Bart sat with us on the tramp for four hours and thirty-three minutes.

He even said that, he said, “I’ve been here four hours and thirty-three minutes,” and I said, “How do you know?”

He showed me his watch which had a stopwatch and he said, “I time everything.”

“You time everything?”

“Everything. Time is very important to me,” he said.

“Me too,” I said, and it was true. Maybe I didn’t use a stopwatch but my calendar and my wristwatch that Mom gave me were things I had to have. They were the way I could know what was going to happen next and when the online contests ended and when the library was safe to go to and when Mom was getting home and mostly they were my only way to know how much time had passed.

Time could go slow and you could get so bored checking the clock you wonder if it’s broken. Sometimes just waiting for water to boil for hot dogs or macaroni or ramen felt like it took forever and everyone was dying of hunger, including yourself, and it still wouldn’t boil. On the other hand, time could also trick you and speed along so fast, you could forget to even get dinner going or you could miss out on getting doughnuts from Delilah or you could suddenly realize that your dad had been gone for almost a year.

“You’re a time geek, too,” he said, studying me, which made me feel weird but also who cares. And then he said this, he said, “I like you.”

Just like that.

I tried not to but I smiled.

~

He told us his name was Bart.

“I’m Bart,” he said.

And I thought Bart was not the best name but I didn’t say so.

Berkeley said, “Why are you here?”

And he said, “I’m exercising.”

“You’re exercising?” she said, and I laughed.

He looked at me. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Then he told how he was cardiovascularly very fit and that he was training to run a hundred-mile race.

“A hundred miles?” I said.

“Yep,” he said. “It’s called an ultramarathon.”

I almost told him I was in Jillian Michaels fitness club and I was probably going to live in Micronesia or Papua New Guinea but instead I said, “How do you train?”

“I run all day pretty much.”

“You do?” Berkeley said.

“I do.”

“You run all day?” she said.

“All day.”

“Why aren’t you running now?” she said.

“Because I’m sitting with you guys.”

Why was he sitting with us? I thought. I tried not to look at him. To just stare straight at the sky and act like it was normal for a boy to be lying next to me on a trampoline.

“If you run all day, when do you go to school?” Berkeley asked.

“I don’t,” he said.

Now I did look at him.

“You don’t?” I asked.

“Nope.”

I don’t know why but that made me feel happy. I said, “I don’t either.”

He smiled at me. “Then we’re the same,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “The same.”

I thought I should ask why he didn’t go to school.

I thought he should ask why I didn’t go to school.

But neither of us did. Which felt even more perfect.

Then Berkeley said, “My sister does push-ups.”

I felt myself get hot.

“You do?” he said.

“Sometimes,” I said.

“She does every day,” Berkeley said. And she was smiling. “She’s strong.”

He was still looking at me and I was back to looking at the sky.

He said, “On your knees?”

I said, “Knees?”

And he said, “The push-ups.”

I laughed. “No way. I do real ones.”

He said, “How many?”

I said, “As many as I want.”

He said, “I challenge you.”

And I said, “No thank you,” even though I was burning now. What if I could beat him? What if I could?

He said, “Are you scared?”

And I said, “No.”

And he said, “Then why not.”

And I said, “Because I don’t want to.”

And he said nothing.

We just lay there and Berkeley sat there.

I was trying not to giggle and I don’t even know why.

After a while Berkeley got bored. “Are we going to do our workbooks?” she asked.

And I said, “Why don’t you do chalk?”

“Now?”

“Sure,” I said.

She looked at Bart and then at me. “What about lunch?”

“It’s not lunchtime,” I said.

She stared for a bit and then she said, “Okay,” and climbed off the tramp and got the sidewalk chalk.

Bart and I were sort of alone then.

We lay for a while.

Then he said, “Do you know who Steve Fossett is?”

Steve Fossett. Steve Fossett. Steve Fossett.

I tried to think about my history books. My science books. Was he from sports?

I wanted to know so badly.

But I didn’t. So I said, “No. I don’t know who he is.”

And he said, “You should.”

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I swallowed and said, “Why?”

He said, “He’s only the greatest man who ever lived.”

And I said, “Who is he?”

And he said, “I’ll tell you later.”

Which made me mad but I didn’t say that.

Instead we talked about TV and how it was a total waste of time in his mind and also addictive and ruins lives. I said TV is not addicting and I said it wasn’t that bad for example on the History Channel you could learn about Robert Peary, who discovered the North Pole, and you could learn about how the five-second rule is not true, you can get all kinds of bacteria and fungus on your hot dog if it’s on the floor for a millisecond, and he said no way.

And I said yes way.

And he said he ate tons of stuff that had been on the floor for hours.

I said gross.

“And besides,” he said, “you could find that out by the internet, not TV.”

“I found it out on TV.”

“So.”

“So, TV is good.”

He sighed. Then he said he knew a guy who spent his entire life in front of the TV and his family was like, come to the park, and he was, like, no I have to watch a rerun of Lost. And they were, like, have Christmas with us, and he was, like, no, I have to see if blah blah does blah blah. He even had a toilet installed in the couch.

“What are you talking about?”

“He had a couch where the middle cushion had a hole in it for the toilet.”

“You’re lying,” I said.

“I’m not,” he said.

I said, “Oh.”

Then he told me that it was a myth that people couldn’t drink a whole gallon of milk at one sitting. I said, “No one can do that.” And he said, “Someone could, if it was skim for sure.”

He said next time he came over he’d show me.

Next time is what he said.

He smelled like bananas. And sweat. And his arm was touching mine. And he said next time he was going to drink a gallon of skim milk.

My heart was pounding out of my chest. I had no idea what was happening but I hoped it was never going to stop.

Next, he told a story about a creepy man who sat in his front window and waved at people all day.

“That seems nice not creepy,” I said.

“Really? You don’t think it’s weird to spend your whole day staring out the window watching people?”

I felt a little stupid then because mostly all Berk and I did was watch people.

At lunch we ate tuna fish sandwiches, which I made with Doritos sticking out which is my private recipe, and soft batch cookies that Mom bought at Big Lots and that we were supposed to save for Sunday dinner.

I brought out a plate of everything and was going to ask if he wanted some but he grabbed a sandwich before I could get a word out. He even said it was delicious, which it was.

After lunch he gave Berkeley a Jolly Rancher and she said, “What’s this?” and he said, “It’s for you,” and she said, “I can’t have hard candy,” and he said, “Sure you can.”

Berkeley looked at me. My mom tried to be strict about suckers and things because we didn’t have a dentist.

Normally I would’ve said don’t eat it. I might’ve even taken it from her and thrown it away, but for some reason I felt a little different.

So I said, “It’s up to you.”

And she said, “Really?”

And I said, “Yep.”

And so she ate it.

From then on, Berkeley loved Bart.

She kept asking him things like, “Do you like princesses?”

And he kept saying things like, “No.”

And she said, “What about mermaids?”

And no. He did not like mermaids.

Did he like hair?

He did like hair but only certain types of hair.

She asked what kind of hair.

He said, “I like curly hair,” and I swear to you he glanced at my hair which is so curly you can’t even straighten it with an iron and I tried not to notice. “And long hair. And Mohawks.”

I thought this was funny because his hair was straight and short.

She said, “What’s a Mohawk?”

And he said, “You know what a Mohawk is.”

And she said, “No I don’t.”

And he acted very upset and I tried not to laugh. He said, “Berkeley, right?”

And she said, “Yes,” and he said, “A Mohawk is probably the best hairdo you can ever have.”

She said, “It is?”

And he said, “Yes.”

And she said, “Do princesses have them?”

And he said, “Cool ones do.”

They talked like that for a long time, which I thought was weird but also nice. Sometimes we talked to a lot of people in the neighborhood. Other times, especially if Delilah was out of town, we could go days without anyone talking to us. Even Mom was too tired to talk.

So he was nice.

And weird.

But nice.

As the sun lowered in the sky and everyone was getting home and yelling and throwing footballs and softball practice plus more joggers, he said, “I better go.”

He stood up, the tramp gently bouncing. And I realized I hadn’t asked him the two most important questions I’d been waiting to ask and soon he was going to be gone.

“Wait,” I said as he jumped off the tramp.

He turned and looked at me.

I said my number one: “Why were you looking in that trailer?”

He said, “What trailer?”

I said, “That trailer,” and I pointed across the road.

He acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“We saw you looking.”

“Oh that,” he said. “I would tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”

“What?” I said.

Then he said, “FBI stuff.”

“Huh?”

Then he said, “I have to go.”

FBI stuff? What was he talking about? But he was getting ready to go so then I asked him the second question, which was much worse than the first. I said, “Are you coming back?” I felt dumb immediately.

He smiled. “Yes. I’ll bring milk.”

He had a lot of freckles and bright blue eyes and a dimple.

He reminded me of a boy in a movie. I didn’t know what movie or anything, but just someone who would be in a movie. Someone interesting. Someone different.

He said, “See ya.” And I said, “See ya.” And Berk said, “See ya.”

And he was gone.

............

Dear Dad,

I have a new friend. His name is Bart and he’s going to run a hundred miles in a race. He also knows a lot about a lot of different things. I think you’d like him. Also, he makes my heart hurt. Please disregard that I just said that unless you have something you could tell me that would be advice.

How are the hoodoo rock formations? I put up a map and some pictures of Bryce Canyon on my wall.

Maybe I could come visit this summer. Maybe I could bring Bart. I think you’d like him.

Love,
Olivia

P.S. Did you know you can drink a gallon of milk in an hour? Especially if it’s skim.

............