成垃圾丢进垃圾箱，但是不知为何，它现在对我有了新的意义。非常有意义。

一个月以前，我也绝对不会注意朱莉的照片，但现在我发现自己正在盯着它看。不是那幅全景照片——那上面的紧急救援装备占的地方比朱莉还大。是另外一张照片，在下半个版面。摄影师大概用了长焦镜头，你能看到她在树上，但只露出肩膀以上的部分。她望着远方，风把头发吹向背后，仿佛她正开着一条船，驶向太阳。

这么多年，我一直躲着朱莉安娜·贝克，从来没有好好看过她的样子，而现在，我忽然无法自拔地凝视着她。这种奇怪的感觉渐渐充斥了我的胃，我不喜欢这样。一点儿也不喜欢。说实话，这种感觉把我吓得够呛。

我把报纸塞在枕头底下，试图提醒自己朱莉安娜·贝克曾经给我带来的痛苦。

可是我的思绪很快就飘向别的地方，没过多久，我又把这份愚蠢的报纸从枕头底下掏出来。

这太疯狂了！我在干什么？

我强迫自己关上灯，躺在床上。心情渐渐平复，好吧，是时候该放松点儿了。

Chapter 08

院子

我从来没有像现在这样，为了我们住的地方而感到羞愧。我从来没有看着我们的房子，甚至是我们住的街道，然后说，哦！我多希望住在新的街区啊——那里的房子比这里新得多，也漂亮得多！我在这里长大，这是我的家。

当然，我意识到院子的问题。多年来，妈妈一直在抱怨它，但并不是认真地抱怨，不值得太过担心。至少我是这么想的。但我也许应该奇怪，为什么把屋子里整理得那么好，却放着院子不管呢？我们的房间整洁得无可挑剔。当然，男孩子们的房间除外。自从发现了蛇，妈妈就彻底放弃打扫那个房间了。如果他们已经成熟得可以养蛇，妈妈对哥哥们说，他们也成熟到足以自己打扫房间了。马特和麦克把这番话理解为关上房门，并且开始坚持只待在自己的房间里。

除了院子以外，我也从来没有认真关心过钱的问题，以及由此导致的明显的物资短缺。

我知道我们不富裕，但我们从来没缺过什么东西。任何你能买到的东西。

马特和麦克确实要求过很多东西，虽然妈妈会对他们说“不，孩子们，我们买不起”，但我总是把它解读成“不，孩子们，你们不需要这个”或是“不，孩子们，你们不是真的需要这个”。直到布莱斯管我的家叫垃圾场，我才真正开始审视它。

不仅仅是院子的问题。还有爸爸的卡车、妈妈的小汽车、家里那辆生满铁锈的自行车，以及我们经常在二手店买东西的事实。还有，我们从来不去度假，从不。

为什么？爸爸是全世界工作最努力的人，妈妈一有时间就去一家公司做文秘工作。假如你只得到这点回报，那么所有的努力还有什么意义呢？

如果我去问爸爸妈妈，我们是不是很穷，就太没礼貌了。但随着日子一天天过去，我越来越觉得自己非问不可，必须要问。每天当我从学校骑着生锈的自行车回家，穿过破旧的围栏和七零八落的院子，我都在想，今晚，今晚我一定要问。

但我从来没有问过。我不知道该如何开口。

有一天，我想到一个办法。一个既能让我提到这个话题，又能给他们帮点小忙的办法。

哥哥们那天晚上在唱片店打工，所以饭桌上没人说话，我深吸一口气，说道：“我在想，嗯，如果给我一些钉子、锤子，也许再来点油漆，我就能把前院整修一下，这大概不难。买草籽要花多少钱？估计不会太贵，对吗？我可以铺一块草坪，也许再种点花。”

爸爸妈妈放下餐具，看着我。

“我会用锯子和锤子——我可以把它当成——嗯，一个家庭作业项目。”

妈妈把目光从我脸上移开，转向爸爸。

爸爸叹了口气，说：“整修院子不是我们的责任，朱莉安娜。”

“它……不是吗？”

他摇摇头：“是芬尼根先生的责任。”

“谁是芬尼根先生？”

“这所房子的主人。”

我简直不敢相信自己的耳朵：“你说什么？”

爸爸清了清喉咙：“房东。”

“你是说，房子不属于我们？”

爸爸妈妈对看了一眼，低声地交谈着，我听不清楚。

最后，爸爸说：“我没意识到你不知道这件事。”

“可是……可是这不对呀！房东不是应该经常过来看看、做点修整吗？比如修理房顶漏水，或者清理堵塞的排水沟？这些活儿总是你来做，爸爸。如果这是他的责任，为什么由你来动手呢？”

“因为，”他叹了口气，“这比让他动手来得更容易。”

“可是如果……”

“还有，”爸爸打断我，“这也能避免他提高房租。”

“可是……”

妈妈靠近我，拉着我的手：“亲爱的，假如这吓到你了，我很抱歉。我们一直以为你知道呢。”

“但是这院子是怎么回事？为什么我们只管屋里不管屋外呢？”

爸爸皱起了眉：“签租约的时候，他向我们保证修缮围栏、前院和后院，在前院铺上草皮。显然，这些他都没做到。”他摇摇头，“这是个大工程，再说修围栏要花不少钱。我没法为了一间不属于自己的房子投入这么多。而且，这是个原则问题。”

“可是我们住在这儿，”我小声说，“它看上去太丑了。”

爸爸端详着我：“朱莉安娜，出什么事了？”

“没什么，爸爸。”我说。可他知道我在撒谎。

“亲爱的，”他低声说，“告诉我。”

如果我告诉他，我知道他们会说什么，可我还是不能不说。尤其是他这样看着我的时候。于是，我深吸一口气：“罗斯基家扔了我的鸡蛋，因为他们害怕沙门氏菌感染，而理由是我们的院子太脏了。”

爸爸说：“啊，真是胡扯。”但是妈妈倒抽一口气：“什么？”她尖叫道，“这是佩西说的？”

我低下头：“不，是布莱斯说的。”

“但是他们全家一定都商量过了！一个小男孩不可能想得出这些！”妈妈的样子简直就像一只瞪大眼睛看着枪口的梅花鹿。她把脸埋进手里，说，“我不能容忍再这样下去了！罗伯特，我们必须有所改变。必须！”

“特瑞纳，你知道我已经尽力了。我很对不起你，关于院子，关于我们的现状。这也不是我理想中的生活，但有时你只能为了正确的选择做出一些牺牲。”妈妈把头抬起来说：“这对于我们的家庭来说不是个正确的选择。你女儿现在很难过，就因为我们没有修整院子。”

“这不是我们的院子。”

“你怎么能这么说？罗伯特，睁眼看看吧！我们在这里住了十二年。这里再也不是什么临时住所了！如果我们想找个拥有自家院子的好一点儿的住所，如果我们想送孩子们读大学，或者实现别的我们曾经答应过他们的事，就必须把他送去接受政府救济。”

爸爸深深地叹了口气，低声说：“我们已经讨论过很多次，特瑞纳。到头来你还是会同意，把他放在格林海文是个正确的选择。”

我很想说，等等！你们在说什么？你们说的是谁？但他们说得很快，我根本插不上嘴，没过多久，他们就激烈地争吵起来，根本无视我的存在。

后来，在我的潜意识里，忽然一切都一目了然了。他们讨论的是我爸爸的兄弟——我的叔叔——戴维。

对我来说，戴维叔叔只是个名字。爸爸妈妈曾经说起过他，我却从来没有亲眼见过。虽然我知道爸爸经常探望他，却从来不知道具体的时间。他也从未提起过。

爸爸认为，我们不应该对别人谈起戴维叔叔，因为他有智障。

“人们总喜欢过早下结论，”他告诉我，“他们总爱通过联想，认定你也有什么毛病。相信我，一定是这样的。”

因此，我们从不提起他。不在家里提，也不在朋友面前提。就像戴维叔叔这个人不存在一样。

直到现在为止。他现在似乎变得越发重要起来，从他们的争论中，我发现是因为他，我们才买不起自己的房子；因为他，我们才买不起漂亮的车和其他昂贵的东西。他成了父母头上笼罩着的那团阴云。

为什么我一开始要提起院子的事？我还从来没见过父母吵得这么凶。

从来没有过。我想拉开他们，说：别吵了！别吵了！你们还爱着对方！是的！但我只是坐在那里，任凭泪水流过脸颊。

妈妈突然停下来，小声说：“我们不应该当着她的面吵架！”

“对不起，朱莉安娜，”爸爸走过来拉起我的胳膊，“别哭了。这不是你的错。我们能解决，我向你保证。”

妈妈泪眼蒙眬地试图挤出一个微笑：“我们总能找到办法的，我们一直都能得到。”

那天晚上，爸爸妈妈分别来到我的房间，找我聊天。爸爸谈起他的兄弟，告诉我他有多爱他，他是怎么对父母保证一定会照顾好他。妈妈说起她有多爱我爸爸的坚强和善良，说起梦想和现实，说凡事都要看到光明的一面。当她吻着我说晚安，在我耳边轻轻地说我是她最好最珍贵的财富时，我又忍不住哭了。

我觉得自己对不起爸爸，对不起妈妈。不过最幸运的是，他们是我的爸爸妈妈。

早上起来，当我骑着生锈的自行车去上学的时候，我暗下决心，要在放学之后开始整修院子。不管是不是租来的，这是我们的家，我只想让家人过上更好的生活。

结果，想着容易做起来难。一开始，我花了半个小时的时间，才从车库里找到锤子、一盒钉子、一把电锯和几把修枝剪。然后又花了半个小时用来决定到底从哪儿入手。院子里杂草丛生，但我该拿边缘的灌木怎么办呢？是把它们拔掉，还是修剪成形？

还有，它们到底是灌木，还是长疯了的杂草？围栏怎么办？我是拆掉它，还是再立一排新的？也许我应该把前面的全拆掉，用木头修补侧面的部分。

时间越长，我越是忘记了初衷。干吗自找麻烦呢？这不是我们的房子。应该留给芬尼根先生去修理。

但接下来我又想起前一天晚上妈妈的话。当然，我想，一点点灌木和杂草难不倒妈妈最好最珍贵的财富！我一定行！

我这样想着，挥起修枝剪投入工作。

半个小时以后，我充分了解到，一棵灌木到底有多少根枝条，以及当我把它砍倒扔到院子中央的时候，体积会呈几何级数增长。这太可怕了！我把这些东西放到哪儿去呢？

妈妈回到家，试着劝我结束战斗，可我决不放弃。哦，不——不——不！

我已经砍倒了两棵灌木，肢解成合适的大小，过不了多久她就会发现——这个院子将会变得多么美丽。

“我还以为你没有遗传到我固执的个性。”她说。不过她回到屋子里给我端来一杯果汁，还在我脸上亲了一下。这就足够了！第一天结束的时候，我把院子弄得一团糟。不过，如果混乱是给我的小窝建立秩序的必要步骤，那我正走在正确的道路上。至少那天晚上，当我筋疲力尽倒在床上的时候，是这样告诉自己的。

第二天下午，我忙着扩大小窝的混乱程度，一个低沉的声音说道：“真是个浩大的工程，年轻的女士。”

站在人行道上的是布莱斯的外公，我认识他。不过我只在户外见过他一次。其他时间我都是透过窗户看到他的——不是他家客厅的窗户，就是车窗。对我来说，他只是个有着深色头发、戴眼镜的老头儿。

见到他出现在人行道上，就像见到某个电视明星走下银幕跟你说话一样。

“我知道我们时常见面，”他说，“很抱歉，过了一年时间我才过来作自我介绍。我是查特·邓肯，布莱斯的外公。而你，没错，你一定是朱莉安娜·贝克。”

他伸出手，我也摘下工作手套，然后看着自己的小手完全淹没在他的大手里面。“很高兴见到你，邓肯先生。”我心想，比起从客厅窗户后面看到的人影，他本人要高大多了。

这时，奇怪的事情发生了。他从兜里掏出自己的工作手套和一把修枝剪，说：“你是不是想把它们修剪成一样的高度？”

“哦，”我说，“呃，是的。我是这么打算的。不过现在我也不太确定。你觉得如果把它们都拔掉，会不会更好？”

他摇摇头说：“这些是澳大利亚茶树。修剪后会很漂亮。”

说着，他戴上手套，开始修枝。

一开始我不知道该对他说点什么。有他来帮忙，真是件奇怪的事，可是看他的表现，我似乎不该多想。咔咔咔，他不断地剪着，似乎真的很享受这个过程。

我想起布莱斯对我家院子的评价，突然间，我明白他为什么要来帮我了。

“怎么了？”他边说边把剪下的枝条扔进我剪下的那一堆里，“我是不是剪得太多了？”

“没……没有。”

“那你为什么是这副表情？”他问，“我不想让你不自在。我只是觉得你需要一点儿帮助。”

“呃，我不需要。我自己能行。”

他笑了，说：“哦，我完全相信。”然后继续剪枝，“听着，朱莉安娜，我在报纸上读到你的消息，还在对街跟你做了一年多的邻居。很明显，你是个能干的孩子。”

我们一起安静地工作了一会儿，但我发现自己剪下枝条的速度越来越慢。没过一会儿，我就受不了了。我真的受不了了！我扳过他的肩膀，问道：“你来帮我，只是为了鸡蛋的事，对不对？好吧，我们的鸡蛋一点儿问题也没有！我家已经吃了快三年了，没人中毒。斯杜比太太和赫尔姆斯太太看起来也很健康，最关键的是，假如你们不想要，就应该跟我说一声！”

他的手垂下去，摇了摇头：“鸡蛋？中毒？朱莉安娜，我不明白你在说什么。”

我心里又生气又伤心又难堪，因此都不像平时的我了。“我说的是鸡蛋，我给你们送了两年的鸡蛋——自家的鸡下的蛋，我留着没有卖掉！是被你家扔掉的那些鸡蛋！”我对着他大声叫嚷。我从来没有这样对人嚷过，更别说是对着一个成年人。

他的声音放得特别轻：“我很抱歉。我不知道鸡蛋的事。你把它们给谁了？”

“布莱斯！”说出他名字的时候，我感到嗓子又缩成一团，“布莱斯。”

邓肯先生缓缓地点头，说了句“好吧”，然后继续剪枝，“难怪会是这样。”

“这是什么意思？”

他叹了口气：“那个孩子还有很长的路要走。”

我愣愣地看着他，把到了嘴边的话咽下去。

“哦，毫无疑问，他是个英俊的孩子，”他皱着眉头说，折断一根树枝，他补充道，“跟他爸爸是一个模子里刻出来的。”

我摇摇头：“你为什么来这儿，邓肯先生？如果你认为我不需要帮助，也不是为了鸡蛋的事道歉，那你为什么来帮忙呢？”

“要我说实话吗？”

我直视他的眼睛。

他点点头说：“因为你让我想起我太太。”

“你太太？”

“是的，”他微微一笑，“蕾妮肯定会和你一起坐在树上。她大概会在上面坐一整夜。”

听到这句话，我的愤怒消失得无影无踪：“真的？”

“当然。”

“她……她去世了？”

他点点头：“我很想她，”他扔下一根树枝，轻轻地笑出声来，“没有什么比得上一个聪慧的女人能让你生活得更愉快。”

我从来没想过和布莱斯的外公交朋友。但是在晚饭之前，我已经非常了解他和他太太了，知道了很多他们在一起经历的奇遇，仿佛我们已经认识了很久。

听他讲故事，连工作都变得更轻松了。晚上，当我回到屋子里的时候，灌木全修剪好了，除了院子中央扔着的一堆树枝，它看上去漂亮多了。

第二天，他又来了。我笑着和他打招呼：“嗨，邓肯先生。”

而他笑着回答我：“叫我查特，好吗？”他看着我手中的锤子说，“我想今天要修围栏了？”

查特教我怎么把木桩打成一条直线，怎么握住钉锤的末端，而不是满把攥，怎么用水平仪来保证灌木立得笔直。我们花了好几天时间修围栏，一边干活一边聊天。不光是聊他太太。他想知道无花果树的故事，当我告诉他“整体大于部分之和”的时候，我认为他完全能理解。“人们也是一样，”他说，“不过对人来说，有时候整体小于部分之和。”

我觉得这太有趣了。第二天，我在学校观察那些我从小学就认识的同学，想看看他们到底是大于还是小于部分之和。查特说得对，大部分人是小于。

位居其首的，当然是雪莉·斯道尔斯。看着她，你会以为她拥有一切，但在她珠穆朗玛峰一般高耸的发型之下，其实什么智慧也没有。虽然她像黑洞一样吸引着别人靠近，可是用不了多久，他们就会发现做她的朋友非得使劲拍她的马屁才行。

但是，所有的同学中，我唯一无法判断的就是布莱斯。直到不久之前，我都坚定地认为，他大于——远远大于——他的部分之和。他对我来说，是个完全无法用语言描述的奇迹。

可是，这里的关键在于“无法用语言描述”。当我在数学课上望着教室那头的他，就不由自主地想起他如何扔掉我的鸡蛋，再次陷入崩溃。他怎么能做得出这种事？

然后，他看到我，露出了笑容，我又不那么确定自己的感觉了。我开始生自己的气。

为什么在他做出那么过分的事之后，我对他还有这种感觉？

在这之后的一整天，我都躲着他，不过放学以前，我觉得就像有一团火，在我心里左冲右突。我跳上自行车，用前所未有的速度冲回家。右脚的踏板擦着链套，叮当作响，整架自行车吱扭作响，仿佛快要坍塌成一堆废铜烂铁。

可是，当我把车停在家门口的车道上，心里的火却越烧越旺。我只好把骑车的动力转化成刷漆的动力。撬开爸爸买给我的那桶“纳瓦霍”白色油漆，我开始刷漆。

十分钟之后，查特出现了。“上帝啊，”他笑了，“你今天真是精力充沛，是不是？”

“不，”我说，用手背把头发别到耳朵后面，“我只是生气。”

他拿出自己的油漆刷和一个空咖啡罐子：“哦，生谁的气？”

“我自己！”

“啊，那可够麻烦的。考试考砸了？”

“不是！我……”我转身面对着他，“你是怎么爱上你太太的？”

他倒了一些油漆在咖啡罐子里，露出了微笑。“啊哈，”他说，“少年维特之烦恼。”

“我没有什么烦恼！”

他犹豫了一下，没有争下去，而是对我说：“我爱上她是一个错误。”

“错误？什么意思？”

“我不是有意的。那时候我和另一个姑娘订婚了，按理说没有资格坠入爱河。后来我发现自己之前是多么盲目，好在还不算太晚。”

“盲目？”

“是的。我的未婚妻非常美丽。她有着最迷人的棕色眼睛，天使般的皮肤。那时，我只看到了她的美貌。但是后来……好吧，这么说吧，我发现她根本比不上蕾妮。”他把刷子伸进咖啡罐，拣了个木桩刷起来，“当你回首过去，会发现这是很明显的事，也很容易作出抉择，但不幸的是，大多数人看到藏在表面之下的真相时，已经太晚了。”

我们都不说话了，但我知道查特在思考。从他眉头的皱纹，我知道他不是在想我的问题。“我……我很抱歉提起你太太。”我说。

“哦，别这样，这没什么。”他摇摇头，试图挤出一丝笑容，“还有，我不是在想蕾妮。我在想其他人。一个从来也没能看穿表象的人。此时此刻，我甚至不希望她能看得太清楚。”

他说的是谁？我真的很想知道！可我想这大概不太礼貌，所以我们安静地刷着油漆。终于，他转过身，对我说：“超越他的眼睛、他的笑容和他闪亮的头发——看看他到底是什么样子。”

我感到后背升起一股凉气。仿佛他什么都知道。忽然间，我有种抵触情绪。他是说他的外孙不值得我这样？

晚饭时间到了，我的心情还是很差，但至少，胸中的那团火已经熄灭了。

妈妈说爸爸要加班，哥哥们在他们的朋友家，因此晚饭只有我们两个人吃。妈妈告诉我，她和爸爸讨论过查特的事，他们都觉得他过来帮忙有点奇怪。也许，她说，他们应该想办法付钱给他。

我告诉她，查特可能会把这当成一种侮辱，但是第二天她还是跟他说了付钱的事。查特说：“不用了，贝克夫人，我很高兴能给你女儿的家庭作业项目帮上忙。”然后再也不听妈妈说一个字了。

一星期过去了，周六的早晨，爸爸上班之前装了整整一车的枯枝碎叶。查特和我花了一天时间锄草、松土，预备好用于播种的土壤。

就在这最后一天，查特问我：“你们不会再搬家了吧？”

“搬家？为什么这么说？”

“哦，昨天晚餐的时候，我女儿提起了这种可能。她说你们修整房子可能是为了卖掉它。”

虽然工作的时候我和查特聊过很多事情，如果不是他问起我们会不会搬家，我大概不会提起芬尼根先生、戴维叔叔以及院子被搞成一团糟的原因。既然他问了，我就一股脑儿地全告诉了他。尤其是关于戴维叔叔。这种感觉就像朝着风中吹散一朵蒲公英，看着细小的种子随风飘散。我为爸爸妈妈感到骄傲，看着修整一新的前院，我也为自己感到骄傲。

还有后院，等着瞧吧！之后我也许会把整座房子粉刷一新的。我能做到。一定能。

查特听了我叔叔的故事，没有说话。午餐的时候，妈妈给我们送来了三明治，我们坐在门廊上，吃得很安静。然后他打破平静，朝对街一抬下巴：“我不知道他为什么不过来跟你说句话。”

“谁？”我问，把目光投向对街他指的地方。布莱斯房间的窗帘迅速滑了下来，我忍不住问他，“是布莱斯？”

“这是我第三次发现他在偷看。”

“真的？”我的心跳得就像一只振翅欲飞的小鸟。

他皱着眉头：“我们把活儿干完，来种草吧？日光的热量有助于它们发芽。”

终于到了给院子播种的时刻，我很兴奋，可是布莱斯的窗户分散了我的注意力。他在偷看吗？整整一下午，我都不好意思承认自己偷看了多少次。我想查特也看出来了，当工作全部完成，看着一个焕然一新的漂亮院子，我们相互祝贺的时候，他说：“他现在就像个懦夫，不过我对他还抱有希望。”

懦夫？我能说些什么呢？我只好一手拿着水管，一手扶着阀门，傻傻地站在那儿。

后来，查特跟我花了很长时间告别，挥着手，向对街走去。

几分钟以后，我看见布莱斯走上他家门前的人行道。一开始，我没认出来。我以为他这段时间只是躲在屋子里往外看，他真的走到外面来了吗？我又开始感到尴尬了。

我转过身，背对着他，把注意力集中在浇水上面。我真是个傻瓜！百分之百的傻瓜！刚开始生自己的气，我就听到有个声音在说：“这儿看上去漂亮极了，朱莉。干得不错。”

那是布莱斯在说话，他就站在我家的车道上。突然，我不再生自己的气了。我开始生他的气。他怎么像个监工似的站在那儿对我说，干得不错？想想他对我做的一切吧，他没有资格说任何话。

我正想用水管浇他，只听他说：“我为我做过的事情向你道歉，朱莉。这件事，你知道……我做得不对。”

我看着他——直视他湛蓝的眼睛。我试着用查特教我的方法——试着看到他的内心深处。表象下面是什么？他是怎么想的？他真的感到抱歉吗？或者他只是为他说过的话感到抱歉？

就像直视着太阳，我不得不把目光转向一边。

我不记得后来我们说了些什么，只知道他很友好，他让我很开心。布莱斯走了以后，我关上水龙头，走进屋子，感觉非常非常奇怪。

那天晚上，我辗转反侧，无法入睡。最糟糕的是，我根本说不清自己到底为了什么而沮丧和不安。当然，这和布莱斯有关，但我为什么不单单是生气？他做过的事情是多么……恶劣。还有，为什么开心？为什么我感到的除了开心还有别的？

他来到我家。他站在我家的车道上。他说了些动听的话。我们都笑了。

但我不是生气，也不是开心。当我躺在床上，试图理解这一切，我发现心中的不安甚至压倒了沮丧。我觉得好像有人在监视自己。我被自己吓得够呛，从床上跳起来，把窗户、橱柜和床底下都检查了一遍，但这种感觉始终还在。

直到将近午夜，我才明白那是什么。

是我自己，我在监视自己。

Chapter 09

越变越大，越变越臭

周日早上，我醒来的时候，觉得自己像是得了一场重感冒。我好像刚刚做了个梦，就像发烧时脑子里涌出的恐怖、费解、难以名状的噩梦。

我发现自己必须学会摆脱这些恐怖、费解、难以名状的梦，试着忘记它们的存在。

整晚我都挣扎着想摆脱它，第二天，我起得很早，因为昨天晚上几乎没吃东西，已经饿坏了！去厨房的路上，我匆匆地向客厅看了一眼，发现爸爸睡在沙发上。

这是个不好的兆头。它意味着家庭战争还没有结束，让我变得像个自己领土的侵入者。

他翻了个身，哼哼着，在又小又薄的被子下面蜷缩得更紧了，冲着枕头咕哝着，听上去绝对不是什么好话。

我溜进厨房，给自己倒了一大碗玉米片。正要倒牛奶的时候，妈妈悄无声息地溜进厨房，抢走了牛奶。“你得再等一会儿，年轻人，”她说，“周日的早餐，全家人必须一起吃。”

“可是我快饿死了！”

“我们也是。出去吧！我要做薄饼，而你应该去洗个澡。走吧！”好像洗澡能遏制住即将到来的饥饿感似的。

我下楼朝浴室走去，发现客厅已经没人了。

被子叠起来放在扶手椅上，枕头不见了……刚才我看到的仿佛只是一场梦。

吃早餐的时候，爸爸表现得一点儿也不像在沙发上睡了一夜。没有眼袋，没有胡楂。他穿上一条网球裤和一件淡紫色的Polo衫，头发吹得像工作日时一样。

我个人认为他衣服的颜色有点娘，不过妈妈说：“你今天看起来很精神，瑞克。”

爸爸只是猜疑地看着她。

外公进来了，说：“佩西，满屋都是香味！早上好，瑞克。嗨，布莱斯。”他坐下的时候朝我使了个眼色，把餐巾铺在膝盖上。

“利——奈——特，”妈妈喊道，“吃——早——饭——了！”

姐姐现身了，穿着短得不能再短的迷你裙、松糕鞋，眼睛涂抹得活像一只浣熊。妈妈倒抽一口凉气，但她深呼吸一下，说：“早上好，宝贝。你……你看起来……我想你今天早上是要和朋友一起去教堂吧。”

“是的。”利奈特拉着脸，在桌边坐下。

妈妈端上薄饼、煎蛋和土豆煎饼。爸爸一动不动地坐了一会儿，最后还是抖开了餐巾，塞在领子上。

“好吧，”妈妈坐下的时候宣布，“针对现在的情况，我想出了一个解决办法。”

“开始了……”爸爸嘟囔着，但妈妈瞪了他一眼，他马上不说话了。

“这个办法是……”妈妈边给自己拿了两张薄饼边说，“我们请贝克一家来吃饭。”

爸爸脱口而出：“你说什么？”利奈特问：“请他们全家？”我插进去问：“你是当真的吗？”只有外公又盛了一个煎蛋，然后说：“佩西，这是个好主意。”

“谢谢，爸爸，”她微笑着答道，然后对利奈特和我说，“我当然是认真的，是的，如果朱莉和男孩子们愿意，他们也在被邀请之列。”

姐姐大笑起来：“你知道自己在说什么吗？”

妈妈在膝盖上摊平餐巾：“我想我马上就知道了。”

利奈特转过头看着我：“她想邀请‘神秘小便’的核心成员来吃饭——哦，我真盼着快点看到那个场面！”

爸爸摇了摇头：“佩西，你请他们吃饭有什么目的？没错，我昨晚确实说了些不该说的话。这是你对我新一轮的惩罚吗？”

“我们几年前就该这么做。”

“佩西，拜托。我知道你为你听到的事情感到难过，但一次尴尬的晚餐聚会也改变不了什么！”

妈妈把糖浆倒在薄饼上，卷起最上面的一张，舔舔手指，然后狠狠地盯着爸爸：“我们要请贝克家来吃饭。”

她一定要这么做，不用再说什么了。

爸爸做了个深呼吸，然后叹着气说：“好吧，随便你，佩西。别说我没提醒你。”他咬了一口土豆煎饼，含混地说，“我想，是请他们过来烧烤？”

“不，瑞克。一次正式的晚餐。就像招待你的客户一样。”

他停止咀嚼：“你指望他们正装出席？”

妈妈瞥了他一眼：“我指望的是，你像我一贯以为的那样，表现得像个绅士。”

爸爸埋头对付他的土豆煎饼，总比和妈妈争论来得安全。

利奈特吃掉一整个煎蛋的蛋白，外加几乎一整张薄饼。

当然，这没什么稀奇，但从她比平时吃得更多以及咯咯傻笑的样子来看，显然她至少心情不错。

外公吃得很多，但我不知道他在想什么。他又恢复成像块石头那么冷。而我则意识到，这顿饭可能远比想象的更为诡异——它可能会带来麻烦。那些腐坏的鸡蛋从墓穴里爬出来，悬在我头上，越来越大，越来越臭。

当然，外公知道这件事，可是其他家庭成员还不知道。假如吃饭的时候有人提起怎么办？那我就死定了。

吃完早饭，刷牙的时候，我考虑收买朱莉。把她争取过来，就不会有人提起鸡蛋的事了。也许我可以想办法破坏掉这顿饭。让它永远也别发生。没错，我可以——我阻止自己再往下想，盯着镜子。我到底有多懦弱？吐了口唾沫，我回到房间里找我妈妈。

“怎么了，亲爱的？”她一边刷着煎锅，一边问我，“你看起来有心事。”

我又巡视了一圈，确定爸爸和利奈特没有潜伏在附近，然后压低了声音说：“你保证替我保密吗？”

她笑了：“哈，我不知道。”

我等着她往下说。

“是什么……”她看着我，停下手上的活儿，“哦，看起来挺严重嘛。亲爱的，怎么啦？”

我已经有很长时间没有自发地向妈妈坦白交代过什么事了。似乎没有这个必要，我已经学会怎么搞定自己的事。至少我是这么想的。但现在不一样了。

她拉住我的胳膊说：“布莱斯，告诉我。发生什么事了？”

我跳起来坐在餐台上，深吸一口气，然后说道：“是朱莉的鸡蛋。”

“她的……鸡蛋？”

“是的。你还记得那次关于小鸡、母鸡、沙门氏菌的小插曲吗？”

“那是很久以前的事了，不过我当然记得……”

“呃，可你并不知道，朱莉不止送过那一次鸡蛋。她那时每周都送过来……差不多吧。”

“是吗？我怎么不知道？”

“好吧，我没告诉她我们不想要这些鸡蛋，又怕爸爸生我的气，所以每次都把鸡蛋拦下来。我看着她过来，赶在她按门铃之前开门，然后在别人发现她来过之前，把鸡蛋扔进垃圾箱。”

“哦，布莱斯！”

“呃，我以为它们总有一天会停止下蛋！一只愚蠢的母鸡能下多长时间的蛋？”

“但我听说它们不再下蛋了呀？”

“是的。从上个星期开始。因为朱莉撞见我把鸡蛋扔进屋外的垃圾箱。”

“哦，亲爱的。”

“就是这样。”

“那么，你是怎么跟她说的？”

我低下头，嗫嚅着：“我告诉她，我们害怕沙门氏菌感染，因为他家的院子实在太脏了。她哭着跑了，接下来，她就开始整修她家的院子了。”

“哦，布莱斯！”

“就是这样。”

她沉默了一会儿，然后用很轻的声音说：“谢谢你的诚实，布莱斯，这印证了很多事。”她摇着头说，“那家人会怎么看我们。”然后继续刷锅，“如果你想听我的意见，那么这越发说明我们必须请他们吃顿饭。”

我低声说：“你保证不把鸡蛋的事说出去，对吗？我是说，朱莉告诉了外公，所以他已经知道了，但我不想让更多的人知道，你明白的，比如说爸爸。”

她盯着我看了半天，然后说：“向我保证你记住了这次教训，亲爱的。”

“我记住了，妈妈。”

“那好吧。”

我大大地松了口气：“谢谢你。”

“哦，还有，布莱斯。”

“嗯？”

“你把这件事告诉我，我很高兴。”她在我脸颊上亲了一下，然后笑着说，“你是不是保证过今天修剪草坪？”

“是的。”说着，我向屋外跑去，准备开始干活。

晚上，妈妈宣布贝克一家会在周五晚上六点过来，晚宴的菜单包括水煮三文鱼、螃蟹海鲜饭，以及时蔬炖菜，谁也不许临阵脱逃。爸爸嘟囔着说，假如真要请他们吃饭，还不如来一次庭院烧烤，至少他有事可做，可是妈妈狠狠地瞪着他，让他不得不打消这个念头。

好吧，他们就要来了。这让我在学校见到朱莉的时候，感觉更不自在了。并不是说她开始兴高采烈，甚至冲我挥手挤眼。不是的，她又开始躲着我了。碰巧遇到我的时候，她会打个招呼，但不像从前，我每次都能在身边看到她，现在她基本从我眼前消失了。她一定是从后门偷偷溜出去，并且找到了一条能穿行在校园里却又不为人知的路。我不知道，但她就像是人间蒸发了。

我发现自己上课的时候看着她。老师正在讲课，每个人的眼睛都应该向前看……除了我。它们总是忍不住瞟向朱莉，这太奇怪了。这一秒钟我还在听课，下一秒钟我已经完全把头转过去，看着朱莉。

直到星期三的数学课上，我才明白是怎么回事。她的头发在肩膀上披散开，歪着头，看起来和报纸上的照片一模一样。不完全一样——不同的角度，也没有风吹拂着她的头发——可她看起来就和照片上一样，太像了。

想通了这件事，我沿着脊梁骨升起一股凉意。我很好奇——她在想什么？她对根式推导真有那么大的兴趣吗？

我盯着她的事被达拉·特莱斯勒发现了，上帝，她冲我露出了一个不怀好意的笑容。如果我不想点办法，流言蜚语就会像野火一样传遍学校了。于是我侧过头对她小声说：“她的头发里有只蜜蜂，傻瓜。”然后指着空气，仿佛在说，看到了吗？就在那儿。

达拉转着头寻找那只蜜蜂，而我在那天剩下的时间里努力收回我的注意力。我绝不想跟达拉·特莱斯勒这样的人纠缠下去。

晚上写作业的时候，只是为了证明自己错了，我又把报纸从垃圾桶里抽出来。一边把它抹平，一边告诫自己：这是扭曲的事实；这是我的想象；她根本不是那样……

但她就在那里。数学课上和我隔着两排的姑娘，正栩栩如生地出现在报纸上。

利奈特闯了进来。“我要用你的卷笔刀。”她说。

我啪的一下用活页夹盖住报纸：“你应该先敲门！”她走近我，而报纸仍然很醒目，我只好尽可能迅速地把活页夹匆忙地塞进背包。

“你在藏什么，小弟弟？”

“没什么，别再叫我小弟弟了！而且再也别想闯进我的房间！”

“给我卷笔刀，我就走。”她伸出手。

我从抽屉里翻出来扔给她，果然，她如我所愿地消失了。可是没过多久妈妈就喊我过去，然后，好吧，我忘记报纸还放在活页夹里。

直到第二天早上第一节课为止。上帝！我能怎么办呢？我没法站起来把报纸扔出去，加利特就在旁边。

除此之外，达拉·特莱斯勒也在教室里，我敢说——她可时刻注意着那些任性的蜜蜂呢！被她抓住把柄的话，我就惨了。

像平常一样，加利特凑过来拿一张纸，因为心里有鬼，我按住了他的手。

“哥们儿！”他说，“你怎么回事？”

“对不起。”我这才明白他只不过想拿一张横格纸，而不是那张报纸。

“哥们儿，”他又说了一遍，“知不知道你最近老是魂不守舍的？有人告诉过你吗？”他从我的活页夹里撕下一张纸，却看到了报纸的边缘。他看看我，我还来不及阻止，他猛地把它抽了出来。

我朝他扑过去，从他手里抢下来，但是已经晚了。他看到了照片。

在他开口之前，我恶狠狠地盯着他说：“给我闭嘴，听见没有？不是你想的那样。”

“哇哦，放松点，好吗？我什么都没想……”但我明明看出他脑子里正在盘算些什么。他假惺惺地冲我一笑，“我相信你一定有个完美而充足的理由来解释你为什么随身带着一张朱莉安娜·贝克的照片。”

他的语气把我吓坏了。就像他正预备着怎么把我放在全班同学面前嘲笑一番。我凑在他耳边说：“别说出去，行吗？”

老师叫我们俩安静点，但加利特还在不停地冲我傻笑，还朝着活页夹的方向挑起眉毛做鬼脸。课后，达拉假装表现出冷淡而专注的样子，实际上则是竖起耳朵对准我们。她让我一整天都心神不宁，也就根本找不到机会向加利特解释。

不过，我能跟他说什么呢？报纸之所以在活页夹里，是因为我不愿意被我姐姐看见？那可真是个好理由。

除此之外，我也不想为此找一些蹩脚理由。其实我很想找加利特聊聊。我是说，他曾经是我的朋友，而最近几个月以来，有太多的事让我心烦意乱。我想，如果跟他聊聊，也许能帮我回到正轨，帮我别再想这些烦心事了。在这方面，加利特足够可靠。

还不错，社会科学课上，我们有时间去图书馆查阅资料，准备写著名历史人物的论文。达拉和朱莉也在这个班，但我想办法把加利特单独拉到一个角落里，避开别人的注意。

一到没人的地方，我就开始为了小鸡的事痛骂起加利特。

他冲我晃晃脑袋：“哥们儿！你在说什么呢？”

“你还记得那次我们去她家隔着围栏偷窥吗？”

“六年级那次？”

“没错。记得你问我什么是母鸡吗？”

他转转眼睛：“哦，又来了……”

“嘿，关于小鸡，你什么也不懂。我把命都交给你了，可你根本没把我当回事。”

我对他讲了爸爸、鸡蛋、沙门氏菌的故事，还有我怎么拦截了将近两年的鸡蛋。

他只是耸耸肩，说：“就这样呗。”

“嘿，可是她抓住我了！”

“谁？”

“朱莉！”

“哇哦，哥们儿！”

我告诉他我当时是怎么说的，以及她几乎马上开始在整修前院的故事。

“好吧，然后呢？她家院子乱成那样，并不是你的错。”

“但是后来我才发现，那所房子根本不是他们家的。他们很穷，因为她爸爸有个智障的弟弟，他们需要，呃，付钱抚养他。”加利特向我露出一个十足的傻乎乎的笑容：“智障？好吧，那能说明很多问题，不是吗？”

我不敢相信自己的耳朵：“什么？”

“你知道的，”他说，还挂着那个笑容，“我是说朱莉。”

我觉得心脏开始怦怦乱跳，下意识地握紧拳头。自从我学会不主动惹上麻烦以来，头一次想把别人臭揍一顿。

但我们是在图书馆。除此之外，我心里忽然闪过一个念头，如果我真的揍了他，他就会马上告诉所有人，说我爱上了朱莉安娜·贝克，可我没有！

于是，我摆出一副笑脸，说：“哦，好吧。”然后迅速找了个借口，能离他多远就离他多远。

放学后，加利特问我要不要去他家玩，可我一点儿兴趣也没有。我还是想揍他一顿。

我试着说服自己放弃这个念头，但我连五脏六腑都在生这个家伙的气。

伙计，他已经超出了我的底线，超出了很多。

可我没法把这件事彻底抛到脑后，因为，另一个挑战我底线的人，是我爸爸。

Chapter 10

探视

星期天的早晨，家里总是一片祥和。爸爸在睡懒觉，妈妈享受着不做早饭的轻松。如果哥哥们不在外面和乐队一起练习，直到中午你都不会感受到他们的存在。

我通常会在别人睡觉的时候，踮起脚尖溜到院子里捡鸡蛋，然后倒上一碗麦片，回房间坐到床上边吃边看书。

不过，这个星期天例外——经历了几乎一整夜的沮丧和不安——我醒来后只想做点运动，用来赶走盘踞在心中的困惑。

我真正想做的是高高地爬上我的无花果树，但我最终满足于给院子浇水，这让我有时间思考。我拧开水龙头，反复地浇灌着泥土，欣慰地看到它们是多么黝黑肥沃。我在心里忙着跟播在土里的草籽说话，引诱它们快快发芽，好迎接初升的太阳。这时，爸爸从屋里走出来。

他刚刚洗过澡，头发湿漉漉的，手里捏着团成一团的杂货袋。“爸爸！对不起，我把你吵醒了。”

“你没吵醒我，亲爱的。我已经起来一会儿了。”

“你不是要去上班吧？”

“不，我……”他盯着我看了一会儿，然后说道，“我去探视戴维。”

“戴维叔叔？”

他朝卡车走去：“是的。我……我中午之前回来。”

“但是爸爸，为什么今天去看他？今天是星期天。”

“我知道，亲爱的，可今天是个特殊的星期天。”

我关上水龙头：“为什么特殊？”

“今天是他的四十岁生日。我想去看看他，送他一件礼物。”他拿出一个纸袋，“别担心，我会带些薄饼回来当午饭，好吗？”

“我跟你一起去。”我把水管扔到一边。我甚至连衣服都没换——只穿着运动服和球鞋，连袜子都没穿——但我根本没有犹豫，我一定要去。

“你不愿意待在家里，和妈妈一起度过一个愉快的上午吗？她肯定——”

我走到副驾驶座旁边，说：“我要去。”然后爬进去，把门关好。

“可是——”他透过驾驶座的门对我说。

“我要去，爸爸。”

他端详着我。片刻，他说：“好吧，”然后把纸袋放在后座，“我给你妈妈留张便条。”

他进屋去了，我系上安全带，告诉自己这是个好主意。我几年前就应该这么做。戴维叔叔是我家的一分子，是爸爸的一部分，也是我的一部分，这正是我了解他的好机会。

我端详着身边的纸袋。爸爸给他弟弟带去了什么东西作为四十岁生日礼物？

我把它拿起来。不是画——比画轻很多。当我摇晃它的时候，发出一种奇怪的、轻柔的咔嗒声。

我刚想偷偷掀起一角往里看，爸爸就从门口走过来了。我放下纸袋坐好，他坐进驾驶座，我问他：“你不介意我去吧？”

他看着我，没有说话，手里的钥匙停在打火的位置。

“我……我希望不会破坏掉你和他在一起的时光。”

他发动车子：“不会的，宝贝。你跟我一起去，我很高兴。”

去往格林海文的路上，我们没怎么说话。他似乎想看看风景，而我，好吧，我有很多问题，但哪个也不想问出口。不过，坐在爸爸车里的感觉真好。沉默比交谈更紧地把我们联系在一起。

到了格林海文，爸爸停下车，但我们没有马上下去。

“你需要适应这里，朱莉安娜，但你会喜欢上这里的。你会喜欢上他们，他们都是很好的人。”

我点点头，但有种奇怪的恐惧感。

“来吧，”他从座位上拿起纸袋，“我们进去吧。”

对我来说，格林海文不像个医院，但也不怎么像个家。它是个长长的、方方正正的建筑。走廊遮着一层湖绿色的遮阳棚，沿途的花圃里是刚刚种下的三色堇，还挂着泥土，有点歪歪斜斜的。

草坪有些斑驳，邻近建筑物的地方挖了三个深深的洞。

“这里的住户负责照料花园，”爸爸解释说，“这是他们康复训练的一部分，对治疗有帮助。这些洞将要用来种植桃子、李子和梨。”

“果树？”

“是的。为了投票，他们争得不亦乐乎。”

“在这些……住户当中投票？”

“没错，”他推开一扇玻璃门，说道，“进来吧。”

屋里很凉爽，闻起来有清洁剂的松木味和漂白剂的气味，还隐隐透出某种暧昧的辛辣味道。

没有接待台或是等待区，我们直接走到一处巨大的十字路口，有着白色的墙壁和窄窄的木头长凳。左边是一间摆着电视机和几排塑料椅子的大房间，右边是几间开着门的办公室，我们身边放着两个松木衣橱。其中一个开着门，里面整齐地挂着半打灰色运动服。

“早上好，罗伯特！”一间办公室里传来一个女人的声音。

“早上好，乔西。”爸爸回答道。

她从屋子里走向我们俩，说：“戴维已经起床了。大概六点钟就起来了，梅布尔告诉我今天是他的生日。”

“梅布尔说得对。”他转身对我笑了笑，“乔西，我想向你介绍我的女儿，朱莉安娜。朱莉安娜，这位是乔西·格伦马克。”

“哦，太好了，”乔西牵起我的手，“我在戴维的相册里见过你的照片。你快要读高中了，对不对？”

我惊讶地看着她，再看看爸爸。我完全没想到会是这样，不过我能看出他确实向她提起过我。“是的，我想……是的。”

“乔西是这儿的管理员。”

“以及，”乔西笑着补充道，“我还没有从这里毕业！在这儿待了十七年啦，恐怕还会再待下去。”电话铃响了，她匆匆地跑去接，“知道了，一会儿见。检查娱乐室，再查查他的房间。你肯定能找到他。”

爸爸带我转过一个弯，沿着走廊走得越深，那种隐蔽的辛辣味道来得就越浓烈。这地方就像是长年累月没人打扫的小便池。

走廊的尽头，一个小个子蜷缩在轮椅里。一开始我以为那是个孩子，走近一点儿，我发现那是个女人。

她的头发几乎掉光了，她张开没牙的嘴，对爸爸笑了笑，拉过他的手开始说话。

我的心沉到谷底。她发出的声音就像喉咙被堵住一样，消失在舌头上。她说的话我一句也听不懂，而她那么热切地盯着爸爸——好像他肯定能理解她说的话。

出乎我的意料，爸爸说：“你说得完全正确，梅布尔。就是今天，所以我来了。”他提起杂货袋，低声说，“我给他带了一点儿小礼物。”

“嗯——哇哇，”她说，“你怎么知道的？”

她冲爸爸发出咯咯的声音，直到他轻轻地拍着她的手说：“我想是一种强烈的预感吧。他喜欢过生日，而且——”他看到她正在注视着我。

“呼哈。”她说。

“这是我女儿，朱莉安娜。朱莉安娜，来认识一下非凡的梅布尔小姐。她能记住每个人的生日，而且狂热地喜爱草莓奶昔。”

我努力挤出一个微笑，低声说“很高兴认识你”，但只换来一张充满怀疑的、面带愁容的脸。

“好吧，我们去找戴维了。”爸爸说，然后拿起袋子晃了晃，“假如他来找你，千万别泄密哦。”

我跟着爸爸走向卧室，他在门口停下来喊道：“戴维？戴维，我是罗伯特。”

一个男人出现在门口。我无论如何也看不出他是爸爸的兄弟。他身材健壮，戴着一副厚厚的棕色眼镜，他的脸看上去苍白而肿胀。可是他伸出双手抱住爸爸，并且喊道：“乌巴德！哟吼！”

“是的，是我，弟弟。”

我跟着他们走进房间，看到墙上挂满了拼图。它们是直接贴在墙壁上的，甚至延伸到天花板上！房间看上去舒适而惬意，充满情趣。我觉得自己仿佛置身于一个用绗缝被搭成的洞穴。

爸爸伸直手臂扶着他的弟弟，说道：“看看我带谁来了！”

有那么一瞬间，戴维看起来几乎吓坏了，可是爸爸接着说：“这是我的女儿，朱莉安娜。”

戴维的脸上忽然绽开了笑容，“朱——维——安——娜！”他喊着，然后抓住我，给了我一个拥抱。

我觉得自己快要窒息了。我的脸被埋住，他紧紧地搂着我，把空气都挤走了，还左右摇晃着。然后，他傻笑着松开我，跌进一把椅子：“这是窝——的——身——日！”

“我知道，戴维叔叔。生日快乐！”

他又咯咯地笑了：“歇——歇——你！”

“我们给你带来了礼物。”说着，爸爸打开纸袋。

在他拆开礼物之前，在我看到礼物实际的尺寸之前，我想起在车里摇晃它的声音。当然！我心想。那是一幅拼图。

戴维叔叔也猜到了：“一幅宾——图？”

“不只是拼图，”爸爸把礼物从袋子里拿出来，“一幅拼图，还有一个风车。”

爸爸在拼图盒子外面包了一张漂亮的蓝色包装纸，还用一个蝴蝶结把红黄相间的风车固定在盒子上。戴维叔叔一把扯下风车，开始朝它吹气。先是轻轻地吹，然后使劲地吹起来，喷出许多口水。“橙——设！”他边吹边喊，“橙——设！”

爸爸温柔地从他手里拿过风车，笑了：“红色和黄色加在一起是橙色，对不对？”

戴维试图把风车抢回去，但是爸爸说：“我们一会儿带着它到外面去，风会替你吹动它。”并把拼图放回他手里。

包装纸被撕成碎片扔在地上，我凑近去看爸爸给他买了什么拼图，结果惊得倒抽一口凉气。三千块！图案只是简单的白云和蓝天。没有阴影，没有树木——除了白云和蓝天什么都没有。

爸爸指着天花板中心的一点：“我想它正好适合那里。”

戴维叔叔向上看去，点点头，然后扑向他的风车，说道：“外——面？”

“没问题。我们去散步吧。你想去麦克艾略特那里吃个生日冰激凌吗？”

戴维叔叔把头上下晃动着：“好！”

我们在乔西那里登了记，然后走到大街上。戴维走得不快，因为他的身体似乎更希望向内伸展，而不是向前进。他有内八字，还驼着背，我们走路的时候，他几乎是重重地压在爸爸身上。

但他坚持把风车放在胸前，看着它旋转，时不时喊着：“橙——设，橙——设。”

麦克艾略特是个卖冰激凌的杂货铺。冰激凌柜台上支起红白条纹的遮阳棚，还放着几张白色的桌椅，贴着红白条纹的壁纸。看上去非常有节日色彩，尤其是放在杂货铺这个环境下。

爸爸给我们每人要了一个蛋筒，我们坐下之后，爸爸和戴维聊了两句，但是大多数时间戴维一心想着他的巧克力软糖口味的冰激凌。爸爸不时冲我露出微笑，我也笑了，但我仿佛和他隔了很远。他们俩来这里吃过多少次冰激凌了？他这样为他弟弟庆祝过多少次生日了？梅布尔、乔西以及格林海文的其他人，他认识他们多久了？这么多年，我怎么从来没来陪伴过我的叔叔？仿佛爸爸背着我过着一种秘密的生活。在我之外，还有一个完整的家。

我不喜欢这种感觉，我不明白。我正在生气，这时戴维手里的蛋筒碎了，冰激凌落在桌子上。

爸爸还没来得及制止，戴维已经把冰激凌捡起来，试着往蛋筒里塞。但是蛋筒已经碎成了块，于是冰激凌又掉下来，不过这次掉在了地上。

爸爸说：“别动它了，戴维。我再给你买一个。”但戴维不听。他的椅子向后倒，他把头也跟着埋下去。

“不要，戴维！我去给你买个新的。”爸爸伸出手去拉他，但戴维不肯动地方。他抓起冰激凌，向蛋筒剩下的部分塞过去，当蛋筒最底下也完全碎裂之后，他尖叫起来。

这太可怕了。他就像一个两百磅重的婴儿，倒在地板上发脾气。他喊着我听不懂的词，爸爸试着让他平静下来，然后对我说：“朱莉安娜，你能再帮他买一个蛋筒吗？”

看柜台的男人用他最快的速度装着蛋筒，但短短几秒钟之内，戴维已经挥舞着手臂打翻了一张桌子和两把椅子，把巧克力抹得到处都是。收银台的柜员和顾客看上去全都吓呆了——仿佛戴维是某种即将毁灭世界的怪物。

我把新的蛋筒递给爸爸，他又递给躺在地上的戴维。当他坐在地上吃蛋筒的时候，我和爸爸在他身边忙着把所有东西放回到它们应该在的位置，擦掉污迹。

回格林海文的路上，戴维就像什么都没发生过一样。他吹着风车，不时喊道“橙——设”，但是当爸爸打开前门，我看出戴维已经累了。

走进他的房间，戴维把风车放在床上，拿起装拼图的盒子。“你为什么不先休息一会儿再开始玩呢？”爸爸问他。

戴维摇了摇头：“先——在。”

“好吧，我来帮你做好准备。”

爸爸从床底下拉出一张牌桌，把桌腿打开，摆好。他把桌子推到墙边离床不远的地方，然后拿来一把椅子放在旁边：“好了，可以开始了。”

戴维打开盒子，已经把拼图筛了一遍：“则——个——拼——读——粉——好，乌巴德。”

“你喜欢它，我很高兴。你觉得能在星期三之前拼好吗？那时我可以回来帮你把它贴到天花板上，如果你喜欢的话。”

戴维点了点头，可是他已经全心投入到拼图里去了，小心地把拼图放在桌子上。

爸爸把手放在他的肩膀上：“我星期三再来看你，好吗？”

他点点头。

“你要不要和朱莉安娜告别？”

“百——拜。”他说，不过目光根本没离开那盒拼图。

“再见，戴维叔叔。”我试图让自己的声音愉快一点儿，但是没有做到。

回到车上，爸爸扣上安全带，说道：“就是这样。”

我只是看着他，试图笑一笑。

“你是不是跟我一样，累极了？”他说。

我点点头：“一切都很好——除了冰激凌。”

爸爸轻轻地笑了：“除了冰激凌？”然后他换上严肃的语气，“问题在于，你永远也不知道这‘冰激凌’会是什么样子。有时候是屋里的一只苍蝇，有时候是他穿袜子的感觉。你没法预料到每一件事。一般说来，冰激凌还算安全。”他摇着头，闭上眼睛，思考着我无法想象的什么东西。最后，他终于把火打着，说道，“戴维和我跟你妈妈一起住过一段时间。在你们出生之前。曾经以为，他和我们住在一起总比寄养在这里强，但我们错了。”

“但是不管怎么说，现在一切都很顺利……”

他挂上倒车挡：“戴维有许多许多的特殊需求，包括情绪上和生理上的。你妈妈和我无法全照顾到。幸运的是，他在这里很快乐。他们有固定的方法，教他如何照顾自己——穿衣服、洗澡、刷牙、怎样与人相处，怎样与别人交流。他们出去远足，他还有个工作，是帮医生办公室寄信。”

“真的？”

“每天早上，他去那里把信折好，放进信封里。格林海文对他很好，他得到了无数无微不至的关心。他有自己的房间、自己的朋友、自己的生活。”

过了一会儿，我问道：“但他是我们家的一分子，爸爸。他从来不到我家做客，这是不对的。甚至圣诞节和感恩节都不来！”

“他不想来，亲爱的。有一年你妈妈和我坚持要他在家和我们一起过感恩节，那变成了你能想象得到的最大的麻烦。他打碎了一扇车窗，他是那么沮丧。”

“可是……我们为什么不来探望他？我知道你经常来，但我是指其他人。他们为什么不来？”

“嗯，他们的耐心被消耗殆尽了。你妈妈因此非常沮丧和抑郁，我能理解。我们都认为，这里不适合小孩子。”

他加速上了高速公路，沉默地开着车。他最后说道：“时间过得真快，朱莉安娜。前一天你还把孩子抱在怀里，后一天你就发现她几乎变成一个女人了，”他悲哀地对我笑了笑，“我爱戴维，但他是个负担，我希望你能远离这个负担。但是现在，我意识到他还是造成了影响，对你，以及整个家庭。”

“但是爸爸，这不是……”

“朱莉安娜，我只想说，对不起。我想给你很多东西，把所有都给你。直到现在我才发现，我给予的却只有那么少。”

“不是这样的！”

“好吧，我想你明白我已经在内心世界寻找到我想要的东西，但如果用客观的标准去衡量，作为一个丈夫和父亲，像罗斯基先生那样的男人显然比我做得更好。他陪伴家人的时间更多，给予的更多，而且他也许比我有趣得多。”

爸爸既不是在违心地恭维，也不是出言赞赏，但是，我仍然不敢相信这是他的真心话：“爸爸，我不在乎别人怎么看，我觉得你是最好的爸爸！有一天我要结婚的话，绝对不想找个罗斯基先生那样的男人！我想找个你这样的人。”

他看着我，露出难以置信的表情：“真的吗？”他笑了，“好吧，等到那一天，我会提醒你的。”

从那一刻开始，我们的旅途不再充满悲伤和压抑。我们笑啊，闹啊，天南地北地聊，快到家的时候，话题集中在一种东西上。

薄饼。

可是，妈妈有别的打算。她擦了一上午地板，坚决否定了薄饼这个主意。“我需要吃些更管用的食物。比如烤火腿加奶酪，加上洋葱，”她说，“很多很多洋葱！”

“擦地板？”爸爸说，“今天是星期天，特瑞纳。你干吗要擦地板呢？”

“化紧张情绪为力量，”她看着我说，“怎么样？”

“很好，我很高兴我去看他了。”

她瞥了爸爸一眼，然后看着我：“好吧，那很好，”她叹了口气，“我擦地板还有一个原因，佩西打电话过来了。”

“罗斯基太太？”爸爸问道，“出什么问题了？”

妈妈把碎发拨到耳后，说：“没有……她邀请我们下周五去她家吃饭。”

我们错愕地看着她，然后我问：“我们全家？”

“是的。”

我能猜到爸爸是怎么想的：为什么？在对街住了这么久，我们从来没被邀请过。为什么是现在？

妈妈也猜到了他的想法。她叹了口气：“罗伯特，我不是很清楚原因，但她坚持邀请我们去做客。她说话带着哭音，说她很抱歉从未邀请过我们，现在她很想多了解我们一些。”

“你怎么回答她的？”

“我几乎没法拒绝。她人很好，查特又帮了很大的忙……”她耸耸肩，“我说我们会去的。周五晚上六点。”

“真的吗？”我问。

她又耸耸肩：“我想这也不错。虽然有点奇怪，但还不错。”

“哦，好吧，”爸爸说，“周五我不会安排加班了。男孩子们呢？”

“那天没有关禁闭的记录，也不用去打工，但我还没有告诉他们。”

“你确定他们想邀请我们全家？”爸爸问道。

妈妈点点头：“她很坚持。”

看得出来，去罗斯基家吃晚饭的事让爸爸很不自在，但我们俩都知道，这个邀请对妈妈来说意义重大。“好吧。”他说完就去切奶酪和洋葱了。

下午，我懒散地看看书，做做白日梦。第二天在学校，我无法集中精力。我的思绪总是飘到戴维身上。我想象着爷爷奶奶的样子，他们怎样应对一个像他这样的孩子。

我的白日梦里也有许多无花果树的身影，一开始，我以为那是出于哀伤。然后我想到妈妈对无花果树的评价，说它是坚韧的象征。它还是树苗的时候就被损坏过，最终却生存下来了，它长大了。别人觉得它丑，我却从不这样认为。

也许是甲之熊掌，乙之砒霜。我认为很丑的东西，说不定别人却认为很美。

雪莉·斯道尔斯就是个完美的例子！对我来说，她完全一无是处，可是其他人却认为她棒极了。

管他呢。

好吧，我就这样浑浑噩噩地过了一周，直到周四为止。社会科学课上，我们去图书馆查资料，准备著名历史人物的论文。我选了苏珊·B.安东尼和她为选举权所作的斗争为题目，正在翻书的时候，达拉·特莱斯勒站在书架的尽头冲我做手势。

达拉跟我选了几门同样的课，但我们不算真正的朋友，我向身后看了看，以为她在招呼别人。

“过来！”她用口型说，拼命地向我挥着手。

我急忙走过去。她指着一排书后面，小声说：“你听！”

那是加利特的声音，然后是布莱斯。他们谈论的是……我。关于我的鸡，还有沙门氏菌感染，关于布莱斯怎么扔掉我的鸡蛋，以及我如何整修我家的院子。

布莱斯的声音显得很难过，但是，突然间，我全身的血液一下子冻住了。他在说戴维！

然后加利特笑了：“智障？好吧，那能说明很多问题，不是吗？你知道的……我是说，朱莉。”

他们沉默了一会儿。那一刻，我几乎可以肯定他们能听到我怦怦的心跳声，但是布莱斯笑了，他说：“哦，是啊。”

我结结实实地瘫倒在地上。下一秒，他们的声音就消失了。达拉看了看那个角落，然后坐在我身边，说：“哦，朱莉，我非常非常抱歉。我还以为他要坦白他曾经暗恋过你呢。”

“什么？达拉，布莱斯没有暗恋过我。”

“你怎么了？你难道看不出他盯着你的样子？那孩子早就坠入爱河无法自拔了。”

“哦，绝对没有这回事！你刚刚听到他说了，达拉！”

“是的，但是昨天，就在昨天我撞见他盯着你，他说你头发里有只蜜蜂。一只蜜蜂，姑娘。这是不是你听过最糟糕的借口？”

“达拉，你刚才亲耳听到了，我宁愿相信我的头发里真的有只蜜蜂。”

“哦，你以为自己有那么甜？像蜂蜜似的招惹蜜蜂吗？好吧，蜜糖，你能招惹到的唯一一只蜜蜂就是布——莱——斯。真有趣，是不是。但是听到刚才的话，我真想杀了他，姑娘，杀了他。”她站起来，走了出去，又回过头来说，“别担心，我不会多嘴的。”

我只是摇摇头，忘掉达拉的话吧。她错得太离谱了。

我不能忘记的是布莱斯和加利特的话。他们怎么能如此残忍？如此愚蠢？这是不是爸爸成长中时常遇到的事？

我想得越多就越生气。布莱斯有什么权利拿我叔叔寻开心？他敢！

我的脸颊热得像一团火，而心脏像是被打了一个又冷又硬的结。电光石火之间，我明白了——我从布莱斯·罗斯基那里毕业了。让他继续和那双湛蓝眼睛做伴去吧。还有他那假惺惺的笑容，以及……我的初吻。没错！让他留着它好了。我再也不会跟他说话了，永远不会！

我风风火火地跑回书架前，找到两本有关苏珊·B.安东尼的书，然后回到桌子旁边。收拾东西准备离开图书馆的时候，我忽然想起一件事。明天我们要去罗斯基家吃晚饭。

我拉上书包拉链，甩到肩膀上。经历了这些，我当然有权拒绝去他家！不是吗？

Chapter 11

极度紧张

我发现爸爸对幽默感的理解力与加利特差不多，这让我陷入了极度紧张中。

只要看到爸爸，我就坐卧不安，更别提跟他说话了。但是在星期五下午五点钟左右，我至少在一件事上和他达成共识——我们还不如组织一次烧烤。烧烤给人的感觉会更加，嗯，非正式。可惜，妈妈正在厨房里煎炒烹炸，忙得团团转，指使爸爸和我做这做那，仿佛即将来用餐的是总统大人。

我们擦了地板，给桌子多加了一张活动面板，搬进五把椅子，还摆了桌子。当然，我们摆得错误百出，可是妈妈也不过是把所有的东西重新折腾了一遍。对我来说，这没什么不同，不过反正我什么也不懂，对吧？

她拿出几座烛台，说：“瑞克，你能不能帮我装盘上菜？我想抓紧时间去冲个澡。做完这些你就可以换衣服了。还有布莱斯，你穿的这是什么？”

“妈妈，不过是和贝克一家吃饭。你想让他们觉得自己一文不值吗？”

“特瑞纳和我约定要正装出席，因此——”

“但为什么要正装？”

妈妈把手放在我的肩膀上说：“为了让我们感到一样的不自在，孩子。”

女人哪。我看着她说道：“这是否说明我得打上一条领带？”

“不用，但至少换下T恤衫，穿件带纽扣的上衣。”

我回到自己的房间，在衣柜里巡视着，想找到一件带纽扣的。

好吧，有不少衣服都有纽扣。我有的是奇怪的纽扣。我在心里幻想着抵制妈妈的着装要求，但手里却拿起衬衫开始往身上穿。

二十分钟后，我还没穿好衣服。我非常不满，穿成这样有什么意义呢？我为什么要在意为这顿白痴的晚饭穿什么衣服？我表现得活像个姑娘。

透过窗帘的缝隙，我看到他们过来了。出了院门，走过人行道，穿过大街。就像个奇怪的梦境。他们仿佛飘向我家的房子。他们五个人。

我从床上捡起一件衬衫，把胳膊穿进去，系上扣子。

两秒钟以后，门铃响了，妈妈喊道：“你能去开门吗，布莱斯？”

幸好，外公替我开了门。他跟他们全家打着招呼，就像见到了久别重逢的亲人，甚至分得清马特和麦克。他们一个人穿了件紫色衬衫，一个人穿了件绿色的，所以记住谁是谁并不难，可是他们一进门就捏着我的脸说：“嘿，小弟弟！最近可好？”我十分气恼地发现自己又把他们搞混了。

妈妈从厨房出来，说：“进来，快进来吧。你们全家都来了，这太好了，”她喊道，“利——奈——特！瑞克！客人来了！”

她看到朱莉和贝克太太的时候顿了一下，“呃，这是什么？”她问道，“家里做的派？”

贝克太太说：“黑莓奶酪山核桃蛋糕。”

“看起来真棒！太棒了！”妈妈表现得过于亢奋，我不太相信她的话。她接过朱莉手中的派，飞快地拉着贝克太太进了厨房。

利奈特从角落里冒出来，马特和麦克看见她就笑了：“嘿，利。今晚真漂亮。”

黑衬衫，黑色指甲油，黑色眼影——对于夜行啮齿类动物来说，是的，确实不错。

他们去了利奈特的房间，当我转过身，外公正领着贝克先生走进前厅，我被留在玄关和朱莉在一起。只有我们两个。

她没有看我。她似乎看过了每一样东西，但就是不看我。我感觉自己像个白痴，穿着带奇怪纽扣的古板衬衫呆站在那儿，两颊凹陷，无话可说。这种沉默让我紧张，心脏在狂跳，就像刚跑完百米赛跑或是打过一场篮球什么的。

最重要的是，她看起来甚至比那张白痴报纸上的照片还像照片，不知道这样说你是否能明白。不是因为她今天穿着正装——她没有。她穿了一条普普通通的连衣裙和一双普普通通的鞋子，头发也和平时一样，也许比平时稍微平顺一点点。而是因为，她看着所有的东西却不看我。她把肩膀扭过去，抬着下巴，眼睛闪闪发亮。

我们可能只在那儿站了五秒钟，感觉上却像过了整整一年。终于，我开口说：“嗨，朱莉。”

她瞥了我一眼，一切都清楚了——她在生气。她小声说：“我在图书馆听到你和加利特拿我叔叔开玩笑，我不想和你说话！你明白吗？不是现在，是永远！”

我的脑子飞速地运行着。当时她在哪儿？我没在附近看到她呀！

还有，她是自己听到的？还是从别人嘴里听到的？

我想告诉她，那不是我，那是加利特，全是加利特的错。但她没等我开口，就跑进前厅找她爸爸去了。

于是我站在这里，后悔当初不如在图书馆就把加利特揍一顿，这样朱莉就再也不会跟一个拿智障人士开玩笑的家伙同班了。这时爸爸出现了，他拍拍我的肩膀：“好吧，派对进行得如何，孩子？”

说曹操曹操到。我真想把他的手从我肩膀上打下来。

他上身朝前厅探去，说：“嘿，她爸爸把自己弄得挺干净嘛，是不是？”

我摆脱了他的手：“贝克先生的名字是罗伯特，爸爸。”

“是啊，好吧，我知道他叫什么。”他搓着手说，“我想必须得过去跟他们打个招呼。一起来？”

“不，妈妈也许要我过去帮忙。”

不过，我并没有进厨房。我站在那儿，观察贝克先生和爸爸握手。看着他们在那里谈笑风生，我却被一种奇怪的感觉包围。不是因为朱莉——而是我爸爸。站在贝克先生旁边，他显得很小。是身材上的小。跟贝克先生下巴的轮廓相比，爸爸的脸看上去有点狡猾。这不是你想要的对爸爸的感觉。小的时候，我总觉得爸爸永远是对的，世界上没人比得上他。但站在这儿看着他，我意识到贝克先生想打败他就像按扁一只虫子一样简单。

可是，他的举止还要更糟。看看他和朱莉的爸爸故作亲切的样子吧——就像是在看他撒谎。对贝克先生、对朱莉、对我外公——对所有人。他干吗表现得像个可怜虫似的？他为什么不能显得正常点儿？好吧，或者说，有教养一点儿？他干吗非要假惺惺地演下去？这已经不是为了安抚妈妈那么简单了。这简直让人作呕。

别人都说我就是我爸爸的翻版。这句话我听到过多少次？我从来没有仔细想过它，但现在它让我觉得恶心。

妈妈敲响用晚餐的铃声，喊道：“开胃小吃已经准备好了！”然后她发现我还站在走廊上，“布莱斯，你姐姐和那些男孩去哪儿了？”

我耸耸肩：“在她房间，我想。”

“通知他们开饭了，好吗？然后来吃点冷盘吧。”

“没问题。”我回答说。只要能让我摆脱这种糟糕的感觉，干什么都行。

利奈特的房间关着门。平时我一般会敲敲门，喊一声：“妈妈叫你！”或者：“开饭了！”可是今天这种灰头土脸的状况下，我的手一定是被魔鬼操纵着，扭开门把手，直接走了进去。

利奈特有没有大发脾气、朝我扔东西或是尖叫着让我出去？没有。她根本无视我的存在。马特和麦克冲我点点头，利奈特看见我了，但她的手捂在耳机上，听着音乐，全身上下随之摇摆。

马特——也许是麦克——悄声说：“马上就好。我们这就过去。”就像他们知道我肯定是来叫他们吃饭的。那我干吗还要待在这儿？

不知怎的，我觉得自己似乎是被遗忘了。我甚至不是这些男孩中的一员，我只是个小弟弟。

我并不是刚刚知道这件事，但现在我忽然在意起来。好像突然之间，我在任何地方都变得格格不入了。在学校、在家里……每当我转过身来，总有一个我认识的人永远地成了陌生人。甚至连我自己，都让我觉得陌生起来。

虽然吃上了涂上软奶酪和鱼子酱的小圆饼干，但这对我的心情并没有太大帮助。妈妈就像一只繁忙的蜜蜂，哪里都有她的身影。厨房里、厨房外、端饮料、拿餐巾、介绍菜肴，但她一口也没吃。

利奈特不愿轻信妈妈对点心的介绍——她把自己那份分成油腻的、恶心的和讨厌的等几类。

虽然坐在利奈特旁边，但贝克家的男孩子们仍然不顾形象地把饼干整块吞下去。上帝，我就等着看他们把自己卷在桌子腿上了。

朱莉、她爸爸和我外公坐在桌子另一头，一直在聊着什么，我爸爸和贝克太太坐在对面，能看到我傻乎乎地一个人呆站在那儿。

妈妈轻轻地走到我身边：“你还好吗，亲爱的？”

“我没事。”我回答她，但是她不由分说地把我推到外公那边。“接着聊，接着聊，”她轻声说，“晚饭马上就好。”

我站在那里，聊天的人们条件反射地给我让出一个位置。没人理我，他们接着聊永动机去了。

永动机。

老天，我甚至连永动机是什么都不知道。他们谈起封闭系统、开放系统、阻抗、能源、磁力……就像是加入了另一种语言的讨论。还有朱莉，她正在说着什么：“嗯，如果我们背对背放置磁铁——颠倒磁极呢？”就像她真能理解他们说的东西似的。外公和她爸爸给她解释，为什么她的办法行不通，但他们的回答只是引来朱莉更多的问题。

我彻底茫然了。虽然假装在听他们聊天，可我其实是在努力不要盯着朱莉。

妈妈叫我们吃饭了，我竭尽全力把朱莉拉到一边，向她道歉，她根本爱答不理。不过，这怎么能怪她呢，对吧？

我在对面坐下，心情极为沉重。我为什么没有在图书馆反驳加利特几句？不一定要揍他。为什么我没有当面告诉他这很过分？

等到妈妈给每个人盛上菜，爸爸似乎下定决心要主导餐桌上的谈话。“嗯，麦克和马特，”他说，“今年是你们在高中的最后一年。”

“上帝保佑！”他们同声说道。

“上帝保佑？你们的意思是，很高兴能离开中学了？”

“当然。”

爸爸转着手里的叉子：“为什么？”

马特和麦克对视了一眼，再看着爸爸：“这地方早就让我们不爽了。”

“真有趣，”他环视着餐桌，“高中是我生命中最美好的时光。”

马特——也许是麦克——说道：“真的吗？老兄，那可逊毙了！”贝克太太斜了他一眼，可是他继续说下去，“哦，这是真的，妈妈。无趣的教育理念。限制、批评、服从——我已经完全受够了。”

爸爸向妈妈露出一个“我告诉过你”的隐蔽笑容，然后对马特和麦克说：“那么我想，大学里就没有这些问题了？”

上帝，他怎么了？一瞬间，我抓紧手中的刀叉，做好了和那两个捏我脸、管我叫“小弟弟”的家伙打一架的准备。

我深吸了一口气，试图放松下来，试图潜入平静的水中。这场战役与我无关。

再说，马特和麦克看起来淡定得很。“哦，不是，”他们说，“上大学只是一种可能的方向。”“是的，有几所学校录取了我们，不过我们想先搞个乐队试试。”

“哦，乐队。”爸爸说。

马特和麦克对视一眼，耸耸肩，继续吃东西。但是利奈特盯着他说：“你的讽刺一点儿也不好笑，爸爸。”

“利，利，”马特——或者麦克——说道，“没关系。人人都是这个反应。说得容易，是骡子是马拉出来遛遛，他们一般都是这个态度。”

“好主意。”利奈特说，从座位上跳起来，冲向走廊。

妈妈呆住了，她不知道该拿利奈特怎么办，但这时贝克太太说：“晚餐非常美味，佩西。”

“谢谢，特瑞纳。我们……我们很高兴你们能来。”

大约有三秒钟的时间，大家都沉默着，然后利奈特跑进来，猛地按下CD机的按钮，直到唱片收进去为止。

“利，别这样！这不是个好主意，”马特——或者麦克——说道，“没错，利。这音乐不适合吃饭的时候听。”

“忍着点。”利奈特说罢便调大了音量。

砰，啪！砰砰，啪！蜡烛在烛台上摇摆；吉他的和弦撕裂了空气，声浪几乎能把人吹跑。马特和麦克抬头看着音响，相视一笑，对我爸爸说：“立体声——好棒的配置，罗斯基先生！”

所有的大人都恨不得躲出去，或是关掉音乐，但利奈特站在那里守护着音响，怒视众人。一首歌结束，她把CD拿出来，关上播放器，然后对马特和麦克露出了微笑——她真的笑了——她说：“这是最棒的歌。我只想一遍又一遍地听。”

马特——或者麦克——对我爸爸说：“也许你不喜欢它，但这就是我们的作品。”

“你们自己写的歌？”

“嗯哼。”

他让利奈特把CD递过来，说道：“只有这一首吗？”

马特——或者麦克——笑了：“老兄，我们写了很多，但只有三首录了小样。”

爸爸拿起CD：“这就是小样？”

“是的。”

他盯着CD看了一会儿，然后说：“如果你们自称‘神秘小便’，怎么刻得起CD呢？”

“爸爸！”利奈特厉声说。

“没什么，利。他只是在开玩笑，对不对，罗斯基先生？”

爸爸微微一笑：“是的，”但他又补充道，“我只是有点好奇罢了。这明显不是自制的小样，而我凑巧知道对于大多数乐队来说，租用录音室的成本有多高……”

马特和麦克用一记响亮的击掌打断了他。我对爸爸竟然问起费用的问题感到愤怒，这时妈妈为了弥补爸爸的口无遮拦，支支吾吾地开口了。

“当年我认识瑞克的时候，他也在玩乐队……”

我嘴里的水煮三文鱼忽然变得难以下咽了。当我噎在那儿的时候，利奈特瞪大她那浣熊般的眼睛，喘着气说：“你？玩乐队？你演奏什么乐器，单簧管吗？”

“不，亲爱的，”妈妈定了定神，“爸爸是吉他手。”

“吉他？”

“酷！”马特——或者麦克——说，“摇滚，乡村，还是爵士？”

“乡村，”爸爸说，“千万别笑话我，孩子。”

“老兄！我们懂的。向你致敬，哥们儿。”

“当时，我们乐队想试着录一张小样，可那贵得没边儿。那是在大城市里，竞争激烈。在这里录小样？我甚至都不知道这里还有录音棚呢。”

马特和麦克还在笑：“这里没有。”

“你们去哪里录的？怎么支付得起呢？”妈妈在桌子底下狠狠地打了他一下，于是他补充说，“我只是好奇，佩西！”

马特和麦克俯下身子：“我们自己录的。”

“就在这里？你们自己录？这不可能。”他看起来快要疯掉了，“你们从哪儿搞到合成器的？”

妈妈又踢了他一脚，但是爸爸转过身去对她说：“别这样了，好吗？我只是好奇！”

马特——或者麦克——说：“没关系，罗斯基太太，”他冲爸爸笑了笑，“我们在网上和二手市场寻找卖家。人人都想把手里的旧模拟合成器换成数字合成器，因为别人都这么做了。数字合成器，如果你问我们的话，很烂。丢失了太多的波形。它们不够丰满，而我们显然希望它更雄厚一些。”

外公举起一根手指：“可是CD上收录的是数字信号，所以……”

“没错，不过这是最后也是唯一一个我们不得不妥协的步骤。这是进入这个行业所必需的。人人都想要CD，但是多音轨和压制成双轨的时候，仍然是模拟信号。而且我们负担得起，罗斯基先生，因为我们买的是二手合成器，我们从十二岁那年就开始攒钱了，”他笑了，“你现在还弹吉他吗？如果你愿意的话，我们也许可以，嗯，录一些你的曲子。”

爸爸低下头，起初我不确定他是不是会发怒或是叫骂。然后，他似乎轻轻地哼了一声，说：“谢谢，不过那已经不是现在的我了。”

那也许是爸爸整晚说出的唯一一句真心话。在那之后，他就陷入沉默。他试着偶尔笑一笑，不过，基本上都是在沉思中度过的。我开始有些为他伤感。他是不是想起了年轻时玩乐队的美好时光？我试着勾勒出他当年的样子，穿牛仔靴，戴牛仔帽，肩膀上挎着吉他，弹起威利·尼尔森的曲子。

他是对的——那已经不是他了。

可是，这让我前所未有地感觉自己像是个陌生人，来到了一个陌生的地方。

当聚会结束，贝克一家走出屋门的时候，发生了一些奇怪的事。朱莉碰了碰我的胳膊。那天晚上头一次，她看着我。还是那种眼神，坦率地、单纯地看着我。她说：“对不起，刚才进门的时候我太生气了。今晚人人都很愉快，你妈妈能邀请我们，真是太好心了。”

她的声音很轻，像耳语一样。我像个傻瓜一样站在那儿，看着她。

“布莱斯？”她又碰碰我的胳膊，“你听见我的话了吗？对不起。”

我强迫自己点了点头，可是我的手臂发麻，心脏狂跳，我觉得自己正在朝她靠过去。

然后她走了。在一片欢快的再会声中，走出大门，走进黑夜。我试着平复呼吸。这是怎么了？我出了什么毛病？

妈妈关上门，说：“好吧。我说什么来着？这家人多可爱呀！两个男孩子就和我想象的一样。利奈特，你为什么从没告诉过我他们这么……这么迷人！”

“他们是毒贩子。”

人人都把目光转向爸爸，张大了嘴。

“什么？”妈妈问。

“不这样，他们根本不可能买得起那种合成器，”他盯着利奈特，“是不是这样？”

利奈特的眼珠子都快从眼眶里瞪出来了。

“瑞克，拜托！”妈妈说，“你不能就这样指控别人！”

“这是唯一合理的解释，佩西。相信我，我知道音乐家是什么人。没有别的可能了。”

利奈特叫道：“我碰巧知道他们既不吸毒也不贩毒。你怎么能说出这种话？你是个两面三刀、高高在上、心胸狭窄的白痴！”

片刻的安静之后，他给了她一个耳光，很响，重重地打在她的脸颊上。

妈妈指着他的脸，我从来没见过她这个样子，而姐姐则跑向她的房间，边跑边回头骂着。

我的心怦怦直跳。利奈特是对的，我也差一点儿就要指着他的鼻子说出同样的话了。但外公拉住我，我们一起退到属于我们的角落。

我在自己的房间里转着圈，急切地想和利奈特说几句话。去告诉她，她做得对，是爸爸太过分了。但是透过墙壁，我听到她在大哭大叫，而妈妈正在安慰她。然后，她冲出屋子，不知道跑到哪里去了，然后妈妈又和爸爸吵了起来。

因此，我留在了屋子里。十一点以后，一切风平浪静，但余波仍在。我能感觉得到。

我躺在床上，透过窗户遥望天空，想起爸爸平时有多看不起贝克一家，他是怎么贬低他们的房子、院子、汽车以及他们为谋生所做的一切，他是怎么管他们叫“垃圾”，还嘲笑贝克先生的画。

而现在我发现他们家其实很酷。每个人都是。

他们……很真实。

而我们呢？在这间屋子里，有些东西正在迅速失去控制。

探寻贝克家的世界为我们自己的世界打开了一扇窗，而里面的景色一点儿也不美。

这些东西都是怎么出现的？

为什么我从前都没有意识到？

Chapter 12

晚餐

一到家，我就知道，抵制罗斯基家的晚宴是一种自私的行为。

妈妈已经花了很长时间用来挑选做派的食谱，并且搜遍衣柜寻找一件“得体的衣服”。她甚至为爸爸买了一件新衬衫，还仔细审查了男孩子们打算穿什么。显然，她很期待这次晚餐——我虽然不是很理解，但也不想把我刚刚对布莱斯产生的怨恨告诉她，毁掉这一切。

而爸爸已经对戴维够内疚了。他完全不需要再次听到八年级小孩对他的恶毒评论。

于是，那天晚上我三心二意地帮妈妈烤派，说服自己作了正确的决定。一次晚饭改变不了任何人的生活。我必须扛过去。

星期五上学的时候，我尽可能地躲着那个蓝眼睛的家伙，但是晚上当我打扮好之后，我发现自己正在盯着爸爸送给我的那幅画，再一次感到愤怒。布莱斯从来不是我的朋友，从来都不是！他没有捍卫那棵树，他扔掉我的鸡蛋，他用叔叔的事拿我寻开心……我为什么要把他当成好朋友、好邻居？

当妈妈叫我们出发的时候，我踏进走廊，非常想对她说，我不想、不能去罗斯基家吃晚餐，可她看起来那么漂亮、那么开心，我不能告诉她，就是不能。我深吸一口气，把派包起来，跟在哥哥和父母的后面慢吞吞地走过马路。

是查特开的门。也许我也应该对他生气，是他把我叔叔的事告诉罗斯基一家的，但我没有。我没有禁止他告诉别人，他也绝对不是一个会拿戴维寻开心的人。

罗斯基太太出现在查特身后，把我们迎进去，兴奋地在房间里走来走去。虽然她化了淡妆，但我仍然惊讶地发现她眼睛下面浮起黑色的眼袋。罗斯基太太和我妈妈拿着派离开了，哥哥们跟着利奈特消失在走廊尽头，爸爸和查特走进客厅。

像不像安排好了一样？只剩下我一个人在门厅，和布莱斯在一起。

他冲我打招呼，而我装作没有听见。我绕过他，恶狠狠地说：“别跟我说话！我听见你和加利特在图书馆说的话了，我再也不想跟你说话了，永远也不想！”

我往客厅走去，他拦住我，“朱莉！朱莉，等等！”他低声说，“那句话不是我说的！是加利特！都是加利特干的！”

我盯着他：“我知道我听到了什么。”

“不！你不明白！我……我心情很糟糕，你知道的，因为鸡蛋的事，以及我对你家院子的评价。我对你叔叔和你家的处境一点儿也不了解，好吗？我只是想和谁聊聊。”

我们的目光碰在一起，良久，这是我第一次没有被他的蓝眼睛冲昏头脑：“我听见你笑了。他开了个玩笑，说我是智障，而你笑了。”

“朱莉，你不明白。我想揍他一顿！真的，我真这么想！但我们是在图书馆里……”

“于是你没有揍他，而是笑了。”

他耸耸肩，看上去又可悲又懦弱：“是的。”

我转身走开了。我走向客厅，把他留在身后。如果他是装出来的，那他的演技很好。如果这是真的，那么查特说得对——他是个懦夫。不管怎样，我再也不想待在他旁边了。

我站在爸爸身后，试图跟上他和查特的对话，他们在聊报纸上读到的什么东西。爸爸说：“但他的建议需要一个永动机来实现，所以这是不可能的。”

查特回答道：“也许在目前的科学发展水平下是这样，但你怎么知道以后会怎样呢？”

那一刻，我完全没有一点儿对科学的好奇心。但是，我无论如何都想把布莱斯·罗斯基赶出我的头脑，于是我问：“什么是永动机？”

爸爸和查特对看了一眼，笑了，然后耸耸肩，似乎达成某种一致，接纳我进入他们的秘密俱乐部。爸爸解释道：“那是一种不需要任何外部能源就能一直运转的机器。”

“不用电、不用燃料、不用水能，什么都不用，”查特从我肩膀上面看过去，心不在焉地问，“你觉得这可能实现吗？”

是什么让他分心？布莱斯还在门厅里吗？他怎么不动地方？

我强迫自己把注意力集中在这个话题上：“我觉得这能否实现？呃，我不清楚。所有机器都需要能量，对吗？即使是那些特别高效能的机器。而能量总要来源于某些地方……”

“假如机器自己能产生能量呢？”查特问，但他仍然瞥向门厅。

“它怎么能做到？”

没人回答我。相反，爸爸伸出手，说：“晚上好，瑞克。谢谢你们的邀请。”

罗斯基先生和爸爸握过手，也加入我们几个，聊起了天气。到了没话可说的地步，他说：“哇，你们的院子弄得真不错。我想我们也应该出钱雇查特来修整一下。他很会对付那些木桩，不是吗？”

他在开玩笑吧。我想。可是我爸爸并不是这样想，查特也一样。我正在担心接下来会发生什么，但罗斯基太太敲响了一个小小的晚餐铃，喊道：“各位，开胃小吃来了！”

冷盘很美味。但是当爸爸低声告诉我，饼干上面小粒小粒的黑莓根本不是浆果，而是鱼子酱的时候，我停止了咀嚼。鱼子？太恶心了！

爸爸指出，我一直都在吃鸡蛋，为什么对鱼子这样介意呢？他说得有道理。我迟疑地把饼干吃完，很快又拿起另一块。

布莱斯一直单独站在房间里，每次我无意间看到他，他都在盯着我看。

最后，我只好完全背对着他，对爸爸说：“那么，我们到底为什么要发明永动机呢？”

爸爸笑了：“世界上到处都有疯狂的科学家。”

“真的吗？”

“没错，从几百年前就是这样。”

“呃，他们都做些什么？他们长什么样子？”

没过多久，查特也加入讨论。我刚刚开始理解磁力、回转粒子和零点能量是什么东西，就发现有人站在我背后。

是布莱斯。

我的脸颊因为愤怒而变红。他看不出我想一个人待着吗？我挪了一步避开他，但却像是在人群中打开一个缺口，邀请他走进来。现在他站在我们的圈子里听我们聊天了！

很好！显然他对永动机没有兴趣。我还是一个人！我得出结论，继续讨论的话，他就会被赶走。于是我接着说下去，当谈话逐渐趋于停滞，我抛出自己关于永动机的想法。我像一台提问机器，无休止地扔出一些完全不靠谱的建议。

但他还是没走。他什么也不说，只是站在那儿听。当罗斯基太太宣布开饭的时候，布莱斯抓住我的胳膊低声说：“朱莉，对不起。我从来没有像今天这样感到抱歉。你说得对，我是个浑蛋，对不起。”

我把手臂从他手里抽出来，说：“我想你最近做了太多需要抱歉的事！”他被我扔在那儿，道歉的声音还回荡在空气里。

没过多久，我就发现自己犯了个错误。我应该任凭他道歉，然后继续无视他。但我在他道歉时打断了他，显得我很无礼。

我隔着桌子飞快地瞥了他一眼，但他正看着他爸爸，后者正在问我哥哥毕业的事，以及大学时的打算。

毫无疑问，我见过罗斯基先生很多次，但一般都是远远地看到他。不过，我现在才注意到他的眼睛，这似乎很不可思议。它们是蓝色的、湛蓝的。虽然罗斯基先生离我很远，他的眼睛被眉毛和颧骨所遮挡，但毫无疑问，布莱斯继承了他的眼睛。他的头发是黑色的，和布莱斯一样，他的牙齿又白又整齐。

虽然查特说布莱斯是他爸爸的翻版，可我从来没想过他俩长得这么像。但现在我看到他们确实很像，虽然他爸爸看上去有点自命不凡，而布莱斯则是……好吧，现在他有点愤怒。

从桌子的另一侧传来一个声音：“你的讽刺一点儿也不好笑，爸爸。”

罗斯基太太轻轻地倒抽了一口气，人人都看着利奈特。“嗯，这不好笑。”她说。

这些年我们一直住在罗斯基家对街，我跟利奈特说过的话不超过十句，而她跟我说过的更少。对我来说，她有点可怕。

因此，当我看到她这样瞪着她爸爸时，我吃了一惊，但也有点不自在。罗斯基太太的微笑凝固在脸上，可她拼命地眨着眼，紧张地环视餐桌。我也一个人一个人地看过去，想知道罗斯基家的晚餐是否一直这么紧张。

利奈特突然站起来，冲向走廊，但她马上拿着一张CD回来了。当她放进唱机，从音响里飘出的旋律，我听出这是哥哥们写的一首歌。

我们听过这首名叫《蜡烛冰》的歌，它千百次地从哥哥们的房间里飘出来，我们早就习惯了。我看了妈妈一眼，有点担心她会因为其中失真的吉他噪声和粗俗的歌词感到尴尬。

这音乐绝不是用来搭配鱼子酱的。

她看起来有点迷茫，但心情还不算太糟。她和爸爸交换了一个隐蔽的微笑，诚实地说，我甚至听到她咯咯笑了几声。爸爸一副开心的表情，但他毕竟要矜持一些，直到一曲结束，我才意识到他很自豪，为了儿子们制造的这些噪声而自豪。

我很惊讶。对于哥哥们的乐队，爸爸向来不怎么热心，不过他也从来没有发表过什么评论。但是，罗斯基先生随即开始对马特和麦克严加质询，问他们如何负担得起录音费用。而他们解释说自己如何工作攒钱，寻找二手设备，这时我才明白，爸爸为什么那样自豪。

看得出来，哥哥们的心情也很好。这也难怪，因为利奈特拼命鼓吹《蜡烛冰》是一首伟大的曲子。她真的过分热情了，这些话竟然出自利奈特之口，实在有点奇怪。

环视四周，我忽然有种身处陌生人中间的感觉。我们两家在对街住了很多年，但我根本不了解他们。利奈特确实是会笑的。罗斯基先生外表整洁优雅，而内心却明显有些东西深埋在外表之下，慢慢腐烂。而一向能干的罗斯基太太似乎慌乱到几近亢奋的程度。她是因为我们的存在才如此紧张吗？

然后是布莱斯——他最让人烦恼，因为我不得不承认，我其实并不了解他。从最近的发现来看，我也不打算继续了解下去。看着桌子对面的他，我只觉得陌生、冷漠而超然。没有火花，也不再有任何的愤怒或焦虑。

什么都没有。

吃完甜点，我们准备告辞。我走向布莱斯，说我很抱歉在他之前找我的时候对他太凶。“我应该听完你的道歉，而且我真的很感谢你们全家邀请我们来吃饭。我知道这很费事，嗯，我想妈妈今晚很开心，这对我很重要。”我们彼此对视着，但他似乎根本没有听到我在说什么，“布莱斯？我说我很抱歉。”

他点点头，然后我们全家挥手道别，互道晚安。

妈妈挽着爸爸的手，我和哥哥们一起走在他们身后，他俩拿着吃剩的派。我们一起走进厨房，马特给自己倒了杯牛奶，对麦克说：“罗斯基先生今晚对咱们穷追不舍啊，是不是？”

“他还挺较真。也许他以为我们在追求他女儿。”

“我可没有，哥们儿！你呢？”

麦克也倒了一杯牛奶：“说是斯凯勒还差不多。绝对不是我。”他笑了。

“可她今天晚上真酷。她狠狠批了她爹一通，对吗？”

爸爸从橱柜里拿出一个纸碟，切了一片派：“你们今天晚上很克制嘛。换了我，不知道能不能有你们那样淡定。”

“啊，你知道，他只是有点……固执。”马特说，“你得附和他的观点，然后跟他讨价还价。”他又补充道，“当然，我可不想要个那样的爹……”

麦克把牛奶喷了出来，“哥们儿！你能想象吗？”马特一掌拍向爸爸后背，“没门儿。对我最重要的那个人在这儿呢。”妈妈站在厨房另一头笑着说：“我也一样。”

我从来没见过爸爸掉眼泪。他没有坐在那儿大声痛哭，但泪水明明白白地从眼眶里滑落。他拼命眨着眼睛，说：“孩子们，不想再来点派配牛奶吗？”

“哥们儿，”马特跨坐在椅子上说，“我也是这么想的。”

“是啊，”麦克补充道，“我饿坏了。”

“也给我拿个盘子！”麦克打开橱柜，我冲他喊道。

“但我们刚吃完饭。”妈妈叫道。

“别这样嘛，特瑞纳，吃点派吧。味道好极了。”

那天晚上，我捧着吃撑的肚子，开心地上床去了。躺在黑暗里，我想，一天之内可以经历多少强烈的感情啊，像现在这样结束这一天又是多么幸福。

当我快要迷迷糊糊进入梦乡的时候，我的心是那么……自由。

第二天早上，我的心情依旧很好。我走出屋子，给院子浇水，享受着水流击打泥土的啪啪声，心里想着，小草什么时候才能破土而出，沐浴阳光呢。

接着，我清理了鸡笼，平整了地面，拔除了院子边缘几丛疯长的野草。

我把残土和野草铲进垃圾箱里的时候，斯杜比太太出现了，她靠在围栏上问道：“最近好吗，朱莉安娜？准备养只公鸡了？”

“公鸡？”

“怎么了，当然哪。那些母鸡需要一些激励才能下更多的蛋！”

这倒是真的。邦妮、克莱蒂特还有其他几只鸡下的蛋只有过去的一半那么多。但是养只公鸡？“我想邻居会对我有意见的，斯杜比太太。另外，那样我们就会有小鸡了，我想我家院子里养不了更多家禽了。”

“胡说。你把这些小鸡宠坏啦，让它们占用整个院子。它们可以共享这个空间。这很容易！否则你要怎么把生意继续做下去？过不了多久，这些小鸡就一个蛋也下不出来了！”

“真的？”

“嗯，非常少。”

我摇摇头说：“它们只是我养的小鸡，现在长大了开始下蛋。我从来没把它们当成一桩生意。”

“好吧，我也不该在你这里赊账，实在抱歉。我保证这个星期给你把钱补齐，不过，考虑一下买公鸡的事吧。我有个住在纽康姆大街的朋友，她可眼红我做的‘魔鬼蛋’了。我把菜谱告诉她，可她说就是做不出我做的味道。”她朝我眨眨眼睛，“如果可能的话，我保证她愿意出大价钱买到我的秘密原料。”她要走了，最后对我说，“顺便提一句，朱莉安娜，你在前院的改造工作非常出色。实在太棒了！”

“谢谢，斯杜比太太，”她关门的时候我喊道，“非常感谢！”

我接着把自己制造出来的垃圾堆铲干净，想着斯杜比太太说的话。

我是否应该养只公鸡？我曾经听说过，只要养一只，就能让周围的母鸡下更多的蛋，不管它们是否有实际上的接触。我甚至可以让我的鸡继续繁殖，得到一群全新的用来生蛋的母鸡。但我是不是真的想把这个过程重新经历一遍？

不。我不想为了邻居维持一个农场。如果我的母鸡全都不再生蛋了，也许对我更好吧。

我把耙子和铲子放到一边，挨个亲了每只母鸡，然后回到屋里。主宰自己命运的感觉真好！我感觉自己充满力量，正确而坚定。

那时我还不知道，前几天在学校发生的事将改变一切。

Chapter 13

怦然心动

那次晚餐之后，朱莉在学校对我很客气，这正是我所痛恨的。生气都比客气更好。

就连狂热都比……客气更好。对她来说，我就像个陌生人，上帝啊，这让我非常困扰。极其、极其的困扰。

然后轮到拍卖会的事情，我发现自己正在陷入更大的麻烦。

拍卖会是“推进者俱乐部”假装用来为学校筹款的方式。他们坚称被选中是一种荣誉，但鬼才相信呢！

基本情况是这样的，他们会强行扣留二十个男生，他们每人自带美妙的野餐食品，当着全校学生的面，由女生竞标与之共进午餐的权利。

猜猜今年谁是那二十人之一。

你以为妈妈们会说，嘿，你们不能把我儿子拿去拍卖，那你就错了。她们反而很骄傲自己的儿子被选为“午餐篮男孩”。

没错，朋友，那就是他们给你起的名字。一年一度的校庆活动上，你总能听到这样的话：“今天午餐时间，所有新入选的‘篮子男孩’请到多功能厅参加筹备会议。所有‘篮子男孩’必须参加。”

很快就没人叫你的真名了。别人只把你和其他十九个傻瓜看作“篮子男孩”。

当然，我妈妈非常投入，她给我的篮子里装满了各色食品，以确保我得到最高的出价。我解释说，自己根本不想进入梅菲尔德初级中学的“篮子男孩”名人堂，而且说真的，篮子放了什么根本不是重点。姑娘们才不是为了那个篮子竞标呢。你亲身经历过，就知道那是个人肉市场。

“你在学校吃顿午饭，这件事就结束了。那不是人肉市场，布莱斯。那是种荣誉！再说，也许真有好心的姑娘为你出价，你还能交到一个新朋友呢！”

妈妈们就这样出卖了我们。

然后是加利特，他悄悄地告诉我，雪莉·斯道尔斯已经和米奇·麦克森分手了，她、米兰达·休姆斯和珍妮·阿特金森之间为了竞投我展开了一场激烈的斗争。“哥们儿！”他告诉我说，“全校最热门的两个妞儿。我对天发誓，雪莉是因为你才抛弃了米奇。是夏丽尔亲口告诉我的，八卦女王夏丽尔。”他向我露出猥亵的笑容，“我嘛，我支持胖妞珍妮。做一个‘篮子男孩’，你活该得到这样的待遇。”

我让他闭嘴，不过他说得对。我的运气用完了，也许我是活该被胖妞珍妮缠上。我能想象得出来——身高一米八的胖姑娘吃完我带的全部午餐食品，然后跟着我到处跑。珍妮是全校唯一一个能扣篮的女孩。当她落地的时候，整个场地都在震动。要是她没有那些……你明白……女生的特征，她完全可以剃掉头发，加入NBA（美国男篮职业联赛）。

真的，没人怀疑过。

她的父母满足她的每一个要求。传说，为了她，他们把家里的车库改造成了一个全尺寸的篮球场。

这意味着，在“篮子男孩”的游戏中，她对我也是稳操胜券了。

除非，除非雪莉或者米兰达出了更高的价钱。但我怎么能保证呢？

我的大脑飞速运转，想制订一个计划，最后我发现，只有一个可行的方法。

同时讨好她们俩。

第一天实施我的计划，我觉得自己无比卑鄙。我并没有做什么太糟糕的事。我只是，嗯，表示了友好。虽然我不知道雪莉和米兰达是否看出了我的意图，但加利特看出来了。

“哥们儿！”星期四的时候，他对我说，“我能看穿你的小把戏，兄弟。”

“你在说什么？”

“别否认了，哥们儿。你在同时对付她们俩。”他凑过来，在我耳边说，“不管你是不是‘篮子男孩’，我都佩服你。”

“闭嘴，哥们儿。”

“真的！八卦女王说，今天的体育课上，她俩厮打起来了。”

我必须了解这件事：“那么……胖妞珍妮呢？”

他耸耸肩：“不清楚。不过我们明天就知道了，对不对，哥们儿？”

星期五，妈妈把我和我那傻乎乎的超大号野餐篮一起送到学校，由于所有“篮子男孩”都要盛装打扮，我系了一条让人窒息的领带，穿了西裤和礼服鞋，感觉自己是个十足的傻瓜。

当我走过甬道的时候，学生们吹着口哨，朝我喊：“哦，宝贝！”这时胖妞珍妮超过我，一步便迈上三个台阶。

“哦，布莱斯，”她回过头说，“你看起来……很美味。”

上帝啊！我跑步进入教室，那是全体“篮子男孩”集合的地方，进门的那一刻，我感觉好多了，我的身边围绕着其他傻瓜，他们似乎真心高兴看到我的出现。“嗨，罗斯基”；“哟，哥们儿”；“这样难道不是很蠢吗”；“你怎么不坐校车，兄弟”——这群同病相怜的人哪。

推进者俱乐部主席麦克卢尔夫人走进教室，就是她把我们圈到这里的。“哦，上帝啊！”她说，“你们看上去全都那么帅！”

没有一句话提到我们的篮子，也不想事先往里面看一眼。不，她唯一关心的是，那些小妞饿了。

人肉市场？

一点儿也没错！

“别紧张，孩子们，”麦克卢尔夫人说，“你们会度过美妙的一天！”她拿出一张名单，让我们排成一列。我们被编上号码，篮子也被编上号码。出于她的愚蠢要求，我们填写了一张卡片。等到她把我们整顿完毕，保证我们知道该做什么不该做什么，已经错过了第一堂课和第二堂课的一半多。“好了，先生们，”她说，“把你们的篮子留在原地，然后去……现在几点了？还在上第二堂课？”她看了看表，“是的，第二堂。”

“要是老师跟我们要假条怎么办？”某位聪明的“篮子男孩”问。

“你们的老师手里有个名单。如果他们有问题，告诉他们，你们的领结就是假条。当每个人都完成拍卖之后，我在这里等着你们。明白了吗？那就快行动吧！”

我们抱怨着，然后走回教室。我敢保证，整个上午，我们二十个人里没有一个人听进去了老师讲的内容。假如你的脖子上缠着套索、脚趾被挤得生疼，屋子里坐满了一群准备猎捕你的白痴，你怎么能听得进去？

任何一个提出这种傻瓜传统的人，都该被塞进篮子，扔进河里，连勺子都不准拿。

我是九号“篮子男孩”。这意味着我要在篮球馆的舞台上站很久，等待几乎一半的男孩被拍卖掉。最少十元起拍。如果没人竞标，私下里总有一个老师被安排好为你出价。

是的，朋友，你有无数种被羞辱的可能。

一些妈妈也出现了，她们站在一边，带着摄像机或照相机，坐立不安，向儿子挥手，基本上跟她们的儿子看上去一样蠢。我应该想到的。妈妈请了一个小时的假，也出现在人群中。

提姆·派罗是五号“篮子男孩”，他妈妈真的为他竞标了。没开玩笑。她上蹿下跳，喊着“二十！我给你二十元！”上帝，这真是终生难忘。幸运的是，凯莉·特洛特为他叫了二十二元五角，让他免于内疚地因为“妈妈的乖宝贝”而困扰——这是世上少有的比成为“篮子男孩”更糟的事。

凯莱布·休斯是下一个拍卖品，他为俱乐部拍得了十一元五角。然后是查得·奥蒙德，我敢说麦克卢尔夫人把他带上去的时候他都快尿裤子了。她宣读他的卡片，捏捏他的脸，然后迅速地拍出了十五元。

这时，我和拍卖台只隔着琼恩·楚洛克。我对他篮子装了什么东西、有什么爱好、喜欢什么运动不感兴趣。我忙着在人群中寻找胖妞珍妮，胳肢窝里湿了一片。

麦克卢尔夫人透过麦克风喊道：“有出十元的吗？”我等了一分钟，却没有人说出“十元！”谁也没有说话。“来啊，快上吧！这午餐很好吃呢。草莓挞，嗯……”麦克卢尔夫人走到后面，宣读琼恩·楚洛克那张卡片上写的菜单。

多么尴尬啊！这比成为“妈妈的宝贝”还要更糟。比跟胖妞珍妮共进午餐还要糟！如果没人想跟他共进午餐，为什么会选他当上“篮子男孩”呢？

人群右侧传来声音：“十元！”

“十元？有人出十元吗？”麦克卢尔夫人露出紧张的笑容。

“十二！”从同一片区域传出另一个声音。

第一个声音又喊道：“十五！”忽然，我认出那个声音的主人了。

朱莉安娜·贝克。

我扫视着人群，最后看到她高高地挥着手，兴奋之情溢于言表。

“十六！”另一个声音说。

安静片刻，朱莉的声音再次响起：“十八！”

“十八！”麦克卢尔夫人喊道，她看上去快要因为解脱而晕倒了。她顿了一下，然后说，“十八元一次……十八元两次……成交！十八元。”

卖给朱莉？我完全没想到她会参与午餐竞拍。任何一个人的午餐。

琼恩走回队伍当中。我知道是该我走上去的时候了，可我一步也挪不动。像是有人在我肚子上狠狠打了一拳。朱莉喜欢琼恩吗？这是不是她最近这么……这么……客气的原因？因为再也不在乎我了？她从来都在那里，等着被我躲开，而现在我甚至就像不存在一样。

“上前一步，布莱斯。来呀，别害羞！”

麦克·阿比尼多轻轻地推了我一把：“该你受罪了。上去吧！”

就像走向断头台一样。我站在前面，满身大汗，听俱乐部女王检查我的午餐，并逐条宣读我的兴趣爱好。她还没说完，雪莉·斯道尔斯就喊道：“十元！”

“什么？”麦克卢尔夫人说。

“我出十元！”

“哦，”她把字条放下，笑了，“好吧，我听到有人出价十元！”

“二十！”米兰达·休姆斯站在人群正中央喊道。

“二十五！”又是雪莉。

我搜索胖妞珍妮的身影，祈祷她生病回家了或是遇到别的问题，这时雪莉和米兰达正在五元五元地加价。“三十！”

“三十五！”

“四十！”

我找到她了。她站在米兰达身后二十码的地方，正在用牙齿清理她的指甲油。

“四十五！”

“五十！”

“五十二。”

“五十二？”俱乐部女王打断她们，“哇，竞争很激烈！看看篮子就知道，这很值得——”

“六十！”

“六十二！”雪莉喊。

米兰达慌忙向朋友借钱，这时麦克卢尔喊：“一次！”但珍妮站了起来，喘着粗气说：“一百元！”

一百元。只听观众们倒吸一口凉气，所有人都转过身，盯着珍妮。

“好！”麦克卢尔夫人笑了，“一百元！毫无疑问，这是有史以来的最高纪录。也是对推进者俱乐部的慷慨馈赠！”

我好想把她推下舞台。我已经被宣判了。这将是终生难忘的经历。

台下一片骚乱，忽然，雪莉和米兰达站在一起喊道：“一百二十二……块五！我们出一百二十二块五！”

“一百二十二元零五角？”我想俱乐部女王快要跳起波尔卡舞了，“你们合并了彼此的资源，想跟这位优秀的小伙子共进午餐？”

“是的！”她们叫道，然后把目光投向珍妮。人人都在看着珍妮。珍妮只是耸耸肩，然后继续抠她的指甲去了。

“好吧，就这样！一百二十二元零五角一次……一百二十二元零五角两次……成交，这两位美丽的年轻姑娘以一百二十二元零五角的价格创造了前所未有的纪录！”

“哥们儿！”我退回队列之后，麦克对我耳语，“雪莉和米兰达两个人？这让我怎么追得上？”

他甚至都没有接近这个数字。他被泰瑞·诺里斯以十六元成交，余下的大多数人都拍出了四十元。结束的时候，每个男生都跟我说：“哥们儿！你真厉害……创造纪录！”但我一点儿都不觉得自己厉害，我已经筋疲力尽了。

妈妈走过来给我一个拥吻，就像我得了金牌似的，低声说“我的小宝贝”，然后咔嗒咔嗒踩着高跟鞋回去上班了。

我又累又尴尬，然后就被雪莉和米兰达拽进了多功能厅。推进者俱乐部在多功能厅摆了一些供两人使用的小桌子，用明暗不同的粉色、蓝色和黄色装饰着，到处都是气球和飘带。我觉得自己就像只复活节的兔子，双手抓着愚蠢的“篮子男孩”的午餐，被米兰达拉住一只胳膊，雪莉抱紧另外一只。

他们把最大的一张桌子给了我们，又多拿来一把椅子，当我们都坐下后，麦克卢尔夫人说：“男孩和女孩们，我想我不需要提醒你们，接下来的课可以不用上了。享受你们的午餐，享受你们的友谊……慢慢吃，放松点儿，再次感谢你们对推进者俱乐部的支持。没有你们，就没有今天的我们！”

于是，我坐在那里，跟全校最抢手的两个姑娘一起共进午餐。我是那个遭到全校男生妒忌的人。

老兄，我都痛苦死了。

我是说，这两个姑娘也许很漂亮，但她们聊起胖妞珍妮的时候，那些话真是令人发指。米兰达说道：“她在想些什么？她还以为你盼着约她出去呢，是不是，布莱斯？”

好吧，没错，是这样。可是把它说出来本身就是错的。“听着，我们能不能聊点别的？”

“没问题，比如说？”

“无所谓，什么都行。你们这个暑假打算去哪儿玩？”

米兰达先开口：“我们要坐游轮去墨西哥的蔚蓝海岸，停靠在每一个好玩的港口，购物什么的，”她冲我眨了眨眼，“我可以给你带点礼物回来……”

雪莉挪了一下椅子，说：“我们要去湖边玩。我爸爸在那里有座小木屋，在那儿你能晒出一身最美丽的古铜色。你还记得我去年开学时的样子吗？那时候我，嗯，很黑。我想再来一次，不过这回我要制定一张时间表，这样就能把每一寸皮肤都晒到。”她咯咯笑着说，“别告诉我妈妈，好吗？否则她肯定会阻止我！”

从这时开始，她们为美黑的问题争执起来。米兰达告诉雪莉，去年开学的时候她根本没注意到她晒黑了，而晒太阳最好的地方是在游轮甲板上。雪莉告诉米兰达，任何一个长着雀斑的人都不可能真正晒黑，由于米兰达全身都有雀斑，坐游轮肯定是一种浪费。我吞下属于我那三分之一的午餐，环视着房间，试图让她们的对话从耳边流过。

然后，我看到了朱莉。她和我隔着两张桌子，正对着我的方向，可她并没有看我。她看着琼恩，她的眼睛闪闪发光，她在笑。

我的心跳慢了一拍。她在笑什么？他们在聊什么？她坐在那儿，怎么那么……美？

我觉得自己渐渐失去了控制。这感觉很奇怪，就像不能控制自己的肢体一样。我一直觉得琼恩很酷，但现在我只想走过去，把他扔出屋子。

雪莉抓住我的胳膊：“布莱斯，你还好吗？你看起来……我不知道……像着了魔似的。”

“什么？哦。”我试着做了个深呼吸。“你在看什么？”米兰达问。她俩都从我肩膀上面看过去，然后耸耸肩，继续挑拣着食物。

可我不能自已地再次看了过去。内心深处，我听见外公在对我说：“你现在作出的选择将会影响你的一生。作出正确的选择……”

作出正确的选择……

作出正确的选择……

作出正确的选择……

米兰达再一次摇晃我的胳膊，问道：“布莱斯？你听见我说话了吗？我问你今年暑假打算干点什么？”

“我不知道。”我坚持不住了。

“嘿，也许你可以跟我们在湖边住一段时间！”雪莉建议道。

这真是一种折磨。我想大声尖叫，闭嘴！让我一个人待一会儿！我想从这栋房子里跑出去，一直跑，一直跑，直到我没有知觉为止。

“午餐很美味，布莱斯。”米兰达的声音飘在我耳边，“布莱斯？你听见我说话了吗？这真是一顿丰盛的午餐。”

一句简单的谢谢就足够了。但我能用简单的谢谢来回答她吗？

不能。我转向她说：“除了食物、美黑和头发，我们能不能谈点别的？”

她朝我露出一个傲慢的微笑：“好吧，那么，你到底想聊点什么？”

我冲她眨眨眼，再冲雪莉眨眨眼：“永动机怎么样？知道永动机吗？”

“永……什么？”

米兰达笑了起来。

“怎么了？”我问她，“什么事这么高兴？”

她盯着我看了一分钟，然后吃吃地笑着：“我不敢相信自己竟然竞拍到一个知识分子。”

“嘿……我很聪明的！”

“真的吗？”米兰达笑着问，“你连‘知识分子’这个词都拼不出来吧？”

“他很聪明，米兰达。”

“哦，别再拍他马屁了，雪莉。你想说你是为了追求他的头脑？上帝，看你这样讨好他，我真想吐！”

“讨好？你再说一遍？”

“你听见我说了。反正他不会邀请你参加毕业舞会的，所以还是放弃吧，你说呢？”

这次午餐到此为止。妈妈做的一片苹果挞碾碎在米兰达的头发里，剩下的牧场风味酱涂在雪莉的头发上。

麦克卢尔夫人还来不及说“看在推进者的分儿上，你们在干吗”，她俩就在地上滚作一团，抓花了对方的脸。

趁这个机会，我离开座位，朝朱莉走去。我抓住她的手说：“我必须跟你谈谈。”

她从椅子上欠起身：“什么？怎么了，布莱斯？她们为什么打架？”

“抱歉，我们离开一会儿，好吗，琼恩？”我拉着她离开桌子，但是没有地方可去。拉着她的手，我根本无法思考。于是，我停在屋子的正中间，看着她。看着她的脸。我想摸摸她的脸颊，看看那是什么感觉。我想摸摸她的头发，它看起来难以置信地柔顺。

“布莱斯，”她轻声说，“出什么事了？”

我开口问她的时候，几乎要窒息了：“你喜欢他？”

“我……你是说琼恩？”

“是的！”

“哦，当然。他是个好人，而且——”

“不，你喜欢他吗？”我的心脏快要跳出胸膛了，我拉起她的另一只手，等待她的答案。

“嗯，不是。我是说，不是那种……”

不是！她说不是！我不管此刻我身在何处，也不管有谁在看。我想要，我不得不亲吻她。我倾身向前，闭上眼睛，然后……

她从我身边挣脱了。

突然间，屋子里死一般的沉寂。米兰达和雪莉透过她们湿滑的头发瞪着我，人人都在看着，就好像我是个短路的机器人，我只是站在那儿，试图闭上嘴巴，恢复平时的样子。

麦克卢尔夫人扶着我的肩膀，带我回到座位上，对我说：“你坐下，待在这儿！”然后她把米兰达和雪莉拖出去，教训了一顿，让她们在她找门卫来收拾这堆烂摊子之前各自找个浴室清理干净。

我一个人坐在那里，根本没考虑过掩饰自己。我只想和她在一起，和她说话，再一次拉着她的手。

吻她。

放学之前，我试着跟她说话，但每次不等我走近，她就躲开了。

最后一节课的下课铃响了起来，她消失了。

我到处找她，但她就是不见踪影。

不过，加利特还在。他追上我说：“哥们儿！告诉我这不是真的！”

我什么也没说。我朝自行车棚走去，希望能在那儿找到朱莉。

“哦，上帝……是真的！”

“别来烦我，加利特。”

“你有机会跟学校里最抢手的两个妞混在一起，却为了朱莉放弃了她俩？”

“你不明白。”

“你说得对，哥们儿。我一点儿也不明白。你真的试图去吻她？我不敢相信。我们说的是朱莉安娜·贝克吗？你噩梦般的邻居？那个讨厌的万事通？鸡屎宝贝？”

我冷冷地停下来，推了他一把。只是两只手掐住他，然后推了他一把：“那是很久以前的事，哥们儿。少来这一套！”

加利特举起双手投降，但朝我凑过来：“哥们儿，你对她动心了，你知道吗？”

“让开点，行不行？”

他拦住我的去路：“我不相信！两个小时以前，你还是那个独一无二的人！‘那个人’！全校学生都愿意跪拜你！现在，看看你自己吧。你就像，嗯，一个社会公害。”他轻哼一声，“还有，哥们儿，事实上，如果你还是这副德行，我不想继续跟你做朋友了。”

我指着他的鼻子说：“很好！你知道吗？我也不想！”

我把他推到一边，跑了。

我是走回家的。穿着挤脚的皮鞋，脏碟子在黏糊糊的野餐篮里叮当作响，“篮子男孩”一路跋涉回到了家。

而我的内心世界正进行着一场激烈的斗争。过去的布莱斯想要回到从前，想和加利特一起闲扯，想把朱莉安娜·贝克继续恨下去。

想成为“那个人”。

但在我的潜意识里，过去的布莱斯已经死了，我已经无法回头。对加利特、雪莉、米兰达，以及任何一个不了解我的人。朱莉和他们不一样，但这么多年过去了，我已经不在乎这些了。

我喜欢这样。

我喜欢她。

每次我看到她，她似乎都变得更漂亮，她仿佛散发着光彩。我指的不是像一百瓦的灯泡那样发光，她只是具有了同样的温暖。也许是因为爬树，也许是因为给小鸡唱歌，也许是因为敲着木桩，梦想着永动机，我不知道。我知道，和她相比，雪莉和米兰达都显得太……普通了。

我从来没有过这样的感觉，从来没有。承认它，而不是隐瞒它，让我感到自己充满力量与幸福。我脱掉鞋袜，把它们也放进篮子，光脚向家里跑去，领带搭在我的肩膀上，我忽然明白了加利特那天晚上说的一句话——我心动了。

彻彻底底地心动了。

走在我家那条街，我发现她的自行车靠在路旁。她在家！

我一直按着门铃，时间长得让我以为它坏掉了。

没有人开门。

我捶打着大门。

没有人开门。

我回到家，拨通了电话，很久很久以后，终于，她妈妈接了起来。“布莱斯？不，我很抱歉。她不想和你说话，”她轻声说，“给她一点儿时间，好吗？”

我给了她将近一个小时的时间。然后，我穿过马路：“求你了，贝克太太。我非要见到她不可！”

“她把自己锁在房间里不愿出来，亲爱的。你可以试试明天再给她打电话。”

明天？我等不到明天！于是，我在她家附近逡巡着，爬上围栏，敲着她房间的窗户：“朱莉！朱莉，拜托。我必须要见到你。”

她的窗帘紧闭，但后门打开了，贝克太太走出来，把我轰走了。

到家以后，外公已经等在门口：“布莱斯，怎么了？你在贝克家那里跑来跑去，还爬上人家的围栏……就像火烧屁股似的！”

我脱口而出：“我不相信！我就是不相信！她不愿意跟我说话！”

他把我领进门厅，说：“谁不愿意跟你说话？”

“朱莉！”

他沉吟着：“她是不是……生你的气？”

“我不知道！”

“她有没有对你生气的理由？”

“没有！有！我是说，我不知道！”

“好吧，发生什么事了？”

“我试着亲她来着！当着一屋子人的面，当时我正跟雪莉和米兰达在一起，作为那个傻乎乎的‘篮子男孩’陪她们吃午餐，然后我试着去亲她了！”

慢慢地，他的脸上浮出一个笑容：“你这么做了？”

“我就像着了魔似的。我控制不住！但是她把我推开了，还……”我透过窗户望着贝克家的房子，“现在她不肯跟我说话了！”

外公开口了，声音很轻很轻：“也许她以为这只是一时冲动？”

“可我不是一时冲动！”

“不是吗？”

“不，我是说……”我转向他，“都是从那篇该死的报道开始的。我不知道……从那时开始，我就变得很奇怪。她的样子变了，她的声音变了，对我来说她甚至变了一个人！”我盯着窗外，“她……她只是变得不一样了。”

外公站在我身后，和我一起望着对街。“不，布莱斯。”他轻声说。

“她跟原来一样，是你变了。”他拍拍我的肩膀，在我耳边说道，“还有，孩子，从现在开始，你再也不是过去的你了。”

也许外公为此感到高兴，可我就惨了。我吃不下饭，看不进电视，几乎什么事都做不成。

于是，我早早爬到床上，却也睡不着。我从窗户盯着她家的房子，已经看了好几个小时了。我看过天空，也数过羊。但是，我就是忍不住后悔自己这些年来竟然这么傻。

现在，我怎么才能让她听我说话呢？只要她愿意，我可以去丈量那棵巨大的无花果树，从树根到树梢；我可以喊她的名字，让声音飞过屋顶，让全世界都听到。

因为我对爬树是那么地一窍不通，所以我认定这说明我愿意做一切事情，换来她跟我说话；上帝，我愿意跟着她爬进沾满鸡屎的鸡笼，假如这能奏效；我愿意永远只骑自行车上学，穿过崎岖的道路，假如这能让我跟她在一起。

做点什么。我一定要做点什么，让她知道我变了。做点什么向她证明我觉悟了。

但是做什么呢？我怎么做才能让她知道，我不是她以为的那样？我怎么才能抹去我之前所做的一切，从头再来？

也许我做不到。也许这根本就不可能做到。不过，如果说我从朱莉安娜·贝克身上学到什么东西，那就是，我必须全心全意地去尝试。

不管结果如何，我知道外公说对了一件事。

我再也不是过去的我了。

Chapter 14

篮子男孩

在罗斯基家吃晚餐之后的那个周一，达拉在学校里追着我，强行把布莱斯·罗斯基又塞进我的脑子里。“朱莉！嘿，姑娘，等等我！最近好吗？”

“我很好，达拉，你呢？”

“不好，真的不好。”她低声说，“你今天过得怎么样？”她把书包换到另一边肩膀，向四周扫视了一下，“我在想，嗯，布莱斯对你实在太无情了。尤其是，他本来就是你的死穴。”

“谁说的？”

“你以为我没长眼睛吗？拜托，姑娘。这是理所当然的，所以我才这么担心你。你真的真的没问题吗？”

“是的，我很好。不过，谢谢你的关心。”我看着她说，“还有，达拉，它再也不是理所当然的了。”

她笑了：“这次节食会持续多久？”

“这不是节食。我刚刚，嗯，对他倒了胃口。”

她充满怀疑地看着我：“啊哈。”

“好吧，这是真的。不过，还是谢谢你的关心。”

虽然一开始我仍然感到自己强大、正确而坚定，但是，西蒙斯夫人整整提前了十五分钟下课，并且说“收起桌面上的东西，只留一支钢笔或是铅笔”。

“什么？”人人都尖叫起来，相信我——我也是其中一员。我根本没准备好来一次小测验！

“收起所有的东西！”她说，“快点，你们在浪费宝贵的时间。”

教室里响起抱怨声和翻动活页夹的声音，当所有人都遵照她的要求准备好，她从桌上拿起一沓明黄色的纸，带着一抹邪恶的微笑把它们展开，说道：“现在，我们来投票选举‘篮子男孩’！”

一阵解脱的声浪席卷全班：“‘篮子男孩’？你是说，不测验了？”

她一边数着选票一边说：“和测验一样，我不希望你们和别人交换意见。也和测验一样，你们的时间有限。”她在第一排第一张桌子上放下一摞选票，然后走向第二排，“铃响以后，我会一个一个地从你们手里收上来，检查你们在填写时有没有遵守以下规定。”她轻巧地来到了第三排，“选五个，只能选五个列表上的男生。不准署名，不准和附近的同学讨论你的选项。”她现在走到第四排了，语速越来越快，“当你作出选择之后，把表格翻过来。”她把剩余的票放在最后一张桌子上，“我再说一遍，不准折你的选票！”

罗宾·卡斯迪农举起手叫道：“为什么男生也要投票。没理由让男生也投票嘛。”

“罗宾……”西蒙斯夫人提醒他。

“我是认真的！我们该怎么做？投给朋友还是投给敌人？”

很多人都发出了窃笑，西蒙斯夫人瞪着他，但他说得有道理。二十个八年级的男生被迫准备两个人的午餐，还要被拍卖给出价最高的人。

“当选‘篮子男孩’是一种荣誉——”西蒙斯夫人开口道，不过罗宾打断了她。

“那是个笑柄！”他说，“尴尬极了！谁想当‘篮子男孩’？”

他旁边的男生纷纷抱怨道：“反正我不想。”但西蒙斯夫人清了清嗓子：“你应该希望当选的！自学校建立以来，这就是协助筹款的一项传统。一代又一代的‘篮子男孩’帮助学校变成现在的模样。有了他们，我们才有了花圃，有了遮荫的树木，以及苹果园。去看看别的初中吧，那时你才知道，我们的校园是一片小小的绿洲。”

“而这些全是出自‘篮子男孩’们的血汗辛劳。”罗宾嘟囔着。

西蒙斯夫人叹了口气，“罗宾，有一天当你的孩子来到这里上学，你就会明白。现在，请给你认为能赢得最高出价的人投上一票。还有，全体同学，”她补充道，“我们还有九分钟。”

教室陷入一片寂静。我顺着名单阅读八年级一百五十个男生的名字，却发现，对我来说，从来只有一个人。只有布莱斯。

我不想让自己变得太伤感。那么长时间以来，我一直错爱了他，而现在我当然不会选他。但我不知道还能投给谁。我看了看西蒙斯夫人，她正虎视眈眈地盯着全班同学，间或看着挂钟。如果我谁也不选呢？如果我交上空白的选票会怎样？

她会让我留堂，就这样。还剩两分钟的时候，我在我认为既不像书呆子又不像小丑，人还不错的男生名字旁边打上点。当我勾完之后，发现有十个名字旁边做了记号，然后我从中选出了五个人：莱恩·诺尔、文思·奥尔森、艾德里安·伊格莱西亚斯、伊恩·莱，以及琼恩·楚洛克。他们不会当选“篮子男孩”的，但我也不会出价，所以这没关系。当铃声响起，我交上选票，把拍卖的事忘得一干二净。

直到第二天午饭时分为止。去图书馆的路上，达拉拦住我，把我拉到她的座位上。“你看到名单了吗？”她问。

“什么名单？”

“‘篮子男孩’的名单！”她把一张笔迹潦草的二十人名单推到我面前，四下张望，“你的心头好也在里面！”

从上数第五个，就在那儿——布莱斯·罗斯基。

我早该预料到的，可是，一股汹涌而来的占有欲仍然袭上了我的心头。谁投了他一票？从一百五十人里当选，他一定得到了许多选票！突然间，我眼前出现了成群的女孩在推进者俱乐部的女士们面前挥舞着大把钞票，乞求能与他共进午餐的场面。

我把名单扔回给达拉，说：“他不是我的心头好！实际上，我根本就没选他。”

“噢噢噢，姑娘！你还在坚持节食呢！”

“这不是节食，达拉。我……我已经不再惦记他了，好吗？”

“我很高兴听你这么说，因为有传言认为，雪莉那个妞儿已经对他志在必得了。”

“雪莉？雪莉·斯道尔斯？”我觉得我的脸因为激动而发红了。

“没错，”达拉挥舞着她的名单，喊道，“莉斯！梅茜！在这里！我拿到名单了！”

达拉的朋友们全都扑过来，聚精会神地研究那张纸，仿佛那是一份藏宝图。梅茜喊道：“查得·奥蒙德被选中了！他好可爱。我愿意为他出十块钱，没问题！”

“丹尼也在里面！”莉斯尖叫着，“那个男孩真是”——她打着战，咯咯笑着——“太……太……太好了！”

梅茜撇撇嘴说：“琼恩·楚洛克？他怎么也在里面？”

有那么一刻，我几乎不敢相信自己的耳朵。我从梅茜手里抢过名单：“你确定？”

“就在那儿，”她指着他的名字说，“你觉得谁会选他啊？”

“那些文静的女生吧，我想。”达拉说，“我嘛，我对麦克·阿比尼多更感兴趣。有人跟我竞争吗？”

梅茜笑了：“如果你想要他的话，我退出！”

“我也是。”莉斯说。

“你呢，朱莉？”达拉问我，“周五打算带上零钱吗？”

“不！”

“那你会错过后半场……”

“不！我不会竞价的。对谁都不会！”

她笑了：“对你有好处。”

那天下午，我从学校骑车回家，脑子里全是布莱斯和“篮子男孩”拍卖。我觉得自己对布莱斯有点死灰复燃的苗头。但是，如果雪莉喜欢他，我为什么要介意呢？我根本就不应该想他！

不想布莱斯的时候，我不禁担心起可怜的琼恩·楚洛克。他很文静，让他挎着篮子在全校面前被拍卖，我觉得很对不起他。我对他做了些什么啊？

不过，当我到家的时候，“篮子男孩”的事就迅速地被我抛到了脑后。我是不是看到了绿色从泥土里钻出来？是的！是的，没错！我扔下自行车，四肢趴在地上。它们好细，好小，离得好远！

在宽阔的黑色土壤上面，它们几乎看不到，不过，它们确实在那儿。从泥土中钻出来，沐浴着午后的阳光。

我跑进屋里，喊着：“妈妈！妈妈，小草长出来了！”

“真的？”她戴着清洁手套、提着水桶从浴室里跑出来，“我还在想，它们是不是根本不会破土而出。”

“嗯，它们现在出来了！过来！来看看！”

一开始，她没有什么感觉。但是当我让她趴到地上仔细看的时候，她笑了，说：“它们好精致……”

“它们看起来就像在打哈欠，是不是？”

她轻轻点了点头，又凑近去看：“打哈欠？”

“呃，也许更舒展一些，我想。它们仿佛是坐在小小的泥土铺成的床上，高高地伸着胳膊，嘴里说着，世界，早上好！”

她笑了：“是啊，没错！”

我站起来，打开水管：“我想，它们需要来个晨浴，你说呢？”

妈妈同意了，把我一个人留在那儿一边浇水一边唱歌。我已经完全沉浸在这些新生的小小绿色叶片带来的快乐中，这时，我听到校车轰隆隆地停在克里尔街的车站。

布莱斯。他的名字瞬间击中了我，随之而来的是一阵我无法遏制的恐慌。

还没反应过来，我已经丢下水管，冲进屋子里。

我锁上自己的屋门，试着做起了家庭作业。我平静的心情到哪儿去了？我的决心呢？还有我的理智？就因为雪莉·斯道尔斯追求他，它们就全都离我而去了？我会有这种反应，是否只是因为旧日的竞争？

我必须放下布莱斯和雪莉的事。他们俩很合适——就让他们在一起吧！

但是，内心深处，我知道自己就像刚刚发芽的小草，还不够强大，禁不住别人的踩踏。在我强大起来之前，只有一个办法：必须远离他们。我需要把他隔离出我的生活。

于是，我躲开任何有关“篮子男孩”的消息，在学校里避开布莱斯。如果我不小心碰到了他，只是说一句你好，把他当成一个我不熟悉的人。

这个方法奏效了！我一天比一天强大起来。谁在乎拍卖和“篮子男孩”？反正我不在乎！

星期五的早晨，我起得很早，捡起鸡窝里寥寥无几的鸡蛋，给前院浇水——现在那里已经有了明显的绿意，吃早饭，然后准备去上学。

梳头的时候，我却忍不住想起了雪莉·斯道尔斯。今天是拍卖的日子，她也许五点钟就起床了，把头发做成某种蓬松得不可思议的形状。

那又怎么样？我对自己说。那又怎么样？但是当我匆忙穿上夹克的时候，我盯着存钱罐，犹疑着，假如……

不！不——不——不！

我跑进车库，找到自行车，把它推上车道。刚骑到路上，斯杜比太太就突然跑出来拦住我。

“朱莉安娜，”她喊道，冲我挥着手，“这儿，亲爱的，拿着这些钱。对不起，这么长时间都没有拿给你，早上我总是错过你。”

我甚至不知道她欠了我多少钱。那一刻，我也不在乎。我只知道她手里最大面额的是十元钞票，简直把我吓了一跳。“斯杜比太太，别这样。我……我不要钱。你不需要付钱给我。”

“别这么说，孩子！我当然要付你钱。拿着！”她一边说，一边把钱塞给我。

“不，真的不用。我……我不要这些钱。”

她把钱插进我的牛仔裤口袋：“别再说啦。走吧！去给你自己买只公鸡！”然后，她就匆匆地走回家去了。

“斯杜比太太……斯杜比太太？”我在她背后喊着，“我不想买什么公鸡！”但她已经走了。

去学校的路上，斯杜比太太的钞票似乎要在我的口袋上烧出一个洞，我的心里也几乎被烧出一个洞。到底有多少钱？

到了学校，我停好自行车，把钱铺开。十，十五，十六，十七，十八。我把钱拢在一起，放回口袋里。这会不会比雪莉带的钱更多呢？

整个第一堂课，我都在对自己居然有这个念头而大发脾气。整个第二堂课，我一直努力不让目光停留在布莱斯身上，但是，哦！这太难了！我以前从来没见他戴过领带和袖扣！

课间休息的时候，我来到自己的储物柜那里，雪莉·斯道尔斯突然不知道从哪里冒出来了。她径直走到我身边，说：“我听说你打算对他竞价。”

“什么？”我向后退了一步，“谁说的？我没有！”

“有人看到你早上带了一大卷现金。你有多少钱？”

“这……这不关你的事。而且我不想出价，好吗？我……我甚至一点儿也不喜欢他，再也不喜欢了。”

她笑了：“哦，今天会是美好的一天！”

“没错，”我砰的一声关上储物柜，“去把你的钱浪费在他身上吧，我不在乎。”

我留下她一个人目瞪口呆地站在那儿，感觉甚至比给她来个过肩摔还要好。

这种感觉一直留存到上午十一点，全体学生聚集到体育馆为止。我不会为布莱斯·罗斯基竞标的。绝对不会！

“篮子男孩”们走上台。布莱斯拿着野餐篮子，边沿上露出红白格子餐巾，他看起来多可爱呀。随即，一幅雪莉·斯道尔斯抽出其中一块餐巾铺在腿上的画面，几乎点着了我口袋里的钱。

达拉出现在我身后，低声说：“据说你带了很多钱。是真的吗？”

“什么？不！我是说，是的，但我……我不会竞标。”

“噢噢噢，姑娘，瞧你。你还好吧？”

一点儿也不好。我胃里翻腾着，膝盖打软。“我很好，”我告诉她，“很好。”

她的目光在我和舞台之间转来转去，最后回到我身上：“除了自尊以外，你不会有任何损失。”

“别说了！”我恶狠狠地在她耳边说。就像犯了焦虑症一样，我快不能呼吸了。

我感到一阵头晕，整个人摇摇欲坠——仿佛我无法控制自己的身体。

达拉说：“也许你应该坐下来。”

“我很好，达拉，我很好。”

她冲我皱着眉头：“我想我得在这儿多待会儿，保证你没事。”

推进者俱乐部主席麦克卢尔夫人刚才穿梭在“篮子男孩”身边，帮他们整整领带，下达最后的指示，现在她忽然站在台子上，敲着手里的小木槌，声音通过麦克风传出来：“等你们都坐好了，我们就准备开始。”

我还从来没见过六百个学生这么快就安静下来。我猜麦克卢尔夫人也没见过，因为她露出一个微笑，说道：“哎呀，谢谢大家。非常感谢。”她接着说，“欢迎参加第五十二届年度‘篮子男孩’拍卖会！我知道老师已经在教室里给你们讲过拍卖流程，但我还要提醒你们几件事：这是一个文明的过程。不允许做出任何吹口哨、喝倒彩，或其他有失身份的行为。如果你想竞标，必须把手举高。禁止不举手就出价，假如你决心做个小丑，将会被抓住并延缓或禁止出价。都清楚了吗？很好。”她环视着体育馆，“老师们，我看到你们已经就位了。”

六百颗脑袋慢慢地左右巡视，看着体育馆两侧由教师组成的封锁线。

“上帝啊，”达拉悄声说，“他们留下这么大的空间不是为了娱乐的，对不对？”

麦克卢尔夫人接着说：“最少出价是十美元，当然，上不封顶，不过我们不接受赊账。”她指了指右边，“当我宣布篮子成交之后，胜出的竞拍者直接去北门那里的餐桌。就像你们听说的那样，胜出者和她们的‘篮子男孩’可以不用上今天剩下的课，并且免除今晚一切家庭作业。”她对封锁线笑了笑，“教师们，我们十分感谢你们的支持。”

“好吧，就这样！”她戴上老花镜，看着一张卡片，“第一个篮子，由杰弗里·毕肖提供。”她从眼镜上方看着他，说道，“走上来，杰弗里。别害羞！”他往前蹭了几寸，她接着说，“杰弗里带来了一顿顶级大餐，包括鸡肉沙拉三明治、中式面条、迷你葡萄、冰茶以及幸运饼。”透过眼镜，她冲他微微一笑，“听起来很美味，也很有趣！这就是——”她回头看着人群，“杰弗里！他喜欢滑板、滑雪以及游泳，不过女士们，他也喜欢在公园里度过一整天以及观看亨弗莱·鲍嘉的电影。”她转向杰弗里，笑着说，“意外之喜，对不对？”

可怜的杰弗里试着微笑，但你能看得出来——他恨不得去死。

“好啦，”麦克卢尔夫人摘下眼镜，“有人出十元吗？”

不止十元，她听到有人说十二、十五、二十还有二十五！

“继续……继续……成交！”麦克卢尔夫人喊道，“那位穿紫外套的年轻女士！”

“那是谁啊？”我问达拉。

“我想她叫泰芬妮，”她说，“她是七年级的。”

“真的吗？哇。去年我根本就没出价！而且我……我也不记得价格涨得这么快。”

达拉盯着我：“也就是说，你今年也许会竞标咯？你有多少钱？”

我的目光几乎能在她脸上烧出一个洞：“达拉，我不是有意带钱来的！我的邻居在我上学路上非让我收下不可，因为她欠我鸡蛋的钱，而且——”

“鸡蛋？哦，就是布莱斯在图书馆说的那些？”

“没错，而且——”我看着她，她也看着我，然后我冷冷地停了下来。

“你怎么会想要去竞标那个男孩？”

“我不想！但我曾经喜欢过他很长时间。达拉，我从七岁就开始喜欢他了。虽然我知道他是个懦夫，是个鬼鬼祟祟的家伙，我不应该再和他说话，可是这很难做到，尤其是，雪莉·斯道尔斯在追求他。现在我的钱都快把我的口袋烧出洞了！”

“好吧，我能理解关于雪莉·斯道尔斯的部分，不过，要是你认为那男孩是一大块奶酪蛋糕，吃下去是种罪恶的话，我可以帮你把节食坚持下去。”她伸出手，“把钱给我，我帮你拿着。”

“不！”

“不？”

“我的意思是……我能控制住。我一定要控制住。”

她摇摇头：“哦，姑娘。看来我伤害到你了。”

我转过头看看舞台。拍卖进行得真快！马上就该布莱斯上场了。

竞标还在继续，而我内心的斗争也愈演愈烈。我该怎么做？

突然，体育馆陷入一片寂静，静得能听到一根针落地的声音。站在麦克卢尔夫人身边，窘迫得要死的正是琼恩·楚洛克。麦克卢尔夫人正在扫视着人群，看上去同样很不自在。

“怎么了？”我悄悄问达拉。

“没人出价。”她也悄悄答道。

“有人出十元吗？”麦克卢尔夫人喊道，“来呀，出价啊！这顿午饭很美味。草莓挞、烤牛肉和门斯特干酪三明治……”

“哦，不！”我低声对达拉说，“我不敢相信自己竟然对他做出这种事情！”

“你？你做什么了？”

“我投了他一票！”

“好吧，不可能只有你一个人选了他……”

“但是为什么没人为他出价？他……他人很好。”

达拉点点头：“没错。”

我忽然知道该怎么做了。我举起手，喊道：“十元！”

“十元？”麦克卢尔夫人颤声说，“有人出十元吗？”

我把手举得更高，对达拉说：“报十二元。”

“什么？”

“报十二元，我会比你出价更高的。”

“没门！”

“达拉！他不能只拍到十元，快点！”

“十二！”达拉喊道，不过她的手举得并不高。

“十五！”我叫着。

“十六！”达拉喊，笑着看我。

我低声说：“达拉！我只有十五块钱。”

她瞪大了眼睛。

我笑了，喊道：“十八！”然后把她的手拽下来，“不过这真的是我所有的钱了。”

片刻安静，“十八元一次！十八元两次……十八元成交。”

达拉笑了：“哇，姑娘！好激烈的竞价！”

我点点头：“没错！”

“好吧，你吃不上甜点了。看来你把钱全花在了更……呃……健康的食物上。”她用下巴点点舞台，“你是不是要去餐桌那边了，就像你该做的那样？或者你想再待一会儿，观赏下面的厮杀？”

我几乎没有别的选择。麦克卢尔夫人还没来得及对布莱斯和他的篮子说一句完整的介绍，雪莉已经喊道：“十元！”然后，从体育馆的中间传来了“十二！”那是米兰达·休姆斯，手臂高高地指向天空。她们此起彼伏地喊着，价格越来越高，直到雪莉喊出“六十二！”

“我不敢相信，”我悄悄对达拉说，“六十二块钱！来啊，米兰达，快出价。”

“我想她出局了，雪莉胜利了。”

“六十二元一次！”麦克卢尔夫人喊，但是，在她说出“两次！”之前，从体育馆后排传来一个声音：“一百元！”

人人都屏住呼吸，转身朝后看去，到底是谁出的价。达拉低声说：“那是珍妮。”

“阿特金森？”我问。

达拉指着人群：“就在那里。”

她很容易被认出来，站在那儿比周围的人都高，穿着她几乎天天穿的一件印着七号的篮球背心。“哇，”我悄声说，“我都不知道。”

“也许她会为他给你一记重扣。”达拉咧着嘴笑道。

“管她呢，”我也笑了，“她给了雪莉一记重扣！”

麦克卢尔夫人通过麦克风激动地宣布这次出价打破了纪录，而米兰达身边涌起一阵骚动。我认出了雪莉的头发，第一个念头是她俩快要打起来了。但是，雪莉和米兰达一起转过身来面对着麦克卢尔夫人，喊道：“一百二十二元零五角！”

我强忍着没有尖叫出来：“什么？”

“她们联合起来了。”达拉悄悄地说。

“哦，不——不——不！”我朝珍妮看去，“上啊，珍妮！”

达拉摇摇头，对我说：“她已经退出了。”确实。布莱斯以一百二十二元零五角的价格卖给了雪莉和米兰达。

和琼恩碰头，一起去多功能厅吃午餐，这感觉有点奇怪。但是他人真的很好，我庆幸自己拍下了他。当我们在餐桌旁落座的时候，我并不觉得尴尬或是愚蠢，这只是一顿午餐。

假如他们没把我安排在正对布莱斯和他那两位后宫的位置，可能就不会有那么多麻烦了，不过，我尽可能忽略掉他。琼恩告诉我，他和他爸爸怎么从零做起，制造无线电遥控飞机的故事，他足足干了快三个月，而这个周末他们终于要试飞了。他还给我讲了个好玩的故事，关于他怎么焊错了电线，结果点着了他家的地下室，然后我问起无线电遥控飞机的工作原理，因为我真的没有听明白。

就这样，我放松多了，而且跟琼恩一起吃午餐真的很愉快。我非常庆幸自己没有为布莱斯竞价，我差点就当了一次大傻瓜！看着雪莉和米兰达不断地奉承他，我并没有像自己想象的那样困扰。真的，她们看起来可笑极了。

琼恩问起我的家人，于是我讲起哥哥们和他们的乐队，这时，布莱斯的餐桌旁边掀起了一阵骚动。

突然间，雪莉和米兰达像只巨大的毛球一样滚倒在地，用食物互殴起来。

布莱斯不知从哪儿冒出来，出现在我们的餐桌旁边。他抓起我的手，把我拖到一边，低声说：“你喜欢他吗？”

我惊讶得不知所措。

他抓住我的另一只手，又问了一遍：“你喜欢他吗？”

“你是说琼恩？”

“是的！”

我不记得自己是怎么说的了。他直视着我的眼睛，紧紧地抓住我的手，然后把我朝他的方向拉了过去。我的心跳得飞快，而他闭上眼睛，他的脸离我越来越近……就在这里，当着所有“篮子男孩”、他们的约会对象，以及大人们的面，他要吻我了。

吻我。

我慌了。我一辈子都在等待这个吻，但是，现在？

我挣脱了他，跑回自己的餐桌，当我坐下的时候，琼恩低声问道：“他是不是想吻你？”

我把椅子转开，不再对着布莱斯，然后低声回答：“我们能不能聊点别的？聊什么都行。”

人们正在窃窃私语，并朝我这边看过来，当雪莉·斯道尔斯在洗手间清洁完毕回到屋子里，大家都不说话了。她的头发看上去可怕极了。她头上油乎乎的，头发里还挂着小块的食物。她狠狠地瞪了我一眼，就像她的眼睛能发射激光一样。

几个大人把她带回座位，这时屋子里窃窃私语的声音更大了。布莱斯看起来根本就不在乎！他一直试着靠近我，跟我说话，可他不是被老师拦住，就是在有机会开口之前被我推开。

当下课铃终于响起，我迅速向琼恩道别，匆匆跑出大门。我从没这么快取过自行车！头一个冲出学校，我一路疯狂地踩着踏板回到家，肺里火烧火燎。

斯杜比太太正在房子前面浇花，她想跟我说些什么，可我只是把车扔在路上，逃进屋子。我根本不想说什么公鸡的事！

妈妈听见我砰地关上门，就走进房间来看我：“朱莉安娜！出什么事了？”

我仰面躺在床上，面对妈妈，哭着说：“我心里很乱！我不知道该怎么想、怎么做……”

她在我身边的床沿上坐下，抚摩我的头发：“告诉我发生了什么事？亲爱的。”

我迟疑了一下，然后绝望地伸出双手：“他想吻我！”

妈妈努力控制着自己，但她镇静的表情之下，一个微笑正在慢慢绽开。她靠近我，问道：“谁？”

“布莱斯！”

她踌躇着：“你不是一直喜欢他……”

门铃响了，然后响了又响。妈妈想站起来，可我抓住她的胳膊：“别开门！”门铃再次响起，紧跟着是重重的敲门声，“妈妈，求你了！别开门！可能是他！”

“可是亲爱的……”

“我已经不喜欢他了！完全不喜欢了！”

“从什么时候开始的？”

“从上星期五。那顿晚餐之后。我们在罗斯基家吃过晚饭之后，就算他从地球表面消失，我都不在乎！”

“为什么？晚餐上还发生了什么我不知道的事吗？”

我把自己埋进枕头：“这很复杂，妈妈！我……我没法告诉你。”

“上帝，”她沉默片刻，“别耍小孩脾气。”

“对不起。”我呜咽着说，知道自己让她伤心了，我从床上坐起来，“妈妈，这些年我真的一直都喜欢他吗？我从没有真正了解过他。我只知道他有一双我见过的最漂亮的眼睛，他的笑容像阳光融化黄油一样融化了我的心。但我现在知道，他内心深处不过是个懦夫，是个鬼鬼祟祟的家伙。所以我必须忘记他的外表！”

妈妈向后靠过去，抱着双臂。“好吧，”她说，“这真伟大。”

“什么意思？”

她抽紧一边的脸颊，接着又抽紧另外一边。最后她说：“我不该跟你讨论这个。”

“为什么？”

“因为……就是不应该。另外，我敢说你也有不愿意跟我讨论的话题……”

我们互相对视着，谁也没说话。最后，我低下头，小声说：“查特和我修整院子的时候，我告诉他房子不是我们的，还有戴维叔叔的事。他一定是告诉他家其他人了，因为去罗斯基家吃晚饭的前一天，我不小心听到布莱斯和他的朋友在学校取笑戴维叔叔。我当时很生气，可我不想让你知道，因为你以为他们请我们去吃饭，只是为了向我们道歉。”我看着妈妈说，“受到邀请，你看起来那么高兴。”

然后我忽然明白了什么事：“还有，从那天以后，你看起来开心多了。”

她握住我的手，笑了：“我有很多值得高兴的事，”她叹了口气，说，“而且我早就知道他们听说了戴维叔叔的事。你对别人提起他，这真的没有关系，他不是个秘密。”

我直起身：“等等……你怎么知道的？”

“佩西告诉我了。”

我惊讶地眨着眼睛：“她说的？在晚餐之前？”

“不，不。晚餐之后。”她顿了顿，“这个星期，佩西来了好几次。她……她正在度过一段艰难的日子。”

“怎么回事？”

妈妈长长地舒了一口气，说：“我想，你已经足够成熟到保守这个秘密了，我只告诉你一个人，因为……因为我想这跟你也有关系。”

我屏住呼吸，等待着。

“这段时间，佩西和瑞克之间爆发了非常激烈的矛盾。”

“罗斯基先生和太太？关于什么？”

妈妈叹气：“关于所有的事，我想。”

“我不知道。”

妈妈用非常非常轻的声音说：“佩西有生以来第一次看清楚了她丈夫是个什么样的人。虽然晚了二十年，有了两个孩子，但她还是作出了决定。”她冲我悲伤地笑着，“看来佩西正在经历和你一样的过程。”

电话响了，妈妈说：“我去接吧，好吗？爸爸说，如果要加班，他会打电话过来，也许是他。”

她走了以后，我想起查特的话，他认识的某个人从来没有学会透过表象看到本质。他说的是自己的女儿吗？这一切怎么会发生在二十年的婚姻生活之后呢？

妈妈回来之后，我心不在焉地问：“爸爸今天要加班吗？”

“那不是爸爸，亲爱的。是布莱斯。”

我坐起来：“现在他想起打电话了？我在他对街住了六年，而他从来没给我打过电话！他这么做是出于嫉妒吗？”

“嫉妒？嫉妒谁？”

于是，我一点儿一点儿地讲给她听，从斯杜比太太开始，然后是达拉、拍卖、两个女生打架，末尾是布莱斯试图在众目睽睽之下吻我。

她拍着手，真的笑出声了。

“妈妈，这一点儿也不好笑！”

她努力坐直一点儿：“我知道，亲爱的，我明白。”

“我不想落得像罗斯基太太一样的下场！”

“你不需要跟这个男孩结婚，朱莉安娜。你为什么不听听他要说什么呢？他不顾一切地想跟你说说话。”

“他想说什么呀？他已经把取笑戴维叔叔的错误都推到加利特身上了，抱歉，我不能接受。他对我说谎了，他没有为我站出来……他……他什么也不是，我根本不想喜欢上他。喜欢他这么长时间，我只是需要时间把他忘掉。”

妈妈坐在那里沉默了很久，脸轻轻地抽动着。然后她说：“你知道，人是会变的。也许，他最近也受到了一些启发。诚实地说，任何一个敢于在大庭广众之下亲吻女孩的男孩子，在我看来都不是懦夫。”她抚摩着我的头发，轻声说，“也许你对布莱斯·罗斯基了解得还不够深。”

她把我一个人留在房间里继续纠结。

妈妈明白我需要时间来思考，但布莱斯就是不肯让我一个人待着。他不断地打电话、敲门，居然还绕过房子，来敲我的窗户！每一次我转过身来，他总在那里纠缠着我。

我想安安静静地给院子浇水。我希望在学校能躲开他，或者让达拉帮我挡住他。他为什么就是不明白，我对他要说的话根本不感兴趣？他还能说什么呢？

想一个人待着真的很过分吗？

今天下午，我正在门厅里读一本书，为了躲开他拉上了窗帘，就像我这个星期一直以来那样。这时我听到院子里传来一阵噪声。我朝外面偷看了一眼，是布莱斯，他正穿过我的草坪，踩在我的小草上面！他还扛着一把铲子！他想拿它来干什么？

我跳下沙发，冲出家门，跑到爸爸身边。“让他停下来！”我尖叫着。

“冷静点，朱莉安娜，”他说，并把我拉回屋子里，“是我允许他这么做的。”

“允许！允许他做什么？”我跑回到窗户旁边，“他在挖洞。”

“没错，是我同意的。”

“可是为什么？”

“我觉得这男孩的主意不错，就这样。”

“但是——”

“这不会伤到你的小草，朱莉安娜。就让他去做吧。”

“可是，他要干什么？他在干什么？”

“看着他。你会发现的。”

看着他在我的草地上挖洞是一种折磨。他挖了好大一个洞！爸爸怎么会允许他在我家院子里挖洞呢？

布莱斯也知道我在这儿，因为有一次他看了我一眼，点点头。没有笑，没有打招呼，只是点了点头。

他拖过来一些盆栽用的土壤，用铲子划破袋子，把土倒进洞里。然后他消失了。回来的时候，他费力地扛着一棵用麻袋裹住根部的巨大的树苗穿过草坪，他一边往前走，树枝一边前后摆动，窸窣作响。

爸爸走过来，陪我一起坐在沙发上偷偷地看着窗外。

“一棵树？”我悄声说，“他要种一棵树？”

“我想帮他，可是他说他必须自己动手。”

“这是棵……”剩下的半句话卡在我喉咙里。

我根本不用问，他也知道他用不着回答。从叶子的形状和树干的质感，我能看得出来。

这是一棵无花果树。

我从沙发上跳起来，又坐了回去。

一棵无花果树。

布莱斯把树种下去，浇水，收拾好东西，然后走回家去。我只是坐在那儿，不知道该怎么办。

现在，我已经在那儿坐了好几个小时，望着窗外那棵树。它现在也许还小，但它会一天天长大。一百年后，它将会超过屋顶。它会向着天空伸展好几英里！我已经能够看出——它将会是棵神奇、壮美的大树。

我忍不住在想，一百年后，会不会有个孩子像我在克里尔街那样爬到树上去？她会不会看到我曾经看到的风景？这会不会改变她的生活，就像它们改变了我的生活一样？

我也忍不住想起了布莱斯。他想对我说些什么？他在想些什么？

我知道他在家，因为他不时从窗户向外眺望。不久前，他刚刚举手朝我挥动着。而我实在忍不住——我也微微挥手作为回应。

那么，也许我应该走过去，感谢他种了这棵树。也许我们可以坐在门廊上谈谈。我突然想到，我们认识了这么久，还从来没这样做过呢。

从来没有真的坐下来好好谈一谈。

也许妈妈是对的。也许我对布莱斯·罗斯基了解得还不够深。

也许现在是时候了。

来自文德琳的致意

——关于书迷来信

一、你让我的一颗心悬着

这些年，我收到了很多读者因为《怦然心动》而给我写的信，有的信里画有小鸡或者树的插画，有的信里涂满了日出或者日落的色彩，有的是手写的，有的是打印的。这些信虽然千差万别，但几乎都在诉说着同一件事：

拜托啦，拜托啦，请继续写《怦然心动》的续篇吧！

接着是谴责：你让我的一颗心悬着！

以及要求：我得知道！我必须得知道！接下来发生什么啦？

我能理解，毕竟朱莉在第一章末尾，她还在想着自己是不是和初吻无缘了，结果到了结局也没有亲吻，太遗憾了！

虽说来信很多，但我也尽可能地给每一位读者回信，毕竟，寄去一封热情洋溢的信，却石沉大海是多么让人心灰意冷。但是，我在信中的回复同样也让读者心灰意冷，我告诉他们：我不会再继续写《怦然心动》的续篇了。我从保存的信件里找到了一封回信，里面的解释如下：

我留下了一个开放式的结尾，是因为我想让读者自己去想象那些角色的未来——你觉得将会发生什么呢？我是说，如果你是主角的话，你会做什么呢？总的来说，我想让你的生活变成故事的续篇，想让你去构建未知的情节，去塑造你所熟知的角色，挖掘更深层次的含义，或者放眼更远的未来。构建你自己所坚信的未来，会让你的生活更加快乐，也许它会让你觉得艰难困苦，备受苦痛，但你最终会在生活里成长起来。比起花费时间去思考你要做什么或为什么你要这么做，你已经完成了太多太多。

下面还有一行字：

写《怦然心动》的续篇让我觉得很别扭。有时候给一部珍爱的作品添添补补，反而是画蛇添足。对我而言，我觉得《怦然心动》的结尾恰到好处，没必要把它弄得又长又臭。

是的，这就是我坚定不移的立场！

而且，我同样也会坚定不移地不参与任何“后来发生了什么”的讨论！

但是，这个世上总会有人让你变得优柔寡断、摇摆不定，总会有人让你倍受感动，即便一开始那么信誓旦旦也不得不妥协。

那是在中西部某家书店里的一次朗读会上，在前来参加的读者里，有一位少年和他的母亲，他们开了三个小时的车才来到这里。

那个男孩患有大脑性瘫痪，所以动作有些迟缓和呆滞，说话的语速也比我们慢一些，但他仍旧是一个心思细腻而聪慧的小读者。从他和他母亲的互动来看，他还是一个非常贴心的男孩。

朗读会为前来参加的读者们准备了几排椅子，男孩和他母亲就坐在第二排。在读者提问的环节，那个男孩举起了他的手，有些吃力地提出了他的问题。

“《怦然心动》的结局后又发生了什么啦？”

他有些忧心忡忡，但又满怀希冀。我明白了，这就是为什么他会不远千里地开车来看我的原因。

我给出了我的官方答案，向他解释说我希望我的读者们可以用他们的生活来当作这个故事的幸福结局。

我能看到男孩脸上的希冀消失了，只剩下忧虑笼罩着。这次，他换了更加礼貌的语气问我：“但是发生了什么呢？”

这个问题意味着“我必须知道”，毕竟，是我创造了这个世界，塑造了这群人物，让他们在他脑海里有血有肉地活着。我为什么不能告诉他最后的结局呢？

他的眼里泪水在打转。

我怎么能，怎么能不告诉他呢？

于是，我抛弃了我那条“绝不参与任何有关《怦然心动》结尾之后的讨论”的底线，告诉他我知道他所盼望的一切。

他百感交集，欢欣雀跃，仿佛那就是他可以呼吸的动力。他含着泪水，一遍又一遍地向我点头致以谢意，而我也和他一样哭了。

所以，那是唯一一次例外，只为了不留下任何遗憾。

但我究竟说了什么呢？

不！我不会告诉你的，我所写下的就已经是全部的故事了。

所以，别再妄求了，去创造你自己的幸福结尾吧。

二、保持一颗坚强的心

作家在创作故事的时候经常会借鉴他们自己的经验，他们笔下的场景、人物以及事件都带有私人化的色彩。你不会将这些私人化的东西公之于众，而是将其藏匿在小说这个安全的避风港里。《怦然心动》就是这样一个例子。

我还记得，当有人问我母亲她想要一个男孩还是一个女孩的时候，她总是说：“只要宝宝健康，男孩女孩都无所谓。”

我以为这不过是她的客套话罢了，宝宝当然是健康的！我之所以觉得女孩更好，是因为我已经有两个弟弟了，我想要个妹妹！

我的愿望成真了，我有了个妹妹，对此我是多么感激啊。但不久之后，我才真正理解了我母亲的智慧箴言。

我觉得我们女人在历经孩子“建造”（我喜欢这种说法）的过程当中，都没有意识到，稍有不慎就会走错路，而这是一件幸事。我们给孩子想名字，我们筑巢，肚子一天比一天大，直到有一天我们多么希望自己的身体能恢复如初。我们怀胎十月，含辛茹苦，呐喊着至理名言：“我多么希望自己能有个袋鼠一样的袋子呀！”（这是我大约在1991年说的）最终，我们忘却了疼痛，深深地凝视着我们肚子里那凝结了爱与惊叹的小小生灵。然而，我们仍旧没有意识到，造化弄人，很多事情稍有不慎就会后悔终身。

当我的二儿子出生的时候，脐带缠住了他的脖子。

这是第二次了。

护士把氧气罩戴在我脸上的时候，我还在用力生产，我告诉她我不想戴它，而她却说：“戴上它是为了宝宝。”

我并没有理解这句话的深刻含义。我吸着氧气，几分钟后，医生解开了缠在宝宝脖子上的脐带。随着我最后一次用力，我的儿子终于健健康康地降临到了这个世上。

很快，我们一家投入到了崭新的生活当中，完全没有意识到我们曾和一颗子弹擦肩而过。多年后的一天，我的丈夫下班回来后给我讲了个故事，他一个同事的儿子在出生的过程中，因为脐带缠绕造成了大脑供氧不足，以致永久性脑损伤，将在轮椅上度过一生了。

我想你现在应该看得出来，关于书中戴维叔叔的故事来源于我心中的一个隐秘的地方。我从未想过要将这件事情公之于众，但是后来，我收到了一封来自中国女人的来信，正是这封信促使我要这样做。

在这封信中，她告诉我她和她的男友已经坠入爱河三年了，然而，因为一个现实的问题，他们却不能有一个幸福完满的结局：她男友的哥哥在出生的时候因为脐带缠住了脖子，导致他的哥哥成了一位智障儿。中国政府允许孩子有缺陷的父母生第二胎，于是他们生了第二个儿子（也就是她的男友）。然而，在中国传统文化中，她的男友必须肩负起照料父母的责任（在这种情况下，还包括他智力有缺陷的哥哥）。她向我解释说，这也就意味着要是她义无反顾地和她深爱的男人结婚，她必须连带着也承担这种责任。

她在这封信中写道，虽然贝克一家有戴维叔叔这样的家人，但是他们仍旧不忘心中的那份坚定与善意，热爱着家里的每一个人。在读完之后，她备受鼓舞，决定去“面对生活中的艰难困苦，并尽最大努力去保持一颗坚强的心”。

保持一颗坚强的心。

多么优美的表达。

这段非同寻常的经历让我渐渐明白，原来我是多么幸运，而我以前竟一无所知。这份感恩开花结果，而这果实变成了一个漂洋过海，鼓舞了一个中国女孩的故事，而她又将自己的感悟回赠给我们。

当你面对生活中的挑战时，希望你也能保持一颗坚强的心！

三、除了“你让我的一颗心悬着”以外的信

我在保存了关于《怦然心动》的信件的一个又一个的盒子里掘地三尺。十五年的信件全在这里了，每一封都是珍宝。当然，除了那些抱怨贝克兄弟乐队队名的信件──这些人没什么幽默感。以下是我最珍爱的几封信件的节选。

《怦然心动》是我现在读到的最好的书了，你都不知道我和这本书有多少千丝万缕的联系。老实告诉你，我只是想在书架上随便找本书，没想到却在《怦然心动》里学到了很多。你真的让我的生活‘怦然震动’！

我买了你的《怦然心动》作为我重孙女二十岁的生日礼物，我读完这本书，也很喜欢它，朱莉是多么完美的角色啊！

你应该会觉得对于一个像我这样的男孩来说，读《怦然心动》这样多愁善感的小说是很愚蠢的吧，但不是这样的。我很喜欢读你的《怦然心动》。我感觉自己好像就站在书中，目睹着一切的发生，体验着全部的情感。我读过很多书，但你的作品对我而言更有意义，也寄托着更多的情感。我很心疼朱莉，心疼她那破碎的心。

你的书将会永远改变我的生活，太感谢你了。我需要这种转变，否则我将会一直记挂着我曾经爱过的家伙。

第一次读你的《怦然心动》的时候，我才十二岁，刚刚搬到了一座大都市。我很迷茫，不知道要如何适应我的新学校，那里跟我之前的学校不一样，那里的学术氛围很浓郁。我觉得自己根本赶不上我的同学，所以我想用不同的方式脱颖而出。我换了发型，穿着出格的衣服，不想再拿什么好分数了。直到读了你的书，我才意识到，想要与众不同并不比循规蹈矩高明。我始终无法面对真实的自己，明明我想成为朱莉安娜，却反而将自己弄得跟小说里的雪莉·斯托斯一样。我很感谢你写了这部小说，这是我真正需要的。

在读《怦然心动》之前，我还在好奇生活中最重要的是什么？而今后，我将和朱莉一样，细数生命中的幸福。而我也坚信，和爱比起来，再富足的物质都是微不足道的。

你的书真正教会了我，看到他人外表之下的灵魂是多么重要。我相信，你作品的主题真正改变了我的未来。

你的小说《怦然心动》让我陷入了一个大麻烦。我的老师叫我们在三个小时的阅读结束后开始学习，但我却一直在读这本书。我读得如痴如醉，都不知道老师在说什么。结果她大声叫出我的名字，说：“把书放下！”我太痴迷《怦然心动》了，因为它很像生活。从某种意义上说，它是非虚构的，而且富有教育意义，我的老师也很理解。

情感会在不知不觉间感染我们，然而我们却视而不见。在读你的书之前，我对爱并不了解。虽然我才十二岁，但重要的是，我明白找到一个所爱之人是多么幸运，我也知道爱会让人误入歧途。朱莉和布莱斯让我看到了一个全新的世界。

《怦然心动》让我反思很多。我相信所有人，不论是怪癖的、粗鲁的还是刻薄的人，他们都还是好人。没有人生来就是坏人。

从不同的人的角度来看待事物，就会呈现出不同或者完全不同的看法，这其中的不同太让人诧异了。读到朱莉安娜的部分时，我意识到在读布莱斯的部分时的我存在着偏见。从这一点我知道了，对同一件事物要从不同的角度去看待是多么重要。

听说你就是那位朱莉安娜·贝克，那个曾经坐在无花果树上的女孩，哪怕工人们要来砍掉那棵树的时候也不肯下来。如果你就是朱莉安娜·贝克，那么我想说，能见到你真的是太荣幸了。

我太喜欢你的作品了，因为它太真实了。它浪漫、有爱、动人而又有趣，而且教会了我看待一个人就要感受他的内心，而不是只看外表。

有那么一阵，阅读对我来说很无聊、愚蠢而又诡异。几乎所有的书都有一些很无聊的部分，所以我从来没有读完过一本书。接着，一个朋友告诉我我必须去读一读《怦然心动》，结果我就读得废寝忘食。你的书彻底改变了我。

你真的不能不爱这本书。

哇！我能说什么？当我一开始读《怦然心动》的时候，我简直手不释卷。我只花了三个小时就读完了，我最喜欢的就是朱莉安娜为她的信仰而坚持着。这本书改变了我思考的方式，因为我再也不会考虑别人是怎么看我的了。从这本书中，我了解到了更多的自己。

《怦然心动》改变了我看待一些人的方式，教会了我去给别人第二次机会。这是迄今为止我读到的最好的小说了，为什么没有续集？

你把文字变成了魔法，在读完整本书之前，我根本就停不下来。

在很长一段时间里我都没有像这样放肆地笑过了，我真的笑得停不下来。你是唯一一个在这个世界上懂得孩子的大人。你为什么不是我的妈妈呢？

直到读到《怦然心动》之前，我都没有想到一本书可以改变你看待事物的方式。我开始观察人真正的自我，还有他们真实的色彩。

朱莉教会了我不管实现我们的信仰有多么艰难，我们都要坚持不懈。布莱斯教会了我随意评判一个人是不对的，更会让我们误解他。他向我们展示了有些人虽然看起来很古怪，但是当你在他的内心深处点亮一盏灯时，你将会以不同的方式看待他，你会觉得他一点儿也不古怪了，他只是和你不同罢了。

那些角色内心的情感，从纸页上走到了我的内心里。

读你的书，简直就是给我当头一棒，一次现实的拷问。朱莉让我备受鼓舞，她对于别人的看法一点儿也不在乎，但是我却很在乎。朱莉每天忧愁的是怎么去给她的小鸡崽喂食，还有她的叔叔。而我每天担心的是今天的发型怎么样，穿的好不好看，这本书让我看到了我每天的担心是多么不值一提。就像我说的，这本书像一次现实的拷问！

《怦然心动》真的非常鼓舞我，让我成为一个更好的人，发现自己真正的一面。

虽然人们总是标榜自己不会随意评判他人，但如果不给其他人贴个标签，他们还是不会真正了解他人，并且毫不自知。《怦然心动》改变了我为人处事的方式，也就是像在幼儿园里就教给我们的那样——己所不欲，勿施于人——现在我总算明白了。

——关于电影

一、好莱坞是如何注意到《怦然心动》的

我从儿子的身上学到了一个道理：永远不要低估无名小卒的力量。

我说的这个小卒，不是说那种轻易就被人所操控的人，而是说，这样一个在前线勇敢战斗的默默无闻的小兵，他们总是活在他人的光彩之下，或者被人觉得无足轻重。

我跟我儿子下象棋的时候，我儿子总是会用一种难以察觉、出其不意的方式让小卒前进，最后竟然能用小卒吃掉我的国王、王后，让我节节败退。每次儿子以这种方式胜利后，我都会很懊恼，甚至觉得备受侮辱。当然，游戏是公平的，每当你蔑视小人物的力量时，你就会被他打败。

在生活当中，很多时候我都觉得自己是个无名小卒。而在我的写作中，我会捍卫他们，让无名小卒们立下丰功伟业，我喜欢这样的故事！

如何将《怦然心动》拍摄成电影，对于电影的幕后人员是一种挑战──这群人的影响力总是会被忽视，也很容易被观众遗忘，这很不公平。

我努力在生活中保持感恩的心态，这包括细数自己的幸福，找到黑暗中的一丝希望，铭记那些一路走来帮助过我的人。

所以，在这里，我要再一次说明、坦诚，再一次感谢我这本“小书”何德何能可以得到罗伯·莱纳──拍摄过《公主新娘》《伴我同行》《遗愿清单》等好片的导演──的青睐。

通常来说，一本小说或者一个剧本能得到好莱坞导演的注意，都是通过中间商或者编剧的引荐。除此之外，那些尽人皆知的超级畅销书自然也能得到他们的关注。但这本书却很不一样，因为罗伯·莱纳做了一件很不好莱坞的事情：

他读了这本书。

我何其有幸，能让罗伯·莱纳读到我的书呢？而且，为什么罗伯·莱纳会读一本这么“孩子气”的书呢？

这个问题的答案是：他是一个好父亲。某天，他们一家准备去度假，在去目的地的飞机上，他的儿子本来应该在做家庭作业的，其中也包括读学校指定的书。但他的儿子很不情愿，毕竟是在放假啊，他们可以做其他好玩的事情。

于是，罗伯建议他们一起来读这本书。

是的，这本书就是《怦然心动》。

但是等一下，为什么《怦然心动》是家庭作业呢？它毕竟跟课程学习无关，它只是一个故事，一个浪漫的喜剧而已。

所以，这里就是有趣的地方，你将会看到无名小卒的威力。

《怦然心动》之所以能够成为加利福利亚州许多学校的课程指定书目，是因为它荣获了“加州年轻读者奖”，这个奖是由孩子们进行投票的，面向的是在美国出版的全部图书。很多州都有这个类似的奖项，但不同之处在于，其他州的入围名单上通常都有十到二十本书，而加州的这个奖项每种题材的图书只会有三部作品提名。所以，即便是入围这个奖项，也是一种荣誉。

而且，一旦你赢得了这个奖项，那就是因为：孩子们喜欢你的作品！

啊，不过还要等一下，在整件事情中，我们还不能贸然得出孩子们就是那个无名小卒的结论，不能说正是因为这群孩子让罗伯·莱纳注意到了这本书。是的，他们的确投票了，但是，若我们把事情再往回倒推一步，再问一句：为什么从一开始，《怦然心动》就能登上这个奖的入围名单呢？

这里，就是我们追溯到的整件事情的起源了，那是一个出乎意料的开端：《怦然心动》之所以能够得到罗伯·莱纳的青睐，是因为加利福利亚州某个地方，一个图书管理员很重视这本书，并将它推荐上了名单。

一部电影可以追溯到某个图书管理员。

我喜欢这个想象，喜欢整件事进展的路径，喜欢一件微不足道的小事情可以掀起大波澜。我喜欢这样提醒自己，如果在生活中贡献那么一些小小的事物，比如：一个微小的善意、一种支持、一次援手，这些事物或许就能以我难以想象的方式去感动别人。

让这些微小的事物萦绕在你的生活里：无声的支持、微小的善意。在你生活的棋盘上，永远不要低估──或者说忘了感恩──那些无名小卒的力量。

二、好莱坞式的结尾

在回复那些前来询问续集的信中，为了能安抚那些渴望续集的焦虑心情，我都提到好莱坞已经看中了这本书，毫无疑问，电影会有一个好莱坞式的结尾。

“去看电影吧。”我说，“我向你保证──布莱斯和朱莉会亲吻的。”

要是好莱坞的人能看中你的某部作品，这只是意味着他们拿到了这部作品的优先权罢了，但这并不是说他们就一定会有任何后续动作。他们会先给作者支付一笔微薄的报酬，然后再看看他们能做什么。

被看中并没有什么用，因为需要各方面的合力才能把一部小说改编成电影搬上银幕，而这其中，能被改编的图书真是少之又少。

《怦然心动》被一家电影制作公司看中已经有好几年了，感觉永远都不会拍成电影。我不断听说，新的剧本正在制作当中，然后两位新人明星有望出演，然后等一下，我又听说艾芙隆在创作剧本，然后……然后……然后！

我把这些传闻当作生活的调味料，每次听起来都激动人心、信誓旦旦，但最终又会落空。

然后，我接到了罗伯打来的电话，听到了他和他儿子的故事，他对于电影的想法，还有他和他的写作团队正在创作剧本，以及他们要如何将剧本打造成像书一样。“我喜欢书！不然我为什么每天跟书打交道？”

对于一个作者而言，再也没有比这更甜蜜的话了。

我的四周恍若有天使在唱歌。

接着，他提出了小说发生的年代问题。他在书中看到了一种纯朴，而这种纯朴代表了更早的年代。考虑到近代历史当中改变了我们国家的种种事件，他认为自从约翰·肯尼迪被刺身亡以后，我们国家开始丧失了这种纯朴。所以，虽然我小说中的故事是很现代的，但他想将电影里的时代设定在1957年—1963年。

这听上去是个好原因。

我意识到他考虑得非常全面，他畅谈着他的想法和意图，而不必负任何法律责任。

天使仍旧在歌唱！

接到剧本的那一天，我异常激动，这跟我之前所看到的《怦然心动》的改编剧本都很不一样。

它看上去就像一本书！

包括……哇哦！结尾。

那几天，我一直焦虑不安，随后安排了一次去洛杉矶的城堡石的行程，秘密商谈电影的结尾。

这很重要！

我曾答应过书迷们，布莱斯和朱莉会接吻的……

在走廊上，罗伯看到我的第一句话就是：“你比我想象中要高。”他带我去了他的办公室，里面堆满各种牛仔风格的家具，整个树干被拿来当作椅子扶手。我陷进一张皮质沙发里，感觉自己像是爱丽丝梦游仙境一般，墙壁上装裱着各种电影的海报，我幻想着有朝一日《怦然心动》的电影海报可以挂在《公主新娘》旁边。

“艾伦！”一个人刚好经过门口，罗伯叫住了他，“艾伦，进来，看看文德琳。”

我费力地从沙发里站了起来，和这位《怦然心动》的监制握了握手。真没骗你，他跟我说的第一句话是：“你比我想象中要高。”

作者们要当心了：大家都会从你的书的封底上的小照片来判断你的身高。

一阵寒暄过后，我们坐下来开始谈论我造访的目的。“这次来，我代表的是全美国的孩子。”我这么告诉他，然后向他形容纷至沓来的信中是多么希望看到续集，还有那些热情而执着的孩子非要看到布莱斯和朱莉亲吻不可。“你可以把这段画面放在片尾的演职员表中。”我建议，“比如布莱斯和朱莉开始了解彼此，你知道的，比如他们骑车、爬树、喂鸡、谈笑，然后在演职员表末尾的部分，他们亲吻了！”我向他保证，孩子们会一直坐在电影院里，一直等到演职员表结束，毕竟这是他们多少年来一直盼望的啊。

他友好地听着我说话，摩挲着自己的脸颊，沉思着。

“我会好好考虑的。”他向我承诺。

如若不然，结尾的部分他一定会忠实于原著的。

每每回想这件事，我都会忍不住大笑。我是说，有多少作者会跑去恳求导演，叫他们把电影拍得和原著不一样呢？

据我所知，我是唯一一个。

三、现场拍摄

当我准备离开罗伯的办公室时，他邀请我去一趟密歇根，《怦然心动》将会在那里拍摄。“我不知道。”我告诉他，“我旅行太多次了，而我不想一直在路上……”

当我离开城堡石时，行政助理悄悄问我：“他有邀请你去密歇根吗？”

“是的。”我回答，“但我旅行太多次了……”

回到家，我的电影代理人想要做一次报道，在谈话过程中，她问我：“他有邀请你去密歇根吗？”

“是的。”我说，“但我旅行太多次了……”

“你这么跟他说的？”

我承认是的，我的确是这么明明确确告诉他的。她嘲笑我太“自命不凡”，还给了我非常有价值的指导意见：当一个像罗伯·莱纳这么功成名就、闻名遐迩的导演邀请你去现场拍摄点时，你就应该去。

所以我去了。

之前，我从不知道拍摄具有年代感的电影是一件如此艰巨的任务，摄制组对于细节的把控简直太难以置信了，从衣柜到着装、街道指示牌、汽车、自行车、车牌，再到游乐场设施，处处都透露着一种“年代感”。在拍摄现场让我学到了很多，也让我觉得一些地方很奇怪。

第一件事，就是所有人对我都很友好，都在说：“哇哦！她就是作者！”这让我很意外，因为根据一些可靠的报道，我对于好莱坞对作者的看法都是这样的：“哦，书这么写还行，但电影毕竟不是书，所以不要妄想我们会需要你了！”

另一件让我觉得奇怪的事，是一个最初诞生在我脑海中的故事，是如何开花结果，这是一项如此浩瀚的工程，既需要复杂的场景设置，还需要装了几个仓库的设备。除了一些已经用过的学校、房屋、仿制房屋以及其他场景，一个前身是汽车装配的工厂被改造成了《怦然心动》的仓库，里面装满了各种设备、油漆、艺术设计品、服装部门，乃至办公室以及所有“房子”都设置在里面。仅仅是配合每个人每天的行程安排就是一项巨大的工作。

一些电影场景直接脱离小说，但即便是亲眼目睹了，我也不敢相信是真的。我曾有过这样的构思，然后变成了小说，接着又变成了电影，我一步一步跟随着它的改编，但是，听到穿着复古服装的活生生的真人说着我的台词还是太奇怪了，仿佛时光穿梭一般。我就在这里，目睹着多年以前被创作出来的故事变成了真实世界的画面。因为是具有年代感的电影，所以一切都像是发生在过去──比创作的时间还要早的过去。

一段很“莫比乌斯”的体验。

剧组的采景人员皮特给我们讲寻找适合的复古学校的有趣故事（很意外地得知，被选上的学校里的学生们都非常熟悉这本书），还有他们得在同一个街区找到两栋相对的房子当罗斯基和贝克两家的房屋，以及他们去寻找一棵完美的无花果树的漫长的心酸历程。

“我带他去看树。”皮特是这么说罗伯的，“他摇着头说不行，然后我去找另一棵树带他去看，还是不行，树不太好。”最终，皮特终于找到了一棵壮硕而茂盛的无花果树，但偏偏却在城市公园，长在一个老式的篮球场旁边，连汽车通道都没有。看来是不行了，因为他们需要拍摄一个校园巴士停靠在树旁不远的路边的场景。

无望之中，皮特还是带罗伯去看了那棵树。罗伯说：“就是那棵树！”

为了用这棵树，他们给市政府支付了一大笔钱，才被允许拆除那个篮球场地，建造了一段仿制的公路，等场景拍摄结束以后，他们会拆除这条仿制的公路，重新建一个崭新的篮球场地。

换作其他导演，也许他们干脆就会用一棵橡树，或者榆树，再不济就是一棵路边的大树。但是罗伯·莱纳非常忠实于原著，哪怕要临时改造城市公园，也在所不惜。

整段经历都十分梦幻，我学到了很多，其中之一就是再也不会去抱怨一张电影票有多贵了，因为电影拍摄需要投入大量的资金。

我知道，我之所以能幸运地拥有这段经历是因为罗伯·莱纳喜欢这本书，并且想要把它改编成电影，而正是由于他的威望以及名声才使这件事得以实现。我知道，电影拍摄也是一种商业行为，但是他给我的感觉却是，拍电影也是他爱的结晶。

写书于我而言，也是如此。

四、改变

电影里没有出现那只叫“冠军”的狗，也没有提到任何“神秘小便”乐队的事。“我不能把这些情节改编进去。”罗伯告诉我，我也能理解。

关于把小说改编成电影，我所认为的最好的练习就是你自己试着去写改编的剧本。你必须遵守剧本写作的格式，以及它所给定的限制和约束，这样，在评论电影之前，你对于电影改编的理解会让你思考再三。

通常来说，电影的容量无法容纳全部的小说元素，所以这就是为什么你还需要去阅读原著。

相反，有时候电影还会增加一些场景、线索和剧情，这会让你很奇怪，他们为什么要这么做呢？

在电影《怦然心动》中，增添了一些辱骂以及吓人的耳光，如果说电影的目的是要抓住原著的精髓，为什么要增加这些呢？因为一部关于青少年的大众级电影票房会很惨淡──青少年不会去看的，所以增添这些内容会将其划分到辅导级，这才是他们的目的。

电影中的另一个改编是朱莉的那位需要特殊关照的叔叔的名字。为什么要把他的名字从戴维改成丹尼尔呢？

显然，在拍摄电影的过程中，名字都必须明确不负法律责任之后才能使用，所以如果某个角色的名字会引起潜在的非议和冲突的话（比方说，有个和故事中同名的人也同样生活在这个小镇），电影制作方就会替换角色的名字以避免法律上的麻烦。正因为这样，戴维·贝克在电影里成了丹尼尔·贝克。

正因如此，我们还需要排查城市公园里那棵无花果树周围的住户。世界上有很多无花果树可以被选中，但偏偏这棵树对于一个住在公园附近的孤僻男孩却意义非凡。多年以来，他很喜欢爬这棵树，就像小说里朱莉做的那样。他将自己的内心心声写在树枝上：“我爱这棵树，这棵树也爱我。”我独自爬上这棵树看到了这些话，这种隐秘的联系让我觉得，太难以置信了。

随后我去找这个男孩的名字。这个世界上明明有那么多名字可以选择，但偏偏这个喜欢无花果树、需要特殊关怀的男孩的名字就叫──丹尼尔。

我感到了宇宙间冥冥中的一种力量。

——关于这本书

一、我为什么写《怦然心动》

激励我写《怦然心动》的原因来自好几方面，但最主要的还是来自我班上的学生。我是一所高中学校的老师，我看到我的学生们因为一些肤浅的原因而爱上某些人，这让我意识到他们这个年纪的人都还太肤浅了。我花了很久才学会要“看到一个人外表下的内心”这个道理，作为一名老师，我希望能将这来之不易的智慧箴言传授给学生。当然了，你还年轻，当你陷入爱情的时候，自然是不会理会来自大人们的肺腑之言的。

任何大人都不会理会。

我希望在我成长的时候可以读到像《怦然心动》这样的书，我觉得它可以帮助我们更好地看清事物。为了这部小说的结构，我深思熟虑了很久，忽然某一天，我灵感一现。

这个想法太让我兴奋了，我甚至做了一件那个时候我都不会做的事情──打电话给我的编辑。

“我想到啦！”我叫了出来。

跟我合作以来，她已经知道我说这四个字就意味着麻烦，所以那时她对一切都还毫不知情。

“所以呢？”她问。

我的嘴就开始滔滔不绝地讲起来，一口气阐释了这部浪漫喜剧的一个拍案叫绝的写作方式，那就是通过两种口吻来叙述，一个是男孩的口吻，另一个是女孩的口吻。他们会讲出他们自己的故事，每一个口吻交错往复，所以你在阅读的时候，会在两个人的视角间跳来跳去，相互转换。在这个故事中，女孩对男孩怦然心动，但男孩却很讨厌女孩。但之后一切都颠倒了，男孩对女孩怦然心动，但那个时候女孩──

“文德琳，文德琳！”她笑着说，“给我一份提纲。”

一份提纲？

我还从来没写过提纲，我甚至都不知道怎么写，因为我都是直接开始写书。但现在我也是专业作家了，因为我都已经出版过六本书了，我应该表现得像个专业作家，写一份提纲。

“好的。”我告诉她，“我会给你写一份提纲。”

我试了，真的，我试了！

但是写提纲实在太枯燥乏味了，太机械化了。

随后一个颠覆性的想法出现在我的脑海中：或者我可以先写几章呢？我的编辑能看出我的意图的。

所以我开始写了，我写了一章关于朱莉的，又写了一章关于布莱斯的。

再写一点点，我想。

于是我接着写。编辑给我打电话时，我仍旧沉浸在朱莉的那一章中，无花果树被砍倒了，泪水在我眼里打转。

“你还好吗？”我还在抽噎着，她这样问我。

我几乎崩溃了，喋喋不休，说了一堆语无伦次的话，她听完以后说：“我记得你说过，这是一部喜剧呀！”

“它是！”我放声大叫，“但现在，它太让人心碎了。”

这就是我写作的方式，太让人精疲力竭了，即便是在写作有趣的段落，也必须耗尽心力。我蜷缩在地上，放纵大笑，然后眼泪在我脸上蔓延。“冠军”死了！我讨厌作者杀死了这只狗，我想成为这样的作者吗？不！

但是……

拜托，如果你也垂垂老矣，大限将至，离别是必然的！

所以现在，你看到我是怎样写作的，这有点吓人，真的，写作的时候最好把我锁在房间里，因为那时候我是失控的。

除非我是在写提纲，那时候我就是一具僵尸。

最终，我激动地写完了整本书，并让它自己尽情表达，而我的编辑对这个故事也很兴奋。

我们的希望是：“让读者能通过双方的视角看待事物并且思考。如果我们不将两种视角交错在一起，或许读者就会只看完一半，然后自以为读完了整个故事。只有当读完两边的视角之后，这次阅读才是有用的。”

在现实生活中，这同样也是真实的，而且是非常明智的。

二、变得更有同理心

扮演成布莱斯·罗斯基有点奇怪，或许是因为每当我沉浸在故事中时，认为事情就是非黑即白的──朱莉都是对的，布莱斯都是错的。

持有这种观点，可能是因为当我还是个孩子的时候，我很迷恋一个男孩，但他并不喜欢我，这对我而言是沉重的打击！所以，我能真实地感觉到朱莉的感受，并且想让她把话都说出来。

但是，布莱斯接着开始说话了，于是我看到了：

朱莉有点……讨厌。

忽然，我年少时候的一些举动的残酷记忆也变得清晰明了了──我也曾有点讨厌过！

先停在这里，让我先发表一下声明：我从来、从来、从来没有闻过男孩的头发。

我追过他，还想要亲吻他，是的，不过闻他呢？从来没有！

在小说中间的部分，我不得不否认，朱莉·贝克也没看到布莱斯·罗斯基外表下的内心深处，这是错误的。随着布莱斯逐渐坦诚心迹，我预想中的结尾发生了变化，事情不再是非黑即白的了，布莱斯改过自新。

通过两个敏感的角色的口吻进行写作，这是一段非同寻常的经历。在一部标准的小说中，你只能窥探一个主要人物的内心世界（或者在多重视角的书当中，有很多人物在发声，所以可能谁的内心世界你都无法窥探）。而在这本书中，却有着两种同样引人瞩目的声音，讲述着他们自己的观点以及前因后果，这会引起读者情感上的困惑。

随着小说角色的成长，我觉得自己的视野也开阔了很多。

我觉得自己改变了。

我和布莱斯以及朱莉在一起，学到的事情从来就不是非黑即白的。如果我们也能真正看到另一个人所看到的，理解他们自己的缘由以及为什么做出这种反应，我们就会发现自己身处在一个更好的地方。

一个平静的地方。

三、告白

看到像这样的信之后：

我刚刚读完你的那部叫《怦然心动》的书，我太喜欢啦！我喜欢里面的每一个字！但我不喜欢这个结尾，我真的很想看到布莱斯和朱莉亲吻！我真的很想看到后续是怎样的！求求你，如果你真的很呵护你的书迷，你一定要写续集啊！……求求求求求求（加一百万个求求）求求你，写续集吧！

最后我说：“你想要亲吻？好的，我给你一个亲吻！”

我给的当然不是《怦然心动》的续集，虽然这是所有写信来的《怦然心动》的书迷的渴求。我给的是一个叫《亲吻者的告白》的浪漫喜剧小说，讲述了一个女孩寻找一个完美之吻的故事，一个能让人卑躬屈膝、内心融化，一个让地球震颤的吻。

这部小说看上去似乎挺空洞的，故事的前情也挺牵强，但是就像《怦然心动》一样，《亲吻者的告白》富含很多表面之下的内容。这部小说很幽默，里面充斥着亲吻，但是这个故事内核却是要让你知道你自己是谁，在他人身上寻求满足感之前，看看什么才是最重要的。真的，如果我们只是从他人身上寻求幸福而不是从自身寻求的话，真正的爱将会远离我们。

为了来点乐趣，这里放上《亲吻者的告白》的部分片段。我们选取的这段讲述了我们十六岁的女英雄伊万杰琳·洛根找到了她妈妈写完后藏起来的爱情小说。为了取笑妈妈，她开始读起来：

我不知道时间是如何流逝的，我被故事牵引着，在浪漫、心跳、希冀以及爱的旋涡中沉沦，这些，都是我在现实生活中错过的东西。在看到我父母婚姻破裂的六个月后，我发现我再也不相信真爱了。

但是，在这本书的纸页上，我父母的问题消失了，只有黛丽拉和她的英雄格雷森，这个男人的吻，能让她从心痛中解放出来，让她感受到自己还活着。

爱是可能存在的。

一个吻——一个真正的吻——可以战胜一切。

这个吻能战胜一切吗？

我希望你能享受这段寻找答案的阅读之旅！

最后，感谢你阅读了《怦然心动》以及这些其余的故事和思考。希望你能感恩自然，还有你的邻居；希望初生的太阳所绽放的光芒能穿透乌云笼罩着你；更重要的，希望你能找到那份闪耀的爱。

"We flipped over this fantastic book, its gutsy girl Juli and its wise, wonderful ending." — The Chicago Tribune

"Delightful! Delicious! And totally teen." — BookPage *

"With a charismatic leading lady kids will flip over, a compelling dynamic between the two narrators and a resonant ending, this novel is a great deal larger than the sum of its parts." — Publishers Weekly*

"A wonderful, light-hearted novel." — Library Talk

"This is a wry character study, a romance with substance and subtlety." — Booklist

"A highly agreeable romantic comedy." — Kirkus Reviews.

Dedicated with infinite love to Colton and Connor, who make me feel like so much more than the sum of my parts.

Special thanks to…

my husband, Mark Parsons,

who helps me feel the magic,

and

my excellent editor, Nancy Siscoe,

for her care and insight

(and for making me stick to a reduced-filler diet).

Also, eternal gratitude to

Tad Callahan and Patricia Gabel,

who were on the ball when we needed it most.

Finally, thanks to Jeanne Madrid and the staff at Casa De Vida —

may you keep the spirit.

Chapter 01

Diving Under

BRYCE

All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off — you know, just give me some space.

It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulled into her neighborhood. And since we're now about done with the eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort.

She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life. Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start climbing all over boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing off like only Juli Baker can.

My dad tried to stop her. "Hey!" he says as she's catapulting herself on board. "What are you doing? You're getting mud everywhere!" So true, too. Her shoes were, like, caked with the stuff.

She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear end on the floor and started pushing a big box with her feet. "Don't you want some help?" She glanced my way. "It sure looks like you need it."

I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me the same sort of look all week, I could tell — he didn't like this girl either. "Hey! Don't do that," he warned her. "There are some really valuable things in that box."

"Oh. Well, how about this one?" She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX and looks my way again. "We should push it together!"

"No, no, no!" my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm. "Why don't you run along home? Your mother's probably wondering where you are."

This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girl cannot take a hint. Of any kind. Does she zip on home like a kid should when they've been invited to leave? No. She says, "Oh, my mom knows where I am. She said it was fine." Then she points across the street and says, "We just live right over there."

My father looks to where she's pointing and mutters, "Oh boy." Then he looks at me and winks as he says, "Bryce, isn't it time for you to go inside and help your mother?"

I knew right off that this was a ditch play. And I didn't think about it until later, but ditch wasn't a play I'd run with my dad before. Face it, pulling a ditch is not something discussed with dads. It's like, against parental law to tell your kid it's okay to ditch someone, no matter how annoying or muddy they might be.

But there he was, putting the play in motion, and man, he didn't have to wink twice. I smiled and said, "Sure thing!" then jumped off the liftgate and headed for my new front door.

I heard her coming after me but I couldn't believe it. Maybe it just sounded like she was chasing me; maybe she was really going the other way. But before I got up the nerve to look, she blasted right past me, grabbing my arm and yanking me along.

This was too much. I planted myself and was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. I was making this big windmill motion to break away from her, but somehow on the downswing my hand wound up tangling into hers. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding the mud monkey's hand!

I tried to shake her off, but she just clamped on tight and yanked me along, saying, "C'mon!"

My mom came out of the house and immediately got the world's sappiest look on her face. "Well, hello," she says toJuli.

"Hi!"

I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom's grinning, looking at our hands and my fiery red face. "And what's your name, honey?"

"Julianna Baker. I live right over there," she says, pointing with her unoccupied hand.

"Well, I see you've met my son," she says, still grinning away.

"Uh-huh!"

Finally I break free and do the only manly thing available when you're seven years old — I dive behind my mother.

Mom puts her arm around me and says, "Bryce, honey, why don't you show Julianna around the house?"

I flash her help and warning signals with every part of my body, but she's not receiving. Then she shakes me off and says, "Go on."

Juli would've tramped right in if my mother hadn't noticed her shoes and told her to take them off. And after those were off, my mom told her that her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn't embarrassed. Not a bit. She just peeled them off and left them in a crusty heap on our porch.

I didn't exactly give her a tour. I locked myself in the bathroom instead. And after about ten minutes of yelling back at her that no, I wasn't coming out anytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall. Another ten minutes went by before I got the nerve to peek out the door.

No Juli.

I snuck out and looked around, and yes! She was gone.

Not a very sophisticated ditch, but hey, I was only seven.

My troubles were far from over, though. Every day she came back, over and over again. "Can Bryce play?" I could hear her asking from my hiding place behind the couch. "Is he ready yet?" One time she even cut across the yard and looked through my window. I spotted her in the nick of time and dove under my bed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli Baker. She's got no concept of personal space. No respect for privacy. The world is her playground, and watch out below — Juli's on the slide!

Lucky for me, my dad was willing to run block. And he did it over and over again. He told her I was busy or sleeping or just plain gone.He was a lifesaver.

My sister, on the other hand, tried to sabotage me any chance she got. Lynetta's like that. She's four years older than me, and buddy, I've learned from watching her how not to run your life. She's got ANTAGONIZE written all over her. Just look at her — not cross-eyed or with your tongue sticking out or anything — just look at her and you've started an argument.

I used to knock-down-drag-out with her, but it's just not worth it. Girls don't fight fair. They pull your hair and gouge you and pinch you; then they run off gasping to mommy when you try and defend yourself with a fist. Then you get locked into time-out, and for what? No, my friend, the secret is, don't snap at the bait. Let it dangle. Swim around it. Laugh it off. After a while they'll give up and try to lure someone else.

At least that's the way it is with Lynetta. And the bonus of having her as a pain-in-the-rear sister was figuring out that this method works on everyone. Teachers, jerks at school, even Mom and Dad. Seriously. There's no winning arguments with your parents, so why get all pumped up over them? It is way better to dive down and get out of the way than it is to get clobbered by some parental tidal wave.

The funny thing is, Lynetta's still clueless when it comes to dealing with Mom and Dad. She goes straight into thrash mode and is too busy drowning in the argument to take a deep breath and dive for calmer water.

And she thinks I'm stupid.

Anyway, true to form, Lynetta tried to bait me with Juli those first few days. She even snuck her past Dad once and marched her all around the house, hunting me down. I wedged myself up on the top shelf of my closet, and lucky for me, neither of them looked up. A few minutes later I heard Dad yell at Juli to get off the antique furniture, and once again, she got booted.

I don't think I went outside that whole first week. I helped unpack stuff and watched TV and just kind of hung around while my mom and dad arranged and rearranged the furniture, debating whether Empire settees and French Rococo tables should even be put in the same room.

So believe me, I was dying to go outside. But every time I checked through the window, I could see Juli showing off in her yard. She'd be heading a soccer ball or doing high kicks with it or dribbling it up and down their driveway. And when she wasn't busy showing off, she'd just sit on the curb with the ball between her feet, staring at our house.

My mom didn't understand why it was so awful that "that cute little girl" had held my hand. She thought I should make friends with her. "I thought you liked soccer, honey. Why don't you go out there and kick the ball around?"

Because I didn't want to be kicked around, that's why. And although I couldn't say it like that at the time, I still had enough sense at age seven and a half to know that Juli Baker was dangerous.

Unavoidably dangerous, as it turns out. The minute I walked into Mrs. Yelson's second-grade classroom, I was dead meat. "Bryce!"Juli squeals. "You're here."Then she charges across the room and tackles me.

Mrs. Yelson tried to explain this attack away as a "welcome hug", but man, that was no hug. That was a front-line, take-'em-down tackle. And even though I shook her off, it was too late. I was branded for life. Everyone jeered, "Where's your girl friend, Bryce?" "Are you married yet, Bryce?" And then when she chased me around at recess and tried to lay kisses on me, the whole school started singing, "Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

My first year in town was a disaster.

Third grade wasn't much better. She was still hot on my trail every time I turned around. Same with fourth. But then in fifth grade I took action.

It started out slow — one of those Nah-that's-not-right ideas you get and forget. But the more I played with the idea, the more I thought, What better way to ward Juli off? What better way to say to her, "Juli, you are not my type"?

And so, my friend, I hatched the plan.

I asked Shelly Stalls out.

To fully appreciate the brilliance of this, you have to understand that Juli hates Shelly Stalls. She always has, though it beats me. why? Shelly's nice and she's friendly and she's got a lot of hair. What's not to like? But Juli hated her, and I was going to make this little gem of knowledge the solution to my problem.

What I was thinking was that Shelly would eat lunch at our table and maybe walk around a little with me. That way, anytime Juli was around, all I'd have to do was hang a little closer to Shelly and things would just naturally take care of themselves. What happened, though, is that Shelly took things way too seriously. She went around telling everybody — including Juli — that we were in love.

In no time Juli and Shelly got into some kind of catfight, and while Shelly was recovering from that, my supposed friend Garrett — who had been totally behind this plan — told her what I was up to. He's always denied it, but I've since learned that his code of honor is easily corrupted by weepy females.

That afternoon the principal tried cross-examining me, but I wouldn't cop to anything. I just kept telling her that I was sorry and that I really didn't understand what had happened. Finally she let me go.

Shelly cried for days and followed me around school sniffling and making me feel like a real jerk, which was even worse than having Juli as a shadow.

Everything blew over at the one-week mark, though, when Shelly officially dumped me and started going out with Kyle Larsen. Then Juli started up with the goo-goo eyesa gain, and I was back to square one.

Now, in sixth grade things changed, though whether they improved is hard to say. I don't remember Juli actually chasing me in the sixth grade. But I do remember her sniffing me.

Yes, my friend, I said sniffing.

And you can blame that on our teacher, Mr. Mertins. He stuck Juli to me like glue. Mr. Mertins has got some kind of doctorate in seating arrangements or something, because he analyzed and scrutinized and practically baptized the seats we had to sit in. And of course he decided to seat Juli right next to me.

Juli Baker is the kind of annoying person who makes a point of letting you know she's smart. Her hand is the first one up; her answers are usually complete dissertations; her projects are always turned in early and used as weapons against the rest of the class. Teachers always have to hold her project up and say, "This is what I'm looking for, class. This is an example of A-plus work."Add all the extra credit she does to an already perfect score, and I swear she's never gotten less than 120 percent in any subject.

But after Mr. Mertins stuck Juli right next to me, her annoying knowledge of all subjects far and wide came in handy. See, suddenly Juli's perfect answers, written in perfect cursive, were right across the aisle, just an eye-shot away. You wouldn't believe the number of answers I snagged from her. I started getting A's and B's on everything! It was great!

But then Mr. Mertins pulled the shift. He had some new idea for"optimizing positional latitude and longitude,"and when the dust finally settled, I was sitting right in front of Juli Baker.

This is where the sniffing comes in. That maniac started leaning forward and sniffing my hair. She'd edge her nose practically up to my scalp and sniff-sniff-sniff.

I tried elbowing and back-kicking. I tried scooting my chair way forward or putting my backpack between me and the seat. Nothing helped. She'd just scoot up, too, or lean over a little farther and sniff-sniff-sniff.

I finally asked Mr. Mertins to move me, but he wouldn't do it. Something about not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of educational energies.

Whatever, I was stuck with her sniffing. And since I couldn't see her perfectly penned answers anymore, my grades took a dive. Especially in spelling.

Then one time, during a test, Juli's in the middle of sniffing my hair when she notices that I've blown a spelling word. A lot of words. Suddenly the sniffing stops and the whispering starts. At first I couldn't believe it. Juli Baker cheating? But sure enough, she was spelling words for me, right in myear.

Juli'd always been sly about sniffing, which really bugged me because no one ever noticed her doing it, but she was just as sly about giving me answers, which was okay by me. The bad thing about it was that I started counting on her spelling in my ear. I mean, why study when you don't have to, right? But after a while, taking all those answers made me feel sort of indebted to her. How can you tell someone to bug off or quit sniffing you when you owe them? It's, you know, wrong.

So I spent the sixth grade somewhere between uncomfortable and unhappy, but I kept thinking that next year, next year, things would be different. We'd be in junior high — a big school — in different classes. It would be a world with too many people to worry about ever seeing Juli Baker again.

It was finally, finally going to be over.

Chapter 02

Flipped

JULIANNA

The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. Honestly, one look at him and I became a lunatic. It's his eyes. Something in his eyes. They're blue, and framed in the blackness of his lashes, they're dazzling. Absolutely breathtaking.

It's been over six years now, and I learned long ago to hide my feelings, but oh, those first days. Those first years! I thought I would die for wanting to be with him.

Two days before the second grade is when it started, although the anticipation began weeks before — ever since my mother had told me that there was a family with a boy my age moving into the new house right across the street.

Soccer camp had ended, and I'd been so bored because there was nobody, absolutely nobody, in the neighborhood to play with. Oh, there were kids, but every one of them was older. That was dandy for my brothers, but what it left me was home alone.

My mother was there, but she had better things to do than kick a soccer ball around. So she said, anyway. At the time I didn't think there was anything better than kicking a soccer ball around, especially not the likes of laundry or dishes or vacuuming, but my mother didn't agree. And the danger of being home alone with her was that she'd recruit me to help her wash or dust or vacuum, and she wouldn't tolerate the dribbling of a soccer ball around the house as I moved from chore to chore.

To play it safe, I waited outside for weeks, just in case the new neighbors moved in early. Literally, it was weeks. I entertained myself by playing soccer with our dog, Champ. Mostly he'd just block because a dog can't exactly kick and score, but once in a while he'd dribble with his nose. The scent of a ball must overwhelm a dog, though, because Champ would eventually try to chomp it, then lose the ball tome.

When the Loskis' moving van finally arrived, everyone in my family was happy. "Little Julianna" was finally going to have a playmate.

My mother, being the truly sensible adult that she is, made me wait more than an hour before going over to meet him. "Give them a chance to stretch their legs, Julianna," she said. "They'll want some time to adjust." She wouldn't even let me watch from the yard. "I know you, sweetheart. Somehow that ball will wind up in their yard and you'll just have to go retrieve it."

So I watched from the window, and every few minutes I'd ask, "Now?" and she'd say, "Give them a little while longer, would you?"

Then the phone rang. And the minute I was sure she was good and preoccupied, I tugged on her sleeve and asked, "Now?"

She nodded and whispered, "Okay, but take it easy! I'll be over there in a minute."

I was too excited not to charge across the street, but I did try very hard to be civilized once I got to the moving van. I stood outside looking in for a record-breaking length of time, which was hard because there he was! About halfway back! My new sure-to-be best friend, Bryce Loski.

Bryce wasn't really doing much of anything. Hewas more hanging back, watching his father move boxes onto the lift-gate. I remember feeling sorry for Mr. Loski because he looked worn out, moving boxes all by himself. I also remember that he and Bryce were wearing matching turquoise polo shirts, which I thought was really cute. Really nice.

When I couldn't stand it any longer, I called, "Hi!" into the van, which made Bryce jump, and then quick as a cricket, he started pushing a box like he'd been working all along.

I could tell from the way Bryce was acting so guilty that he was supposed to be moving boxes, but he was sick of it. He'd probably been moving things for days! It was easy to see that he needed a rest. He needed some juice! Something.

It was also easy to see that Mr. Loski wasn't about to let him quit. He was going to keep on moving boxes around until he collapsed, and by then Bryce might be dead. Dead before he'd had the chance to move in!

The tragedy of it catapulted me into the moving van. I had to help!I had to save him!

When I got to his side to help him shove a box forward, the poor boy was so exhausted that he just moved aside and let me take over. Mr. Loski didn't want me to help, but at least I saved Bryce. I'd been in the moving van all of three minutes when his dad sent him off to help his mother unpack things inside the house.

I chased Bryce up the walkway, and that's when everything changed. You see, I caught up to him and grabbed his arm, trying to stop him so maybe we could play a little before he got trapped inside, and the next thing I know he's holding my hand, looking right into my eyes.

My heart stopped. It just stopped beating. And for the first time in my life, I had that feeling. You know, like the world is moving all around you, all beneath you, all inside you, and you're floating. Floating inmidair. And the only thing keeping you from drifting away is the other person's eyes. They're connected to yours by some invisible physical force, and they hold you fast while the rest of the world swirls and twirls and falls completely away.

I almost got my first kiss that day. I'm sure of it. But then his mother came out the front door and he was so embarrassed that his cheeks turned completely red, and the next thing you know he's hiding in the bathroom.

I was waiting for him to come out when his sister, Lynetta, saw me in the hallway. She seemed big and mature to me, and since she wanted to know what was going on, I told her a little bit about it. I shouldn't have, though, because she wiggled the bathroom doorknob and started teasing Bryce something fierce. "Hey, baby brother!" she called through the door. "There's a hot chick out here waiting for you! What's matter? Afraid she's got cooties?"

It was so embarrassing! I yanked on her arm and told her to stop it, but she wouldn't, so finally I just left.

I found my mother outside talking to Mrs. Loski. Mom had given her the beautiful lemon Bundt cake that was supposed to be our dessert that night. The powdered sugar looked soft and white, and the cake was still warm, sending sweet lemon smells into the air.

My mouth was watering just looking at it! But it was in Mrs. Loski's hands, and I knew there was no getting it back. All I could do was try to eat up the smells while I listened to the two of them discuss grocery stores and the weather forecast.

After that Mom and I went home. It was very strange. I hadn't gotten to play with Bryce at all. All I knew was that his eyes were a dizzying blue, that he had a sister who was not to be trusted, and that he'd almost kissed me.

I fell asleep that night thinking about the kiss that might have been. What did a kiss feel like, anyway? Somehow I knew it wouldn't be like the one I got from Mom or Dad at bedtime. The same species, maybe, but a radically different beast, to be sure. Like a wolf and a whippet —only science would put them on the same tree.

Looking back on the second grade, I like to think it was at least partly scientific curiosity that made me chase after that kiss, but to be honest, it was probably more those blue eyes. All through the second and third grades I couldn't seem to stop myself from following him, from sitting by him, from just wanting to be near him.

By the fourth grade I'd learned to control myself. The sight of him — the thought of him — still sent my heart humming, but my legs didn't actually chase after him anymore. I just watched and thought and dreamed.

Then in the fifth grade Shelly Stalls came into the picture. Shelly Stalls is a ninny. A whiny, gossipy, backstabbing ninny who says one thing to one person and the opposite to another. Now that we're in junior high, she's the undisputed diva of drama, but even back in elementary school she knew how to put on a performance. Especially when it came to P.E. I never once saw her run laps or do calisthenics. Instead, she would go into her "delicate" act, claiming her body would absolutely collapse from the strain if she ran or jumped or stretched.

It worked. Every year. She'd bring in some note and be sure to swoon a little for the teacher the first few days of the year, after which she'd be excused from anything that required muscles. She never even put up her own chair at the end of the day. The only muscles she exercised regularly were the ones around her mouth, and those she worked out nonstop. If there was an Olympic contest for talking, Shelly Stalls would sweep the event. Well, she'd at least win the gold and silver — one medal for each side of her mouth.

What bugged me about it was not the fact that she got out of P.E. —who'd want her on their team, anyway? What bugged me about it was that anyone who bothered to look would know that it wasn't asthma or weak ankles or her being "delicate" that was stopping her. It was her hair. She had mountains of it, twisted this way or that, clipped or beaded, braided or swirled. Her ponytails rivaled the ones on carousel horses. And on the days she let it all hang down, she'd sort of shimmy and cuddle inside it like it was a blanket, so that practically all you saw of her face was her nose. Good luck playing four-square with a blanket over your head.

My solution to Shelly Stalls was to ignore her, which worked just dandy until about halfway through the fifth grade when I saw her holding hands with Bryce.

My Bryce. The one who was still embarrassed over holding my hand two days before the second grade. The one who was still too shy to say much more than hello to me.

The one who was still walking around with my first kiss.

How could Shelly have wormed her hand into his? That pushy little princess had no business hanging on to him like that!

Bryce looked over his shoulder from time to time as they walked along, and he was looking at me. My first thought was that he was telling me he was sorry. Then it dawned on me — he needed my help. Absolutely, that's what it had to be! Shelly Stalls was too delicate to shake off, too swirly to be pushed away. She'd unravel and start sniffling and oh, how embarrassing that would be for him! No, this wasn't a job a boy could do gracefully. This was a job for a girl.

I didn't even bother checking around for other candidates — I had her off of him in two seconds flat. Bryce ran away the minute he was free, but not Shelly. Oh, no-no-no! She came at me, scratching and pulling and twisting anything she could get her hands on, telling me that Bryce was hers and there was no way she was letting him go.

How delicate.

I was hoping for herds of teachers to appear so they could see the real Shelly Stalls in action, but it was too late by the time anyone arrived on the scene. I had Fluffy in a headlock and her arm twisted back in a hammerlock, and no amount of her squawking or scratching was going to get me to unlock her until a teacher arrived.

In the end, Shelly went home early with a bad case of mussed-up hair, while I told my side of things to the principal. Mrs. Shultz is a sturdy lady who probably secretly appreciates the value of a swift kick well placed, and although she told me that it would be better if I let other people work out their own dilemmas, she definitely understood about Shelly Stalls and her hair and told me she was glad I'd had the self-control to do nothing more than restrain her.

Shelly was back the next day with a head full of braids. And of course she got everybody whispering about me, but I just ignored them. The facts spoke for themselves. Bryce didn't go anywhere near her for the rest of theyear.

That's not to say that Bryce held my hand after that, but he did start being a little friendlier to me. Especially in the sixth grade, after Mr. Mertins sat us right next to each other in the third row back.

Sitting next to Bryce was nice. He was nice. He'd say Hi, Juli to me every morning, and once in a while I'd catch him looking my way. He'd always blush and go back to his own work, and I couldn't help but smile. He was so shy. And so cute!

We talked to each other more, too. Especially after Mr. Mertins moved me behind him. Mr. Mertins had a detention policy about spelling, where if you missed more than seven out of twenty-five words, you had to spend lunch inside with him, writing your words over and over and over again.

The pressure of detention made Bryce panic. And even though it bothered my conscience, I'd lean in and whisper answers to him, hoping that maybe I could spend lunch with him instead. His hair smelled like watermelon, and his ear-lobes had fuzz. Soft, blond fuzz. And I wondered about that. How does a boy with such black hair wind up with blond ear fuzz? What's it doing there, anyway? I checked my own ear-lobes in the mirror but couldn't find much of anything on them, and I didn't spot any on other people's either.

I thought about asking Mr. Mertins about earlobe fuzz when we were discussing evolution in science, but I didn't. Instead, I spent the year whispering spelling words, sniffing watermelon, and wondering if Iwas ever going to get mykiss.

Chapter 03

Buddy, Beware!

BRYCE

Seventh grade brought changes, all right, but the biggest one didn't happen at school — it happened at home. Granddad Duncan came to live with us.

At first it was kind of weird because none of us really knew him. Except for Mom, of course. And even though she's spent the past year and a half trying to convince us he's a great guy, from what I can tell, the thing he likes to do best is stare out the front-room window. There's not much to see out there except the Bakers' front yard, but you can find him there day or night, sitting in the big easy chair they moved in with him, staring out the window.

Okay, so he also reads Tom Clancy novels and the newspapers and does crossword puzzles and tracks his stocks, but those things are all distractions. Given no one to justify it to, the man would stare out the window until he fell asleep. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It just seems so ... boring.

Mom says he stares like that because he misses Grandma, but that's not something Granddad had ever discussed with me. As a matter of fact, he never discussed much of anything with me until a few months ago when he read about Juli in the newspaper.

Now, Juli Baker did not wind up on the front page of the Mayfield Times for being an eighth-grade Einstein, like you might suspect. No, my friend, she got front-page coverage because she refused to climb out of a sycamore tree.

Not that I could tell a sycamore from a maple or a birch for that matter, but Juli, of course, knew what kind of tree it was and passed that knowledge along to every creature in her wake.

So this tree, this sycamore tree, was up the hill on a vacant lot on Collier Street, and it was massive. Massive and ugly. It was twisted and gnarled and bent, and I kept expecting the thing to blow over in the wind.

One day last year I'd finally had enough of her yakking about that stupid tree. I came right out and told her that it was not a magnificent sycamore, it was, in reality, the ugliest tree known to man. And you know what she said? She said I was visually challenged. Visually challenged! This from the girl who lives in a house that's the scourge of the neighborhood. They've got bushes growing over windows, weeds sticking out all over the place, and a barnyard's worth of animals running wild. I'm talking dogs, cats, chickens, even snakes. I swear to God, her brothers have a boa constrictor in their room. They dragged me in there when I was about ten and made me watch it eat a rat. A live, beady-eyed rat. They held that rodent up by its tail and gulp, the boa swallowed it whole. That snake gave me nightmares for a month.

Anyway, normally I wouldn't care about someone's yard, but the Bakers' mess bugged my dad big-time, and he channeled his frustration into our yard. He said it was our neighborly duty to show them what a yard's supposed to look like. So while Mike and Matt are busy plumping up their boa, I'm having to mow and edge our yard, then sweep the walkways and gutter, which is going a little overboard, if you ask me.

And you'd think Juli's dad — who's a big, strong, bricklaying dude — would fix the place up, but no. According to my mom, he spends all his free time painting. His landscapes don't seem like anything special to me, but judging by his price tags, he thinks quite a lot of them. We see them every year at the Mayfield County Fair, and my parents always say the same thing: "The world would have more beauty in it if he'd fix up the yard instead."

Mom and Juli's mom do talk some. I think my mom feels sorry for Mrs. Baker — she says she married a dreamer, and because of that, one of the two of them will always be unhappy.

Whatever. Maybe Juli's aesthetic sensibilities have been permanently screwed up by her father and none of this is her fault, but Juli has always thought that that sycamore tree was God's gift to our little corner of the universe.

Back in the third and fourth grades she used to clown around with her brothers in the branches or peel big chunks of bark off so they could slide down the crook in its trunk. It seemed like they were playing in it whenever my mom took us somewhere in the car. Juli'd be swinging from the branches, ready to fall and break every bone in her body, while we were waiting at the stoplight, and my mom would shake her head and say, "Don't you ever climb that tree like that, do you hear me, Bryce? I never want to see you doing that! You either, Lynetta. That is much too dangerous."

My sister would roll her eyes and say, "As if,"while I'd slump beneath the window and pray for the light to change before Juli squealed my name for the world to hear.

I did try to climb it once in the fifth grade. It was the day after Juli had rescued my kite from its mutant toy-eating foliage. She climbed miles up to get my kite, and when she came down, she was actually very cool about it. She didn't hold my kite hostage and stick her lips out like I was afraid she might. She just handed it over and then backed away.

I was relieved, but I also felt like a weenie. When I'd seen where my kite was trapped, I was sure it was a goner. Not Juli. She scrambled up and got it down in no time. Man, it was embarrassing.

So I made a mental picture of how high she'd climbed, and the next day I set off to outdo her by at least two branches. I made it past the crook, up a few limbs, and then — just to see how I was doing — I looked down.

Mis-take! It felt like I was on top of the Empire State Building without a bungee. I tried looking up to where my kite had been, but it was hopeless. I was indeed a tree-climbing weenie.

Then junior high started and my dream of a Juli-free existence shattered. I had to take the bus, and you-know-who did, too. There were about eight kids altogether at our bus stop, which created a buffer zone, but it was no comfort zone. Juli always tried to stand beside me, or talk to me, or in some other way mortify me.

And then she started climbing. The girl is in the seventh grade, and she's climbing a tree — way, way up in a tree. And why does she do it? So she can yell down at us that the bus is five! four! three blocks away! Blow-by-blow traffic watch from a tree — what every kid in junior high feels like hearing first thing in the morning.

She tried to get me to come up there with her, too. "Bryce, come on! You won't believe the colors! It's absolutely magnificent! Bryce, you've got to come up here!"

Yeah, I could just hear it: "Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree..." Was I ever going to leave the second grade behind?

One morning I was specifically not looking up when out of nowhere she swings down from a branch and practically knocks me over. Heart a-ttack! I dropped my backpack and wrenched my neck, and that did it. I refused to wait under that tree with that maniac monkey on the loose any more. I started leaving the house at the very last minute. I made up my own waiting spot, and when I'd see the bus pull up, I'd truck up the hill and get on board.

No Juli, no problem.

And that, my friend, took care of the rest of seventh grade and almost all of eighth, too, until one day a few months ago. That's when I heard a commotion up the hill and could see some big trucks parked up on Collier Street where the bus pulls in. There were some men shouting stuff up at Juli, who was, of course, five stories up in the tree.

All the other kids started to gather under the tree, too, and I could hear them telling her she had to come down. She was fine — that was obvious to anyone with a pair of ears — but I couldn't figure out what they were all arguing about.

I trucked up the hill, and as I got closer and saw what the men were holding, I figured out in a hurry what was making Juli refuse to come out of the tree.

Chain saws.

Don't get me wrong here, okay? The tree was an ugly mutant tangle of gnarly branches. The girl arguing with those men was Juli — the world's peskiest, bossiest, most know-it-all female. But all of a sudden my stomach completely bailed on me. Juli loved that tree. Stupid as it was, she loved that tree, and cutting it down would be like cutting out her heart.

Everyone tried to talk her down. Even me. But she said she wasn't coming down, not ever, and then she tried to talk us up. "Bryce, please! Come up here with me. They won't cut it down if we're all up here!"

For a second I considered it. But then the bus arrived and I talked myself out of it. It wasn't my tree, and even though she acted like it was, it wasn't Juli's, either.

We boarded the bus and left her behind, but school was pretty much a waste. I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Juli. Was she still up in the tree? Were they going to arrest her?

When the bus dropped us off that afternoon, Juli was gone and so was half the tree. The top branches, the place my kite had been stuck, her favorite perch — they were all gone.

We watched them work for a little while, the chain saws gunning at full throttle, smoking as they chewed through wood. The tree looked lopsided and naked, and after a few minutes I had to get out of there. It was like watching someone dismember a body, and for the first time in ages, I felt like crying. Crying. Over a stupid tree that I hated.

I went home and tried to shake it off, but I kept wondering, Should I have gone up the tree with her? Would it have done any good?

I thought about calling Juli to tell her I was sorry they'd cut it down, but I didn't. It would've been too, I don't know, weird.

She didn't show at the bus stop the next morning and didn't ride the bus home that afternoon, either.

Then that night, right before dinner, my grandfather summoned me into the front room. He didn't call to me as I was walking by —that would have bordered on friendliness. What he did was talk to my mother, who talked to me. "I don't know what it's about, honey,"she said. "Maybe he's just ready to get to know you a little better."

Great. The man's had a year and a half to get acquainted, and he chooses now to get to know me. But I couldn't exactly blow him off.

My grandfather's a big man with a meaty nose and greased-back salt-and-pepper hair. He lives in house slippers and a sports coat, and I've never seen a whisker on him. They grow, but he shaves them off like three times a day. It's a real recreational activity for him.

Besides his meaty nose, he's also got big meaty hands. I suppose you'd notice his hands regardless, but what makes you realize just how beefy they are is his wedding ring. That thing's never going to come off, and even though my mother says that's how it should be, I think he ought to get it cut off. Another few pounds and that ring's going to amputate his finger.

When I went in to see him, those big hands of his were woven together, resting on the newspaper in his lap. I said, "Granddad? You wanted to see me?"

"Have a seat, son."

Son? Half the time he didn't seem to know who I was, and now suddenly I was "son"? I sat in the chair opposite him and waited.

"Tell me about your friend Juli Baker."

"Juli? She's not exactly my friend ... !"

"Why is that?" he asked. Calmly. Like he had prior knowledge.

I started to justify it, then stopped myself and asked, "Why do you want to know?"

He opened the paper and pressed down the crease, and that's when I realized that Juli Baker had made the front page of the Mayfield Times. There was a huge picture of her in the tree, surrounded by a fire brigade and policemen, and then some smaller photos I couldn't make out very well. "Can I see that?"

He folded it up but didn't hand it over. "Why isn't she your friend, Bryce?"

"Because she's..." I shook my head and said, "You'd have to know Juli."

"I'd like to."

"What? Why?"

"Because the girl's got an iron backbone. Why don't you invite her over sometime?"

"An iron backbone? Granddad, you don't understand! That girl is a royal pain. She's a show-off, she's a know-it-all, and she is pushy beyond belief!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes! That's absolutely so! And she's been stalking me since the second grade!"

He frowned, then looked out the window and asked, "They've lived there that long?"

"I think they were all born there!"

He frowned some more before he looked back at me and said, "A girl like that doesn't live next door to everyone, you know."

"Lucky them!"

He studied me, long and hard. I said, "What?"but he didn't flinch. He just kept staring at me, and I couldn't take it — I had to look away.

Keep in mind that this was the first real conversation I'd had with my grandfather. This was the first time he'd made the effort to talk to me about something besides passing the salt. And does he want to get to know me? No! He wants to know about Juli!

I couldn't just stand up and leave, even though that's what I felt like doing. Somehow I knew if I left like that, he'd quit talking to me at all. Even about salt. So I sat there feeling sort of tortured. Was he mad at me? How could he be mad at me? I hadn't done anything wrong!

When I looked up, he was sitting there holding out the newspaper to me. "Read this," he said. "Without prejudice."

I took it, and when he went back to looking out the window, I knew — I'd been dismissed.

By the time I got down to my room, I was mad. I slammed my bedroom door and flopped down on the bed, and after fuming about my sorry excuse for a grandfather for a while, I shoved the newspaper in the bottom drawer of my desk. Like I needed to know any more about Juli Baker.

At dinner my mother asked me why I was so sulky, and she kept looking from me to my grandfather. Granddad didn't seem to need any salt, which was a good thing because I might have thrown the shaker at him.

My sister and dad were all business as usual, though. Lynetta ate about two raisins out of her carrot salad, then peeled the skin and meat off her chicken wing and nibbled gristle off the bone, while my father filled up airspace talking about office politics and the need for a shakedown in upper management.

No one was listening to him — no one ever does when he gets on one of his if-I-ran-the-circus jags — but for once Mom wasn't even pretending. And for once she wasn't trying to convince Lynetta that dinner was delicious either. She just kept eyeing me and Granddad, trying to pick up on why we were miffed at eachother.

Not that he had anything to be miffed at me about. What had I done to him, anyway? Nothing. Nada. But he was, I could tell. And I completely avoided looking at him until about halfway through dinner, when I sneaked apeek.

He was studying me, all right. And even though it wasn't a mean stare, or a hard stare, it was, you know, firm. Steady. And it weirded me out. What was his deal?

I didn't look at him again. Or at my mother. I just went back to eating and pretended to listen to my dad. And the first chance I got, I excused myself and holed up in my room.

I was planning to call my friend Garrett like I usually do when I'm bent about something. I even punched in his number, but I don't know. I just hung up.

And later when my mom came in, I faked like I was sleeping. I haven't done that in years. The whole night was weird like that. I just wanted to be left alone.

Juli wasn't at the bus stop the next morning. Or Friday morning.She was at school, but you'd never know it if you didn't actually look. She didn't whip her hand through the air trying to get the teacher to call on her or charge through the halls getting to class. She didn't make unsolicited comments for the teacher's edification or challenge the kids who took cuts in the milk line. She just sat. Quiet.

I told myself I should be glad about it — it was like she wasn't even there, and isn't that what I'd always wanted? But still, I felt bad. About her tree, about how she hurried off to eat by herself in the library at lunch, about how her eyes were red around the edges. I wanted to tell her, Man, I'm sorry about your sycamore tree, but the words never seemed to come out.

By the middle of the next week, they'd finished taking down the tree. They cleared the lot and even tried to pull up the stump, but that sucker would not budge, so they wound up grinding it down into the dirt.

Juli still didn't show at the bus stop, and by the end of the week I learned from Garrett that she was riding a bike. He said he'd seen her on the side of the road twice that week, putting the chain back on the derailleur of a rusty old ten-speed.

I figured she'd be back. It was a long ride out to Mayfield Junior High, and once she got over the tree, she'd start riding the bus again. I even caught myself looking for her. Not on the lookout, just looking.

Then one day it rained and I thought for sure she'd be up at the bus stop, but no. Garrett said he saw her trucking along on her bike in a bright yellow poncho, and in math I noticed that her pants were still soaked from the knees down.

When math let out, I started to chase after her to tell her that she ought to try riding the bus again, but I stopped myself in the nick of time. What was I thinking? That Juli wouldn't take a little friendly concern and completely misinterpret it? Whoa now, buddy, beware! Better to just leave well enough alone.

After all, the last thing I needed was for Juli Baker to think I missed her.

Chapter 04

The Sycamore Tree

JULIANNA

I love to watch my father paint. Or really, I love to hear him talk while he paints. The words always come out soft and somehow heavy when he's brushing on the layers of a landscape. Not sad. Weary, maybe, but peaceful.

My father doesn't have a studio or anything, and since the garage is stuffed with things that everyone thinks they need but no one ever uses, he paints outside.

Outside is where the best landscapes are, only they're nowhere near our house. So what he does is keep a camera in his truck. His job as a mason takes him to lots of different locations, and he's always on the lookout for a great sunrise or sunset, or even just a nice field with sheep or cows. Then he picks out one of the snapshots, clips it to his easel, and paints.

The paintings come out fine, but I've always felt a little sorry for him, having to paint beautiful scenes in our backyard, which is not exactly picturesque. It never was much of a yard, but after I started raising chickens, things didn't exactly improve.

Dad doesn't seem to see the backyard or the chickens when he's painting, though. It's not just the snapshot or the canvas he sees either. It's something much bigger. He gets this look in his eye like he's transcended the yard, the neighborhood, the world. And as his big, callused hands sweep a tiny brush against the canvas, it's almost like his body has been possessed by some graceful spiritual being.

When I was little, my dad would let me sit beside him on the porch while he painted, as long as I'd be quiet. I don't do quiet easily, but I discovered that after five or ten minutes without a peep, he'd start talking.

I've learned a lot about my dad that way. He told me all sorts of stories about what he'd done when he was my age, and other things, too — like how he got his first job delivering hay, and how he wished he'd finished college.

When I got a little older, he still talked about himself and his childhood, but he also started asking questions about me. What were we learning at school? What book was I currently reading? What did I think about this or that.

Then one time he surprised me and asked me about Bryce. Why was I so crazy about Bryce?

I told him about his eyes and his hair and the way his cheeks blush, but I don't think I explained it very well because when I was done Dad shook his head and told me in soft, heavy words that I needed to start looking at the whole landscape.

I didn't really know what he meant by that, but it made me want to argue with him. How could he possibly understand about Bryce? He didn't know him!

But this was not an arguing spot. Those were scattered throughout the house, but not out here.

We were both quiet for a record-breaking amount of time before he kissed me on the forehead and said, "Proper lighting is everything, Julianna."

Proper lighting? What was that supposed to mean? I sat there wondering, but I was afraid that by asking I'd be admitting that I wasn't mature enough to understand, and for some reason it felt obvious. Like I should understand.

After that he didn't talk so much about events as he did about ideas. And the older I got, the more philosophical he seemed to get. I don't know if he really got more philosophical or if he just thought I could handle it now that I was in the double digits.

Mostly the things he talked about floated around me, but once in a while something would happen and I would understand exactly what he had meant. "A painting is more than the sum of its parts," he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you've got magic.

I understood what he was saying, but I never felt what he was saying until one day when I was up in the sycamore tree.

The sycamore tree had been at the top of the hill forever. It was on a big vacant lot, giving shade in the summer and a place for birds to nest in the spring. It had a built-in slide for us, too. Its trunk bent up and around in almost a complete spiral, and it was so much fun to ride down. My mom told me she thought the tree must have been damaged as a sapling but survived, and now, maybe a hundred years later, it was still there, the biggest tree she'd ever seen. "A testimony to endurance" is what she called it.

I had always played in the tree, but I didn't become a serious climber until the fifth grade, when I went up to rescue a kite that was stuck in its branches. I'd first spotted the kite floating free through the air and then saw it dive-bomb somewhere up the hill by the sycamore tree.

I've flown kites before and I know — sometimes they're gone forever, and sometimes they're just waiting in the middle of the road for you to rescue them. Kites can be lucky or they can be ornery. I've had both kinds, and a lucky kite is definitely worth chasing after.

This kite looked lucky to me. It wasn't anything fancy, just an old-fashioned diamond with blue and yellow stripes. But it stuttered along in a friendly way, and when it dive-bombed, it seemed to do so from exhaustion as opposed to spite. Ornery kites dive-bomb out of spite. They never get exhausted because they won't stay up long enough to poop out. Thirty feet up they just sort of smirk at you and crash for the fun of it.

So Champ and I ran up to Collier Street, and after scouting out the road, Champ started barking at the sycamore tree. I looked up and spotted it, too, flashing blue and yellow through the branches.

It was a long ways up, but I thought I'd give it a shot. I shinnied up the trunk, took a shortcut across the slide, and started climbing. Champ kept a good eye on me, barking me along, and soon I was higher than I'd ever been. But still the kite seemed forever away.

Then below me I noticed Bryce coming around the corner and through the vacant lot. And I could tell from the way he was looking up that this was his kite.

What a lucky, lucky kite this was turning out to be!

"Can you climb that high?" he called up to me.

"Sure!" I called back. And up, up, up I went!

The branches were strong, with just the right amount of intersections to make climbing easy. And the higher I got, the more amazed I was by the view. I'd never seen a view like that! It was like being in an airplane above all the rooftops, above the other trees. Above the world!

Then I looked down. Down at Bryce. And suddenly I got dizzy and weak in the knees. I was miles off the ground! Bryce shouted, "Can you reach it?"

I caught my breath and managed to call down, "No problem!"then forced myself to concentrate on those blue and yellow stripes, to focus on them and only them as I shinnied up, up, up. Finally I touched it; I grasped it; I had the kite in my hand!

But the string was tangled in the branches above and I couldn't seem to pull it free. Bryce called, "Break the string!" and somehow I managed to do just that.

When I had the kite free, I needed a minute to rest. To recover before starting down. So instead of looking at the ground below me, I held on tight and looked out. Out across the rooftops.

That's when the fear of being up so high began to lift, and in its place came the most amazing feeling that I was flying. Just soaring above the earth, sailing among the clouds.

Then I began to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled. It smelled like ... sunshine. Like sunshine and wild grass and pomegranates and rain! I couldn't stop breathing it in, filling my lungs again and again with the sweetest smell I'd ever known.

Bryce called up, "Are you stuck?" which brought me down to earth. Carefully I backed up, prized stripes in hand, and as I worked my way down, I could see Bryce circling the tree, watching me to make sure I was okay.

By the time I hit the slide, the heady feeling I'd had in the tree was changing into the heady realization that Bryce and I were alone.

Alone!

My heart was positively racing as I held the kite out to him. But before he could take it, Champ nudged me from behind and I could feel his cold, wet nose against my skin.

Against my skin? !

I grabbed my jeans in back, and that's when I realized the seat of my pants was ripped wide open.

Bryce laughed a little nervous laugh, so I could tell he knew, and for once mine were the cheeks that were beet red. He took his kite and ran off, leaving me to inspect the damage.

I did eventually get over the embarrassment of my jeans, but I never got over the view. I kept thinking of what it felt like to be up so high in that tree. I wanted to see it, to feel it, again. And again.

It wasn't long before I wasn't afraid of being up so high and found the spot that became my spot. I could sit there for hours, just looking out at the world. Sunsets were amazing. Some days they'd be purple and pink, some days they'd be a blazing orange, setting fire to clouds across the horizon.

It was on a day like that when my father's notion of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts moved from my head to my heart. The view from my sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors combined.

It was magic.

And I started marveling at how I was feeling both humble and majestic. How was that possible? How could I be so full of peace and full of wonder? How could this simple tree make me feel so complex? So alive.

I went up the tree every chance I got. And in junior high that became almost every day because the bus to our school picks up on Collier Street, right in front of the sycamore tree.

At first I just wanted to see how high I could get before the bus pulled up, but before long I was leaving the house early so I could get clear up to my spot to see the sun rise, or the birds flutter about, or just the other kids converge on the curb.

I tried to convince the kids at the bus stop to climb up with me, even a little ways, but all of them said they didn't want to get dirty. Turn down a chance to feel magic for fear of a little dirt? I couldn't believe it.

I'd never told my mother about climbing the tree. Being the truly sensible adult that she is, she would have told me it was too dangerous. My brothers, being brothers, wouldn't have cared.

That left my father. The one person I knew would understand. Still, I was afraid to tell him. He'd tell my mother and pretty soon they'd insist that I stop. So I kept quiet, kept climbing, and felt a somewhat lonely joy as I looked out over the world.

Then a few months ago I found myself talking to the tree. An entire conversation, just me and a tree. And on the climb down I felt like crying. Why didn't I have someone real to talk to? Why didn't I have a best friend like everyone else seemed to? Sure, there were kids I knew at school, but none of them were close friends. They'd have no interest in climbing the tree. In smelling the sunshine.

That night after dinner my father went outside to paint. In the cold of the night, under the glare of the porch light, he went out to put the finishing touches on a sunrise he'd been working on.

I got my jacket and went out to sit beside him, quiet as a mouse.

After a few minutes he said, "What's on your mind, sweetheart?"

In all the times I'd sat out there with him, he'd never asked me that. I looked at him but couldn't seem to speak.

He mixed two hues of orange together, and very softly he said, "Talk to me."

I sighed so heavily it surprised even me. "I understand why you come out here, Dad."

He tried kidding me. "Would you mind explaining it to your mother?"

"Really, Dad. I understand now about the whole being greater than the sum of the parts."

He stopped mixing. "You do? What happened? Tell me about it!"

So I told him about the sycamore tree. About the view and the sounds and the colors and the wind, and how being up so high felt like flying. Felt like magic.

He didn't interrupt me once, and when my confession was through, I looked at him and whispered, "Would you climb up there with me?"

He thought about this a long time, then smiled and said, "I'm not much of a climber anymore, Julianna, but I'll give it a shot, sure. How about this weekend, when we've got lots of daylight to work with?"

"Great!"

I went to bed so excited that I don't think I slept more than five minutes the whole night. Saturday was right around the corner. I couldn't wait!

The next morning I raced to the bus stop extra early and climbed the tree. I caught the sun rising through the clouds, sending streaks of fire from one end of the world to the other. And I was in the middle of making a mental list of all the things I was going to show my father when I heard a noise below.

I looked down, and parked right beneath me were two trucks. Big trucks. One of them was towing a long, empty trailer, and the other had a cherry picker on it — the kind they use to work on overhead power lines and telephone poles.

There were four men standing around talking, drinking from thermoses, and I almost called down to them, "I'm sorry, but you can't park there... That's a bus stop!" But before I could, one of the men reached into the back of a truck and started unloading tools. Gloves. Ropes. A chain. Earmuffs. And then chain saws. Three chain saws.

And still I didn't get it. I kept looking around for what it was they could possibly be there to cut down. Then one of the kids who rides the bus showed up and started talking to them, and pretty soon he was pointing up at me.

One of the men called, "Hey! You better come down from there. We gotta take this thing down."

I held on to the branch tight, because suddenly it felt as though I might fall. I managed to choke out, "The tree?"

"Yeah, now come on down."

"But who told you to cut it down?"

"The owner!" he called back.

"But why?"

Even from forty feet up I could see him scowl. "Because he's gonna build himself a house, and he can't very well do that with this tree in the way. Now come on, girl, we've got work to do!"

By that time most of the kids had gathered for the bus. They weren't saying anything to me, just looking up at me and turning from time to time to talk to each other. Then Bryce appeared, so I knew the bus was about to arrive. I searched across the rooftops and sure enough, there it was, less than four blocks away.

My heart was crazy with panic. I didn't know what to do! I couldn't leave and let them cut down the tree! I cried, "You can't cut it down! You just can't!"

One of the men shook his head and said, "I am this close to calling the police. You are trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job. Now are you going to come down or are we going to cut you down?"

The bus was three blocks away. I'd never missed school for any reason other than legitimate illness, but I knew in my heart that I was going to miss my ride. "You're going to have to cut me down!" I yelled. Then I had an idea. They'd never cut it down if all of us were in the tree. They'd have to listen! "Hey, guys!" I called to my classmates. "Get up here with me! They can't cut it down if we're all up here! Marcia! Tony! Bryce! C'mon, you guys, don't let them do this!"

They just stood there, staring up at me.

I could see the bus, one block away. "Come on, you guys! You don't have to come up this high. Just a little ways. Please!"

The bus blasted up and pulled to the curb in front of the trucks, and when the doors folded open, one by one my classmates climbed on board.

What happened after that is a bit of a blur. I remember the neighbors gathering, and the police with megaphones. I remember the fire brigade, and some guy saying it was his blasted tree and I'd darn well better get out of it.

Somebody tracked down my mother, who cried and pleaded and acted not at all the way a sensible mother should, but I was not coming down. I was not coming down.

Then my father came racing up. He jumped out of his pickup truck, and after talking with my mother for a few minutes, he got the guy in the cherry picker to give him a lift up to where I was. After that it was all over. I started crying and tried to get him to look out over the rooftops, but he wouldn't. He said that no view was worth his little girl's safety.

He got me down and he took me home, only I couldn't stay there. I couldn't stand the sound of chain saws in the distance.

So Dad took me with him to work, and while he put up a block wall, I sat in his truck and cried.

I must've cried for two weeks straight. Oh, sure, I went to school and I functioned the best I could, but I didn't go there on the bus. I started riding my bike instead, taking the long way so I wouldn't have to go up to Collier Street. Up to a pile of sawdust that used to be the earth's most magni ficent sycamore tree.

Then one evening when I was locked up in my room, my father came in with something under a towel. I could tell it was a painting because that's how he transports the important ones when he shows them in the park. He sat down, resting the painting on the floor in front of him. "I always liked that tree of yours," he said. "Even before you told me about it."

"Oh, Dad, it's okay. I'll get over it."

"No, Julianna. No, you won't."

I started crying. "It was just a tree..."

"I never want you to convince yourself of that. You and I both know it isn't true."

"But Dad..."

"Bear with me a minute, would you?" He took a deep breath. "I want the spirit of that tree to be with you always. I want you to remember how you felt when you were up there." He hesitated a moment, then handed me the painting. "So I made this for you."

I pulled off the towel, and there was my tree. My beautiful, majestic sycamore tree. Through the branche she'd painted the fire of sunrise, and it seemed to me I could feel the wind. And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the distance, her cheeks flushed with wind. With joy. With magic.

"Don't cry, Julianna. I want it to help you, not hurt you."

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and gave a mighty sniff. "Thank you, Daddy," I choked out. "Thank you."

I hung the painting across the room from my bed. It's the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night. And now that I can look at it without crying, I see more than the tree and what being up in its branches meant to me.

I see the day that my view of things around me started changing.

Chapter 05

Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!

BRYCE

Eggs scare me. Chickens, too. And buddy, you can laugh at that all you want, but I'm being dead serious here.

It started in the sixth grade with eggs.

And a snake.

And the Baker brothers.

The Baker brothers' names are Matt and Mike, but even now I can't tell you which one's which. You never see one without the other. And even though they're not twins, they do look and sound pretty much the same, and they're both in Lynetta's class, so maybe one of them got held back.

Although I can't exactly see a teacher voluntarily having either of those maniacs two years in a row.

Regardless, Matt and Mike are the ones who taught me that snakes eat eggs. And when I say they eat eggs, I'm talking they eat them raw and shell-on whole.

I probably would've gone my entire life without this little bit of reptilian trivia if it hadn't been for Lynetta. Lynetta had this major-league thing for Skyler Brown, who lives about three blocks down, and every chance she got, she went down there to hang out while he practiced the drums. Well, boom-boom-whap, what did I care, right? But then Skyler and Juli's brothers formed a band, which they named Mystery Pisser.

When my mom heard about it, she completely wigged out. "What kind of parents would allow their children to be in a band named Mystery Pisser? It's vile. It's disgusting!"

"That's the whole point, Mom," Lynetta tried to explain. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just to get a rise out of old people."

"Are you calling me old, young lady? Because it's certainly getting a rise out of me!"

Lynetta just shrugged, implying that my mom could draw her own conclusion.

"Go! Go to your room," my mother snapped.

"For what?" Lynetta snapped back. "I didn't say a thing!"

"You know perfectly well what for. Now you go in there and adjust your attitude, young lady!"

So Lynetta got another one of her teenage time-outs, and after that any time Lynetta was two minutes late coming home for dinner, my mother would messenger me down to Skyler's house to drag her home. It might have been embarrassing for Lynetta, but it was worse for me. I was still in elementary school, and the Mystery Pisser guys were in high school. They were ripe and ragged, raging power chords through the neighborhood, while I looked like I'd just gotten back from Sunday school.

I'd get so nervous going down there that my voice would squeak when I'd tell Lynetta it was time for dinner. It literally squeaked. But after a while the band dropped Mystery from their name, and Pisser and its entourage got used to me showing up. And instead of glaring at me, they started saying stuff like, "Hey, baby brother, come on in!" "Hey, Brycie boy, wanna jam?"

This, then, is how I wound up in Skyler Brown's garage, surrounded by high school kids, watching a boa constrictor swallow eggs. Since I'd already seen it down a rat in the Baker brothers' bedroom, Pisser had lost at least some of the element of surprise. Plus, I picked up on the fact that they'd been saving this little show to freak me out, and I really didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

This wasn't easy, though, because watching a snake swallow an egg is actually much creepier than you might think. The boa opened its mouth to an enormous size, then just took the egg in and glub! We could see it roll down its throat.

But that wasn't all. After the snake had glubbed down three eggs, Matt-or-Mike said, "So, Brycie boy, how's he gonna digest those?"

I shrugged and tried not to squeak when I answered, "Stomach acid?"

He shook his head and pretended to confide, "He needs a tree. Or a leg." He grinned at me. "Wanna volunteer yours?"

I backed away a little. I could just see that monster try to swallow my leg whole as an after-egg chaser. "N-no!"

He laughed and pointed at the boa slithering across the room. "Aw, too bad. He's going the other way. He's gonna use the piano instead!"

The piano! What kind of snake was this? How could my sister stand being in the same room as these dementos? I looked at her, and even though she was pretending to be cool with the snake, I know Lynetta — she was totally creeped out by it.

The snake wrapped itself around the piano leg about three times, and then Matt-or-Mike put his hands up and said, "Shhh! Shhh! Everybody quiet. Here goes!"

The snake stopped moving, then flexed. And as it flexed, we could hear the eggs crunch inside him. "Oh, gross!" the girls wailed. "Whoa, dude!" the guys all said. Mike and Matt smiled at each other real big and said, "Dinner is served!"

I tried to act cool about the snake, but the truth is I started having bad dreams about the thing swallowing eggs. And rats. And cats.

And me.

Then the real-life nightmare began.

One morning about two weeks after the boa showin Skyler's garage, Juli appears on our doorstep, and what's she got in her hands? A half-carton of eggs. She bounces around like it's Christmas, saying, "Hiya, Bryce! Remember Abby and Bonnie and Clyde and Dexter?Eunice and Florence?"

I just stared at her. Somehow I remembered Santa's reindeer a little different than that.

"You know ... my chickens? The ones I hatched for the science fair last year?"

"Oh, right. How could I forget."

"They're laying eggs!" She pushed the carton into my hands. "Here, take these! They're for you and your family."

"Oh. Uh, thanks,"I said, and closed the door.

I used to really like eggs. Especially scrambled, with bacon or sausage. But even without the little snake incident, I knew that no matter what you did to these eggs, they would taste nothing but foul to me. These eggs came from the chickens that had been the chicks that had hatched from the eggs that had been incubated by Juli Baker for our fifth-grade science fair.

It was classic Juli. She totally dominated the fair, and get this —her project was all about watching eggs. My friend, there is not a lot of action to report on when you're incubating eggs. You've got your light, you've got your container, you've got some shredded newspaper, and that's it. You're done.

Juli, though, managed to write an inch-thick report, plus she made diagrams and charts — I'm talking line charts and bar charts and pie charts — about the activity of eggs. Eggs!

She also managed to time the eggs so that they'd hatch the night of the fair. How does a person do that? Here I've got a live-action erupting volcano that I've worked pretty stinking hard on, and all anybody cares about is Juli's chicks pecking out of their shells. I even went over to take a look for myself, and — I'm being completely objective here —it was boring. They pecked for about five seconds, then just lay there for five minutes.

I got to hear Juli jabber away to the judges, too. She had a pointer —can you believe that? Not a pencil, an actual retractable pointer, so she could reach across her incubator and tap on this chart or that diagram as she explained the excitement of watching eggs grow for twenty-one days. The only thing she could've done to be more overboard was put on a chicken costume, and buddy, I'm convinced — if she'd thought of it, she would have done it.

But hey — I was over it. It was just Juli being Juli, right? But all of a sudden thereI am a year later, holding a carton of home-grown eggs. And I'm having a hard time not getting annoyed all over again about her stupid blue-ribbon project when my mother leans out from the hallway and says, "Who was that, honey? What have you got there? Eggs?"

I could tell by the look on her face that she was hot to scramble. "Yeah," I said, and handed them to her. "But I'm having cereal."

She opened the carton, then closed it with a smile. "How nice!"she said. "Who brought themover?"

"Juli. She grew them."

"Grew them?"

"Well, her chickens did."

"Oh?" Her smile started falling as she opened the carton again. "Is that so. I didn't know she had... chickens."

"Remember? You and Dad spent an hour watching them hatch at last year's science fair?"

"Well, how do we know there're not ... chicks inside these eggs?"

I shrugged. "Like I said, I'm having cereal."

We all had cereal, but what we talked about were eggs. My dad thought they'd be just fine — he'd had farm-fresh eggs when he was a kid and said they were delicious. My mother, though, couldn't get past the idea that she might be cracking open a dead chick, and pretty soon discussion turned to the role of the rooster — something me and my Cheerios could've done without.

Finally Lynetta said, "If they had a rooster, don't you think we'd know? Don't you think the whole neighborhood would know?"

Hmmm, we all said, good point. But then my mom pipes up with, "Maybe they got it de-yodeled. You know — like they de-bark dogs?"

"A de-yodeled rooster," my dad says, like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Then he looks at my mom and realizes that he'd be way better off going along with her de-yodeled idea than making fun of her. "Hmmm," he says, "I've never heard of such a thing, but maybe so."

Lynetta shrugs and says to my mom, "So just ask them, why don't you. Call up Mrs. Baker and ask her."

"Oh,"my mom says. "Well, I'd hate to call her eggs into question. It doesn't seem very polite, now, does it?"

"Just ask Matt or Mike," I say to Lynetta.

She scowls at me and hisses, "Shut up."

"What? What'd I do now?"

"Haven't you noticed I haven't been going down there, you idiot?"

"Lynetta!" my mom says. Like this is the first time she's heard my sister talk to me or something.

"Well, it's true! How can he not have noticed?"

"I was going to ask you about that, honey. Did something happen?"

Lynetta stands up and shoves her chair in. "Like you care," she snaps, and charges down to her room.

"Oh, boy," my dad says.

Mom says, "Excuse me," and follows Lynetta down the hall.

When my mother's gone, my dad says, "So, son, why don't you just ask Juli?"

"Dad!"

"It's just a little question, Bryce. No harm, no foul."

"But it'll get me a half-hour answer!"

He studies me for a minute, then says, "No boy should be this afraid of a girl."

"I'm not afraid of her... !"

"I think you are."

"Dad!"

"Seriously, son. I want you to get us an answer. Conquer your fear and get us an answer."

"To whether or not they have a rooster?"

"That's right." He gets up and clears his cereal bowl, saying, "I've got to get to work and you've got to get to school. I'll expect a report tonight."

Great. Just great. The day was doomed before it had started. But then at school when I told Garrett about what had happened, he just shrugged and said, "Well, she lives right across the street from you, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So just go look over the fence."

"You mean spy?"

"Sure."

"But ... how can I tell if one of them's a rooster or not?"

"Roosters are ... I don't know... bigger. And they have more feathers."

"Feathers? Like I've got to go and count feathers?"

"No, stupid! My mom says that the male's always brighter." Then he laughs and says, "Although in your case I'm not so sure."

"Thanks. You are giving me big-time help here, buddy. I really appreciate it."

"Look, a rooster's going to be bigger and have brighter feathers. You know, those long ones in the back? They're redder or blacker or whatever. And don't roosters have some rubbery red stuff growing off the top of their head? And some off their neck, too? Yeah, the rooster's got all sorts of rubbery red stuff all around its face."

"So you're saying I'm supposed to look over the fence for big feathers and rubbery red stuff."

"Well, come to think of it, chickens have that rubbery red stuff, too. Just not as much of it."

I rolled my eyes at him and was about to say, Forget it, I'll just ask Juli, but then he says, "I'll come with you if you want."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, dude. Seriously."

And that, my friend, is how I wound up spying over the Bakers' back fence with Garrett Anderson at three-thirty that afternoon. Not my choice of covert operations, but a necessary one in order to report back to my dad that night at dinner.

We got there fast, too. The bell rang and we basically charged off campus because I figured if we got to the Bakers' quick enough, we could look and leave before Juli was anywhere near her house. We didn't even drop off our backpacks. We went straight down the alley and started spying.

It'snot really necessary to look over the Bakers' fence. You can see almost as well looking through it. But Garrett kept sticking his head up, so I figured I should too, although in the back of my mind I was aware that Garrett didn't have to live in this neighborhood — I did.

The backyard was a mess. Big surprise. The bushes were out of control, there was some kind of hodgepodge wood-and-wire coop off to one side, and the yard wasn't grass, it was highly fertilized dirt.

Garrett was the first to notice their dog, sacked out on the patio between two sorry-looking folding chairs. He points at him and says, "You think he's going to give us trouble?"

"We're not going to be here long enough to get in trouble! Where are those stupid chickens?"

"Probably in the coop," he says, then picks up a rock and throws it at the mess of plywood and chicken wire.

At first all we hear is a bunch of feathers flapping, but then one of the birds comes fluttering out. Not very far, but enough so we can see it's got feathers and rubbery red stuff.

"So?" I ask him. "Is that a rooster?"

He shrugs. "Looks like a chicken to me."

"How can you tell?"

He shrugs again. "Just does."

We watch it scratching at the dirt for a minute, and then I ask, "What's a hen, anyway?"

"A hen?"

"Yeah. You got roosters, you got chickens, and then there's hens. What's a hen?"

"It's one of those," he says, pointing into the Bakers' backyard.

"Then what's a chicken?"

He looks at me like I'm crazy. "What are you talking about?"

"Chickens! What's a chicken?"

He takes a step back from me and says, "Brycie boy, you are losin' it. That's a chicken!" He stoops down to pick up another rock, and he's just about to let it fly when the sliding-glass door to the back patio opens up and Juli step soutside.

We both duck. And as we're checking her out through the fence, I say, "When did she get home?"

Garrett grumbles, "While you were losing it about chickens." Then he whispers, "But hey, this'll work great. She's got a basket, right? She's probably coming out to collect eggs."

First she had to get all mushy with that mangy mutt of hers. She got down and nuzzled and ruffled and patted and hugged, telling him what a good boy he was. And when she finally let him go back to sleep, she had to stop and coo at the bird Garrett had scared out, and then she started singing. Singing. At the top of her lungs, she goes, "I've got sunshine on a cloudy day. When it's cold outsi-ye-yide, I've got the month of May. I guess you'd say, what can make me feel this way? My girls. Talkin' bout my little gir-ur-rls ..." She looks inside the coop and coos, "Hello, Flo! Good afternoon, Bonnie! Come on out, punkin!"

The coop wasn't big enough for her to walk in. It was more like a mini lean-to shack that even her dog would have trouble crawling in. Does that stop Juli Baker? No. She gets down on her hands and knees and dives right in. Chickens come squawking and flapping out, and pretty soon the yard's full of birds, and all we can see of Juli is her poop-covered shoes.

That's not all we can hear, though. She's warbling inside that coop, going, "I don't need money, no fortune or faaa-ya-yame. I got all the riches, baby, anyone can claim. Well, I guess you'd say, what can make me feel this way? My girls. Talkin about my little gir-ur-rls, my girls..."

At this point I wasn't checking the chickens out for rubbery red stuff or feathers. I was looking at the bottom of Juli Baker's feet, wondering how in the world a person could be so happy tunneling through a dilapidated chicken coop with poop stuck all over her shoes.

Garrett got me back on track. "They're all chickens," he says. "Look at 'em."

I quit checking out Juli's shoes and started checking out birds. The first thing I did was count them. One-two-three-four-five-six. All accounted for. After all, how could anyone forget she'd hatched six? It was the all-time school record — everyone in the county had heard about that.

But I was not really sure how to ask Garrett about what he had said. Yeah, they were all chickens, but what did that mean? I sure didn't want him coming down on me again, but it still didn't make sense. Finally I asked him, "You mean there's no rooster?"

"Correctamundo."

"How can you tell?"

He shrugged. "Roosters strut."

"Strut."

"That's right. And look — none of them have long feathers. Or very much of that rubbery red stuff." He nodded. "Yeah. They're definitely all chickens."

That night my father got right to the point. "So, son, mission accomplished?" he asked as he stabbed into a mountain of fettuccine and whirled his fork around.

I attacked my noodles too and gave him a smile. "Uhhuh," I said as I sat up tall to deliver the news. "They're all chickens."

The turning of his fork came to a grinding halt. "And... ?"

I could tell something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I tried to keep the smile plastered on my face as I said, "And what?"

He rested his fork and stared at me. "Is that what she said?"They're all chickens?"

"Uh, not exactly."

"Then exactly what did she say?"

"Uh... she didn't exactly say anything."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I went over there and took a look for myself." I tried very hard to sound like this was a major accomplishment, but he wasn't buying.

"You didn't ask her?"

"I didn't have to. Garrett knows a lot about chickens, and we went over there and found out for ourselves."

Lynetta came back from rinsing the Romano sauce off her seven and a half noodles, then reached for the salt and scowled at me, saying, "You're the chicken."

"Lynetta!" my mother said. "Be nice."

Lynetta stopped shaking the salt. "Mother, he spied. You get it? He went over there and looked over the fence. Are you saying you're okay with that?"

My mom turned to me. "Bryce? Is that true?"

Everyone was staring at me now, and I felt like I had to save face. "What's the big deal? You told me to find out about her chickens, and I found out about her chickens!"

"Brawk-brawk-brawk!" my sister whispered.

My father still wasn't eating. "And what you found out," he said, like he was measuring every word, "was that they're all... chickens."

"Right."

He sighed, then took that bite of noodles and chewed it for the longest time.

It felt like I was sinking fast, but I couldn't figure out why. So I tried to bail out with, "And you guys can go ahead and eat those eggs, but there's no way I'm going to touch them, so don't even ask."

My mother's looking back and forth from my dad to me while she eats her salad, and I can tell she's waiting for him to address my adventure as a neighborhood operative. But since he's not saying anything, she clears her throat and says, "Why's that?"

"Because there's ... well, there's ... I don't know how to say this nicely."

"Just say it," my father snaps.

"Well, there's, you know, excrement everywhere."

"Oh, gross!" my sister says, throwing down her fork.

"You mean chicken droppings?" my mother asks.

"Yeah. There's not even a lawn. It's all dirt and, uh, you know, chicken turds. The chickens walk in it and peck through it and..."

"Oh, gross!" Lynetta wails.

"Well, it's true!"

Lynetta stands up and says, "You expect me to eat after this?" and stalks out of the room.

"Lynetta! You have to eat something," my mother calls after her.

"No, I don't!" she shouts back; then a second later she sticks her head back into the dining room and says, "And don't expect me to eat any of those eggs either, Mother. Does the word salmonella mean anything to you?"

Lynetta takes off down the hall and my mother says, "Salmonella?"She turns to my father. "Do you suppose they could have salmonella?"

"I don't know, Patsy. I'm more concerned that our son is a coward."

"A coward! Rick, please. Bryce is no such thing. He's a wonderful child who's —"

"Who's afraid of a girl."

"Dad, I'm not afraid of her, she just bugs me!"

"Why?"

"You know why! She bugs you, too. She's over the top about everything!"

"Bryce, I asked you to conquer your fear, but all you did was give in to it. If you were in love with her, that would be one thing. Love is something to be afraid of, but this, this is embarrassing. So she talks too much, so she's too enthused about every little thing, so what? Get in, get your question answered, and get out. Stand up to her, for cryin' out loud!"

"Rick ... ," my mom was saying, "Rick, calm down. He did find out what you asked him to —"

"No, he didn't!"

"What do you mean?"

"He tells me they're all chickens! Of course they're all chickens! The question is how many are hens, and how many are roosters."

I could almost hear the click in my brain, and man, I felt like a complete doofus. No wonder he was disgusted with me. I was an idiot! They were all chickens ... du-uh! Garrett acted like he was some expert on chickens, and he didn't know diddly-squat! Why had I listened to him?

But it was too late. My dad was convinced I was a coward, and to get me over it, he decided that what I should do was take the carton of eggs back to the Bakers and tell them we didn't eat eggs, or that we were allergic to them, or something.

Then my mom butts in with, "What are you teaching him here,Rick? None of that is true. If he returns them, shouldn't he tell them the truth?"

"What, that you're afraid of salmonella poisoning?"

"Me? Aren't you a little concerned, too?"

"Patsy, that's not the point. The point is, I will not have a coward for a son!"

"But teaching him to lie?"

"Fine. Then just throw them away. But from now on I expect you to look that little tiger square in the eye, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, then."

I was off the hook for all of about eight days. Then there she was again, at seven in the morning, bouncing up and down on our porch with eggs in her hands. "Hi, Bryce! Here you go."

I tried to look her square in the eye and tell her, No thanks, but she was so darned happy, and I wasn't really awake enough to tackle the tiger. She wound up pushing another carton into my hands, and I wound up ditching them in the kitchen trash before my father sat down to breakfast.

This went on for two years. Two years! And it got to a point where it was just part of my morning routine. I'd be on the lookout for Juli so I could whip the door open before she had the chance to knock or ring the bell, and then I'd bury the eggs in the trash before my dad showed up.

Then came the day I blew it. Juli'd actually been making herself pretty scarce because it was around the time they'd taken the sycamore tree down, but suddenly one morning she was back on our doorstep, delivering eggs. I took them, as usual, and I went to chuck them, as usual. But the kitchen trash was so full that there wasn't any room for the carton, so I put it on top, picked up the trash, and beat it out the front door to empty everything into the garbage can outside.

Well, guess who's just standing there like a statue on my porch?

The Egg Chick.

I about spilled the trash all over the porch. "What are you still doing here?" I asked her.

"I... I don't know. I was just ... thinking."

"About what?" I was desperate. I needed a distraction. Some way around her with this garbage before she noticed what was sitting right there on top.

She looked away like she was embarrassed. Juli Baker embarrassed? I didn't think it was possible.

Whatever. The golden opportunity to whip a soggy magazine over the egg carton had presented itself, and buddy, I took it. Then I tried to make a fast break for the garbage can in the side yard, only she body-blocked me. Seriously. She stepped right in my way and put her arms out like she's guarding the goal.

She chased me and blocked me again. "What happened?" she wants to know. "Did they break?"

Perfect. Why hadn't I thought of that? "Yeah, Juli," I told her. "And I'm real sorry about that." But what I'm thinking is, please, God, oh please, God, let me make it to the garbage can.

God must've been sleeping in. Juli tackled the trash and pulled out her precious little carton of eggs, and she could tell right off that they weren't broken. They weren't even cracked.

She stood frozen with the eggs in her hands while I dumped the rest of the trash. "Why did you throw them out?" she asked, but her voice didn't sound like Juli Baker's voice. It was quiet. And shaky.

So I told her we were afraid of salmonella poisoning because her yard was a mess and that we were just trying to spare her feelings. I told it to her like we were right and she was wrong, but I felt like a jerk. A complete cluck-faced jerk.

Then she tells me that a couple of neighbors have been buying eggs off her. Buying them. And while I'm coming to grips with this incredible bit of news, she whips out her mental calculator. "Do you realize I've lost over a hundred dollars giving these eggs to you?"Then she races across the street in a flood of tears.

As much as I tried to tell myself that I hadn't asked her for the eggs — I hadn't said we wanted them or needed them or liked them —the fact was, I'd never seen Juli cry before. Not when she'd broken her arm in P.E., not when she'd been teased at school or ditched by her brothers. Not even when they'd cut down the sycamore tree. I'm pretty sure she cried then, but I didn't actually see it. To me, Juli Baker had always been too tough to cry.

I went down to my room to packmy stuff for school, feeling like the biggest jerk to ever hit the planet. I'd been sneaking around throwing out eggs for over two years, avoiding her, avoiding my father — what did that make me? Why hadn't I just stood up and said, No thanks, don't want 'em, don't need 'em, don't like 'em... Give them to the snake, why don't you? Something!

Was I really afraid of hurting her feelings?

Or was I afraid of her?

Chapter 06

The Eggs

JULIANNA

After they cut down the sycamore tree, it seemed like everything else fell apart, too. Champ died. And then I found out about the eggs. It was Champ's time to go, and even though I still miss him, I think it's been easier for me to deal with his death than it has been for me to deal with the truth about the eggs. I still cannot believe it about the eggs.

The eggs came before the chickens in our case, but the dog came before them both. One night when I was about six years old, Dad came home from work with a full-grown dog tied down in the back of his truck. Someone had hit it in the middle of an intersection, and Dad had stopped to see how badly it was hurt. Then he noticed that the poor thing was skinny as a rail and didn't have any tags. "Starving and completely disoriented,"he told my mother. "Can you imagine someone abandoning their dog like that?"

The whole family had converged on the front porch, and I could hardly contain myself. A dog! Awonderful, happy, panty dog! I realize now that Champ was never much of a looker, but when you're six, any dog — no matter how mangy — is a glorious, huggable creature.

He looked pretty good to my brothers, too, but from the way my mother's face was pinched, I could tell she was thinking. Abandon this dog? Oh, I can see it. I can definitely see it. What she said, though, was simply, "There is no room for that animal in this house."

"Trina," my dad said, "it's not a matter of ownership. It's a matter of compassion."

"You're not springing it on me as a ... a pet, then?"

"That is definitely not my intention."

"Well, then what do you intend to do?"

"Give him a decent meal, a bath ... then maybe we'll place an ad and find him a home."

She eyed him from across the threshold. "There'll be no 'maybe' about it."

My brothers said, "We don't get to keep him?"

"That's right."

"But Mo-om," they moaned.

"It's not open to discussion," she said. "He gets a bath, he gets a meal, he gets an ad in the paper."

My father put one arm around Matt's shoulder and the other around Mike's. "Someday, boys, we'll get a puppy."

My mother was already heading back inside, but over her shoulder came, "Not until you learn to keep your room neat, boys!"

By the end of the week, the dog was named Champ. By the end of the next week, he'd made it from the backyard into the kitchen area. And not too long after that, he was all moved in. It seemed nobody wanted a full-grown dog with a happy bark. Nobody but four-fifths of the Baker family, anyway.

Then my mother started noticing an odor. A mysterious odor of indeterminate origin. We all admitted we smelled it, too, but where my mother was convinced it was Eau de Champ, we disagreed. She had us bathing him so often that it couldn't possibly be him. We each sniffed him out pretty good and he smelled perfectly rosy.

My personal suspicion was that Matt and Mike were the ones not bathing enough, but I didn't want to get close enough to sniff them. And since our camp was divided on just who the culprit or culprits were, the odor was dubbed the Mystery Smell. Whole dinner time discussions revolved around the Mystery Smell, which my brothers found amusing and my mother did not.

Then one day my mother cracked the case. And she might have cracked Champ's skull as well if my dad hadn't come to the rescue and shooed him outside.

Mom was fuming. "I told you it was him. The Mystery Smell comes from the Mystery Pisser! Did you see that? Did you see that? He just squirted on the end table!"

My father raced with a roll of paper towels to where Champ had been, and said, "Where? Where is it?"

All of three drops were dripping down the table leg. "There," my mother said, pointing a shaky finger at the wetness. "There!"

Dad wiped it up, then checked the carpet and said, "It was barely a drop."

"Exactly!" my mother said with her hands on her hips. "Which is why I've never been able to find anything. That dog stays outside from now on. Do you hear me? He is no longer allowed in this house!"

"How about the garage?" I asked. "Can he sleep in there?"

"And have him tag everything that's out there? No!"

Mike and Matt were grinning at each other. "Mystery Pisser! That could be the name for our band!"

"Yeah! Cool!"

"Band?" my mother asked. "Wait a minute, what band?" But they were already flying down to their room, laughing about the possibilities for a logo.

My father and I spent the rest of the day sniffing out and destroying criminal evidence. My dad used a spray bottle of ammonia; I followed up with Lysol. We did try to recruit my brothers, but they wound up getting into a spray-bottle fight, which got them locked in their room, which, of course, was fine with them.

So Champ became an outside dog, and he might have been our only pet ever if it hadn't been for my fifth-grade science fair.

Everyone around me had great project ideas, but I couldn't seem to come up with one. Then our teacher, Mrs. Brubeck, took me aside and told me about a friend of hers who had chickens, and how she could get me a fertilized egg for my project.

"But I don't know anything about hatching an egg," I told her.

She smiled and put her arm around my shoulders. "You don't have to be an immediate expert at everything, Juli. The idea here is to learn something new."

"But what if it dies?"

"Then it dies. Document your work scientifically and you'll still get an A, if that's what you're worried about."

An A? Being responsible for the death of a baby chick — that's what I was worried about. Suddenly there was real appeal in building a volcano or making my own neoprene or demonstrating the various scientific applications of gear ratios.

But the ball was in motion, and Mrs. Brubeck would have no more discussion about it. She pulled The Beginner's Guide to Raising Chickens from her bookshelf and said, "Read the section on artificial incubation and set yourself up tonight. I'll get you an egg tomorrow."

"But ..."

"Don't worry so much, Juli,"she said. "We do this every year, and it's always one of the best projects at the fair."

I said, "But... ," but she was gone. Off to put an end to some other student's battle with indecision.

That night I was more worried than ever. I'd read the chapter on incubation at least four times and was still confused about where to start. I didn't happen to have an old aquarium lying around! We didn't happen to have an incubation thermometer! Would a deep-fry model work?

I was supposed to control humidity, too, or horrible things would happen to the chick. Too dry and the chick couldn't peck out; too wet and it would die of mushy chick disease. Mushy chick disease? !

My mother, being the sensible person that she is, told me to tell Mrs. Brubeck that I simply wouldn't be hatching a chick. "Have you considered growing beans?"she asked me.

My father, however, understood that you can't refuse to do your teacher's assignment, and he promised to help. "An incubator's not difficult to build. We'll make one after dinner."

How my father knows exactly where things are in our garage is one of the wonders of the universe. How he knew about incubators, however, was revealed to me while he was drilling a one-inch hole in an old scrap of Plexiglas. "I raised a duck from an egg when I was in high school."He grinned at me. "Science fair project."

"A duck?"

"Yes, but the principle is the same for all poultry. Keep the temperature constant and the humidity right, turn the egg several times a day, and in a few weeks you'll have yourself a little peeper."

He handed me a lightbulb and an extension cord with a socket attached. "Fasten this through the hole in the Plexiglas. I'll find some thermometers."

"Some? We need more than one?"

"We have to make you a hygrometer."

"A hygrometer?"

"To check the humidity inside the incubator. It's just a thermometer with wet gauze around the bulb."

I smiled. "No mushy chick disease?"

He smiled back. "Precisely."

By the next afternoon I had not one, but six chicken eggs incubating at a cozy 102 degrees Fahrenheit. "They don't all make it, Juli," Mrs. Brubeck told me. "Hope for one. The record's three. The grade's in the documentation. Be a scientist. Good luck." And with that, she was off.

Documentation? Of what? I had to turn the eggs three times a day and regulate the temperature and humidity, but aside from that what was there to do?

That night my father came out to the garage with a cardboard tube and a flashlight. He taped the two together so that the light beam was forced straight out the tube. "Let me show you how to candle an egg,"he said, then switched off the garage light.

I'd seen a section on candling eggs in Mrs. Brubeck's book, but I hadn't really read it yet. "Why do they call it that?" I asked him. "And why do you do it?"

"People used candles to do this before they had incandescent lighting." He held an egg up to the cardboard tube. "The light lets you see through the shell so you can watch the embryo develop. Then you can cull the weak ones, if necessary."

"Kill them?"

"Cull them. Remove the ones that don't develop properly."

"But ... wouldn't that also kill them?"

He looked at me. "Leaving an egg you should cull might have disastrous results on the healthy ones."

"Why? Wouldn't it just not hatch?"

He went back to lighting up the egg. "It might explode and contaminate the other eggs with bacteria."

Explode! Between mushy chick disease, exploding eggs, and culling, this project was turning out to be the worst! Then myfather said, "Look here, Julianna. You can see the embryo." He held the flashlight and egg out so I could see.

I looked inside and he said, "See the dark spot there? In the middle? With all the veins leading to it?"

"The thing that looks like a bean?"

"That's it!"

Suddenly it felt real. This egg was alive. I quickly checked the rest of the group. There were little bean babies in all of them! Surely they had to live. Surely they would all make it!

"Dad? Can I take the incubator inside? It might get too cold out here at night, don't you think?"

"I was going to suggest the same thing. Why don't you prop open the door? I'll carry it for you."

For the next two weeks I was completely consumed with the growing of chicks. I labeled the eggs A, B, C, D, E, and F, but before long they had names, too: Abby, Bonnie, Clyde, Dexter, Eunice, and Florence. Every day I weighed them, candled them, and turned them. I even thought it might be good for them to hear some clucking, so for a while I did that, too, but clucking is tiring! It was much easier to hum around my quiet little flock, so I did that, instead. Soon I was humming without even thinking about it, because when I was around my eggs, I was happy.

I read The Beginner's Guide to Raising Chickens cover to cover twice. For my project I drew diagrams of the various stages of an embryo's development, I made a giant chicken poster, I graphed the daily fluctuations in temperature and humidity, and I made a line chart documenting the weight loss of each egg. On the outside eggs were boring, but I knew what was happening on the inside!

Then two days before the science fair I was candling Bonnie when I noticed something. I called my dad into my room and said, "Look, Dad! Look at this! Is that the heart beating?"

He studied it for a moment, then smiled and said, "Let me get your mother."

So the three of us crowded around and watched Bonnie's heart beat, and even my mother had to admit that it was absolutely amazing.

Clyde was the first to pip. And of course he did it right before I had to leave for school. His little beak cracked through, and while I held my breath and waited, he rested. And rested. Finally his beak poked through again, but almost right away, he rested again. How could I go to school and just leave him this way? What if he needed my help? Surely this was a valid reason to stay home, at least for a little while!

My father tried to assure me that hatching out could take all day and that there'd be plenty of action left after school, but I'd have none of that. Oh, no-no-no! I wanted to see Abby and Bonnie and Clyde and Dexter and Eunice and Florence come into the world. Every single one of them. "I can't miss the hatch!" I told him. "Not even a second of it!"

"So take it to school with you," my mother said. "Mrs. Brubeck shouldn't mind. After all, this was her idea."

Sometimes it pays to have a sensible mother. I'd just set up for the science fair early, that's what I'd do! I packed up my entire operation, posters, charts, and all, and got a ride to school from my mom.

Mrs. Brubeck didn't mind a bit. She was so busy helping kids with their projects that I got to spend nearly the entire day watching the hatch.

Clyde and Bonnie were the first ones out. It was disappointing at first because they just lay there all wet and matted, looking exhausted and ugly. But by the time Abby and Dexter broke out, Bonnie and Clyde were fluffing up, looking for action.

The last two took forever, but Mrs. Brubeck insisted that I leave them alone, and that worked out pretty great because they hatched out during the fair that night. My whole family came, and even though Matt and Mike only watched for about two minutes before they took off to look at some other demonstration, my mom and dad stuck around for the whole thing. Mom even picked Bonnie up and nuzzled her.

That night after it was all over and I was packing up to go home, Mom asked, "So do these go back to Mrs. Brubeck now?"

"Do what go back to Mrs. Brubeck?" I asked her.

"The chicks, Juli. You're not planning to raise chickens, are you?"

To be honest, I hadn't thought beyond the hatch. My focus had been strictly on bringing them into the world. But she was right — here they were. Six fluffy little adorable chicks, each of which had a name and, I could already tell, its own unique personality.

"I... I don't know," I stammered. "I'll ask Mrs. Brubeck."

I tracked down Mrs. Brubeck, but I was praying that she didn't want me to give them back to her friend. After all, I'd hatched them. I'd named them. I'd saved them from mushy chick disease! These little peepers were mine!

To my relief and my mother's horror, Mrs. Brubeck said they were indeed mine. All mine. "Have fun," she said, then zipped off to help Heidi dismantle her exhibit on Bernoulli's law.

Mom was quiet the whole way home, and I could tell — she wanted chickens like she wanted a tractor and a goat. "Please, Mom?"I whispered as we parked at the curb. "Please?"

She covered her face. "Where are we going to raise chickens, Juli? Where?"

"In the backyard?" I didn't know what else to suggest.

"What about Champ?"

"They'll get along, Mom. I'll teach him. I promise."

My dad said softly, "They're pretty self-sufficient, Trina."

But then the boys piped up with, "Champ'll piss 'em to death, Mom,"and suddenly they were on a roll. "Yeah! But you won't even notice 'cause they're yellow already!" "Whoa! Yellow Already — cool name." "That could work! But wait — people might think we mean our bellies!" "Oh, yeah — forget that!" "Yeah, just let him kill the chicks."

My brothers looked at each other with enormous eyes and started up all over again. "Kill the Chicks! That's it! Get it?" "You mean like we're chick killers? Or like we kill the chicks?"

Dad turned around and said, "Out. Both of you, get out. Go find a name elsewhere."

So they scrambled out, and the three of us sat in the car with only the gentle peep-peep-peep from my little flock breaking the silence. Finally my mother heaved a heavy sigh and said, "They don't cost much to keep, do they?"

My dad shook his head. "They eat bugs, Trina. And a little feed. They're very low-maintenance."

"Bugs? Really? What sort of bugs?"

"Earwigs, worms, roly-polys ... probably spiders, if they can catch them. I think they eat snails, too."

"Seriously?" My mother smiled. "Well, in that case ..."

"Oh, thank you, Mom. Thank you!"

And that's how we wound up with chickens. What none of us thought of was that six chickens scratching for bugs not only gets rid of bugs, it also tears up grass. Within six months there was nothing whatsoever left of our yard.

What we also didn't think of was that chicken feed attracts mice, and mice attract cats. Feral cats. Champ was pretty good at keeping the cats out of the yard, but they'd hang around the front yard or the side yard, just waiting for him to snooze so they could sneak in and pounce on some tender little mousy vittles.

Then my brothers started trapping the mice, which I thought was just to help out. I didn't suspect a thing until the day I heard my mother screaming from the depths of their room. They were, it turns out, raising a boa constrictor.

Mom's foot came down in a big way, and I thought she was going to throw us out, lock, stock, and boa, but then I made the most amazing discovery — chickens lay eggs! Beautiful, shiny, creamy white eggs! I first found one under Bonnie, then Clyde — whom I immediately renamed Clydette — and one more in Florence's bed. Eggs!

I raced inside to show my mom, and after a brief moment of blinking at them, she withered into a chair. "No," she whimpered. "No more chicks!"

"They're not chicks, Mom ... they're eggs!"

She was still looking quite pale, so I sat in the chair next to her and said, "We don't have a rooster... ?"

"Oh." The color was coming back to her cheeks. "Is that so?"

"I've never heard a cock-a-doodle-do, have you?"

She laughed. "A blessing I guess I've forgotten to count." She sat up a little and took an egg from my palm. "Eggs, huh. How many do you suppose they'll lay?"

"I have no idea."

As it turns out, my hens laid more eggs than we could eat. At first we tried to keep up, but soon we were tired of boiling and pickling and deviling, and my mother started complaining that all these free eggs were costing her way too much.

Then one afternoon as I was collecting eggs, our neighbor Mrs. Stueby leaned over the side fence and said, "If you ever haveany extra, I'd be happy to buy them from you."

"Really?" I asked.

"Most certainly. Nothing quite like free-range eggs. Two dollars a dozen sound fair to you?"

Two dollars a dozen! I laughed and said, "Sure!"

"Okay, then. Whenever you have some extras, just bring 'em over. Mrs. Helms and I got to discussing it last night on the phone, but I asked you first, so make sure you offer 'em up to me before her, okay, Juli?"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Stueby!"

Between Mrs. Stueby and Mrs. Helms three doors down, my egg overflow problem was solved. And maybe I should've turned the money over to my mother as payment for having destroyed the backyard, but one "Nonsense, Julianna. It's yours," was all it took for me to start squirreling it away.

Then one day as I was walking down to Mrs. Helms' house, Mrs. Loski drove by. She waved and smiled, and I realized with a pang of guilt that I wasn't being very neighborly about my eggs. She didn't know that Mrs. Helms and Mrs. Stueby were paying me for these eggs. She probably thought I was delivering them out of the kindness of my heart.

And maybe I should've been giving the eggs away, but I'd never had a steady income before. Allowance at our house is a hit-or-miss sort of thing. Usually a miss. And earning money from my eggs gave me this secret happy feeling, which I was reluctant to have the kindness of my heart encroach upon.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mrs. Loski deserved some free eggs. She had been a good neighbor to us, lending us supplies when we ran out unexpectedly and being late to work herself when my mother needed a ride because our car wouldn't start. A few eggs now and again ... it was the least I could do.

There was also the decidedly blissful possibility of running into Bryce. And in the chilly sparkle of a new day, Bryce's eyes seemed bluer than ever. The way he looked at me — the smile, the blush — it was a Bryce I didn't get to see at school. The Bryce at school was way more protected.

By the third time I brought eggs over to the Loskis, I realized that Bryce was waiting for me. Waiting to pull the door open and say, "Thanks, Juli," and then, "See you at school."

It was worth it. Even after Mrs. Helms and Mrs. Stue by offered me more money per dozen, it was still worth it. So, through the rest of sixth grade, through all of seventh grade and most of eighth, I delivered eggs to the Loskis. The very best, shiniest eggs went straight to the Loskis, and in return I got a few moments alone with the world's most dazzling eyes.

It was a bargain.

Then they cut down the sycamore tree. And two weeks later Champ died. He'd been spending a lot of time sleeping, and even though we didn't really know how old he was, no one was really surprised when one night Dad went out to feed him and discovered he was dead. We buried him in the backyard, and my brothers put up a cross that reads:

HERE LIES THE MYSTERY PISSER P.I.P.

I was upset and pretty dazed for a while. It was raining a lot and I was riding my bike to school to avoid having to take the bus, and each day when I'd get home, I'd retreat to my room, lose myself in a novel, and simply forget about collecting eggs.

Mrs. Stueby was the one who got me back on schedule. She called to say she'd read about the tree in the paper and was sorry about everything that had happened, but it had been some time now and she missed her eggs and was worried that my hens might quit laying. "Distress can push a bird straight into a molting, and we wouldn't want that! Feathers everywhere and not an egg in sight. I'm quite allergic to the feathers myself or I'd probably have a flock of my own, but never you mind. You just bring 'em over when you're up to it. All I wanted was to check in and let you know how sorry I was about the tree. And your dog, too. Your mother mentioned he passed away."

So I got back to work. I cleared away the eggs I'd neglected and got back into my routine of collecting and cleaning. And one morning when I had enough, I made therounds. First Mrs. Stueby, then Mrs. Helms, and finally the Loskis. And as I stood at the Loskis' threshold, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen Brycein the longest time. Sure, we'd both been at school, but I'd been so preoccupied with other things that I hadn't really seen him.

My heart started beating faster, and when the door whooshed open and his blue eyes looked right at me, it took everything I had just to say, "Here."

He took the half-carton and said, "You know, you don't have to giveus these..."

"I know," I said, and looked down.

We stood there for a record-breaking amount of time saying nothing. Finally he said, "So are you going to start riding the bus again?"

I looked up at him and shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't been up there since ... you know."

"It doesn't look so bad anymore. It's all cleared. They'll probably start on the foundation soon."

It sounded perfectly awful to me.

"Well," he said, "I've got to get ready for school. See you there."Then he smiled and closed the door.

For some reason I just stood there. I felt odd. Out of sorts. Disconnected from everything around me. Was I ever going to go back up to Collier Street? I had to eventually, or so my mother said. Was I just making it harder?

Suddenly the door flew open and Bryce came hurrying out with an overfull kitchen trash can in his hands. "Juli!" he said. "What are you still doing here?"

He startled me, too. I didn't know what I was still doing there. And I was so flustered that I would probably just have run home if he hadn't started struggling with the trash, trying to shove the contents down.

I reached over and said, "Do you need some help?" because it looked like he was about to spill the trash. Then I saw the corner of an egg carton.

This wasn't just any egg carton either. It was my egg carton. The one I'd just brought him. And through the little blue cardboard arcs I could see eggs.

I looked from him to the eggs and said, "What happened? Did you drop them?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, and I'm really sorry about that."

He tried to stop me, but I took the carton from the trash, saying, "All of them?" I opened the carton and gasped. Six whole, perfect eggs. "Why'd you throw them away?"

He pushed past me and went around the house to the trash bin, and I followed him, waiting for an answer.

He shook the garbage out, then turned to face me. "Does the word salmonella mean anything to you?"

"Salmonella? But ..."

"My mom doesn't think it's worth the risk."

I followed him back to the porch. "Are you saying she won't eat them because —"

"Because she's afraid of being poisoned."

"Poisoned! Why?"

"Because your backyard is, like, covered in turds! I mean, look at your place, Juli!" He pointed at our house and said, "Just look at it. It's a complete dive!"

"It is not!"I cried, but the truth was sitting right across the street, impossible to deny. My throat suddenly choked closed and I found it painful to speak. "Have you... always thrown them away?"

He shrugged and looked down. "Juli, look. We didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"My feelings? Do you realize Mrs. Stueby and Mrs. Helms pay me for my eggs?"

"You're kidding."

"No! They pay me two dollars a dozen!"

"No way."

"It's true! All those eggs I gave to you I could've sold to Mrs. Stueby or Mrs. Helms!"

"Oh," he said, and looked away. Then he eyed me and said, "Well, why did you just give them to us?"

I was fighting back tears, but it was hard. I choked out, "I was trying to be neighborly... !"

He put down the trash can, then did something that made my brain freeze. He held me by the shoulders and looked me right in the eyes. "Mrs. Stueby's your neighbor, isn't she? So's Mrs. Helms, right? Why be neighborly to us and not them?"

What was he trying to say? Was it still so obvious how I felt about him? And if he knew, how could he have been so heartless, just throwing my eggs away like that, week after week, year after year?

I couldn't find any words. None at all. I just stared at him, at the clear, brilliant blue of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Juli," he whispered.

I stumbled home, embarrassed and confused, my heart completely cracked open.

Chapter 07

Get a Grip, Man

BRYCE

It didn't take long for me to realize that I'd traded in my old problems with Juli Baker for a whole new set of problems with Juli Baker. I could feel her anger a mile away.

It was actually worse having her mad at me than having her harass me. Why? Because I'd screwed up, that's why. I had egg all over my face, and blaming it on her yard had done nothing to wash it off. The way she ignored me, or so obviously avoided me, was a screaming loud reminder to me that I'd been a jerk. A royal cluck-faced jerk.

Then one day I'm coming home from hanging out with Garrett after school, and there's Juli in her front yard, hacking at a shrub. She is thrashing on the thing. Branches are flying over her shoulder, and clear across the street I can hear her grunting and growling and saying stuff like, "No... you... don't! You are coming... off... whether you like it or... not!"

Did I feel good about this? No, my friend, I did not. Yeah, their yard was a mess, and it was about time someone did something about it, but c'mon — where's the dad? What about Matt and Mike? Why Juli?

Because I'd embarrassed her into it, that's why. I felt worse than ever.

So I snuck inside and tried to ignore the fact that here's my desk and here's my window, and right across the street from me is Juli, beating up a bush. Not conducive to concentration. No siree, Bob. I got all of zero homework done.

The next day at school I was trying to get up the nerve to say something to her, but I never even got the chance. She wouldn't let me get anywhere near her.

Then on the ride home I had this thought. It kind of freaked me out at first, but the more I played with it, the more I figured that, yeah, helping her with the yard would make up for my having been such a jerk. Assuming she didn't boss me too much, and assuming she didn't decide to get all gooey-eyed or something stupid like that. No, I'd go up and just tell her that I felt bad for being a jerk and I wanted to make it up to her by helping her cut back some bushes. Period. End of story. And if she still wanted to be mad at me after that, then fine. That was her problem.

My problem was, I never got the chance. I came trekking down from the bus stop to find my grandfather doing my good deed.

Now, jump back. This was not something I could immediately absorb. My grandfather did not do yard work. At least, he'd never offered to help me out. My grandfather lived in house slippers —where'd he get those work boots? And those jeans and that flannel shirt —what was up with those?

I crouched behind a neighbor's hedge and watched them for ten or fifteen minutes, and man, the longer I watched, the madder I got. My grandfather had already said more to her in this little slice of time than he'd said to me the whole year and a half he'd been living with us. What was his deal with Juli Baker?

I took the back way home, which involved climbing two fences and kicking off the neighbor's stupid little terrier, but it was worth it, considering I avoided the garden party across the street.

Again I got no homework done. The more I watched them, the madder I got. I was still a cluck-faced jerk, while Juli was laughing it up with my grandfather. Had I ever seen him smile? Really smile? I don't think so! But now he was knee-high in nettles, laughing.

At dinner that night he'd showered and changed back into his regular clothes and house slippers, but he didn't look the same. It was like someone had plugged him in and turned on the light.

"Good evening," he said as he sat down with the rest of us. "Oh, Patsy, that looks delicious!"

"Well, Dad," my mom said with a laugh, "your excursion across the street seems to have done you a world of good."

"Yeah," my father said. "Patsy tells me you've been over there all afternoon. If you were in the mood for home improvement projects, why didn't you just say so?"

My father was just joking around, but I don't think my grandfather took it that way. He helped himself to a cheese-stuffed potato and said, "Pass the salt, won't you, Bryce?"

So there was this definite tension between my father and my grandfather, but I think if Dad had dropped the subject right then, the vibe would've vanished.

Dad didn't drop it, though. Instead, he said, "So why's the girl the one who's finally doing something about their place?"

My grandfather salted his potato very carefully, then looked across the table at me. Ah-oh, I thought. Ah-oh. In a flash I knew those stupid eggs were not behind me. Two years of sneaking them in the trash, two years of avoiding discussion of Juli and her eggs and her chickens and her early-morning visits, and for what? Granddad knew, I could see it in his eyes. In a matter of seconds he'd crack open the truth, and I'd be as good as fried.

Enter a miracle. My grandfather petrified me for a minute with his eyes but then turned to my father and said, "She wants to, is all."

A raging river of sweat ran down my temples, and as my father said, "Well, it's about time someone did," my grandfather looked back at me and I knew — he was not going to let me forget this. We'd just had another conversation, only this time I was definitely not dismissed.

After the dishes were cleared, I retreated to my room, but my grandfather came right in, closed the door behind him, and then sat on my bed. He did this all without making a sound. No squeaking, no clanking, no scraping, no breathing ... I swear, the guy moved through my room like a ghost.

And of course I'm banging my knee and dropping my pencil and deteriorating into a pathetic pool of Jell-O. But I tried my best to sound cool as I said, "Hello, Granddad. Come to check out the digs?"

He pinched his lips together and looked at nothing but me.

I cracked. "Look, Granddad, I know I messed up. I should've just told her, but I couldn't. And I kept thinking they'd stop. I mean, how long can a chicken lay eggs? Those thing shatched in the fifth grade! That was like, three years ago! Don't they eventually run out? And what was I supposed to do? Tell her Mom was afraid of salmonella poisoning? And Dad wanted me to tell her we were allergic — c'mon, who's going to buy that? So I just kept, you know, throwing them out. I didn't know she could've sold them. I thought they were just extras."

He was nodding, but very slowly.

I sighed and said, "Thank you for not saying anything about it at dinner. I owe you."

He pulled my curtain aside and looked across the street. "One's character is set at an early age, son. The choices you make now will affect you for the rest of your life." He was quiet for a minute, then dropped the curtain and said, "I hate to see you swim out so far you can't swim back."

"Yes, sir."

He frowned and said, "Don't yes-sir me, Bryce." Then he stood and added, "Just think about what I've said, and the next time you're faced with a choice, do the right thing. It hurts everyone less in the long run."

With that, poof, he was gone.

The next day I went to shoot some hoops at Garrett's after school, and when his mom dropped me off later that afternoon, my granddad didn't even notice. He was too busy being Joe Carpenter in Juli's front yard.

I tried to do my homework at the breakfast bar, but my mom came home from work and started being all chatty, and then Lynetta appeared and the two of them started fighting about whether Lynetta's makeup made her look like a wounded raccoon.

Lynetta. I swear she'll never learn.

I packed up my stuff and escaped to my room, which, of course, was a total waste. They've got a saw revving and wailing across the street, and in between cuts I can hear the whack, whack, whack! whack, whack, whack! of a hammer. I look out the window and there's Juli, spitting out nails and slamming them in place. No kidding. She's got nails lined up between her lips like steel cigarettes, and she's swinging that hammer full-arc, way above her head, driving nails into pickets like they're going into butter.

For a split second there, I saw my head as the recipient of her hammer, cracking open like Humpty Dumpty. I shuddered and dropped the curtain, ditched the homework, and headed for the TV.

They handymanned all week. And every night Granddad would come in with rosy cheeks and a huge appetite and compliment my mom on what a great cook she was. Then Saturday happened. And the last thing I wanted was to spend the day at home while my grandfather churned up dirt and helped plant Juli's yard. Mom tried to get me to do our own yard, but I would have felt ridiculous micromowing our grass with Granddad and Juli making real changes right across the street.

So I locked myself in my room and called Garrett. He wasn't home, and everybody else I called had stuff they had to do. And hitting up Mom or Dad for a ride to the movies or the mall was hopeless. They'd tell me I was supposed to be doing the yard.

What I was, was stuck.

And what I wound up doing was looking out the stupid window at Juli and my grandfather. It was a totally lame thing to do, but that's what I did.

I got nailed doing it, too. By my grandfather. And he, of course, had to point me out to Juli, which made me feel another two inches shorter. I dropped the curtain and blasted out the back door and over the fence. I had to get out of there.

I swear I walked ten miles that day. And I don't know who I was madder at — my grandfather, Juli, or me. What was wrong with me? If I wanted to make it up to Juli, why didn't I just go over there and help? What was stopping me?

I wound up at Garrett's house, and man, I'd never been so glad to see anyone in my life. Leave it to Garrett to get your mind off anything important. That dude's the master. We went out back and shot hoops,watched the tube, and talked about hitting the water slides this summer.

And when I got home, there was Juli, sprinkling the yard.

She saw me, all right, but she didn't wave or smile or anything. She just looked away.

Normally what I'd do in that situation is maybe pretend like I hadn't seen her, or give a quick wave and charge inside. But she'd been mad at me for what seemed like ages. She hadn't said word one to me since the morning of the eggs. She'd completely dissed me in math a couple days before when I'd smiled at her, trying to tell her I was sorry. She didn't smile back or nod or anything. She just turned away and never looked back.

I even waited for her outside the classroom to say something, anything, about her fixing up the yard and how bad I felt, but she ditched me out the other door, and after that anytime I got anywhere near her, she'd find some way to skate around me.

So there she was, watering the yard, making me feel like a jerk, and I'd had enough of it. I went up to her and said, "It's looking real good, Juli. Nice job."

"Thanks," she said without smiling. "Chet did most of it."

Chet? I thought. Chet? What was she doing, calling my grandfather by his first name? "Look, Juli," I said, trying to get on with why I was there. "I'm sorry for what I did."

She looked at me for a second, then went back to watching the water spray across the dirt. Finally she said, "I still don't get it, Bryce.Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I... I don't know. It was dumb. I should have. And I shouldn't have said anything about the yard, either. It was, you know, out of line."

I was already feeling better. A lot better. Then Juli says, "Well, maybe it's all for the better," and starts bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, acting more like her old self. "Doesn't it look great? I learned so much from Chet it's amazing. You are so lucky. I don't even have grandparents anymore."

"Oh," I said, not knowing what to say.

"I do feel sorry for him, though. He sure misses your grandmother." Then she laughs and shakes her head, saying, "Can you believe it? He says I remind him of her."

"What?"

"Yeah," she laughs again. "That's what I said. But he meant it in a nice way."

I looked at Juli and tried to picture my grandmother as an eighth grader. It was hopeless. I mean, Juli's got long, fluffy brown hair and a nose full of freckles, where my grandmother had always been some variety of blond. And my grandmother had used powder. Puffy white powder. She'd put it on her face and in her hair, in her slippers and on her chest... That woman powdered everything.

I could not see Juli coated in powder. Okay, maybe gun powder, but the white perfume stuff? Forget it.

I guess I was staring, because Juli says, "Look, I didn't say it, he did. I just thought it was nice, that's all."

"Yeah, whatever. Well, good luck with the grass. I'm sure it'll come up great." Then I totally surprised myself by saying, "Knowing you, you'll get 'em all to hatch." I didn't say it mean or anything, I really meant it. I laughed, and then she laughed, and that's how I left her — sprinkling her soon-to-be sod, smiling.

I hadn't been in such a good mood in weeks. The eggs were finally behind me. I was absolved. Relieved. Happy.

It took me a few minutes at the dinner table to realize that I was the only one who was. Lynetta had on her usual pout, so that wasn't it. But my father's idea of saying hello was to lay into me about the lawn.

"No sweat," I told him. "I'll do it tomorrow."

All that got me was a scowl.

Then Mom says to my granddad, "You tired tonight, Dad?"

I hadn't even noticed him sitting there like a stone.

"Yeah," my father tosses down the table at him. "That girl working you too hard?"

My grandfather straightens his fork on his napkin and says, "'That girl' is named Juli, and no, she isn't 'working me too hard,' as you so callously put it."

"Callous? Me?" My dad laughs and says, "Developed quite a soft spot for that girl, haven't you?"

Even Lynetta let her pout go for a minute. These were fighting words and everyone knew it. Mom nudged Dad with her foot, but that only made things worse. "No, Patsy! I want to know why your father has the energy and inclination to befriend a complete stranger when he's never done so much as toss a baseball around with his own grandson!"

Well, yeah! I thought. But then I remembered — I owed my grandfather. Owed him big-time. Without thinking, I said, "Take it easy, Dad. Juli just reminds him of Grandma."

Everyone clammed up and stared at me. So I looked at my grandfather and said, "Uh... isn't that right, Granddad?"

He nodded and rearranged his fork some more.

"Of Renée?" My father looked at my mother and then at Granddad. "She can't possibly!"

My granddad closed his eyes and said, "It's her spirit that reminds me of Renée."

"Her spirit," my father says. Like he's talking to a lying kindergartner.

"Yes, her spirit." My grandfather's quiet for a minute, then asks, "Do you know why the Bakers haven't fixed up the yard until now?"

"Why? Sure. They're trash, that's why. They've got a beat-up house, two beat-up cars, and a beat-up yard."

"They are not trash, Rick. They are good, honest, hardworking people —"

"Who have absolutely no pride in how they present themselves to the rest of the world. We've lived across the street from those people for over six years, and there is no excuse for the state they're in."

"No?" My grandfather takes a deep breath and seems to weigh things in his mind for a few seconds. Then he says, "Tell me this, Rick. If you had a brother or sister or child who had a severe mental or physical handicap, what would you do?"

It was like my granddad had passed gas in church. My father's face pinched, his head shook, and finally he said, "Chet, what does that have to do with anything?"

My grandfather looks at him for a minute, then quietly says, "Juli's father has a retarded brother, and —"

My father interrupts him with a laugh. "Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it!"

"Explains... a lot?" my grandfather asks. Quietly. Calmly.

"Sure! It explains why those people are the way they are ... !" He grins around the table at us. "Must run in the family."

Everyone looks at him. Lynetta's jaw drops, and for once she's speechless. My mother says, "Rick!" but all my father can do is laugh a nervous kind of laugh and say, "It was just a joke! I mean, obviously something's wrong with those people. Oh, excuse me, Chet. I forgot. The girl reminds you of Renée."

"Rick!" my mother says again, only this time she's mad.

"Oh, Patsy, please. Your father's being overly dramatic, trying to make me feel bad for criticizing our neighbors because there's a retarded relative someplace. Other people have family troubles and still manage to mow their lawn. They should have a little pride in ownership, for cryin' out loud!"

My grandfather's cheeks are seriously flushed, but his voice is rock-steady as he says, "They don't own that house, Rick. The landlord is supposed to maintain the premises, but he doesn't. And since Juli's father is responsible for his brother, all their reserves go to his care, and obviously it doesn't come cheap."

Very quietly my mom asks, "Don't they have government facilities for that kind of thing?"

"I don't know the details, Patsy. Maybe there are no government facilities nearby. Maybe they thought a private facility was a better place for him to be."

"Still," my dad says, "there are government facilities available, and if they don't want to go that route, that's their choice. It's not our fault their family had some sort of chromosomal abnormality, and I refuse to feel guilty for wanting —"

My grandfather slams his hand on the table and half-stands as he says, "It had nothing to do with chromosomes, Rick! It was caused by a lack of oxygen at birth." He brings his voice down, but it makes his words seem even more forceful. "Juli's uncle had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Twice. One minute he was a perfect little baby, just like your son, Bryce, and the next he was irreversibly damaged."

My mother was suddenly hysterical. In seconds she was bawling her eyes out, wailing, and my father was all over her, trying to calm her down. It was no use. She basically dissolved right there on the spot.

Lynetta threw her napkin down and muttered, "This family is a joke," and took off. Then my mother bolted out of the room, sobbing into her hands, and my father raced after her, throwing my grandfather the wickedest look I'd ever seen.

That left Granddad and me and a table full of cold food. "Wow," I finally said. "I had no idea."

"You still don't," he told me.

"What do you mean?"

He sat there like granite for a minute, then leaned across the table toward me and said, "Why do you suppose that upset your mother so much?"

"I... I don't know." I gave a halfhearted grin and said, "Because she's female?"

He smiled, but just barely. "No. She's upset because she knows that she could very well be standing in Mr. Baker's shoes right now."

I thought about it a minute and finally asked, "Did her brother have the cord around his neck when he was born?"

He shook his head.

"Well, then ..."

He leaned forward even farther and whispered, "You did."

"I did?"

He nodded. "Twice."

"But ..."

"The doctor who delivered you was on the ball, plus apparently there was some slack in the cord, so he was able to loop it off as you came out. You didn't hang yourself coming into the world, but it could very easily have gone the other way."

If I'd been told years or even weeks ago that I'd come down the chute noosed and ready to hang, I'd have made some kind of joke about it, or more likely I'd have said, Yeah, that's nice; now can you spare me the discussion?

But after everything that had happened, I was really freaking out, and I couldn't escape the questions tidal-waving my brain. Where would I be if things had been different? What would they have done with me? From the way my dad was talking, he wouldn't have had much use for me, that's for sure. He'd have stuck me in a nuthouse somewhere, any where, and forgotten about me. But then I thought, No! I'm his kid. He wouldn't do that ... would he?

I looked around at everything we had — the big house, the white carpet, the antiques and artwork and stuff that was everywhere. Would they have given up all the stuff to make my life more pleasant?

I doubted it, and man, I doubted it big-time. I'd have been an embarrassment. Something to try to forget about. How things looked had always been a biggie to my parents. Especially to my dad.

Very quietly my granddad said, "You can't dwell on what might have been, Bryce." Then, like he could read my mind, he added, "And it's not fair to condemn him for something he hasn't done."

I nodded and tried to get a grip, but I wasn't doing a very good job of it. Then he said, "By the way, I appreciated your comment before.""What?" I asked, but my throat was feeling all pinched and swollen.

"About your grandmother. How did you know that?"

I shook my head and said, "Juli told me."

"Oh? You spoke with her, then?"

"Yeah. Actually, I apologized to her."

"Well... !"

"And I was feeling a lot better about everything, but now ... God, I feel like such a jerk again."

"Don't. You apologized, and that's what matters." He stood up and said, "Say, I'm in the mood for a walk. Want to join me?"

Go for a walk? What I wanted to do was go to my room, lock the door, and be left alone.

"I find it really helps to clear the mind," he said, and that's when I realized that this wasn't just a walk — this was an invitation to do something together.

I stood up and said, "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

For a guy who'd only basically ever said 'Pass the salt to me', my granddad turned out to be a real talker. We walked our neighborhood and the next neighborhood and the next neighborhood, and not only did I find out that my granddad knows a lot of stuff, I found out that the guy is funny. In a subtle kind of dry way. It's the stuff he says, plus the way he says it. It'sreally, I don't know, cool.

As we were winding back into our own territory, we passed by the house that's going up where the sycamore tree used to be. My granddad stopped, looked up into the night, and said, "It must've been a spectacular view."

I looked up, too, and noticed for the first time that night that you could see the stars. "Did you ever see her up there?" I asked him.

"Your mother pointed her out to me one time as we drove by. It scared me to see her up so high, but after I read the article I understood why she did it." He shook his head. "The tree's gone, but she's still got the spark it gave her. Know what I mean?"

Luckily I didn't have to answer. He just grinned and said, "Some of us get dipped in flat, some in satin, some in gloss..." He turned to me. "But every once in a while you find someone who's iridescent, and when you do, nothing will ever compare."

As we walked up to our front porch, my grandfather put his arm around my shoulder and said, "It was nice walking with you, Bryce. I enjoyed myself very much."

"Me too," I told him, and we went inside.

Right away we knew we'd stepped into a war zone. And even though no one was yelling or crying, from the look on my parents' faces I could tell there'd been a major melt down while my granddad and I were out.

Granddad whispered to me, "I've got another fence to mend, I'm afraid," and headed into the dining room to talk to my parents.

I wanted nothing to do with that vibe. I went straight to my room,closed the door, and flopped through the darkness onto my bed.

I lay there a while and let the dinner disaster play through my mind. And when I'd totally burned a fuse thinking about it, I sat up and looked out the window. There was a light on somewhere inside the Bakers' house and the streetlights were glowing, but the night still seemed really dense. Like it was darker than usual and, I don't know, heavy.

I leaned closer to the window and looked up into the sky, but I couldn't see the stars anymore. I wondered if Juli had ever been in the sycamore at night. Among the stars.

I shook my head. Flat, glossy, iridescent. What was up with that? Juli Baker had always seemed just plain dusty to me.

I snapped on my desk lamp and dug the newspaper with the article about Juli out of the drawer where I'd tossed it.

Just like I thought — they made it sound like Juli was trying to save Mount Rushmore or something. They called her a "strong voice in an urban wilderness" and "a radiant beacon, shedding light on the need to curtail continued overdevelopment of our once quaint and tranquil community."

Spare me. I mean, what's wrong with letting a guy cut down a tree on his own property so he can build a house? His lot, his tree, his decision. End of story. The piece in the paper was gag-me gush.

Except. Except for the places where they quoted Juli. Maybe it was just in contrast to the reporter's slant or something, but Juli's parts didn't come off oh-woe-is-me like I was expecting. They were, I don't know, deep. Sitting in that tree was seriously philosophical to her.

And the odd thing is, it all made sense to me. She talked about what it felt like to be up in that tree, and how it, like, transcended dimensionals pace. "To be held above the earth and brushed by the wind," she said, "it's like your heart has been kissed by beauty." Who in junior high do you know that would put together a sentence like that? None of my friends, that's for sure.

There was other stuff, too, like how something can be so much more than the parts it took to make it, and why people need things around them that lift them above their lives and make them feel the miracle of living.

I wound up reading and re-reading her parts, wondering when in the world she started thinking like that. I mean, no kidding, Juli Baker's smart, but this was something way beyond straight A's.

A month ago if I'd read this article, I would have chucked it in the trash as complete garbage, but for some reason it made sense to me now. A lot of sense.

A month ago I also wouldn't have paid any attention to the picture of Juli, but now I found myself staring at it. Not the one of the whole scene — that was more emergency rescue equipment than Juli. The other one, on the bottom half of the page. Someone must've used a killer telephoto lens, because you can tell that she's in the tree, but it's mostly from the shoulders up. She's looking off into the distance and the wind is blowing her hair back like she's at the helm of a ship or something, sailing into the sun.

I'd spent so many years avoiding Juli Baker that I'd never really looked at her, and now all of a sudden I couldn't stop. This weird feeling started taking over the pit of my stomach, and I didn't like it. Not one bit. To tell you the truth, it scared the Sheetrock out of me.

I buried the paper under my pillow and tried to remind myself of what a pain Juli Baker was. But my mind started to wander again, and pretty soon I had that stupid paper out from under my pillow.

This was insane! What was I doing?

I made myself shut out the light and go to bed. I was slipping, man, and it was definitely time to get a grip.

Chapter 08

The Yard

JULIANNA

I'd never been embarrassed by where we lived before. I'd never looked at our house, or even our side of the street, and said, Oh! I wish we lived in the new development — those houses are so much newer, so much better! This is where I'd grown up. This was my home.

I was aware of the yard, sure. My mother had grumbled about it for years. But it was a low grumbling, not worthy of deep concern. Or so I'd supposed. But maybe I should have wondered. Why let the outside go and keep the inside so nice? It was spotless inside our house. Except for the boys' room, that is. Mom gave up on that after she discovered the snake. If they were old enough to adopt a snake, she told my brothers, they were old enough to clean their own room. Matt and Mike translated this to keep the door closed, and became quite diligent about doing just that.

Besides the yard, I also never really wondered about the money, or the apparent lack thereof. I knew we weren't rich, but I didn't feel like I was missing anything. Anything you could buy, anyway.

Matt and Mike did ask for things a lot, but even though my mother would tell them, No, boys, we just can't afford that, I took this to mean, No, boys, you don't deserve that, or, No, boys, you don't really need that. It wasn't until Bryce called our home a complete dive that I started really seeing things.

It wasn't just the yard. It was my dad's truck, my mother's car, the family bike that was more rust than steel, and the fact that when we did buy something new, it always seemed to come from a second-time-around store. Plus, we never went on vacation. Ever.

Why was that? My father was the hardest-working man in the world, and my mother worked for TempService doing secretarial jobs whenever she could. What was all that hard work about if this is where it got you?

Asking my parents whether we were poor seemed incredibly impolite. But as the days went by, I knew I had to ask. Just had to. Every day I'd ride home from school on our rusty bike, pull past the broken fence and patchy yard, and think, Tonight. I'll ask them tonight.

But then I wouldn't ask them. I just didn't know how.

Then one day I had an idea. A way to talk to them about it and maybe help out a little, too. And since my brothers were working at the music store that night, and nobody was saying much of anything at the table, I took a deep breath and said, "I was thinking, you know, that it wouldn't be hard to fix up the front yard if I could get some nails and a hammer and maybe some paint? And how much does grass seed cost?It can't be that much, right? I could plant a lawn, and maybe even some flowers?"

My parents stopped eating and stared at me.

"I know how to use a saw and a hammer — it could be, you know, a project."

My mother quit looking at me and stared at my father, instead.

My father sighed and said, "The yard is not our responsibility, Julianna."

"It's ... it's not?"

He shook his head and said, "It's Mr. Finnegan's."

"Who's Mr. Finnegan?"

"The man who owns this house."

I couldn't believe my ears. "What?"

My father cleared his throat and said, "The landlord."

"You mean we don't own this house?"

They looked at each other, having some private wordless conversation I couldn't decipher. Finally my father said, "I didn't realize you didn't know that."

"But ... but that doesn't make sense! Aren't landlords supposed to come and do things? Like fix the roof when it leaks and clear the drains when they're plugged? You always do that stuff, Dad. Why do you do it when he's supposed to?"

"Because," he sighed, "it's easier than asking him for help."

"But if —"

"And," my father interrupted me, "it keeps him from raising the rent."

"But ..."

My mother reached over and took my hand. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry if this is a shock. I guess we always thought you knew."

"But what about the yard? Why keep up the inside but not the outside?"

My father frowned and said, "When we signed the lease, he assured us he would fix the fences, front and back, and plant sod in the front yard. Obviously that never happened." He shook his head. "It's a major undertaking, and fencing is not cheap. I can't see putting that sort of investment into a property that's not ours. Plus, it's the principle of the thing."

"But we live here," I whispered, "and it looks so bad."

My father studied me. "Julianna, what happened?"

"Nothing, Daddy," I said, but he knew I was lying.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, "tell me."

I knew what he'd say if I told him, and yet I couldn't not tell him. Not with the way he was looking at me. So I took a deep breath and said, "The Loskis have been throwing my eggs away because they were afraid they'd have salmonella because our yard is such a mess."

My father said, "Oh, that's ridiculous," but my mother gasped, "What?" Then she cried, "Did Patsy say that?"

I looked down. "No, Bryce did."

"But it must've been a family discussion! A boy doesn't come up with that on his own ..." My mother looked for all the world like a doe waiting to be shot through the heart. She covered her face with her hands and said, "I can't go on like this! Robert, things have got to change. They've just got to!"

"Trina, you know I'm doing the best I can. I'm sorry about the yard, I'm sorry about the situation. This isn't the picture I had for my life, either, but sometimes you have to sacrifice for what's right."

My mother looked up from her hands and said, "This is not right for our family. Your daughter is suffering because we won't fix up our own yard."

"It's not our yard."

"How can you say that? Robert, wake up! We have lived here for twelve years. It's not temporary anymore! If we ever want to have a decent place with our own yard, if we're going to help the kids through college or do any of the other things we've promised each other, we're going to have to move him into government care."

My father let out a deep sigh and whispered, "We've discussed this so many times, Trina. In the end you always agree that keeping him at Greenhaven is the right thing to do."

I wanted to say, Wait! What are you talking about? Who are you talking about? But the conversation was flying so fast and furious that I couldn't seem to break in, and it wasn't long before they were bickering so badly that it was almost like I wasn't there.

Then in the back of my mind, it clicked. Everything clicked. It was my dad's brother they were talking about. My uncle. David.

To me Uncle David was only a name. Someone my parents had explained to me, but not someone I'd ever actually met. And even though I knew my dad visited him, I never knew exactly when. He never talked about it.

Dad also thought we shouldn't talk about Uncle David to others because David was retarded. "People jump to conclusions," he'd told me. "They assume that, by association, something must also be wrong with you. Trust me, I know."

So we didn't talk about it. Not at home, not with friends. It was almost like there was no Uncle David.

Until now. Now he felt larger than life, and I could tell from their argument that he was the reason we didn't have our own house; he was the reason we didn't have nice cars or fancy things. He was the reason there always seemed to be a cloud of weariness hanging over my parents.

Why did I have to bring up the yard in the first place? I'd never seen my parents fight like this. Ever. I wanted to grab them and say, Stop it! Stop it! You love each other! You do! But I just sat there with tears streaming down my face.

My mother stopped suddenly and whispered, "We should not be doing this in front of her!"

"I'm sorry, Julianna," my dad said, then reached over and held my forearm. "Don't cry. None of this is your fault. We'll work it out, I promise we will."

My mother tried to laugh through her tears, saying, "We always have, and we always will."

That night my parents came into my room and talked to me, one at a time. My father talked about his brother and how much he loved him and how he'd promised his parents he'd always take care of him. My mother talked about how much she loved my father for his strength and kind heart, about dreams and reality, and the need to count your blessings. And she made me cry all over again when she kissed me goodnight and whispered that of all her many blessings, I was her best and brightest.

I felt sorry for my father. I felt sorry for my mother. But most of all I felt lucky for me that they were mine.

And in the morning, as I rode my rusty bike out the driveway to school, I promised myself that when I got home, I'd tackle the yard. Rented or not, this was our home, and I was going to help make living here better.

As it turns out, this was easier thought than done. First it took me half an hour of rummaging through the garage to find a hammer and a box of nails, a saw, and some pruners. Then it took another half hour of standing around to figure out just where to start. The actual yard was just clumps of weeds, but what about the bordering shrubs? Should I dig them up, or prune them way back? Were they shrubs, or just overgrown weeds? And what about the fence? Should I knock it down,or rebuild it? Maybe I should take out the front end entirely and use the wood to fix up the sides.

The longer I looked around, the more I felt like forgetting the whole thing. Why bother? It wasn't our property. Mr. Finnegan should be the one making repairs.

But then I remembered my mother's words from the night before. Surely, I thought, a few bushes and some dilapidated wood couldn't stop someone's best and brightest blessing! Surely not!

And with that, I picked up the clippers and got to work.

Half an hour later I was keeper of the knowledge that one bush equals many branches, and that the volume of a bush increases exponentially as it's cut and tossed into the middle of a yard. It was ridiculous! Where was I going to put all this stuff?

Mom came home and tried to talk me out of my mission, but I'd have none of it. Oh, no-no-no! I'd already pruned two bushes down to a respectable size, and before long she'd see — the place was going to look just dandy.

"You didn't get that stubborn streak from me," she said, but came back outside with a glass of juice and a kiss for my cheek. Good enough for me!

By the end of that first day, what I'd made was a big mess. But if chaos is a necessary step in the organization of one's universe, then I was well on my way. At least that's what I tried to tell myself when I flopped into bed that night, dead tired.

And the next afternoon I was busily expanding the chaos of my little universe when I heard a deep voice say, "That's quite an undertaking, young lady."

The man standing on our sidewalk was Bryce's grandfather, I knew that much. But I'd only ever seen him outside one time. All the other times I'd seen him had been through windows — either one in their sitting room or one in their car. To me he was just a dark-haired man behind glass. Having him appear on my sidewalk was like having someone from TV step through the screen and talk to you.

"I know we've seen each other from time to time," he was saying. "I'm sorry it's taken me over a year to come introduce myself. I'm Chester Duncan, Bryce's grandfather. And you, of course, are Julianna Baker."

He stuck out his hand, so I took off my work glove and watched my hand completely disappear inside his as we shook. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Duncan," I said, thinking that this man was way bigger than he looked from the sitting-room window.

Then the strangest thing happened. He pulled his own work gloves and a pair of clippers from a back pocket and said, "Are you pruning all of these to the same height?"

"Oh," I said. "Well, yes. That is what I was thinking. Although now I don't know. Do you think it would look better to just take them out?"

He shook his head and said, "They're Australian tea shrubs. They'll prune up nicely." And with that, he put on his gloves and started clipping.

At first I didn't know what to say to this man. It was very strange to be getting his help, but from the way he was acting, it was as though I shouldn't have thought a thing of it. Clip-clip-clip, he went, like this was something he really enjoyed doing.

Then I remembered what Bryce had said about our yard, and suddenly I knew why he was there.

"What's the matter?" he asked, throwing his clippings into my pile. "Did I cut it down too far?"

"N-no."

"Then why the look?" he asked. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just thought you might like a little help."

"Well, I don't. I can do this by myself."

He laughed and said, "Oh, I have no doubt about that," then got back to clipping. "You see, Julianna, I read about you in the paper, and I've lived across the street from you for over a year now. It's easy to see that you're a very competent person."

We both worked quietly for a minute, but I found myself throwing the clippings into the pile harder and harder. And before long I couldn't stand it. I just couldn't stand it! I spun on him and said, "You're here because you feel bad about the eggs, aren't you? Well, our eggs are perfectly fine! We've been eating them for nearly three years and none of us have gotten poisoned. Mrs. Stueby and Mrs. Helms seem in good health to me, too, and the fact of the matter is, if you didn't want them,you should've just told me so!"

His hands fell to his sides and he shook his head as he said, "Eggs? Poisoned? Julianna, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Inside I was so angry and hurt and embarrassed that I didn't even feel like me. "I'm talking about the eggs that I've been bringing over to your house for more than two years — eggs that my chickens laid that I could've sold! Eggs that your family has been throwing away!" I was shouting at him. Shouting at an adult, like I'd never shouted at anyone in my entire life.

His voice got very quiet. "I'm sorry. I don't know about any eggs. Who did you give them to?"

"Bryce!" My throat choked closed as I said his name again. "Bryce."

Mr. Duncan nodded slowly and said, "Well," then went back to pruning his bush. "That probably explains it."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed. "The boy still has a ways to go."

I just stared at him, not trusting myself with the words sizzling on my tongue.

"Oh, he's a very handsome boy, there's no denying that," he said with a frown. Then he snapped a branch and added, "The spitting image of his father."

I shook my head. "Why are you over here, Mr. Duncan? If you don't think I need the help and you're not feeling bad about the eggs,then why would you do this?"

"Honestly?"

I just looked at him, straight in the eye.

He nodded, then said, "Because you remind me of my wife."

"Your wife?"

"That's right." He gave me a little smile and said, "Renée would've sat up in that tree with you. She would've sat there all night."

And with those two sentences, my anger vanished. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

"She's ... she died?"

He nodded. "And I miss her terribly." He tossed a branch into the heap and chuckled. "There's nothing like a head-strong woman to make you happy to be alive."

The last thing in the world I expected was to become friends with Bryce's grandfather. But by dinnertime I knew so much about him and his wife and the adventures they'd had together that it seemed like I'd known him for a very long time. Plus, all his stories made the work seem easy. When I went in for the night, the bushes were all pruned back, and except for the enormous heap in the center of the yard, things were already looking a whole lot better.

The next day he was back. And when I smiled and said, "Hi, Mr. Duncan," he smiled back and said, "Call me Chet, won't you?" He looked at the hammer in my hand and said, "I take it we're starting on the fence today?"

Chet taught me how to plumb a line for the pickets, how to hold a hammer down on the end of the handle instead of choking up on it, how to calculate an adjusted spacing for the pickets, and how to use a level to get the wood exactly vertical. We worked on the fence for days, and the whole time we worked we talked. It wasn't just about his wife, either. He wanted to know about the sycamore tree and seemed to understand exactly what I meant when I told about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. "It's that way with people, too," he said, "only with people it's sometimes that the whole is less than the sum of the parts."

I thought that was pretty interesting. And the next day during school I looked around at the people I'd known since elementary school, trying to figure out if they were more or less than the sum of their parts. Chet was right. A lot of them were less.

Top of the list, of course, was Shelly Stalls. To look at her, you'd think she had everything, but there's not much solid underneath her Mount Everest hair. And even though she's like a black hole at sucking people in, it doesn't take them long to figure out that being friends with her requires fanning the flames of a wildfire ego.

But of all my classmates, the one person I couldn't seem to place was Bryce. Until recently I'd have said with absolute certainty that he was greater — far greater — than the sum of his parts. What he did to my heart was sheer, inexplicable magic.

But inexplicable was the operative word here. And as I looked across the room at him during math, I couldn't help feeling crushed all over again about how he'd thrown out my eggs. What kind of person would do that?

Then he looked my way and smiled, and my heart lurched. But I was mad at myself for it. How could I still feel this way after what he'd done?

I avoided him the rest of the day, but by the end of school there was a tornado inside me, tearing me up from one end to the other. I jumped on my bike and rode home faster than I ever had before. The right pedal clanked against the chain guard, and the whole bike rattled and squeaked, threatening to collapse into a pile of rusty parts.

The tornado, however, was still going strong when I skidded to a halt in our driveway. So I transferred pedal power into painting power. I pried open the gallon of Navajo White my dad had bought me and started slopping paint around.

Chet appeared about ten minutes later. "My," he laughed, "you've got an enviable amount of energy today, don't you?"

"No," I said, brushing back some hair with the back of my hand, "I'm just mad."

He produced his own brush and an empty coffee can. "Uhoh. Who at?"

"Myself!"

"Oh, that's a tough one. Did you do poorly on a test?"

"No! I ..." I turned to him and said, "How did you fall in love with your wife?"

He poured some Navajo White into his can and smiled. "Ah," he said. "Boy problems."

"I do not have boy problems!"

He hesitated but didn't argue. Instead, he said, "I fell in love with her by mistake."

"By mistake? What do you mean?"

"I didn't intend to. At the time I was engaged to somebody else, and in no position to fall in love. Fortunately for me I saw how blind I'd been before it was too late."

"Blind?"

"Yes. My fiancée was very beautiful. She had the most magnificent brown eyes, and skin like an angel. And for a time all I could see was her beauty. But then ... well, let's just say I discovered she wasn't a fraction of the person Renée was." He dipped his brush in the coffee can and stroked a picket with paint. "It's easy to look back and see it, and it's easy to give the advice, but the sad fact is, most people don't look beneath the surface until it's too late."

We were quiet a minute, but I could see Chet thinking. And from the furrow in his brow, I knew it had nothing to do with my problems. "I'm ... I'm sorry I brought up your wife," I said.

"Oh, don't be, that's all right." He shook his head and tried on a smile. "Besides, I wasn't thinking of Renée. I was thinking of someone else. Someone who's never been able to look beneath the surface. At this point I don't suppose I even want her to."

Who was he talking about? I wanted to know! But I felt it would be crossing some line to ask, so we painted pickets in silence. At last he turned to me and said, "Get beyond his eyes and his smile and the sheen of his hair — look at what's really there."

The way he said it sent a chill through me. It was as though he knew. And suddenly I felt defensive. Was he telling me his grandson wasn't worth it?

When it was time to go in for dinner, I still didn't feel right, but at least the tornado was gone. Mom said Dad was working late, and since the boys were off with their friends, it was just the two of us. She told me that she and Dad had talked about it and that they both felt a little strange having Chet come over like he was. Maybe, she said, they should find a way to pay him for his help.

I told her I thought Chet would find that insulting, but the next day she went ahead and insulted him anyway. Chet said, "No, Mrs. Baker. It's been my pleasure to help out your daughter on this project," and wouldn't hear another word about it.

The week ended with my dad loading the back of his truck with all the clippings and scraps before he set off for work on Saturday morning. Then Chet and I spent the rest of the day hoeing up weeds and raking and readying the dirt for seeding.

It was on this last day that Chet asked, "Your family's not moving, are you?"

"Moving? Why do you say that?"

"Oh, my daughter brought up the possibility at the dinner table last night. She thought that maybe you're fixing up the house because you're getting ready to sell it."

Even though Chet and I had talked about a lot of things while we were working, I probably wouldn't have told him about Mr. Finnegan or Uncle David or why the yard was such a mess if he hadn't asked me about moving. But since he had, well, I wound up telling him everything. And it felt good to talk about it. Especially about Uncle David. It felt like blowing a dandelion into the wind and watching all the little seeds float off, up and away. I was proud of my parents, and looking around the front yard, I was proud of me, too. Just wait until I got my hands on the backyard! Then maybe I'd even paint the house. I could do it. I could.

Chet was pretty quiet after I told him the story, and when Mom brought us out sandwiches at lunchtime, we sat on the porch and ate without saying a word. Then he broke the silence by nodding across the street and saying, "I don't know why he doesn't just come out and say hello."

"Who?" I asked, then looked across the street to where he'd nodded. The curtain in Bryce's room moved quickly back into place, and I couldn't help asking, "Bryce?"

"That's the third time I've seen him watching."

"Really?" My heart was fluttering about like a baby bird trying to fly.

He frowned and said, "Let's finish up and get that seed sown, shall we? You'll want the warmth of the day to help with the germination."

I was happy to finally be planting the yard, but I couldn't help being distracted by Bryce's window. Was he watching? During the rest of the afternoon, I checked more often than I'd like to admit. And I'm afraid Chet noticed, too, because when we were all done and we'd congratulated each other on what was sure to be a fine-looking yard, he said, "He may be acting like a coward now, but I do hold out hope for the boy."

A coward? What on earth could I say to that? I just stood there with the hose in one hand and the spigot valve beneath the other.

And with that, Chet waved so long and walked across the street.

A few minutes later I saw Bryce coming down the sidewalk toward his house. I did a double take. All this time I'd thought he was inside the house watching, and he was really outside walking around? I was embarrassed all over again.

I turned my back on him and concentrated on watering the yard. What a fool I was! What a complete idiot! And I had just built up a nice head of angry steam when I heard, "It's looking good, Juli. Nice job."

It was Bryce, standing right there on our driveway. And suddenly I wasn't mad at me anymore. I was mad at him. How could he stand there like my supervisor and tell me, Nice job? He had no business saying anything after what he'd done.

I was about to hose him down when he said, "I'm sorry for what I did, Juli. It was, you know... wrong."

I looked at him — into those brilliant blue eyes. And I tried to do what Chet had said — I tried to look past them. What was behind them? What was he thinking? Was he really sorry? Or was he just feeling bad about the things he'd said?

It was like looking into the sun, though, and I had to turn away.

I couldn't tell you what we talked about after that, except that he was nice to me and he made me laugh. And after he left, I shut off the water and went inside feeling very, very strange.

The rest of the evening I bounced back and forth between upset and uneasy. The worst part being, I couldn't really put my finger on what exactly I was upset or uneasy about. Of course it was Bryce, but why wasn't I just mad? He'd been such a ... scoundrel. Or happy? Why wasn't I just happy? He'd come over to our house. He'd stood on our driveway. He'd said nice things. We'd laughed.

But I wasn't mad or happy. And as I lay in bed trying to read, I realized that upset had been overshadowed by uneasy. I felt as though someone was watching me. I got so spooked I even got up and checked out the window and in the closet and under the bed, but still the feeling didn't go away.

It took me until nearly midnight to understand what it was.

It was me. Watching me.

Chapter 09

Looming Large and Smelly

BRYCE

Sunday I woke up feeling like I'd been sick with the flu. Like I'd had one of those bad, convoluted, unexplainable fever dreams.

And what I've figured out about bad, convoluted, unexplainable dreams of any kind is that you've just got to shake them off. Try to forget that they ever happened.

I shook it off, all right, and got out of bed early 'cause I had eaten almost nothing the night before and I was starving! But as I was trucking into the kitchen, I glanced into the family room and noticed that my dad was sacked out on the couch.

This was not good. This was a sign of battles still in progress, and it made me feel like an invader in my own territory.

He rolled over and kind of groaned, then curled up tighter under his skinny little quilt and muttered some pretty unfriendly-sounding stuff into his pillow.

I beat it into the kitchen and poured myself a killer bowl of corn flakes. And I was about to drown it in milk when my mother comes waltzing in and snags it away from me. "You are going to wait, young man," she says. "This family is going to have Sunday breakfast together."

"But I'm starving!"

"So are the rest of us. Now go! I'm making pancakes, and you're taking a shower. Go!"

Like a shower's going to prevent imminent starvation.

But I headed down to the bathroom, and on my way I noticed that the family room was empty. The quilt was folded and back on the armrest, the pillow was gone... it was like I'd imagined the whole thing.

At breakfast my father didn't look like he'd spent the night on the couch. No bags under his eyes, no whiskers on his chin. He was decked out in tennis shorts and a lavender polo shirt, and his hair was all blown dry like it was a workday. Personally I thought the shirt looked kind of girly, but my mom said, "You look very nice this morning, Rick."

My father just eyed her suspiciously.

Then my grandfather came in, saying, "Patsy, the house smells wonderful! Good morning, Rick. Hi there, Bryce," and winked at me as he sat down and put his napkin in his lap.

"Lyn-et-ta!" my mother sang out. "Break-fast!"

My sister appeared in a triple-X miniskirt and platform shoes, with eyes that were definitely of the raccoon variety. My mother gasped, but then took a deep breath and said, "Good morning, honey. You're... you're... I thought you were going to church this morning with your friends."

"I am." Lynetta scowled and sat down.

Mom brought pancakes, fried eggs, and hash browns to the table. My father just sat there stiff as a board for a minute, but finally he shook out his napkin and tucked it into his collar.

"Well," my mother said as she sat down, "I have come up with a solution to our situation."

"Here it comes ..." my father muttered, but my mother gave him a glare that shut him down cold.

"The solution is ..." my mom said as she served herself some pancakes, "... we're going to invite the Bakers over for dinner."

My father blurts out, "What?"; Lynetta asks, "All of them?"; I put in, "Are you serious?"; but my grandfather heaps on another fried egg and says, "That, Patsy, is a marvelous idea."

"Thanks, Dad," she says with a smile, then tells Lynetta and me, "Of course I'm serious, and yes, if Juli and the boys want to come, they'll be invited."

My sister starts cracking up. "Do you know what you're saying?"

Mom smooths the napkin into her lap. "Maybe it's about time I found out."

Lynetta turns to me and says, "She's inviting the core of Piss Poor over for dinner — oh, this is something I really woke up expecting!"

My father shakes his head and says, "Patsy, what purpose does this serve? So I made some stupid cracks last night. Is this the next phase in my punishment?"

"It is something we should have done years ago."

"Patsy, please. I know you feel bad about what you found out, but an awkward dinner party isn't going to change anything!"

My mother ran syrup all over her pancakes, popped the top closed, licked her finger, then locked eyes with my dad. "We are having the Bakers over for dinner."

And that, she didn't have to tell him, was that.

Dad took a deep breath, then sighed and said, "Whatever you want, Patsy. Just don't say I didn't warn you." He took a bite of hash browns and mumbled, "A barbecue, I suppose?"

"No, Rick. A sit-down dinner. Like we have when your clients come over."

He stopped chewing. "You're expecting them to dress up?"

Mom glared at him. "What I'm expecting is for you to behave like the gentleman I always thought you were."

Dad went back to his potatoes. Definitely safer than arguing with Mom.

Lynetta wound up eating the entire white of a fried egg and almost a whole pancake besides. Plain, of course, but from the way she was glutting and giggling as she ate, it was obvious that at least she was in a good mood.

Granddad ate plenty, even for him, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He was back to looking more granite than human. Me, I'd started tuning in to the fact that this dinner could be more than awkward — it could be trouble. Those rotten eggs were back from the grave, looming large and smelly right over my head.

Sure, Granddad knew, but no one else in my family did. What if it came up at dinner? I'd be dead, fried, cluck-faced meat.

Later, as I was brushing my teeth, I considered bribing Juli. Getting her on board so that nobody brought up the subject of eggs. Or maybe I could sabotage the dinner somehow. Make it not happen. Yeah, I could — I stopped myself and looked in the mirror. What kind of wimp was I, anyway? I spit and headed back to find my mom.

"What is it, honey?" she asked me as she wiped off the griddle. "You look worried."

I double-checked to make sure my dad or Lynetta wasn't lurking around somewhere, then whispered, "Will you swear to secrecy?"

She laughed. "I don't know about that."

I just waited.

"What can be ... ," she said, then looked at me and stopped cleaning. "Oh, it is serious. Honey, what's wrong?"

It had been ages since I'd voluntarily fessed up about something to my mom. It just didn't seem necessary anymore; I'd learned to deal with things on my own. At least, that's what I'd thought. Until now.

She touched my arm and said, "Bryce, tell me. What is it?"

I hopped up to sit on the counter, then took a deep breath and said, "It's about Juli's eggs."

"About her ... eggs?"

"Yeah. Remember that whole chicken-hen-salmonella disaster?"

"That was quite a while ago, but sure..."

"Well, what you don't know is that Juli didn't bring eggs over just that once. She's been bringing them over every week... or about that, anyway."

"She has? Why didn't I know about this?"

"Well, I was afraid Dad would get mad at me for not telling her we didn't want them, so I started intercepting them. I'd see her coming, get to her before she rang the bell, and then I'd toss them in the trash before anyone knew she'd been here."

"Oh, Bryce!"

"Well, I kept thinking they'd stop! How long can a stupid chicken lay eggs?"

"But I take it they have stopped?"

"Yeah. As of last week. Because Juli caught me chucking a carton in the trash outside."

"Oh, dear."

"Exactly."

"So what did you tell her?"

I looked down and mumbled, "I told her that we were afraid of salmonella poisoning because their yard was such a mess. She ran off crying, and the next thing I know, she's starting to fix up their yard."

"Oh, Bryce!"

"Exactly."

She was dead quiet for a minute; then very softly she said, "Thank you for your honesty, Bryce. It does help to explain a lot." She shook her head and said, "What that family must think of us,"and got back to cleaning the griddle. "All the more reason to have them over for dinner, if you ask me."

I whispered, "You're sworn to secrecy on this whole egg thing, right? I mean, Juli told Granddad, so he knows, but I don't want this to spread to, you know, Dad."

She studied me a minute, then said, "Tell me you've learned your lesson, honey."

"I have, Mom."

"Okay, then."

I let out a big sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Oh, and Bryce?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm very glad you told me about it." She kissed me on the cheek, then smiled and said, "Now, didn't I hear you promise you'd mow the lawn today?"

"Right," I said, and headed outside to trim the turf.

That evening my mother announced that the Bakers would be over Friday night at six o'clock; that the menu included poached salmon, crab risotto, and fresh steamed vegetables; and that none of us had better weasel out of being there. My dad muttered that if we were really going to do this, it would be a whole lot better to barbecue because at least that way he'd have something to do, but my mom positively smoked him with her eyes and he dropped it.

So. They were coming. And it made seeing Juli at school even more uncomfortable than usual. Not because she gushed about it or even waved and winked or something. No, she was back to avoiding me. She'd say hi if we happened to run into each other, but instead of being, like, right over my shoulder anytime I looked, she was nowhere. She must have ducked out back doors and taken round about ways through campus. She was, I don't know, scarce.

I found myself looking at her in class. The teacher'd be talking and all eyes would be up front ... except mine. They kept wandering over to Juli. It was weird. One minute I'd be listening to the teacher, and the next I'd be completely tuned out, looking at Juli.

It wasn't until Wednesday in math that I figured it out. With the way her hair fell back over her shoulders and her head was tilted, she looked like the picture in the paper. Not just like it — the angle was different, and the wind wasn't blowing through her hair — but she did look like the picture. A lot like the picture.

Making that connection sent a chill down my spine. And I wondered — what was she thinking? Could she really be that interested in root derivations?

Darla Tressler caught me watching, and man, she gave me the world's wickedest smile. If I didn't do something fast, this was going to spread like wildfire, so I squinted at her and whispered, "There's a bee in her hair, stupid," then pointed around in the air like, There it goes, see?

Darla's neck whipped around searching for the bee, and I straightened out my focus for the rest of the day. The last thing I needed was to be scorched by the likes of Darla Tressler.

That night I was doing my homework, and just to prove to myself that I'd been wrong, I pulled that newspaper article out of my trash can. And as I'm flipping it over, I'm telling myself, It's a distortion of reality; it's my imagination; she doesn't really look like that...

But there she was. The girl in my math class, two rows over and one seat up, glowing through newsprint.

Lynetta barged in. "I need your sharpener,"she said.

I slammed my binder closed over the paper and said, "You're supposed to knock!" And then, since she was zooming in and the paper was still sticking out, I crammed the binder into my backpack as fast as I could.

"What are you trying to hide there, baby brother?"

"Nothing, and stop calling me that! And don't barge into my room anymore!"

"Give me your sharpener and I'm history," she said with her hand out.

I dug it out of my drawer and tossed it at her, and sure enough, she disappeared.

But two seconds later my mom was calling for me, and after that, well, I forgot that the paper was in my binder.

Until first period the next morning, that is. Man! What was I supposed to do with it? I couldn't get up and throw it out; Garrett was right there. Besides that, Darla Tressler's in that class, and I could tell —she was keeping an eye out for wayward bees. If she caught wind of this, I'd be the one stung.

Then Garrett reaches over to snag a piece of paper like he does about fourteen times a day, only I have a complete mental spaz and slam down on his hand with mine.

"Dude!" he says. "What's your problem?"

"Sorry," I say, tuning in to the fact that he was only going for lined paper, not newspaper.

"Dude," he says again. "You know you've been really spaced lately? Anyone else tell you that?" He rips a piece of paper out of my binder, then notices the edges of the newspaper. He eyes me, and before I can stop him, he whips it out.

I pounce on him and tear it out of his hands, but it's too late. He's seen her picture.

Before he can say a word, I get in his face and say, "You shut up, you hear me? This is not what you think."

"Whoa, kick back, will ya? I wasn't thinking anything..." But I could see the little gears go click-click-click in his brain. Then he smirks at me and says, "I'm sure you've got a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you're carrying a picture of Juli Baker around with you."

The way he said it scared me. Like he was playing with the idea of roasting me in front of the whole class. I leaned over and said, "Zip it,would you?"

The teacher hammered on us to be quiet, but it didn't stop Garrett from smirking at me or doing the double-eyebrow wiggle in the direction of my binder. After class Darla tried to act all cool and preoccupied, but she had her radar up and pointed our way. She shadowed me practically all day, so there was no real window of opportunity to explain things to Garrett.

What was I going to tell him, anyway? That the paper was in my binder because I was trying to hide it from my sister? That would help.

Besides, I didn't want to make up some lame lie about it. I actually wanted to talk to Garrett. I mean, he was my friend, and a lot had happened in the last couple of months that was weighing on me. I thought that if I talked to him, maybe he'd help get me back on track. Help me to stop thinking about everything. Garrett was real reliable in that arena.

Luckily, in social studies our class got library time to do research for our famous historical figure report. Darla and Juli were both in that class, but I managed to drag Garrett into a back corner of the library without either of them noticing. And the minute we were by ourselves, I found myself laying into Garrett about chickens.

He shakes his head at me and says, "Dude! What are you talking about?"

"Remember when we went and looked over her fence?"

"Back in the sixth grade?"

"Yeah. Remember how you were down on me for wondering what a hen was?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not this again..."

"Man, you didn't know jack-diddly-squat about chickens. I put my life in your hands and you dumped me in a bucket of bull."

So I told him about my dad and the eggs and salmonella and how I'd been intercepting eggs for nearly two years.

He just shrugged and said, "Makes sense to me."

"Man, she caught me!"

"Who?"

"Juli!"

"Whoa, Dude!"

I told him about what I'd said, and how almost right after that she was out playing weed warrior in her front yard.

"Well, so? It's not your fault her yard's a mess."

"But then I found out that they don't even own that house. They're all poor because her dad's got a retarded brother that they're, you know, paying for."

Garrett gives me a real chumpy grin and says, "A retard? Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?"

I couldn't believe my ears. "What?"

"You know," he says, still grinning, "about Juli."

My heart started pounding and my hands clenched up. And for the first time since I'd learned to dive away from trouble, I wanted to deck somebody.

But we were in the library. And besides, it flashed through my mind that if I decked him for what he'd said, he'd turn around and tell everyone that I was hot for Juli Baker, and I was not hot for Juli Baker!

So I made myself laugh and say, "Oh, right," and then came up with an excuse to put some distance between him and me.

After school Garrett asked me to come to his house and hang for a while, but I had zero interest in that. I still wanted to slug him.

I tried to talk myself down from feeling that way, but in my gut I was flaming mad at the guy. He'd crossed the line, man. He'd crossed it big-time.

And what made the whole thing so stinking hard to ignore was the fact that standing right next to him, on the other side of the line, was my father.

Chapter 10

The Visit

JULIANNA

Sunday mornings are peaceful in our house. My father lets himself sleep in. My mother lets herself not fix breakfast. And if my brothers have been out late playing with their band, you won't even know they're around until noon.

Usually I tiptoe out to collect eggs while everyone else is asleep, then spirit a bowl of Cheerios back to my room to have breakfast in bed and read.

But that Sunday — after spending most of the night feeling upset or uneasy — I woke up wanting to do something physical. To shake off the confused way I was still feeling.

What I really needed was a good climb in my sycamore tree, but I settled for watering the lawn while I tried to think of other things. I cranked open the spigot and admired how rich and black the dirt looked as I sprinkled back and forth across the soil. And I was busy talking to my buried seedlings, coaxing them to spring up and greet the rising sun, when my father came outside. His hair was damp from a shower,and he had a grocery sack rolled closed in his hand. "Dad! I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't, sweetheart. I've been up for a while."

"You're not going to work, are you?"

"No, I ..." He studied me for a moment, then said, "I'm going to visit David."

"Uncle David?"

He walked toward his truck, saying, "That's right. I ... I should be back around noon."

"But Dad, why today? It's Sunday."

"I know, sweetheart, but it's a special Sunday."

I turned off the spigot. "Why's that?"

"It's his fortieth birthday. I want to see him and deliver a gift," he said as he held up the paper bag. "Don't worry. I'll rustle us up some pancakes for lunch, all right?"

"I'm coming with you," I said, and tossed the hose aside. I wasn't even really dressed — I'd just pulled on some sweats and sneakers, no socks — but in my mind there was no doubt. I was going.

"Why don't you stay home and enjoy the morning with your mother? I'm sure she would —"

I went over to the passenger side of his truck and said, "I'm coming," then climbed inside and slammed the door back in place.

"But —" he said through the driver's door.

"I'm coming, Dad."

He studied me a moment, then said, "Okay,"and put the bag on the bench seat. "Let me leave a note for your mother."

While he was inside, I strapped on the lap belt and told myself that this was good. This was something I should've done years ago. Uncle David was part of the family, part of my father, part of me. It was about time I got to know him.

I studied the paper sack sitting next to me. What was my father bringing his brother for his fortieth birthday?

I picked it up. It wasn't a painting — it was much too light for that. Plus, it made a strange, muted rattling noise when I shook it.

I was just unrolling the top to peek inside when my father came back through the front door. I dropped the sack and straightened up, and when he slid behind the wheel, I said, "It's okay with you, isn't it?"

He just looked at me, his hand on the key in the ignition.

"I ... I'm not ruining your day with him or anything, am I?"

He cranked the motor and said, "No, sweetheart. I'm glad you're coming."

We didn't say much to each other on the drive over to Greenhaven. He seemed to want to look at the scenery and I, well, I had a lot of questions, but none I wanted to ask. It was nice, though, riding with my father. It was like the silence connected us in a way that explanations never could.

When we arrived at Greenhaven, my father parked the truck, but we didn't get out right away. "It takes some getting used to, Julianna,but it does grow on you. They grow on you. They're all good people."

I nodded, but felt oddly afraid.

"Come on, then," he said, taking the sack from the seat. "Let's go inside."

Greenhaven didn't look like any kind of hospital to me, but it didn't look quite like a house, either. It was too long and rectangular for that. The walkway had a faded green awning that covered it, and flower beds alongside with freshly planted pansies that looked muddied and slightly askew. The grass was patchy, with three deep holes dug near the building.

"The residents tend the grounds," my father said. "It's part of their occupational training program, and it's therapeutic. Those holes are the future homes of Peach, Plum, and Pear."

"Fruit trees?"

"Yes. The vote caused quite a commotion."

"Among the ... residents?"

"That's right." He swung open one of the glass double doors and said, "Come on in."

It was cool inside. And it smelled of pine cleaner and bleach, with something vaguely pungent underneath.

There wasn't a reception desk or waiting area, just a large intersection with white walls and narrow wooden benches. To the left was a big room with a television and several rows of plastic chairs, to the right were open office doors, and beside us were two pine armoires.One was open, with half a dozen gray sweaters hung neatly in a row.

"Good morning, Robert!" a woman called through one of the office doors.

"Good morning, Josie," my father replied.

She came out to meet us, saying, "David's up and about. Has been since around six. Mabel tells me it's his birthday today."

"Mabel is right again." He turned to me and smiled. "Josie, it's my pleasure to introduce my daughter, Julianna. Julianna, meet Josie Gruenmakker."

"Well now, isn't this nice," Josie said, clasping my hand. "I recognize you from David's photo album. You're gettin' ready to graduate into high school, isn't that right?"

I blinked at her, then looked at my dad. I'd never really thought of it that way, but I could see that he had. "Yes, I ... I suppose I am."

"Josie's the site administrator."

"And," Josie added with a laugh, "I'm not graduatin' to nowhere! Been here seventeen years, and I'm staying put." The phone rang and she hurried off, saying, "Gotta get that. I'll meet up with you in a bit. Check the rec room, then his room. You'll find him."

My dad led me around a corner, and as we proceeded down a hallway, the underlying pungent part of the smell got stronger. Like the place had had years of Mystery Pissers, with no one quite neutralizing what had been tagged.

Down the hall was a small person hunched in a wheel-chair. At first I thought it was a child, but as we approached, I could see it was a woman. She had almost no hair, and as she gave my dad a toothless smile, she grabbed his hand and spoke.

My heart bottomed out. The sounds she made were choked and lost on her tongue. Nothing she said was intelligible, yet she looked at my father with such intensity — like of course he understood what she was saying.

To my complete surprise, he said, "You're absolutely right, Mabel. It is today. Which is why I'm here." He held up the grocery sack and whispered, "I've brought him a little gift."

"Gwa-aaal," she said.

"How'd you know?"

She gurgled at him until he patted her hand and said, "I'm much too predictable, I'm afraid. But he enjoys them, and..." He noticed her gaze shift in my direction.

"Hoo haa," she said.

"This is my daughter, Julianna. Julianna, I'd like you to meet the extraordinary Miss Mabel. She can remember everyone's birthday, and she has a real passion for strawberry milkshakes."

I managed a smile and whispered, "Nice to meet you," but all I got in return was a suspicious scowl.

"Well, we're off to David's," my father said, then shook the bag. "Don't spill the beans if he happens by."

I followed him to a bedroom doorway, where he stopped and called, "David? David, it's Robert."

A man appeared at the door. A man I would never have picked out as my father's brother. He was stocky, with thick brown glasses, and his face looked puffy and pale. But he threw his arms around my father's chest and cried, "Wobbad! Yaw heew!"

"Yes, I am, little brother."

I followed them into the room and saw that the walls were covered in a collage of puzzles. They'd been glued directly to the walls and even up on the ceiling! It was cozy and comfortable, and interesting. I felt as though I'd entered a quilted cave.

My father held his brother at arm's length and said, "And look who I've brought along!"

For a split second David looked almost frightened, but then my father said, "It's my daughter, Julianna."

David's face broke into a smile. "Ju-weee-an-na!" he cried, then practically tackled me with a hug.

I thought I was going to suffocate. My face was buried as he squeezed the air out of me and rocked from side to side. Then with a giggle he let go and flopped into a chair. "Is mooy bwuf-day!"

"I know, Uncle David. Happy birthday!"

He giggled again. "Fwank eoow!"

"We brought you a present," my dad said as he opened the paper sack.

Before he had it out, before I saw the actual size, I remembered the sound it had made when I'd shaken it in the truck. Of course! I thought. A puzzle.

Uncle David guessed it, too. "A puwwwle?"

"Not just a puzzle," my dad said as he pulled it out of the sack. "A puzzle and a pinwheel."

Dad had wrapped the puzzle box up in pretty blue paper and had taped the red-and-yellow pinwheel on as a bow. Uncle David snatched the pinwheel right off and blew. First gently, then fiercely, in great spitty bursts. "Ownge!"he cried between blows. "Ownge!"

Very gently Dad took it from him and smiled. "Red and yellow do make orange, don't they?" David tried to grab it back, but my father said, "We'll take it outside later. The wind will blow it for you," and pressed the puzzle back in his hands.

As the wrapping paper fell in shreds on the floor, I leaned in to see what sort of puzzle my father had bought him and gasped. Three thousand pieces! And the image was simply white clouds and blue sky. No shading, no trees — nothing but the clouds and the sky.

My father pointed to a spot in the center of the ceiling. "I thought it would fit just right over there."

Uncle David looked up and nodded, then lunged for his pinwheel and said, "Owsiiide?"

"Sure. Let's go out for a walk. Feel like going down to Mc Elliot's for a birthday ice cream?"

Uncle David's head bobbed up and down. "Yaaah!"

We checked out through Josie, then headed down the street. David can't walk very fast because his body seems to want to move inward instead of forward. His feet pigeon-toe and his shoulders hunch in, and he seemed to lean on my father pretty heavily as we moved along.

But he kept that pinwheel in front of him, watching it spin, crying every now and then, "Owwwange, owwwange!"

Mc Elliot's turned out to be a drugstore with an ice cream parlor inside. There was a red-and-white-striped awning over the ice cream counter, and there were little white tables and chairs set in an area with red-and-white-striped wallpaper. It was very festive-looking, especially for being inside a drugstore.

Dad got us all cones, and once we were sitting down, Dad and David did talk to each other some, but mostly David wanted to eat his chocolate fudge swirl. My father smiled at me from time to time, and I smiled back, but I felt disconnected. How many times had the two of them come here for ice cream? How many birthdays had my father celebrated with his brother like this? How long had he known Mabel and Josie and the rest of the people at Greenhaven? How could it be that in all these years, I'd never spent any time with my uncle? It was like my father had a secret life away from me. A complete family away from me.

I didn't like it. Didn't understand it. And I was getting myself pretty worked up about it when David's cone crushed in his grip, causing his ice cream to flop onto the table.

Before my dad could stop him, David picked up the ice cream and tried to cram it back onto the cone. But the cone was shattered and the ice cream fell over again, only this time it landed on the floor.

My dad said, "Leave it, David. I'll get you a new one," but David didn't listen. His chair shot back and he dove after it.

"No, David! Let me get you a new one." My dad pulled him by the arm, but David wouldn't budge. He grabbed the ice cream and crammed it back onto what was left of his cone, and when the bottom part of his cone crumbled completely away, he started screaming.

It was awful. He was like a two-hundred-pound infant, throwing a tantrum on the floor. He was yelling words I couldn't understand, and after a minute of trying to calm him down, my father said, "Julianna, can you get him another cone?"

The man behind the counter scooped as fast as he could, but in that short time David knocked over a table and two chairs with his flailing and managed to smear chocolate everywhere. The checkers and customers at the registers seemed frozen with terror — like David was some sort of monster out to destroy the world.

I gave the new cone to my father, who handed it to David, right there on the floor. And while David sat there eating it, my father and I worked around him, putting everything back in order and wiping up the mess.

On the walk back to Greenhaven, David acted like nothing had happened. He spurted into his pinwheel and cried, "Owwwange!" from time to time, but when my dad held open the front door, I could tell that David was tired.

Down in his room David placed the pinwheel on his bed and picked up the puzzle box. "Why don't you take a rest before you get started on it?" my dad asked.

David shook his head. "Naaow."

"Okay, then. Let me help you set it up."

My father pulled a card table from beneath the bed, then swung the legs out and snapped them into place. After he had it shoved up against the wall near the bed, he moved a chair close to it and said, "There you are. All set up."

David had the box open and was already sifting through the pieces. "Aaaas a gou wwwone, Wobbad."

"I'm glad you like it. You think you might have it done by Wednesday? I can come back and glue it on the ceiling for you then if you'd like."

David nodded, but he was already intent on the puzzle, carefully laying pieces on the table. My father put his hand on his shoulder and said, "I'll see you Wednesday then, okay?"

He nodded.

"Will you say good-bye to Julianna?"

"Baaawye," he said, but he didn't look up from his box of pieces.

"See you later, Uncle David." I tried to sound cheerful, but I didn't feel that way.

When we got back into the truck, my dad clicked on his seat belt and said, "So."

I just looked at him and tried to smile.

"Are you as exhausted as I am?" he said.

I nodded. "Everything was fine — except for the ice cream."

Dad chuckled. "Except for the ice cream." Then he turned serious. "The trouble is, you never know what 'the ice cream' is going to be. Sometimes it's a fly in the room. Sometimes it's the feel of his socks. It's hard to predict everything. Usually getting ice cream is safe." He shook his head and closed his eyes, thinking things I couldn't imagine. Finally he turned the ignition and said, "David lived with your mother and me for a while. Before you kids were born. We thought it would be better for him to live with us than to be in a home, but we were wrong."

"But overall, everything went okay today..."

He ground the gearshift into reverse. "David has many, many special needs, both emotional and physical. Your mom and I couldn't handle them all. Fortunately he's happy here. They have programs to teach him how to care for himself — how to dress and bathe and brush his teeth, how to act around others and communicate. They go on outings, and he has a job doing mailings for a doctor's office..."

"He does?"

"He goes there every morning during the week to fold mailings and fill envelopes. Greenhaven's been so good for him. He gets an incredible amount of individualized attention. He has his own room, his own friends, his own life."

After a minute I said, "But he's part of the family, Dad. And it just doesn't seem right that he's never been over for a visit. Not even on Christmas or Thanksgiving!"

"He doesn't want to, sweetheart. One year your mother and I insisted he spend Thanksgiving with us, and it was the biggest disaster you can imagine. He broke a window out of the car, he was that upset."

"But ... why haven't we been visiting him? I know you have, but the rest of us. Why not?"

"Well, it's draining. Your mother finds it incredibly depressing, and I understand that. We both agreed that it was no place to take small children." He accelerated onto the highway, silent behind the wheel. Finally he said, "The years just seem to slip away, Julianna. One day you have a baby in your arms, and the next you realize she's very nearly a woman." He smiled at me sadly. "I love David, but he is a burden, and I guess I wanted to protect you from that. But I realize now that all of this has affected you and the family."

"But Dad, it's not —"

"Julianna, what I'm trying to tell you is I'm sorry. There was so much I wanted to give you. All of you. I guess I didn't see until recently how little I've actually provided."

"That's not true!"

"Well, I think you know my heart's been in the right place, but if you line it up objectively, a man like, say, Mr. Loski adds up to a much better husband and father than a man like me does. He's around more,he provides more, and he's probably a lot more fun."

My dad wasn't one to go fishing for compliments or signs of appreciation, but still, I couldn't quite believe he actually thought that. "Dad, I don't care how it looks on paper, I think you're the best dad ever! And when I marry somebody someday, I sure don't want him to be like Mr. Loski! I want him to be like you."

He looked at me like he couldn't quite believe his ears. "Is that so," he said with a grin. "Well, I'll remind you of that as your someday approaches."

That turned the rest of the trip around. We laughed and joked and talked about all kinds of things, but as we neared home, there was one thing the conversation kept turning back to.

Pancakes.

My mother, though, had other plans. She'd spent the morning scrubbing floors and nixed the pancakes. "I need something with more staying power. Like grilled ham-and-cheese. With onions," she said. "Lots of onions!"

"Scrubbing floors?" my dad said. "It's Sunday, Trina. Why were you scrubbing floors?"

"Nervous energy." She looked at me. "How'd it go?"

"Okay. I'm glad I went."

She glanced at my dad and then at me. "Well, good," she sighed, then said, "I also felt like scrubbing because I got a call from Patsy."

"Loski?" my dad asked. "Is something wrong?"

My mother pushed a few wisps of hair back and said, "No... She called to invite us over for dinner on Friday."

We blinked at her a moment; then I asked, "All of us?"

"Yes."

I could see what my dad was thinking: Why? All these years of living across the street, and we'd never been invited over. Why now?

My mom could see it, too. She sighed and said, "Robert, I don't exactly know why, but she was insistent. She was practically in tears, saying how sorry she was that she'd never invited us before and how she'd really like to get to know us better."

"What did you tell her?"

"I couldn't very well say no. She was being so nice, and Chet has really done a lot..." She shrugged and said, "I said we'd go. It's set for six o'clock Friday night."

"Really?" I asked.

She shrugged again. "I think it might be nice. A little strange, but nice."

"Well, okay then," my dad said. "I won't schedule any overtime for Friday. What about the boys?"

"There's no gig on the calendar, and they're not scheduled to work, but I haven't talked to them about it yet."

"Are you sure they want us all over there?" my dad asked.

My mom nodded. "She insists."

I could tell the whole idea of dinner at the Loskis' was making my dad pretty uncomfortable, but we could both see that something about this invitation meant a lot to my mother. "All right then," he said, and got to work slicing cheese and onions.

For the rest of the afternoon, I sort of lazed around, reading and daydreaming. And at school the next day, I couldn't seem to concentrate. My thoughts kept turning back to David. I wondered what my grandparents had been like, and what they'd gone through, having a son like him.

I daydreamed a lot about the sycamore tree, too, which at first I thought was because I was feeling melancholy. But then I remembered how my mother had called the sycamore a testimony to endurance. It had survived being damaged as a sapling. It had grown. Other people thought it was ugly, but I never had.

Maybe it was all how you looked at it. Maybe there were things I saw as ugly that other people thought were beautiful.

Like Shelly Stalls. A perfect example! To me there was absolutely nothing to recommend her, but the rest of the world seemed to think she was the cat's meow.

Me-ow.

Anyway, I sort of drifted through the week like that. Until Thursday. Thursday our social studies class went to the library to do research for our famous historical figure report. I'd chosen Susan B. Anthony and her fight for the right to vote, and I was in the middle of tracking down some books when Darla Tressler flagged me from the end of a stack.

Darla was in a few of my classes, but we weren't really friends, so I looked behind me to see who else she might be flagging.

"Come here!" she mouthed, frantically waving me over.

So I hurried over. She pointed through the column of books and whispered, "Listen!"

It was Garrett's voice. And then Bryce's. And they were talking about... me. About my chickens. And salmonella poisoning. And how Bryce had been throwing away my eggs. And about me fixing up our yard.

Bryce was sounding like he felt really bad, but then suddenly my blood ran cold. He was talking about David!

And then Garrett laughed and said, "A retard? Well, that explains a lot, doesn't it? You know... about Juli?"

For a second, there was silence. And at that moment I was sure they must be able to hear my heart pounding in my chest, but then Bryce laughed and said, "Oh, right."

I positively crumbled onto the floor. And in a flash the voices were gone. Darla checked around the corner, then sat beside me, saying, "Oh, Jules, I'm so, so sorry. I thought he was about to confess that he's been crushing on you."

"What? Darla, Bryce does not have a crush on me."

"Where have you been? Haven't you noticed the way he's been looking at you? That boy is lost in Loveland."

"Oh, obviously! You just heard him, Darla!"

"Yeah, but yesterday, yesterday I caught him staring at you and he said there was a bee in your hair. A bee, girl. Is that the lamest cover-up you've ever heard or what?"

"Darla, the way things have been going, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a bee in my hair."

"Oh, you think you're that sweet, huh? Just attract bees like honey? Well, honey, the only bee you're attracting around here is B-r-y-c-e. Cute, yeah. But after what I just heard, I'd stomp and grind, girl. Stomp and grind." She got up to go but turned and said, "Don't worry. I won't jabber."

I just shook my head and forgot about Darla. How wrong could a person be.

It was what Bryce and Garrett had said that I couldn't forget. How could they be so cruel? And so stupid? Is this what my father had gone through growing up?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. What right did Bryce have to make fun of my uncle? How dare he!

I felt fire burn in my cheeks and a cold, hard knot tighten in my heart. And in a flash I knew — I was through with Bryce Loski. He could keep his brilliant blue eyes. He could keep his two-faced smile and... and my kiss. That's right! He could keep that, too. I was never, ever going to talk to him again!

I stormed back to the section of books on Susan B. Anthony, found two that would work, and then went back to my table. But as I was collecting my things to check out of the library, I remembered. The next day we were going to the Loskis' house for dinner.

I zipped up my backpack and threw it on my shoulder. Surely after what had happened, I had the right to vote against going!

Didn't I?

Chapter 11

The Serious Willies

BRYCE

Realizing that my father had the same sense of humor as Garrett gave me the serious willies. I had the hardest time just looking at my dad, let alone speaking to him. But at about five o'clock Friday afternoon I agreed with him about one thing — we should've barbecued. A barbecue is more, you know, low-key. Instead, my mom was flying around the kitchen, slicing and dicing and barking orders at Dad and me like the president was coming to dinner.

We swept the floor, put an extra leaf in the table, brought in five more chairs, and set the table. We set it all wrong, of course, but all my mother had to do was shuffle things around to make it right. It looked the same to me, but what do I know?

She put out candlesticks and said, "Rick, can you load the dishes and run them? I'd like a chance to get cleaned up. After that you can change. And Bryce? What are you wearing?"

"Mom, it's the Bakers. Are you trying to make them feel totally worthless?"

"Trina and I agreed on a dress-up, so —"

"But why?"

My dad put a hand on my shoulder and said, "So we can all feel equally uncomfortable, son."

Women. I looked at her and said, "Does that mean I have to wear a tie?"

"No, but some sort of button-down instead of a T-shirt would be nice."

I went down to my room and ripped through my closet looking for something with buttons. There were lots of buttons, all right. Lots of geeky buttons. I thought about boycotting my mother's dress-code requirements, but instead I started putting on shirts.

Twenty minutes later I still wasn't dressed. And I was extremely ticked off about it because what did it matter? Why did I care what I looked like at this stupid dinner? I was acting like a girl.

Then through a gap in my curtains I saw them coming. Out their front door, down their walkway, across the street. It was like a weird dream. They seemed to be floating toward our house. All five of them.

I pulled a shirt off my bed, punched my arms in, and buttoned up.

Two seconds later the doorbell rang and Mom called, "Can you get that, Bryce?"

Luckily, Granddad beat me to it. He greeted them all like they were long-lost family and even seemed to know which one was Matt and which one was Mike. One was wearing a purple shirt and the other was wearing a green one, so it shouldn't have been that hard to remember which was which, but they came in and pinched my cheeks and said, "Hey, baby brother! How's it goin'?" and I got so mad I mixed them up again.

My mother zoomed in from the kitchen, saying, "Come in, come in. It's so nice you all could make it." She called, "Lyn-et-ta! Rick! We've got com-pa-ny!" but then stopped short when she saw Juli and Mrs. Baker. "Well, what's this?" she asked. "Homemade pies?"

Mrs. Baker said, "Blackberry cheesecake and pecan."

"They look wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" My mother was acting so hyper I couldn't believe it. She took Juli's pie, then whooshed a path to the kitchen with Mrs. Baker.

Lynetta appeared from around the corner, which made Matt and Mike grin and say, "Hey, Lyn. Lookin' good."

Black skirt, black nails, black eyes — for a nocturnal rodent, yeah, I suppose she was looking good.

They disappeared down to Lynetta's room, and when I turned around, my granddad was taking Mr. Baker into the front room, which left me in the entry hall with Juli. Alone.

She wasn't looking at me. She seemed to be looking at everything but me. And I felt like an idiot, standing there in my geeky button-down shirt with pinched cheeks and nothing to say. And I got so nervous about having nothing to say that my heart started going wacko on me, hammering like it does right before a race or a game or something.

On top of that, she looked more like that stupid picture in the paper than the picture did, if that makes any sense. Not because she was all dressed up — she wasn't. She was wearing some normal-looking dress and normal-looking shoes, and her hair was the way it always is except maybe a little more brushed out. It was the way she was looking at everything but me, with her shoulders back and her chin out and her eyes flashing.

We probably only stood there for five seconds, but it felt like a year. Finally I said, "Hi, Juli."

Her eyes flashed at me, and that's when it sank in — she was mad. She whispered, "I heard you and Garrett making fun of my uncle in the library, and I don't want to speak to you! You understand me? Not now, not ever!"

My mind was racing. Where had she been? I hadn't seen her anywhere near me in the library! And had she heard it? Or had she heard it from somebody else.

I tried to tell her it wasn't me, that it was Garrett, all Garrett. But she shut me down and made tracks for the front room to be with her dad.

So I'm standing there, wishing I'd punched Garrett out in the library so Juli wouldn't stick me in the same class as someone who makes retard jokes, when my dad shows up and claps me on the shoulder. "So. How's the party, son?"

Speak of the devil. I wanted to whack his hand off my shoulder.

He leans out so he can see into the front room and says, "Hey, the dad cleans up pretty good, doesn't he?"

I shrug away from him. "Mr. Baker's name is Robert, Dad."

"Yeah, you know, I knew that." He rubs his hands together and says, "I guess I ought to go in and say hello. Coming?"

"Nah. Mom probably needs my help."

I didn't run off to the kitchen, though. I stood there and watched Mr. Baker shake my father's hand. And as they stood there pumping and smiling, this weird feeling started coming over me again. Not about Juli — about my father. Standing next to Mr. Baker, he looked small. Physically small. And compared to the cut of Mr. Baker's jaw, my dad's face looked kind of weaselly.

This is not the way you want to feel about your father. When I was little, I'd always thought that my dad was right about everything and that there wasn't a man on earth he couldn't take. But standing there looking in, I realized that Mr. Baker could squash him like a bug.

Worse, though, was the way he was acting. Watching my dad chum it up with Juli's dad — it was like seeing him lie. To Mr. Baker, to Juli, to my grandfather — to everybody. Why was he being such a worm? Why couldn't he just act normal? You know, civil? Why did he have to put on such a phony show? This went way beyond keeping the peace with my mother. This was disgusting.

And people said I was the spitting image of my father. How often had I heard that one? I'd never thought about it much, but now it was turning my stomach.

Mom jingled the dinner bell and called, "Hors d'oeuvres are ready!" and then saw me still standing in the hallway. "Bryce, where'd your sister and the boys go?"

I shrugged. "Down to her room, I think."

"Go tell them, would you? And then come have some hors d'oeuvres."

"Sure," I said. Anything to get rid of the taste in my mouth.

Lynetta's door was closed. And normally I would have knocked and called, Mom wants you, or, Dinner! or something, but in that split second before my knuckles hit wood, my hand became possessed by Evil Baby Brother. I turned the knob and walked right in.

Does Lynetta freak out or throw stuff at me and scream for me to get out? No. She ignores me. Matt-and-Mike give me a nod, and Lynetta sees me, but she's got her hands over some headphones and her whole body's bobbing up and down as she listens to a portable CD player.

Matt-or-Mike whispers, "It's about over. We'll be right there,"like of course I was there to say it was time to eat. What else would I be doing there?

Something about that made me feel, I don't know, left out. I wasn't even a person to those guys. I was just baby brother.

Nothing new there, but now it really bugged me. Like all of a sudden I didn't fit in anywhere. Not at school, not at home ... and everytime I turned around, another person I'd known forever felt like a stranger to me. Even I felt like a stranger to me.

Standing around eating little round crackers smeared with whipped cheese and fish eggs didn't do much for my mood either. My mother was acting like an entire swarm of busy bees. She was everywhere. In the kitchen, out of the kitchen. Serving drinks, handing out napkins. Explaining the food, but not eating a thing.

Lynetta didn't buy Mom's explanation on the hors d'oeuvres — she wound up dissecting hers, categorizing the parts into gross, disgusting, and revolting.

Hanging near her didn't stop the Baker boys from shoving crackers in whole, though. Man, I was just waiting for them to wrap themselves around a table leg and flex.

Juli, her dad, and my grandfather were off to the side talking nonstop about something, and my dad was over with Mrs. Baker looking about as stupid as I felt, standing by myself talking to no one.

My mom flutters over to me and says, "You doing okay, honey?"

"Yeah," I tell her, but she forces me over to where Granddad is anyway. "Go on, go on," she whispers. "Dinner will be ready in a minute."

So I stand there and the group of them opens up, but it's more like a reflex than anything. No one says a word to me. They just keep right on talking about perpetual motion.

Perpetual motion.

My friend, I didn't even know what perpetual motion was. They were talking closed systems, open systems, resistance, energy source,magnetism ... it was like joining a discussion in a different language. And Juli, Juli was saying stuff like, "Well, what if you put the magnets back to back — reversed the polarity?" like she really understood what they were talking about. Then my granddad and her dad would explain why her idea wouldn't work, but all that did was make Juli ask another question.

I was completely lost. And even though I was pretending to follow along with what they were saying, what I was really doing was trying not to stare at Juli.

When my mom called us for dinner, I did my best to pull Juli aside and apologize to her, but she gave me the cold shoulder, and who could blame her, really?

I sat down across from her, feeling pretty low. Why hadn't I said something to Garrett in the library? I didn't have to punch him. Why hadn't I just told him he was out of line?

After Mom served everyone their food, Dad seemed to decide that he ought to be the one directing the conversation. "So, Mike and Matt,"he says, "you're seniors this year."

"Amen!" they say together.

"Amen? As in you're glad high school's over?"

"Absolutely."

My father starts twirling his fork. "Why's that?"

Matt and Mike look at each other, then back at my dad. "The regurgitation gets to you after a while."

"Isn't that funny," he says, looking around the table. "High school was probably the best time of my life."

Matt-or-Mike says, "Seriously? Dude, it's totally lame!" Mrs. Baker shoots him a look, but that doesn't stop him. "Well, it is, Mom. It's that whole robotron attitude of education. Confine, confute, conform — I've had totally enough of that scene."

My dad eyes my mom with a little I-told-you-so grin, then says to Matt and Mike, "So I take it college is out of the question?"

God, what was with him? In a flash I was clutching my fork and knife, ready to duke it out for a couple of guys who pinched my cheeks and called me baby brother.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax. Tried to dive down to calmer water. This wasn't my fight.

Besides, Matt and Mike seemed cool with it. "Oh, no," they said. "College is a total possibility." "Yeah, we got accepted a couple of places, but we're going to give the music thing a shot first."

"Oh, the music thing," my father says.

Matt and Mike look at each other, then shrug and get back to eating. But Lynetta glares at him and says, "Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Dad."

"Lyn, Lyn," says Matt-or-Mike. "It's cool. Everyone's like that about it. It's a show-me-don't-tell-me thing."

"That's a great idea," Lynetta says, jumping out of her seat and dashing down the hall.

Mom freezes, not sure what to do about Lynetta, but then Mrs.Baker says, "Dinner is absolutely delicious, Patsy."

"Thanks, Trina. It's ... it's nice to have all of you over."

There's about three seconds of quiet and then Lynetta comes in and jabs at the CD player buttons until the drawer slides back in.

"Lyn, no! Not a good idea," says Matt-or-Mike. "Yeah, Lyn. It's not exactly dinner music."

"Tough," says Lynetta, and cranks the volume.

Boom, whack! Boom-boom, whack! The candles practically shake in their holders; then guitars rip through the air and about blow them out. Matt and Mike look up at the speakers, then grin at each other and call over to my dad, "Surround sound — awesome setup, Mr. Loski!"

All the adults were dying to jump up and turn the thing down, but Lynetta stood guard and just glowered at them. And when the song's over, Lynetta pulls out the CD, punches off the player, and then smiles — actually smiles — at Matt and Mike and says, "That is the raddest song. I want to hear it again and again and again."

Matt-or-Mike says to my dad, "You probably don't like it, but it's what we do."

"You boys wrote that song?"

"Uh-huh."

He motions Lynetta to pass the CD over, saying, "Just the one song?"

Matt-or-Mike laughs and says, "Dude, we've got a thousand songs, but there's only three on the demo."

Dad holds up the CD. "This is the demo?"

"Yeah."

He looks at it a minute and says, "So if you're Piss Poor, how do you afford to press CDs?"

"Dad!" Lynetta snaps at him.

"It's okay, Lyn. Just a joke, right, Mr. Loski?"

My dad laughs a little and says, "Right," but then adds, "Although I am a little curious. This is obviously not a home-done demo, and I happen to know studio time's cost-prohibitive for most bands..."

Matt and Mike interrupt him with a slamming hard high five. And while I'm getting uptight about my dad asking them questions about money, of all things, my mom's fumbling all over herself, trying to sweep away my dad's big pawprints. "When Rick and I met, he was playing in a band..."

Poached salmon was suddenly swimming down the wrong hatch. And while I'm choking, Lynetta's bugging out her raccoon eyes, gasping, "You? Played in a band? What did you play, clarinet?"

"No, honey," my mom says, trying to hold it all together. "Your father played guitar."

"Guitar?"

"Cool!" Matt-or-Mike says. "Rock? Country? Jazz?"

"Country," my dad says. "Which is nothing to scoff at, boys."

"Dude! We know. Total respect, man."

"And when our band looked into getting a demo made, it was astronomically expensive. That was in a big city, where there was a little competition. Getting a demo made around here? I didn't even know there was a facility."

Matt and Mike are still grinning. "There's not."

"So where'd you go? And how'd you afford it?" My mother whacks him under the table again, so he says, "I'm just curious, Patsy!"

Matt and Mike lean in. "We did it ourselves."

"This right here? You did this yourselves? That's impossible."He's looking almost mad about it. "How'd you get the gear?"

My mom kicks him again, but Dad turns on her and says, "Stop it, would you? I'm just curious!"

Matt-or-Mike says, "It's cool, Mrs. Loski." He smiles at my dad and says, "We kept cruising the Internet and the trades looking for a deal. Everyone's blowing out their old analog gear for digital because that's the move everyone else has made. Digital, if you want to know our opinion, is weak. You lose too much of the waveform. There's not enough fat to it, and obviously we like it beefy."

My granddad puts up a finger and says, "But a CD's digital, so..."

"Exactly, but that is the last and only step we'll compromise on. It's just a necessity of being part of the industry. Everyone wants CDs. But the multitrack and the mixdown to two-track is analog. And we could afford it, Mr. Loski, because we got used gear and we've been saving up our pennies since we were twelve years old." He grins and says, "You still play? We could, you know, lay down some of your tunes if you want."

My dad looks down, and for a second I couldn't tell if he was going to get mad or cry. Then he sort of snorts and says, "Thanks, but that's not me anymore."

Which was probably the only honest thing my dad said all night. After that he was quiet. He'd try to plaster up a smile now and then, but man, underneath it he was broody. And I was feeling kind of bad for him. Was he thinking about the good old days playing in a band? I tried picturing him in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, with a guitar strapped across his shoulder, playing some old Willie Nelson song.

He was right — it just wasn't him.

But the fact that it ever had been made me feel even more like a stranger in a strange land. Then, when the night was over and the Bakers were piling out the front door, something else strange happened. Juli touched my arm. And for the first time that night she was looking at me. It was that look, too, channeled directly and solely at me. She says, "I'm sorry I was so angry when we first came in. Everyone had a good time, and I think your mom's really nice for inviting us."

Her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. I just stood there like a moron, staring at her.

"Bryce?" she says, touching my arm again. "Did you hear me? I'm sorry."

I managed a nod, but my arm was tingling, and my heart was pounding, and I felt myself pulling toward her.

Then she was gone. Out the door and into the night, part of a chorus of happy good-byes. I tried to catch my breath. What was that? What was wrong with me?

My mother closed the door and said, "There. Now what did I tell you? That is one delightful family! Those boys are nothing like I expected. Lynetta, why didn't you tell me they were so... so charming!"

"They're drug dealers is what they are."

Everyone turned to my father and dropped their jaws.

"What?" my mother said.

"There is no other way those boys could afford to buy recording gear like that." He glared at Lynetta. "Isn't that so?"

Lynetta's eyes looked like they were going to pop right out of her head.

"Rick, please!"my mother said. "You can't just make accusations like that!"

"It's the only thing that makes sense, Patsy. Believe me, I know how musicians are. There is no other explanation for this."

Lynetta shouted, "I happen to know for a fact that they don't use or deal. Where do you get off saying something like that? You are such a two-faced, condescending, narrow-minded jackass!"

There was a split second of silence, and then he slapped her, smack, right across the cheek.

That put my mother in his face like I'd never seen and sent my sister screaming insults over her shoulder as she ran down to her room.

My heart was pounding. Lynetta was right and I almost, almost got in his face, too, and told him so. But then my granddad pulled me aside and we both retreated to our own little corners of the house.

Pacing around my room, I had the urge to go talk to Lynetta. To tell her that she was right, that Dad was way out of line. But I could hear her through the walls, crying and screaming while my mom tried to calm her down. Then she stormed out of the house to who-knows-where, and my mom took up with my dad again.

So I stayed put. And even though the earth quit quaking around eleven o'clock, there were tremors out there. I could feel them.

As I lay in my bed staring out the window at the sky, I thought about how my dad had always looked down on the Bakers. How he'd put down their house and their yard and their cars and what they did for a living. How he'd called them trash and made fun of Mr. Baker's paintings.

And now I was seeing that there was something really cool about that family. All of them. They were just... real.

And who were we? There was something spinning wickedly out of control inside this house. It was like seeing inside the Bakers' world had opened up windows into our own, and the view was not a pretty one.

Where had all this stuff come from?

And why hadn't I ever seen it before.

Chapter 12

The Dinner

JULIANNA

By the time I got home, I knew it would be selfish of me to boycott the Loskis' dinner party. My mother had already spent a lot of time humming over pie recipes and going through her closet for "something suitable to wear." She'd even bought a new shirt for Dad and had scrutinized what the boys intended to wear. Obviously she was looking forward to the dinner — not that I really understood that, but I didn't want to ruin everything by telling her about my newfound hatred of Bryce.

And Dad felt bad enough about David already. The last thing he needed was to hear about crackpot comments made by immature eighth graders.

So that night I went through the motions of baking pies with my mother and convinced myself that I was doing the right thing. One dinner couldn't change anyone's life. I just had to get through it.

Friday at school I avoided the blue-eyed brat the best I could, but that night as I got dressed, I found myself staring at the painting my father had given me and became furious all over again. Bryce had never been a friend to me, ever! He hadn't made a stand for the tree, he'd thrown away my eggs, and he'd made fun of me at my uncle's expense...Why was I playing along like we were jolly friends and neighbors?

When my mother called that it was time to go, I went out in the hall with every intention of telling her that I would not, could not go to the Loskis' for dinner, but she looked so lovely and happy that I couldn't. I just couldn't. I took a deep breath, wrapped up a pie, and shuffled across the street behind my brothers and parents.

Chet answered the door. Maybe I should've been mad at him, too, for telling the Loskis about my uncle, but I wasn't. I hadn't asked him not to tell, and he certainly wasn't the one making fun of David.

Mrs. Loski came up behind Chet, whisked us in, and fluttered about. And even though she had quite a bit of makeup on, I was surprised to see the blueness of bags beneath her eyes. Then Mrs. Loski and my mother went off with the pies, my brothers vanished down the hall with Lynetta, and my father followed Chet into the living room.

And wasn't that just dandy? That left me alone in the foyer with Bryce.

He said hi to me and I lost it. I spun on him, snapping, "Don't you speak to me! I overheard you and Garrett in the library, and I don't want to talk to you now or ever!"

I started to walk into the living room, but he stopped me. "Juli! Juli, wait!" he whispered. "I'm not the bad guy here! That was Garrett. That was all Garrett!"

I glared at him. "I know what I heard."

"No! No you don't! I ... I was feeling bad about, you know, the eggs and what I'd said about your yard. I didn't know anything about your uncle or what kind of situation your family was in, okay? I just wanted to talk to someone about it."

Our eyes locked for a minute, and for the first time the blueness of his didn't freeze up my brain. "I heard you laugh. He made a joke about me being a retard, and you laughed."

"Juli, you don't understand. I wanted to punch him! Really, I did! But we were in the library..."

"So instead you laughed."

He shrugged and looked miserable and sheepish. "Yeah."

I left him. Just walked into the living room and left him. If he was making it up, he was quite an actor. If he was telling the truth, then Chet was right — he was a coward. Either way, I didn't want to be anywhere near him.

I stood beside my father and tried to follow his discussion with Chet about something they'd both read in the paper. My father was saying, "But what he's proposing would require a perpetual-motion machine, so it's not possible."

Chet replied, "Maybe in the context of what scientists know now, but do you rule it out completely?"

At that moment I was feeling absolutely no scientific curiosity. But in a desperate attempt to block Bryce Loski from my mind, I asked,"What's a perpetual-motion machine?"

My father and Chet glanced at each other, chuckled, then shrugged, giving me the sense that they'd just agreed to let me into a secret club. My father explained, "It's a machine that runs without any external power source."

"No electricity, no fuel, no water propulsion, nothing." Chet glanced over my shoulder and asked rather absently, "You think that's a doable thing?"

What had distracted him? Was Bryce still in the foyer? Why didn't he just go away?

I forced myself to focus on the conversation. "Do I think that's a doable thing? Well, I don't really know. All machines use energy, right? Even real efficient ones. And that energy has to come from somewhere..."

"What if the machine generated it itself?" Chet asked, but one eye was still on the foyer.

"How could it do that?"

Neither of them answered me. Instead, my father stuck out his hand and said, "Good evening, Rick. Nice of you to have us over."

Mr. Loski pumped my dad's hand and joined our group, making little comments about the weather. When that topic was all dried up, he said, "And wow, that yard of yours has really come along. I told Chet here that we ought to hire him out. He really knows his pickets, doesn't he?"

He was joking. I think. But my father didn't take it that way, and neither did Chet. I was afraid of what might happen next, but then Mrs. Loski tinkled a little dinner bell and called, "Hors d'oeuvres, everybody!"

The hors d'oeuvres were delicious. But when my father whispered that the teeny-tiny black berries on top of the crackers weren't berries at all, but caviar, I stopped midbite. Fish eggs? Repulsive!

Then my father pointed out that I ate chicken eggs all the time, so why get squeamish over fish eggs? He had a point. I hesitantly finished the cracker, and before long I was having another.

Bryce was standing all by himself across the room, and every time I happened to look his way, he was staring at me.

Finally I completely turned my back on him and said to my father, "So who's trying to invent a perpetual-motion machine, anyway?"

My father laughed. "Mad scientists all over the world."

"Really?"

"Yes. For hundreds of years."

"Well, what do they do? What's one look like?"

It wasn't long before Chet was in on the discussion. And just as I was finally starting to catch on to magnetism, gyroscopic particles, and zero-point energy, I felt someone standing behind me.

It was Bryce.

I could feel my cheeks flush with anger. Couldn't he see I wanted to be left alone? I took a step away from him, but what that did was open up the group and allow him to move forward. Now he was standing in our circle listening to our discussion!

Well! Surely he was not interested in perpetual motion. I barely was myself! So, I reasoned, continuing our discussion would drive him away. I dove back in, and when the conversation started to peter out, I came up with my own ideas on perpetual-motion machines. I was like a perpetual-idea machine, spinning ridiculous suggestions right out of the air.

And still he wouldn't leave. He didn't say anything, he just stood there, listening. Then when Mrs. Loski announced that dinner was ready, Bryceheld my arm and whispered, "Juli, I'm sorry. I've never been so sorry about anything in my whole life. You're right, I was a jerk, and I'm sorry."

I yanked my arm free from his grasp and said, "It seems to me you've been sorry about a whole lot of things lately!" and left him there with his apology hanging wounded in the air.

It didn't take me long to realize that I'd made a mistake. I should have let him say he was sorry and then simply continued to ignore him. But I'd snapped at him in the middle of an apology, which somehow made me the rude one.

I sneaked a peek at him across the table, but he was watching his dad, who was asking my brothers about graduating and their plans for college.

I had, of course, seen Mr. Loski many times, but usually from a distance. Still, it seemed impossible that I'd never noticed his eyes before. They were blue. Brilliant blue. And although Mr. Loski's were set farther back and were hidden somewhat by his eyebrows and cheekbones, there was no mistaking where Bryce had gotten his eyes. His hair was black, too, like Bryce's, and his teeth were white and straight.

Even though Chet had called Bryce the spitting image of his father, I'd never really thought of them as looking alike. But now I saw that they did look alike, though where his dad seemed kind of smug, Bryce seemed... well, right now he seemed angry.

Then from the other side of the table, I heard, "Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Dad."

Mrs. Loski gave a small gasp, and everyone looked at Lynetta. "Well, it's not," she said.

In all the years we've lived across the street from the Loskis, I've said about ten words to Lynetta, and she's said fewer back. To me she's scary. So it wasn't a surprise to see her glaring at her father, but it was uncomfortable. Mrs. Loski was keeping a smile perched on her face, but she was blinking a lot, glancing nervously around the table. I looked from one person to the next, too, wondering if dinner at the Loskis' was always this tense.

Suddenly Lynetta got up and dashed down the hall, but she was back in a flash with a CD in her hand. And when she put it in the player, I recognized one of my brothers' songs blaring through the speakers.

We'd heard this song, "Candle Ice," pouring out of my brothers' bedroom at least a million times, so we were used to it. But I looked over at my mom, worried that she might be embarrassed by the distorting guitars and the gritty lyrics. This was definitely not caviar music.

She seemed a little uncertain, but in a happy way. She was sharing secret smiles with my father, and honestly, I think she even giggled. My dad was looking amused, although he was very reserved about it, and it took me until the end of the song to realize that he was proud. Proud that this noise came from his boys.

That surprised me. Dad has never been real big on any rendition of my brothers' band, although he's never really criticized it either. But then Mr. Loski started grilling Matt and Mike about how they'd afforded to record their own music, and they explained about working and saving and shopping for good deals on equipment, and that's when I realized why my father was proud.

My brothers were feeling pretty good, too, you could tell. And it was no wonder, with the way Lynetta was carrying on about how great"Candle Ice" was. She was positively gushing, which seemed very odd, coming from Lynetta.

As I looked around, it struck me that we were having dinner with a group of strangers. We'd lived across the street for years, but I didn't know these people at all. Lynetta did know how to smile. Mr. Loski was clean and smooth on the outside, but there was a distinct whiff of something rotten buried just beneath the surface. And the ever-efficient Mrs. Loski seemed flustered, almost hyper. Was it having us over that was making her nervous?

Then there was Bryce — the most disturbing of all because I had to admit that I didn't really know him, either. And based on what I'd discovered lately, I didn't care to know any more. Looking across the table at him, all I got was a strange, detached, neutral feeling. No fireworks, no leftover anger or resurging flutters.

Nothing.

After we'd had dessert and it was time to go, I went up to Bryce and told him I was sorry for having been so fierce when we'd first come in. "I should've let you apologize, and really, it was very nice of your family to have us over. I know it was a lot of work and, well, I think my mom had a really good time and that's what matters to me."We were looking right at each other, but it was almost as though he didn't hear me. "Bryce? I said I'm sorry."

He nodded, and then our families were waving good-bye and saying good night.

I walked behind my mother, who was holding hands with my father, and beside my brothers, who were carrying home what was left of our pies. We all wound up in the kitchen, and Matt poured himself a glass of milk and said to Mike, "That Mr. Loski was sniffing us out pretty good tonight, wasn'the?"

"No kidding. Maybe he thinks we're hot for his daughter."

"Not me, dude! You?"

Mike got himself a glass of milk, too. "That's Skyler's gig. No way I'dgo there."He grinned. "But she was really cool tonight. Did she come down on papa bear or what?"

My dad took a paper plate out of the cupboard and cut a slice of pie. "You boys showed a lot of restraint tonight. I don't know if I could've kept my cool that way."

"Aw, he's just, you know... entrenched," Matt said. "Gotta adjust to the perspective and deal from there." Then he added, "Not that I'd want him as my dad..."

Mike practically sprayed his milk. "Dude! Can you imagine?"Then Matt gave my dad a slap on the back and said, "No way. I'm sticking with my main man here." My mom grinned from across the kitchen and said, "Me too."

I'd never seen my father cry. And he didn't exactly sit there bawling, but there were definitely tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them back the best he could and said, "Don't you boys want some pie to go with that milk?"

"Dude," said Matt as he straddled a chair. "I was just thinking that."

"Yeah," Mike added. "I'm starved."

"Get me a plate, too!" I called as Mike dug through the cupboard.

"But we just ate," my mother cried.

"Come on, Trina, have some pie. It's delicious."

I went to bed that night feeling very full and very happy. And as I lay there in the dark, I wondered at how much emotion can go into any given day, and thought how nice it was to feel this way at the end of it.

And as I nestled in and drifted off to sleep, my heart felt wonderfully... free.

The next morning I still felt good. I went outside and sprinkled the yard, enjoying the splish and patter of water on soil, wondering when, when, that first little blade of grass would spring up into the sunshine.

Then I went out back, cleaned the coop, raked the yard, and dug up some of the bigger weeds growing along the edges.

Mrs. Stueby leaned over the side fence as I was shoveling my rakings and weeds into a trash can and said, "How's it going, Julianna? Making neat for a rooster?"

"A rooster?"

"Why, certainly. Those hens need some motivation to start laying more!"

It was true. Bonnie and Clydette and the others were only laying about half the eggs that they used to, but a rooster? "I don't think the neighborhood would appreciate my getting a rooster, Mrs. Stueby. Besides, we'd get chicks and I don't think we can handle any more poultry back here."

"Nonsense. You've spoiled these birds, giving them the whole yard. They can share the space. Easily! How else are you going to maintain your business? Soon those birds won't be laying anything a-tall!"

"They won't?"

"Well, very little."

I shook my head, then said, "They were just my chicks that grew into chickens and started laying eggs. I never really thought of it as a business."

"Well, my runnin' a tab has probably contributed to that, and I'm sorry. I'll be sure and get you the whole sum this week, but consider buying yourself a rooster with some of it. I've got a friend down on Newcomb Street who is positively green over my deviled eggs. I gave her my recipe, but she says hers just don't taste the same." She winked at me. "I'm certain she'd pay handsomely for a supply of my secret ingredient if it became available." She turned to go, then said, "By-the-by, Julianna, you have done a mighty fine job on that front yard. Most impressive!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Stueby," I called as she slid open her patio door. "Thanks very much."

I finished scooping up the piles I'd made and thought about what Mrs. Stueby had said. Should I really get a rooster? I'd heard that having one around made chickens lay more, whether they were in contact with each other or not. I could even breed my chickens and get a whole new set of layers. But did I really want to go through all of that again?

Not really. I didn't want to be the neighborhood rancher. If my girls quit laying altogether, that would be just fine with me.

I put away the rake and shovel, clucked a kiss on each of the hens, and went inside. It felt good to take charge of my own destiny! I felt strong and right and certain.

Little did I know how a few days back at school would change all of that.

Chapter 13

Flipped

BRYCE

After the dinner Juli was nice to me at school. Which I hated. Mad was better than nice. Gaga was better than ... nice. It was like I was a stranger to her, and man, it bugged me. Bugged me big-time.

Then the auction happened, and I found myself with even bigger problems.

The auction is this bogus way the Booster Club raises money for the school. They insist it's an honor to be chosen, but bull-stinkin'-loney to that! Bottom line is, twenty guys get shanghaied. They have to come up with fancy picnic lunches and then be humiliated in front of the whole school while girls bid to have lunch with them.

Guess who made this year's top twenty.

You'd think mothers would say, Hey, there's no way you're going to auction my son off to the highest bidder, but no. Instead, they're all flattered that their son's been elected a basket boy.

Yes, my friend, that's what they call you. Over the P.A. you hear stuff like, "There will be an organizational meeting of the newly elected basket boys in the MPR at lunch today. All basket boys must attend."

Pretty soon you've completely lost your name. You and nineteen other saps are known simply as Basket Boy.

My mom, of course, was into it, coming up with all sorts of stuff to put in my basket so I'd get the highest bid. I tried to explain that I didn't want to be in Mayfield Junior High's Basket Boy Hall of Fame, and that really, what was in the basket didn't matter. It wasn't like girls were bidding on the basket. When you got right down to it, this was a meat market.

"You eat lunch on campus and that's the end of it. It is hardly a meat market, Bryce. It's an honor! Besides, maybe someone really nice will bid on you and you'll make a new friend!"

Mothers can be in such denial.

And then Garrett bends my ear with the news that Shelly Stalls is breaking up with Mitch Michaelson, and that she, Miranda Humes, and Jenny Atkinson are starting some bidding war over me. "Dude!" he tells me. "The two hottest chicks on campus. And I swear to god, man, Shelly's dumped Mitch because of you. I heard it direct from Shagreer, and dude, Shagreer the Ear knows all." He throws me this nasty grin and says, "Me, I'm rooting for Jumbo Jenny. It would serve you right for being such a basket boy."

I told him to shut up, but he was right. With the way my luck was running, I'd probably get stuck with Jumbo Jenny. I could just see it —six feet of beefy babe downing both halves of my lunch and then coming after me. Jenny's the only girl or guy on campus who can dunk a basketball. The whole gym shakes when she lands. And since she's got no, you know... female parabolas, the girl could shave her head and make it in the NBA. Seriously. No one would ever suspect.

Her parents give her anything she wants, too. Rumor has it they converted their garage into a full-on basketball court just for her.

Which meant that in the game of the basket boys, I was as good as slam-dunked.

Unless, unless Shelly or Miranda was high bidder. But how could I make sure that happened? My brain went into overdrive, constructing a plan, and in the end I decided that there was only one sensible course of action.

Kiss up to both of them.

Halfway through my first day of doing this, I felt like a skunk. Not that I was being gross about it or anything. I was just, you know, friendly. And even though Shelly and Miranda didn't seem to smell a thing, Garrett did.

"Dude!" he says to me on Thursday. "I can see your game, man."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't deny it, dude. You're working them both." He comes up and whispers in my ear, "Basket boy or not, I'm in awe."

"Shut up, man."

"Seriously! The Ear says they were, like, clawing each other in P.E. today."

I had to know. "What about ... Jumbo Jenny?"

He shrugs. "Haven't heard. But we'll find out tomorrow, won't we, dude?"

My mother dropped me off at school on Friday with my stupid oversized picnic basket, and since all basket boys have to dress up, I was choking in a tie and feeling completely dweeb like in slacks and dress shoes.

Kids whistled and shouted, "Oooh, baby!"as I headed up the walkway, and then Jumbo Jenny passed me, taking the front steps three at a time. "Wow, Bryce," she said over her shoulder. "You look...delicious."

Oh, man! I practically ran to the classroom where all the basket boys were supposed to meet, and the minute I walked in, I felt better. I was surrounded by other dweebs, who seemed genuinely happy to see me. "Hey, Loski"; "Yo, dude"; "Doesn't this suck eggs?"; "Why didn't you take the bus, man?"

Misery loves company.

Then Mrs. McClure, the president of the Boosters, the lady who lassoed us all, hoofs it through the door. "Oh, my!" she says. "You all look so handsome!"

Not one word about our baskets. Not one little sneak peek inside. No, for all she cared, those puppies were empty.

Meat market?

You better believe it!

"Don't be so nervous, boys," Mrs. McClure was saying. "You're going to have a wonderful day!" She pulls out a list of names and starts ordering us into line. We get numbers; our baskets get numbers; we fill out three-by-five cards to her insane specifications; and by the time she's got us all organized and is sure we know what to do and what not to do, we've missed all of first and most of second period. "Okay, gentlemen," she says. "Leave your baskets where they are and go to... where are we now? Still in second?" She looks at the clock. "Right. Second."

"What about passes?" some sensible basket boy asked.

"Your teachers have a list. But if they say anything, tell them I say your neckties are your passes. I'll meet you back here when everyone's dismissed for the auction. Got it? Don't dawdle!"

We grumbled, Yeah, yeah, and headed to class. And I can tell you this, not one of the twenty of us listened to a word any of our teachers said that morning. How can you listen with a noose around your neck, pinched toes, and a room full of idiots thinking it's open season on basket boys? Whoever started this stupid tradition ought to be crammed into a basket and tossed downstream without a serving spoon.

I was basket boy number nine. Which meant I had to stand there on the stage in the gym while nearly half the guys got auctioned off. Minimum bid, ten bucks. And if nobody bid, the secret was a teacher

was assigned to bid on you.

Yes, my friend, the possibilities for mortification were infinite.

Some of the moms showed up and stood off to the side with their camcorders and zoom lenses, fidgeting and waving and basically actingas dweeby as their sons looked. I should know. My mom took an hour off work to be one of them.

Tim Pello was basket boy number five, and his mom actually bid on him. No kidding. She jumped up and down, yelling, "Twenty! I'll give you twenty!" Man, that'll brand you for life. Lucky for Tim, Kelly Trott came up with twenty-two fifty and saved his sorry self from everlasting torture as a mama's boy — one of the few fates worse than basket boy.

Caleb Hughes was up next, and he fetched the Boosters all of eleven fifty. Then came Chad Ormonde, who I swear was ready to pee his pants when Mrs. McClure made him step forward. She read his card, pinched his cheeks, and raked in fifteen even.

At this point what stood between me and the auction block was Jon Trulock. And I wasn't exactly interested in what he had in his basket or what his hobbies and favorite sports were. I was too busy scanning the crowd for Jumbo Jenny, sweating my pitsoff.

Mrs. McClure calls into the microphone, "Do I hear ten?" and it took me a minute to tune in to the fact that no one said "Ten!" No one said anything. "Come on, out there! The lunch is delicious. Strawberry tarts, um ..." And Mrs. McClure goes back to reading off the three-by-five about Jon Trulock's lunch.

Talk about embarrassing! This was worse than being a mama's boy. Worse than lunch with Jumbo Jenny! How'd he get voted basket boy if nobody wanted to have lunch with him?

Then off to the right of the crowd I hear, "Ten!"

"Ten? Did I hear ten?" Mrs. McClure says with a fluttery smile. "Twelve!" came a different voice from the same area. The first voice came back with "Fifteen!" and all of a sudden I recognized whose voice it was.

Juli Baker's.

I searched through the crowd and found her, hand waving in the air, that look all over her face.

"Sixteen!" came the other voice.

There was a pause, but then Juli shoots back with "Eighteen!"

"Eighteen!" cries Mrs. McClure, who looks like she's about to collapse from relief. She pauses, then says, "Eighteen going once ... Eighteen going twice ... Sold! For eighteen dollars."

To Juli? She was the last person I expected to bid on a lunch. Anybody's lunch.

Jon staggered back into line. And I knew I was supposed to step forward, but I couldn't budge. I felt like I'd been slugged in the stomach. Did Juli like Jon? Is that why she'd been so... so... nice lately? Because she didn't care about me anymore? All my life she'd been there, waiting to be avoided, and now it was like I didn't even exist.

"Step up, Bryce. Come on, don't be shy!"

Mike Abenido shoved me a little and said, "Your turn for torture. Get up there!"

It felt like walking the plank. I just stood up fronts weating bullets while the Booster queen dissected my lunch and started running through my list of favorites. Before she's even finished, though, Shelly Stalls calls out, "Ten!"

"What's that?" says Mrs. McClure.

"I'll give you ten!"

"Oh," she laughs as she puts down her notes. "Well, I guess I hear ten!"

"Twenty!" calls Miranda Humes from dead center.

"Twenty-five!" It's Shelly again.

I'm looking around for Jumbo Jenny, praying she's gone home sick or something, while Shelly and Miranda go up by fives. "Thirty!"

"Thirty-five!"

"Forty!"

Then I spot her. She's about twenty feet behind Miranda, cleaning her fingernails with her teeth.

"Forty-five!"

"Fifty!"

"Fifty-two."

"Fifty-two?" interrupts the Booster queen. "Well, this has been lively! And from the looks of this basket, well worth the —"

"Sixty!"

"Sixty-two!" calls Shelly.

Miranda scrambles around trying to beg money off her friends as Mrs. McClure calls, "Going once!" But then Jenny stands up and bellows, "A hundred!"

A hundred. There's a collective gasp, and then the entire student body turns and stares at Jenny.

"Well!" laughs Mrs. McClure. "We have a hundred! That is certainly an all-time record. And such agenerous donation to the Boosters!"

I wanted to boost her, right off the stage. I was doomed. This was something I would never live down.

Then there's this big commotion, and all of a sudden Shelly and Miranda are standing right next to each other calling, "One-twenty-two... fifty! We'll give you one-twenty-two fifty!"

"One hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents?" I thought the Booster queen was gonna polka. "You're pooling your resources to have lunch with this fine young man?"

"Yeah!" they call, then look over Jenny's way. Everybody looks over Jenny's way.

Jenny just shrugs and goes back to cleaning a nail.

"Well, then! One hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents going once... One hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents going twice...Sold to those two beautiful young ladies for an all-time record of one hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents!"

"Dude!" Mike whispered when I got back in line. "Shelly and Miranda? How am I supposed to follow that?"

He didn't even come close. He got Terry Norris for sixteen bucks, and the most anyone else got was forty. And when it was over, all the guys told me, "Dude! You are, like, the man... Score!" but I didn't feel like the man. I felt wiped out.

My mom came up and gave me a hug and a kiss like I'd won a gold medal or something, then whispered, "My little baby," and clickity-clicked off in her high heels, back to work.

So I was wiped out, embarrassed, and then practically dragged to the multi-purpose room by Shelly and Miranda.

The Boosters had outfitted the MPR with little tables for two, all decorated in shades of pink and blue and yellow, with balloons and streamers everywhere. I felt like the Easter bunny with my stupid basket boy lunch clutched in both hands while Miranda held on to one arm and Shelly latched on to the other.

They gave us the biggest table and whisked in an extra chair, and when everyone was seated, Mrs. McClure said, "Boys and girls? I don't think I need to remind you that you are excused from class for the rest of the day. Enjoy your lunches, enjoy your friendships... Take your time, relax, and thanks again for supporting your Boosters. We wouldn't be us without you!"

So there I was, with the two hottest girls on campus, having lunch.I was "the man," the envy of every other guy in school.

Buddy, I was miserable.

I mean, these two girls may be gorgeous, but what was coming out of their mouths about Jumbo Jenny was embarrassingly ugly. Miranda works herself up to, "What was she thinking? Like you would ever want to go out with her, right, Bryce?"

Well, yeah. That was right. But it seemed really wrong to say so. "Look, can we talk about something else?"

"Sure. Like what?"

"I don't care. Anything else. You guys going anywhere this summer?"

Miranda shoots off first. "We're taking a cruise to the Mexican Riviera. We're supposed to stop in all these cool ports and shop and stuff." She flutters her eyelids at me and says, "I could bring you something back..."

Shelly scoots her chair in a little and says, "We're going up to the lake. My dad has a cabin there, and you can get the most outrageous tan.

Do you remember what I looked like at the beginning of this year? I was, like, black. I'm going to do that again, only this time I've got a schedule all worked out so that it's even every where." She giggles and says, "Don't tell my mom, okay? She would have a ka-nip!"

And this, my friend, is how the Tan Wars began. Miranda told Shelly that she didn't even notice her tan at the beginning of the year and that the place to really roast is on a cruise ship. Shelly told Miranda that anyone with freckles can't really get tan and since Miranda had freckles everywhere, the cruise was a guaranteed waste of money. I choked down my third of the lunch and looked around the room, trying to let it all flow past me.

Then I saw Juli. She was two tables away from me, facing my direction. Only she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at Jon, her eyes all sparkly and laughing.

My heart lurched. What was she laughing about? What were they talking about? How could she sit there and look so... beautiful?

I felt myself spinning out of control. It was weird. Like I couldn't even steer my own body. I'd always thought Jon was pretty cool, but right then I wanted to go over and throw him across the room.

Shelly grabbed my arm and said, "Bryce, are you all right? You look... I don't know... possessed or something."

"What? Oh." I tried taking a deep breath.

"What are you staring at?" Miranda asked. They both looked over their shoulders, then shrugged and went back to picking at their food.

But I couldn't stop myself from looking again. And in the back of my mind, I could hear my grandfather's voice saying, "The choices you make now will affect you for the rest of your life. Do the right thing..."

Do the right thing...

Do the right thing...

Miranda shook me out of it, asking, "Bryce? Are you in there? I asked, what are you going to do this summer?"

"I don't know," I snapped.

"Hey, maybe you can spend some time up at the lake with us!"Shelly said.

It was torture. I wanted to scream, Shut up! Leave me alone! I wanted to run out of the building and keep on running until I didn't feel like this anymore.

"Lunch is really delicious, Bryce." Miranda's voice was floating around. "Bryce? Did you hear me? This is really a spectacular lunch."

A simple little thank you would've sufficed. But could I come up with a simple little thank you? No. I turned on her and said, "Can we not talk about food or tans or hair?"

She gave me an uppity little smile. "Well, what do you want to talk about, then?"

I blinked at her, then at Shelly. "How about perpetual motion? Know anything about that?"

"Perpetual what?"

Miranda starts laughing.

"What?"I ask her. "What's so funny?"

She looks at me a minute, then snickers. "I didn't realize I'd bid on an intellectual."

"Hey... I'm plenty smart!"

"Yeah?" Miranda giggles. "Can you spell intellectual?"

"He is too smart, Miranda."

"Oh, stop kissing up, Shelly. You're trying to tell me you're after his brain? God, it's making me sick to watch you grovel."

"Grovel? Excuse me?"

"You heard me. He's not going to take you to the grad dance anyway, so just give it up, why don't you?"

And with that, it was all over. One of my mom's flaky apple tarts got ground into Miranda's hair; the extra ranch dressing got smeared into Shelly's. And before Mrs. McClure could say, In the name of Boosters! What are you doing? They were rolling on the floor, scratching each other's makeup off.

I took this opportunity to leave my table and head for Juli's. I grabbed her by the hand and said, "I've got to talk to you."

She sort of half-stands and says, "What? What's going on, Bryce? Why are they fighting?"

"Excuse us a minute, would you, Jon?" I pull her away from the table, but there's no place to go. And I've got her hand in mine, and I just can't think. So I stop right there in the middle of the room and look at her. At that face. I want to touch her cheek and see what it feels like. I want to touch her hair, it looks so incredibly soft.

"Bryce," she whispers. "What's wrong?"

I can barely breathe as I ask her, "Do you like him?"

"Do I... you mean Jon?"

"Yes!"

"Well, sure. He's nice and —"

"No, do you like him?" My heart was pounding through my chest as I took her other hand and waited.

"Well, no. I mean, not like that..."

No! She said no! I didn't care where I was, I didn't care who saw. I wanted, just had to kiss her. I leaned in, closed my eyes, and then...

She broke away from me.

Suddenly, the room was dead quiet. Miranda and Shelly stared at me through their slimy hair, everyone was looking at me like I'd blown my entire circuit board, and I just stood there, trying to reel in my lips and pull myself back together.

Mrs. McClure took me by the shoulders, guided me to my chair, and told me, "You sit here, and you stay here!" Then she hauled Miranda and Shelly outside, scolding them and telling them to find separate bathrooms and clean up while she ran down the janitor to mop up their mess.

I sat there by myself and didn't even care about covering up. I just wanted to be with her. To talk to her. To hold her hand again.

To kiss her.

Before school was out, I tried to talk to her again, but every time I got close, she'd dodge me. And then when the final bell rang, she disappeared. I looked everywhere for her, but she was just gone.

Garrett, however, wasn't. He tracked me down and said, "Dude! Tell me it isn't true!"

I didn't say a word. I just headed for the bike racks, still hoping to find Juli.

"Oh, man ... it is true!"

"Leave me alone, Garrett."

"You get hooked up with the two finest chicks on campus, then bail on them for Juli?"

"You don't understand."

"You're right, dude. I completely don't understand. Did you seriously try to kiss her? I couldn't believe that part. We're talking Julianna Baker? Your nightmare neighbor? The know-it-all nuisance? The coop poop babe?"

I stopped cold and shoved him. Just laid into him with both hands and shoved. "That was a long time ago, man. Knock it off!"

Garrett put both hands up, but moved in at me. "Dude, you have flipped, you know that?"

"Just back off, would you?"

He blocked my path. "I can't believe this! Two hours ago you were the man. The man! The whole school was on their knees before you! Now look at you. You're, like, a social hazard." He snorted and said, "And, dude, the truth is, if you're gonna be like this, I don't need the association."

I got right in his face and said, "Good! 'Cause you know what? Neither do I!"

I shoved him aside and ran.

I wound up walking home. In my pinchy shoes, with dirty dishes clanking inside my sticky picnic hamper, this basket boy hiked all the way home. And there was a battle raging inside me. The old Bryce wanted to go back in time, wanted to hang with Garrett and shoot the breeze, wanted to hate Juli Baker again.

Wanted to be the man.

But in my heart I knew the old Bryce was toast. There was no going back. Not to Garrett or Shelly or Miranda or any of the other people who wouldn't understand. Juli was different, but after all these years that didn't bother me anymore.

I liked it.

I liked her.

And every time I saw her, she seemed more beautiful. She just seemed to glow. I'm not talking like a hundred-watt bulb; she just had this warmth to her. Maybe it came from climbing that tree. Maybe it came from singing to chickens. Maybe it came from whacking at two-by-fours and dreaming about perpetual motion. I don't know. All I know is that compared to her, Shelly and Miranda seemed so... ordinary.

I'd never felt like this before. Ever. And just admitting it to myself instead of hiding from it made me feel strong. Happy. I took off my shoes and socks and stuffed them in the basket. My tie whipped over my shoulder as I ran home barefoot, and I realized that Garrett was right about one thing — I had flipped.

Completely.

I trucked down our street and spotted her bike lying on its side on the driveway. She was home!

I rang the bell until I thought it would break.

No answer.

I pounded on her door.

No answer.

I went home and called on the phone, and finally, finally her mother answers. "Bryce? No, I'm sorry. She doesn't want to talk."Then she whispers, "Give her a little time, won't you?"

I gave her an hour. Almost. Then I went across the street. "Please, Mrs. Baker. I've got to see her!"

"She's locked herself in her room, dear. Why don't you try phoning tomorrow."

Tomorrow? I couldn't wait until tomorrow! So I went around the side of their house, climbed the fence, and knocked on her window. "Juli! Juli, please. I've got to see you."

Her curtains didn't open, but the back door did, and out came Mrs. Baker to shoo me away.

When I got home, my granddad was waiting at the front door. "Bryce, what is going on? You've been running back and forth to the Bakers', climbing over their fence... You're acting like the world's on fire!"

I blurted, "I can't believe this! I just can't believe this! She won't talk to me!"

He led me into the front room, saying, "Who won't talk to you?"

"Juli!"

He hesitated. "Is she ... mad at you?"

"I don't know!"

"Does she have reason to be mad at you?"

"No! Yes! I mean, I don't know!"

"Well, what happened?"

"I tried to kiss her! In front of this whole room of people, while I was supposed to be having that stupid basket boy lunch with Shelly and Miranda, I tried to kiss her!"

Slowly a smile spread across his face. "You did?"

"I was, like, possessed. I couldn't stop myself! But she pulled away and..." I looked out the window at the Bakers' house. "And now she won't talk to me!"

Very quietly my grandfather said, "Maybe she thinks this is all a little sudden?"

"But it's not!"

"It's not?"

"No, I mean ..." I turned to him. "It started with that stupid newspaper article. And I don't know... I've been weirded out ever since. She doesn't look the same, she doesn't sound the same, she doesn't even seem like the same person to me!" I stared out the window at the Bakers'. "She's... she's just different."

My grandfather stood beside me and looked across the street, too. "No, Bryce," he said softly. "She's the same as she's always been; you're the one who's changed." He clapped his hand on my shoulder and whispered, "And, son, from here on out, you'll never be the same again."

Maybe my grandfather's happy about all this, but I'm miserable. I can't eat; I can't watch TV; I can't seem to do anything.

So I went to bed early, but I can't sleep. I've watched her house from my window for hours now. I've stared at the sky; I've counted sheep. But man, I can't stop kicking myself for what an idiot I've been all these years.

And now how am I going to make her listen to me? I'd scale that monster sycamore if I could. Right to the top. And I'd yell her name across the rooftops for the whole world to hear.

And since you know what a tree-climbing weenie I am, I think it's pretty clear that I'm willing to do anything to get her to talk to me. Man, I'll dive after her into a chicken coop full of poop if that's what it takes. I'll ride my bike all the stinkin' way to school for the rest of eternity if it means being with her.

Something. I've got to come up with some thing to show her that I've changed. To prove to her that I understand.

But what? How do I show her that I'm not the guy she thinks I am? How do I erase everything I've done and start over?

Maybe I can't. Maybe it just can not be done. But if I've learned one thing from Juli Baker, it's that I've got to put my whole heart and soul into it and try.

Whatever happens, I know that my grandfather's right about one thing.

I'll never be the same again.

Chapter 14

The Basket Boys

JULIANNA

The Monday after the Loskis' dinner party, Darla tracked me down at school and forced Bryce Loski back into my brain. "Jules! Whoa, girl, wait up! How have you been?"

"I'm fine, Darla, how are you?"

"No, seriously," she whispered. "Are you doing okay?" She shifted her backpack and looked over each shoulder. "I got to thinking, you know, that was just so cold of Bryce. Especially since you've got that soft spot for him."

"Who told you that?"

"Like I haven't got eyes? Come on, girl. It's a given. Which is why I got to worryin' about you. Are you seriously all right?"

"Yes, I am. But thanks for thinking about me." I eyed her and said, "And Darla? It's not a given anymore."

She laughed. "How long's this diet gonna last?"

"It's not a diet. I've just, uh, lost my taste for him."

She looked at me skeptically. "Uh-huh."

"Well, I have. But thanks for, you know, caring."

All through first period I was still feeling strong and right and certain, but then Mrs. Simmons ended the lesson a full fifteen minutes early and said, "Clear your desks of everything but a pen or pencil."

"What?" everyone cried, and believe me — I was right along with them. I was not prepared for a quiz!

"Everything!" she said. "Come on, you're wasting valuable time."

The room filled with grumbles and the sound of shuffling binders, and when we'd all pretty much complied with her request, she picked a stack of bright yellow papers off her desk, fanned them with an evil grin, and said, "It's time to vote for basket boys!"

A wave of relief swept across the room. "Basket boys? You mean it's not a quiz?"

She ticked through the stack, counting ballots as she spoke. "It is like a quiz in that I don't want you conferring with one another. It's also like a quiz in that you have a limited amount of time." She slapped a set of ballots down on the first desk of row one, then went on to the second row. "I will collect them from you individually when the bell rings, and I will inspect to see that you have complied with the following instructions." She scooted over to row three. "Choose five, and only five, of the boys on the list. Do not put your name on it, and do not discuss your choices with your neighbors." She was on to row four now, talking faster and faster. "When you've made your selections, simply turn your sheet over." She slapped the remainder down on the last desk. "Do not, I repeat, do not fold your ballot!"

Robbie Castinon raised his hand and blurted out, "Why do guys have to vote. It's lame to have guys vote."

"Robbie ... ," Mrs. Simmons warned.

"Seriously! What are we supposed to do? Vote for our friends or our enemies?"

A lot of people snickered, and Mrs. Simmons scowled, but he had a point. Twenty of the school's eighth-grade boys would be made to pack a picnic lunch for two and be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

"Being a basket boy is an honor —" Mrs. Simmons began, but she was interrupted by Robbie.

"It's a joke!" he said. "It's embarrassing! Who wants to be a basket boy?"

All the guys around him muttered, "Not me," but Mrs. Simmons cleared her throat and said, "You should want to be one! It's a tradition that has helped support the school since it was founded. There have been generation after generation of basket boys helping make this campus what it is today. It's why we have flower beds. It's why we have shade trees and a grove of apple trees. Visit another junior high sometime and you'll begin to realize what a little oasis our campus really is."

"All this from the sweat and blood of basket boys," Robbie grumbled.

Mrs. Simmons sighed. "Robbie, someday when your children go to school here, you'll understand. For now, please just vote for whoever you think will earn a high bid. And class," she added, "we're down to nine minutes."

The room fell quiet. And as I read down the list of over one hundred and fifty eighth-grade boys, I realized that to me, there had only ever been one boy. To me, there had only been Bryce.

I didn't let myself get sentimental. I had liked him for all the wrong reasons, and I certainly wasn't going to vote for him now. But I didn't know who else to vote for. I looked at Mrs. Simmons, who was eagle-eyeing the class between glances at the clock. What if I didn't choose anybody? What if I just turned it in blank?

She'd give me detention, that's what. So with two minutes left to go, I put dots next to the boys I knew who weren't jerks or clowns, but were just nice. When I was through, there were all of ten names with dots, and of those I circled five: Ryan Noll, Vince Olson, Adrian Iglesias, Ian Lai, and Jon Trulock. They wouldn't make basket boy, but then I wouldn't be bidding, so it didn't really matter. At the bell I handed over my ballot and forgot all about the auction.

Until lunchtime the next day, that is. Darla cut me off on my way to the library and dragged me over to her table instead. "Have you seen the list?" she asked.

"What list?"

"The list of basket boys!" She shoved a scrawled copy of twenty names in front of me and looked around. "Your main dish is on it!"

Five from the top, there it was — Bryce Loski.

I should have expected it, but still, this awful surge of possessiveness shot through me. Who had voted for him? Out of one hundred fifty names he must have gotten a lot of votes! Suddenly I was picturing a swarm of girls waving stacks of cash in the Booster ladies' faces as they begged to have lunch with him.

I threw the list back at Darla and said, "He's not my main dish! As a matter of fact, I didn't even vote for him."

"Oooo, girl! You are stickin' to your diet!"

"It's not a diet, Darla. I'm ... I'm over him, okay?"

"I'm glad to hear it, 'cause rumor is, that bimbette Shelly is already stakin' her claim on him."

"Shelly? Shelly Stalls?" I could feel my cheeks flush.

"That's right." Darla waved her list in the air, calling, "Liz! Macy! Over here! I've got the list!"

Darla's friends fell all over themselves getting to her, then pored over the paper like it was a treasure map. Macy cried, "Chad Ormonde's on it! He is so cute. I'd go ten bucks on him, easy!"

"And Denny's on it, too!" Liz squealed. "That boy is" — she shivered and giggled — "fi-yi-yine!"

Macy's top lip curled a little and she said, "Jon Trulock? Jon Trulock? How did he get on this list?"

For a moment I couldn't believe my ears. I snatched the paper out of Macy's hand. "Are you sure?"

"Right there," she said, pointing to his name. "Who do you suppose voted for him?"

"The quiet girls, I guess," Darla said. "Me, I'm more interested in Mike Abenido. Have I got any competition?"

Macy laughed, "If you're in, I'm out!"

"Me too," said Liz.

"How about you, Jules?" Darla asked me. "Bringin' spare change on Friday?"

"No!"

"You get to miss the second half of school..."

"No! I'm not bidding. Not on anyone!"

She laughed. "Good for you."

That afternoon I rode home from school brooding about Bryce and the whole basket boy auction. I could feel myself backsliding about Bryce. But why should I care if Shelly liked him? I shouldn't even be thinking about him!

When I wasn't thinking about Bryce, I was worrying about poor Jon Trulock. He was quiet, and I felt sorry for him, having to clutch a basket and be auctioned off in front of the whole student body. What had I done to him?

But as I bounced up our drive, basket boys bounced right out of my mind. Was that green I saw poking out of the dirt? Yes! Yes, it was! I dropped the bike and got down on my hands and knees. They were so thin, so small, so far apart! They barely made a difference in the vastness of the black dirt, and yet there they were. Pushing their way through to the afternoon sun.

I ran in the house, calling, "Mom! Mom, there's grass!"

"Really?" She emerged from the bathroom with her cleaning gloves and a pail. "I was wondering if it was ever going to spring up."

"Well, it has! Come! Come and see!"

She wasn't too impressed at first. But after I made her get down on her hands and knees and really look, she smiled and said, "They're so delicate..."

"They look like they're yawning, don't they?"

She cocked her head a bit and looked a little closer. "Yawning?"

"Well, more stretching, I guess. Like they're sitting up in their little bed of dirt with their arms stretched way high, saying, Good morning, world!"

She laughed and said, "Yes, they do!"

I got up and uncoiled the hose. "I think they need a wakeup shower, don't you?"

My mom agreed and left me to my singing and sprinkling. And I was completely lost in the joy of my little green blades of new life when I heard the school bus rumble to a stop up on Collier Street.

Bryce. His name shot through my brain, and with it came a panic I didn't seem able to control. Before I could stop myself, I dropped the hose and dashed inside.

I locked myself in my room and tried to do my homework. Where was my peace? Where was my resolve? Where was my sanity? Had they left me because Shelly Stalls was after him? Was it just some old rivalry making me feel this way? I had to get past Bryce and Shelly. They deserved each other — let them have each other!

But in my heart I knew that just like the new grass, I wasn't strong enough yet to be walked on. And until I was, there was only one solution: I had to stay away from him. I needed to rope him out of my life.

So I closed my ears to the news of basket boys and steered clear of Bryce at school. And when I did happen to run into him, I simply said hello like he was someone I barely even knew.

It was working, too! I was growing stronger by the day. Who cared about auctions and basket boys? I didn't!

Friday morning I got up early, collected what few eggs there were in the coop, watered the front yard, which was by now definitely green, ate breakfast, and got ready for school.

But as I was running a brush through my hair, I couldn't help thinking about Shelly Stalls. It was auction day. She'd probably been up since five, making her hair into some impossibly pouffy do.

So what? I told myself. So what? But as I was throwing on my windbreaker, I eyed my money tin and hesitated. What if ...

No! No-no-no!

I ran to the garage, got my bike, and pushed out of the driveway. And I was in the street and on my way when Mrs. Stueby flew right in my path. "Julianna," she called, waving her hand through the air. "Here, dear. Take this. I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get it to you. I keep missing you in the mornings."

I didn't even know how much she owed me. At that moment I didn't care. All I knew was the top bill in her hand was a ten, and it was striking terror in my heart. "Mrs. Stueby, please. I ... I don't want that. You don't have to pay me."

"Nonsense, child! Of course I'm going to pay you. Here!" she said, and waved it out for me to take.

"No, really. I ... I don't want it."

She wedged it in the pocket of my jeans and said, "What utter nonsense. Now go! Go buy yourself a rooster!" then hurried back up her walkway.

"Mrs. Stueby... Mrs. Stueby?" I called after her. "I don't want a rooster... !" but she was gone.

All the way to school Mrs. Stueby's money was burning a hole in my pocket and another in my brain. How much was it?

When I got to school, I parked my bike, then broke down and looked. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I folded the bills together and slid them back into my pocket. Was it more than Shelly had?

All through first period I was furious with myself for even thinking it. All through second period I kept my eyes off of Bryce, but oh! It was so hard! I'd never seen him in a tie and cuff links before!

Then at break I was at my locker when Shelly Stalls appeared out of nowhere. She got right next to me and said, "I hear you're planning to bid on him."

"What?" I took a step back. "Who told you that? I am not!"

"Someone said they saw you with a whole wad of cash this morning. How much do you have?"

"It's ... it's none of your business. And I'm not bidding, okay? I ... I don't even like him anymore."

She laughed, "Oh, that'll be the day!"

"It's true." I slammed my locker closed. "Go ahead and waste your money on him. I don't care."

I left her there with her mouth open, which felt even better than getting her in a headlock.

That feeling carried me clear through to eleven o'clock, when the entire student body assembled in the gymnasium. I was not going to bid on Bryce Loski. No way!

Then the basket boys came out on the stage. Bryce looked so adorable holding a picnic basket with red-and-white-checked napkins peeking out from either side, and the thought of Shelly Stalls flipping one of those napkins into her lap nearly made the bills in my pocket burst into flames.

Darla came up behind me and whispered, "Rumor is you've got a wad of cash. Is that true?"

"What? No! I mean, yes, but I ... I'm not bidding."

"Oooo, girl, look at you. You feelin' all right?"

I wasn't. I felt sick to my stomach and shaky in the knees. "I'm fine," I told her. "Fine."

She looked from me to the stage and back to me. "You got nothin'to lose but your self-respect."

"Stop it!" I whispered at her fiercely. It felt like I was having a panic attack. I couldn't breathe. I felt light-headed and wobbly — like I wasn't in control of my own body.

Darla said, "Maybe you should sit down."

"I'm fine, Darla, I'm fine."

She frowned at me. "I think I'll stick around to make sure."

The Booster Club president, Mrs. McClure, had been fluttering around the basket boys, fixing ties andgiving them last-minute instructions, but now suddenly she was slamming her gavel on the podium, calling into the microphone, "If you'll all settle down, we're ready to begin."

I'd never seen six hundred kids quiet down so fast. I guess Mrs. McClure hadn't either, because she smiled and said, "Why, thank you. Thank you very much." Then she said, "And welcome to the fifty-second annual Basket Boy Auction! I know that your teachers have gone over the procedures with you in homeroom, but I've been asked to remind you of a few things: This is a civilized proceeding. No whistling, catcalls, or other degrading behavior will be tolerated. If you wish to place a bid, you must raise your hand high. Bidding without raising your hand is prohibited, and should you decide to be a funny guy, you will be caught and detained or suspended. Are we all clear on that? Good." She looked from one side of the gym to the other. "Teachers, I see that you are in position."

Six hundred heads turned slowly from side to side, looking at the blockade of teachers on either side of the gym.

"Man," Darla whispered, "they're not leaving much room for fun, are they?"

Mrs. McClure continued, "Minimum bid is ten dollars, and of course, the sky's the limit, but we don't accept IOUs." She pointed to her right. "Winning bidders should go directly to the table at the north door when I declare the basket to be sold. And as you're aware, winners and their basket boys have the rest of the school day off and are exempt from tonight's homework in all classes." She smiled out at the blockade. "Teachers, we appreciate your support on this.

"All right, then!" She put on her reading glasses and looked at a three-by-five card. "Our first basket has been brought by Jeffrey Bisho." She looked over her glasses at him and said, "Come on up, Jeffrey. Don't be shy!" He inched forward as she continued. "Jeffrey has brought a scrumptious lunch consisting of chicken salad sandwiches, oriental noodles, baby grapes, iced tea, and fortune cookies." She smiled at him over her glasses. "Sounds delicious, and sounds like fun! Which," she said, looking back at the crowd, "Jeffrey is! He enjoys skateboarding, skiing, and swimming, but ladies, he also enjoys a day in the park and watching Humphrey Bogart movies." She turned to him and grinned. "They are a kick, aren't they?"

Poor Jeff tried to smile, but you could tell — he wanted to die.

"All right, then," said Mrs. McClure as she whipped off her glasses. "Do I hear ten?"

Not only did she hear ten, she heard twelve, fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five, too! "Going ... going ... gone!" cried Mrs. McClure. "To the young lady in the purple tunic!"

"Who is that?" I asked Darla.

"I think her name's Tiffany," she said. "She's a seventh grader."

"Really? Wow. I would never have bid last year! And I ... I don't remember bids going up that high, either."

Darla eyed me. "Which tells me that maybe you would bid this year? How much you got?"

I looked at her and almost dissolved right on the spot. "Darla, I didn't bring money on purpose! My neighbor made me take it on the way to school because she owed it to me for eggs and —"

"For eggs? Oh, like Bryce was talking about in the library?"

"Exactly, and —" I looked at her looking at me and stopped cold.

"How can you even think about bidding on that boy?"

"I don't want to! But I've liked him for so long. Darla, I've liked him since I was seven. And even though I know he's a coward and a sneak and I should never speak to him again, I'm having trouble focusing on that. Especially since Shelly Stalls is after him. And now I've got this money burning a hole in my pocket!"

"Well, I can understand the bit about Shelly Stalls, but if you know that boy's just a big piece of fluffy cheesecake that you're gonna regret eating, I can help you with your diet." She put out her hand. "Give me the money. I'll hold it for you."

"No!"

"No?"

"I mean... I can handle this. I've got to handle it."

She shook her head. "Oh, girl. I'm hurting for you here."

I looked back at the stage. The auction was happening so fast! They'd be at Bryce in no time. As the bidding continued, the battle in my head got louder and fiercer. What was I going to do?

Then suddenly the gym fell quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. And standing next to Mrs. McClure looking completely mortified was Jon Trulock. Mrs. McClure was scouring the crowd with her eyes, looking very uncomfortable, too.

"What happened?" I whispered to Darla.

"No one's bidding," she whispered back.

"Do I hear ten?" called Mrs. McClure. "Come on, out there! This lunch is delicious. Strawberry tarts, roast beef and Muenster cheese sandwiches ..."

"Oh, no!" I whispered to Darla. "I can't believe I did this to him!"

"You? What did you do?"

"I voted for him!"

"Well, you couldn't have been the only one..."

"But why isn't anyone bidding on him? He's ... he's so nice."

Darla nodded. "Exactly."

That's when I realized what I had to do. My hand shot into the air and I called, "Ten!"

"Ten?" warbled Mrs. McClure. "Did I hear ten?"

I put my hand up higher and said to Darla, "Say twelve."

"What?"

"Say twelve, I'll outbid you."

"No way!"

"Darla! He can't go for ten, c'mon!"

"Twelve!" Darla called, buther hand didn't go up very high.

"Fifteen!" I cried.

"Sixteen!" called Darla, and eyed me with a laugh.

I whispered, "Darla! I've only got fifteen."

Her eyes got enormous.

I laughed and called, "Eighteen!" then held her arm down and said, "But that really is all I've got."

There was a moment of silence and then, "Eighteen going once! Eighteen going twice ... Sold! for eighteen dollars."

Darla laughed and said, "Whoa, girl! What a rush!"

I nodded. "Yes, it was!"

"Well, no dessert for you. Looks like you got cleaned out by something a little more ... uh... nutritious." She nodded toward the stage. "You gonna go up to the table like you're supposed to? Or you gonna stick around and see the carnage?"

I almost didn't have a choice. Before Mrs. McClure could say two words about Bryce or his basket, Shelly called, "Ten!" Then from the middle of the gym came "Twenty!" It was Miranda Humes, with her hand way in the air. They went back and forth, back and forth, higher and higher, until Shelly called, "Sixty-two!"

"I can't believe it," I whispered to Darla. "Sixty-two dollars! C'mon, Miranda, come on."

"I think she's out. Shelly's got it."

"Sixty-two dollars going once!" cried Mrs. McClure, but before she could say, Going twice! a voice from the back of the gym called, "A hundred!"

Everyone gasped and turned around to see who had called the bid. Darla whispered, "It's Jenny."

"Atkinson?" I asked.

Darla pointed. "Right over there."

She was easy to spot, standing tall above the others in the number-seven basketball jersey she almost always wore. "Wow," I whispered, "I had no idea."

"Maybe she'll slam-dunk him for you," Darla said with a grin.

"Who cares?" I giggled. "She slam-dunked Shelly!"

Mrs. McClure was gushing into the microphone about the record-breaking bid when a big commotion broke out over by Miranda. I spotted Shelly's hair, and my first thought was that there was going to be a fight. But instead, Shelly and Miranda turned to face Mrs.McClure and called, "One-twenty-two fifty!"

I choked down a cry. "What?"

"They're teamin' up," Darla whispered.

"Oh, no-no-no!" I looked over Jenny's way. "Come on, Jenny!"

Darla shook her head and said, "She's through," and she was. Bryce went to Shelly and Miranda for one hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents.

It was a little strange, meeting up with Jon and walking over to the multi-purpose room for lunch. But he was just so nice, and I think grateful that I'd bid, that by the time we got situated at our table, I wasn't feeling so awkward or silly. It was just lunch.

Things would have been easier if they hadn't seated me in direct view of Bryce and his little harem, but I did my best to ignore them. Jon told me all about this radio-controlled airplane that he and his dad were building from scratch, and how he'd been working on it for nearly three months, and that over the weekend they were finally going to get to try it out. He told me a funny story about soldering the wires wrong and practically starting a fire in their basement, and I asked him about how a radio-controlled airplane works because I didn't really understand it.

So I'd relaxed a lot and was actually having a good time eating lunch with Jon. And I was so relieved that I hadn't bid on Bryce. What a fool I would have made of myself! Watching Shelly and Miranda fawning all over him didn't bother me nearly as much as I thought it would. Really, they looked ridiculous.

Jon asked about my family, so I was telling him about my brothers and their band when a huge commotion broke out over at Bryce's table. Suddenly Shelly and Miranda were rolling on the floor like an enormous furball, smearing each other with food.

Out of nowhere Bryce appeared at our table. He grabbed my hand, pulled me a few feet away, and whispered, "Do you like him?"

I was stunned.

He held my other hand and asked again, "Do you like him?"

"You mean Jon?"

"Yes!"

I can't remember what I said. He was looking into my eyes, holding my hands tight, and then he began pulling me toward him. My heart was racing and his eyes were closing and his face was coming toward mine... Right there, in front of all the other basket boys and their dates and the adults, he was going to kiss me.

To kiss me.

I panicked. I'd been waiting all my life for that kiss, and now?

I yanked free and ran back to my table, and when I sat down Jon whispered, "Did he just try to kiss you?"

I turned my chair away from Bryce and whispered, "Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?"

People were whispering and looking my way, and when Shelly Stalls came back from cleaning up in the washroom, everyone fell quiet. Her hair looked awful. It was sort of oiled to her scalp and still had little chunks of food in it. She glared at me so hard it looked like she was trying to get laser beams to shoot from her eyes.

A couple of adults steered her back to her seat, and then everyone started whispering double-speed. And Bryce didn't even seem to care! He kept trying to come over and talk to me, but either he'd get intercepted by a teacher or I'd dash away from him before he had a chance to say anything.

When the dismissal bell finally rang, I said a quick goodbye to Jon and bolted out the door. I couldn't reach my bike fast enough! I was the first one off campus, and I pedaled home so hard it felt as though my lungs would burst.

Mrs. Stueby was out front watering her flower bed and she tried to say something to me, but I just dropped my bike in the driveway and escaped into the house. I certainly didn't want to talk about roosters!

My mother heard me slamming doors and came to check on me in my room. "Julianna! What's wrong?"

I flipped over on my bed to face her and wailed, "I am so confused! I don't know what to think or feel or do... !"

She sat down beside me on the bed and stroked my hair. "Tell me what happened, sweetheart."

I hesitated, then threw my hands up in the air. "He tried to kiss me!"

My mother struggled not to let it show, but underneath her composed expression was a growing smile. She leaned in a little and asked, "Who did?"

"Bryce!"

She hesitated. "But you've always liked him..."

The doorbell rang. And rang again. My mom started to get up, but I grabbed her arm and said, "Don't get that!" The bell rang again, and almost right after that there was a loud knocking at the door. "Mom, please! Don't get it. That's probably him!"

"But sweetheart ..."

"I was over him! Completely over him!"

"Since when?"

"Since last Friday. After the dinner. If he had vanished from the face of the earth after our dinner at the Loskis', I wouldn't have cared!"

"Why? Did something happen at the dinner that I don't know about?"

I threw myself back onto my pillow and said, "It's too complicated, Mom! I ... I just can't talk about it."

"My," she said after a moment. "Don't you sound like a teenager."

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, because I knew I was hurting her feelings. I sat up and said, "Mom, all those years I liked him? I never really knew him. All I knew was that he had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen and that his smile melted my heart like the sun melts butter. But now I know that inside he's a coward and a sneak, so I've got to get over what he's like on the outside!"

My mother leaned back and crossed her arms. "Well," she said."Isn't this something."

"What do you mean?"

She chewed the side of one cheek, then moved over to chew the other. At last she said, "I shouldn't really discuss it."

"Why not?"

"Because ... I just shouldn't. Besides, I can tell there are things you don't feel comfortable discussing with me..."

We stared at each other a moment, neither of us saying a word. Finally I looked down and whispered, "When Chet and I were fixing up the yard, I told him how we didn't own the house and about Uncle David. He must have told the rest of the family, because the day before the Loskis' dinner party I overheard Bryce and his friend making cracks about Uncle David at school. I was furious, but I didn't want you to know because you'd think they were only inviting us over because they felt sorry for us." I looked at her and said, "You just seemed so happy about being invited for dinner." Then I realized something. "And you know, you've seemed happier ever since."

She held my hand and smiled. "I have a lot to be happy about." Then she sighed and said, "And I already knew they knew about Uncle David. It was fine that you talked about him. He's not a secret or anything."

I sat up a little. "Wait ... how did you know?"

"Patsy told me."

I blinked at her. "She did? Before the dinner?"

"No, no. After." She hesitated, then said, "Patsy's been over several times this week. She's ... she's going through a very rough time."

"How come?"

Mom let out a deep breath and said, "I think you're mature enough to keep this inside these four walls, and I'm only telling you because ... because I think it's relevant."

I held my breath and waited.

"Patsy and Rick have been having ferocious fights lately."

"Mr. and Mrs. Loski? What about?"

Mom sighed. "About everything, it seems."

"I don't understand."

Very quietly my mother said, "For the first time in her life, Patsy is seeing her husband for what he is. It's twenty years and two children late, but that's what she's doing." She gave me a sad smile. "Patsy seems to be going through the same thing you are."

The phone rang and Mom said, "Let me get that, okay? Your dad said he'd call if he was working overtime, and that's probably him."

While she was gone, I remembered what Chet had said about someone he knew who had never learned to look beneath the surface. Had he been talking about his own daughter? And how could this happen to her after twenty years of marriage?

When my mother came back, I absently asked, "Is Dad working late?"

"That wasn't Dad, sweetheart. It was Bryce."

I sat straight up. "Now he's calling? I have lived across the street from him for six years and he's never once called me! Is he doing this because he's jealous?"

"Jealous? Of whom?"

So I gave her the blow-by-blow, beginning with Mrs. Stueby, going clear through Darla, the auction, the furball fight, and ending with Bryce trying to kiss me in front of everybody.

She clapped her hands and positively giggled.

"Mom, it's not funny!"

She tried to straighten up. "I know, sweetheart, I know."

"I don't want to wind up like Mrs. Loski!"

"You don't have to marry the boy, Julianna. Why don't you just listen to what he has to say? He sounded desperate to talk to you."

"What could he possibly have to say? He's already tried to blame Garrett for what he said about Uncle David, and I'm sorry, but I don't buy it. He's lied to me, he hasn't stood up for me ... he's ... he's nobody that I want to like. I just need some time to get over all those years of having liked him."

Mom sat there for the longest time, biting her cheek. Then she said, "People do change, you know. Maybe he's had some revelations lately, too. And frankly, any boy who tries to kiss a girl in front of a room full of other kids does not sound like a coward to me." She stroked my hair and whispered, "Maybe there's more to Bryce Loski than you know."

Then she left me alone with my thoughts.

My mother knew I needed time to think, but Bryce wouldn't leave me alone. He kept calling on the phone and knocking on the door. He even snuck around the house and tapped on my window! Every time I turned around, there he was, pestering me.

I wanted to be able to water the yard in peace. I wanted not to have to avoid him at school or have Darla run block for me. Why didn't he understand that I wasn't interested in what he had to say? What could he possibly have to say?

Was it so much to ask just to be left alone?

Then this afternoon I was reading abook in the front room with the curtains drawn, hiding from him as I had all week, when I heard a noise in the yard. I peeked outside and there was Bryce, walking across my grass. Stomping all over my grass! And he was carrying a spade! What was he planning to do with that?

I flew off the couch and yanked open the door and ran right into my father. "Stop him!" I cried.

"Calm down, Julianna," he said, and eased me back inside. "I gave him permission."

"Permission! Permission to do what?" I flew back to the window. "He's digging a hole."

"That's right. I told him he could."

"But why?"

"I think the boy has a very good idea, that's why."

"But —"

"It's not going to kill your grass, Julianna. Just let him do what he's come to do."

"But what is it? What's he doing?"

"Watch. You'll figure it out."

It was torture seeing him dig up my grass. The hole he was making was enormous! How could my father let him do this to my yard?

Bryce knew I was there, too, because he looked at me once and nodded. No smile, no wave, just a nod.

He dragged over some potting soil, pierced the bag with the spade, and shoveled dirt into the hole. Then he disappeared. And when he came back, he wrestled a big burlapped root ball across the lawn, the branches of a plant rustling back and forth as he moved.

My dad joined me on the couch and peeked out the window, too.

"A tree?" I whispered. "He's planting a tree?"

"I'd help him, but he says he has to do this himself."

"Is it a ..." The words stuck in my throat.

I didn't really need to ask, though, and he knew he didn't need to answer. I could tell from the shape of the leaves, from the texture of the trunk. This was a sycamore tree.

I flipped around on the couch and just sat.

A sycamore tree.

Bryce finished planting the tree, watered it, cleaned everything up, and then went home. And I just sat there, not knowing what to do.

I've been sitting here for hours now, just staring out the window at the tree. It may be little now, but it'll grow, day by day. And a hundred years from now it'll reach clear over the rooftops. It'll be miles in the air! Already I can tell — it's going to be an amazing, magnificent tree.

And I can't help wondering, a hundred years from now will a kid climb it the way I climbed the one up on Collier Street? Will she see the things I did? Will she feel the way I did?

Will it change her life the way it changed mine?

I also can't stop wondering about Bryce. What has he been trying to tell me? What's he thinking about?

I know he's home because he looks out his window from time to time. A little while ago he put his hand up and waved. And I couldn't help it — I gave a little wave back.

So maybe I should go over there and thank him for the tree. Maybe we could sit on the porch and talk. It just occurred to me that in all the years we've known each other, we've never done that. Never really talked.

Maybe my mother's right. Maybe there is more to Bryce Loski than I know.

Maybe it's time to meet him in the proper light.

Table of Contents

书名页

版权页

目录

怦然心动

Chapter 01　下潜

Chapter 02　心动

Chapter 03　哥们儿，小心点！

Chapter 04　无花果树

Chapter 05　嘿——嘿——嘿！快走开！

Chapter 06　鸡蛋

Chapter 07　伙计，放松点儿

Chapter 08　院子

Chapter 09　越变越大，越变越臭

Chapter 10　探视

Chapter 11　极度紧张

Chapter 12　晚餐

Chapter 13　怦然心动

Chapter 14　篮子男孩

来自文德琳的致意

Flipped

Chapter 01　Diving Under

Chapter 02　Flipped

Chapter 03　Buddy, Beware!

Chapter 04　The Sycamore Tree

Chapter 05　Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!

Chapter 06　The Eggs

Chapter 07　Get a Grip, Man

Chapter 08　The Yard

Chapter 09　Looming Large and Smelly

Chapter 10　The Visit

Chapter 11　The Serious Willies

Chapter 12　The Dinner

Chapter 13　Flipped

Chapter 14　The Basket Boys