8

“How are you coming along with A Tale of Two Cities?” Julius’s mother asked him Sunday afternoon, as she was fixing potato salad for a family barbecue that evening.

“Well, I got the book,” he said. “From the library,” he added, watching the hopeful look fade from her eyes. “I didn’t get a chance to go over there until Friday.”

“Honey, we have the book. It’s right there on the bookshelf in the living room.”

She put down the mayonnaise spoon and led Julius to the living room, where one whole wall was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

“Here, with all the other Dickens novels.” Sure enough, there was A Tale of Two Cities, flanked by David Copperfield and Great Expectations. “I still remember how long I worked when we moved in to get our books arranged. I had always wanted to live in a house with a library, a real library, the kind with a little moving ladder that rolled from shelf to shelf. I think that’s what sold this house to me, all the built-in bookcases.”

But there was no moving ladder. Maybe Julius would save his Edison Blue money and buy her one for Christmas. He’d like a moving ladder himself. He would have had a wild time riding on one when he was a little kid.

“Don’t you ever browse here?” Julius’s mother’s tone had shifted from nostalgia to worry. “When I was a child, I read every book my parents owned; I think I read half the books in our tiny public library. And now we have a house full of books, and I sometimes wonder whether you even look at them.”

Julius tried to think of something to say to make her feel better. It was true that his mother’s books had never had any appeal to him. There were so many of them, all lined up in those long, straight rows, like the army of statues from a dead emperor’s tomb he had seen once in the museum. He knew his mother wished he were a reader like—the thought came to him—Lizzie Archer. He could imagine the little squeal of delight Lizzie would give if she ever saw the Zimmermans’ books. His mother should have had Lizzie for a daughter. Instead she had Julius for a son.

“I look at them,” he said. He looked at the books every day; he just never looked inside them.

As Julius headed upstairs to try to read at least the first chapter of A Tale of Two Cities before dinner, he heard his dad say to his mom, “Times have changed, Cindy. A lot of kids today aren’t readers.”

Julius knew he shouldn’t linger at the top of the stairs, but he couldn’t help himself. It felt good to hear his dad taking his side.

“There’s still nothing like a book,” his mom said sorrowfully. “You can’t curl up on the couch with a computer. And plenty of kids still read. Ethan read A Tale of Two Cities last winter.”

Julius should never have told her that.

“It just breaks my heart that Julius doesn’t read.” Julius could hear the despair in her voice. “When you love something, you can’t help but hope your children will love it, too. And children who read do better in school. It’s a proven fact. They do.”

“But these days, even in schools, kids are watching TV and using the Internet,” Julius’s dad said gently. “They get their information in other ways.”

“Tell me,” his mother said, “how much information does someone get from The Flintstones?”

“Well, maybe he learns something about the Stone Age.”

His dad laughed and, to Julius’s relief, his mom laughed, too. Upstairs in his room, he opened his library copy of A Tale of Two Cities. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” That sounded like a dumb first line to Julius. Best and worst were opposites. If it was the best of times, it couldn’t be the worst of times. What kind of book began with an outright contradiction?

Julius closed the book. He’d pick it up again later, when his mother’s look and tone of disappointment weren’t so sharp in his memory.

*   *   *

After dinner, instead of starting in right away on A Tale of Two Cities, he made his goals list:

Goals for the Week of June 23–29

1. Don’t go out without money.

2. Don’t disgrace yourself in French class.

3. Don’t put off reading A Tale of Two Cities.

4. Don’t let Edison poop in his diaper again—VERY IMPORTANT!!!!

Even Julius had to admit that the list was pathetic. Octavia’s list—he was sure she had one—would say “Astonish them at the audition for Oklahoma!” or “Memorize all the lines of all the heroines in Shakespeare.” Julius’s goals were all negative: don’t do this, don’t do that. It was as bad as the list of rules posted by the side of the pool.

He decided to rewrite the list, making it more positive.

Goals for the Week of June 23–29

1. Carry money with you—at least $2.00.

2. Do your best in French class.

3. Read one chapter a day of A Tale of Two Cities.

4. Toilet-train Edison Blue????!!!!

The new list looked more impressive. It also looked impossible. Toilet-train Edison Blue? Who was he kidding?

Julius took a five-dollar bill from his Edison Blue jar and stuffed it in the pocket of the jeans he had tossed on the bottom of his bed, the jeans he would wear tomorrow. There. He had already taken care of goal number 1. But goal number 4 was the killer. Goal number 4 was a killer and a half.

*   *   *

When Julius and Ethan arrived at Intensive Summer Language Learning on Monday morning, their classroom had been transformed into an art museum. Every wall was covered with reproductions of what Julius supposed were great works of French art. He couldn’t help but notice that some of the great works of French art featured female persons wearing few, if any, clothes.

“Ce vendredi, this Friday, we will go to le musée d’art, the museum of art, in Denver, to see an exhibit on l’impressionnisme français, French Impressionism,” Madame Cowper announced. In her funny mixture of half French, half English, she went on to say that, after touring the exhibit, they would have lunch at a French restaurant; the class would run until three that day. Then Madame Cowper handed out permission slips for the trip, luckily in English.

Julius’s first thought was: Edison Blue. Would Mrs. Blue be able to find someone else for that afternoon? Would Edison miss him? Or would he cling as hard to the new babysitter’s leg when it was time for him or her to go? Julius was surprised that he almost minded the thought of skipping work. Anyone in his right mind would be overjoyed at the thought of an afternoon without Edison Blue.

Madame Cowper spent the first part of the class talking about French art. One by one, she told the class about each of the pictures displayed in the classroom, even the pictures of the ladies with no clothes on.

“And this is Odalisque, by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres,” she said, pointing to a portrait that showed a whole entire naked lady, mostly her back, but one little bit of her front. “Note the exquisite sense of color,” Madame Cowper said. Julius chiefly noted the use of a lot of skin tones.

“What happened to her clothes?” Alex called out.

To her credit, Madame Cowper didn’t blush. “De l’antiquité, the human body has always been a favorite subject for les artistes.”

As Madame Cowper turned to the next picture, Alex shot a rubber band across the room at Odalisque. It hit her square on the backside with a loud ping.

“Monsieur Ryan! Today I am giving only one warning. If you cannot treat these works of art with the proper respect, you will not accompany us to the museum on Friday.” Apparently Madame Cowper could speak in English when she wanted to make a point clear enough. “Comprenez-vous? Do you understand?”

Alex glared at her, but she held his gaze. He didn’t make any more smart-alecky remarks as she showed the class little naked baby angels on a ceiling painting by Fragonard and naked girls in Tahiti painted by Gauguin. But as the class was getting ready to file outside for the morning break, Alex collected his rubber band from the floor beneath Odalisque, and snapped it at one of the naked baby angels.

Instantly Madame Cowper bore down upon him. Julius caught in his breath.

“Monsieur Ryan, donnez-le-moi.”

Alex gave her the rubber band.

“Donnez-moi votre permission slip.”

His face completely sullen and resentful now, Alex returned to his desk, picked up his permission slip, and handed it to Madame Cowper. As the rest of the class stared, she ripped it in half, then in half again, and deposited the pieces in the wastepaper basket.

Alex lost his temper. “You can’t stop me from going. This isn’t school. My dad paid for this class.”

“We shall see, Monsieur Ryan, we shall see.”

Julius couldn’t help but be thankful that for once the person in trouble was not Monsieur Zimmerman. He might not be able to pour quiche or do le Hokey Pokey, but at least he was able to stay out of trouble in French class, and to look at French paintings of naked ladies without cracking up.

*   *   *

Julius arrived a few minutes early at Edison’s house that afternoon. He wanted a little extra time to talk to Mrs. Blue.

He took a deep breath and made himself start in: “Um—Mrs. Blue—I was wondering—well—do you think it’s time for Edison to start using—the—um—the potty?” He kept his voice low so that Edison, busily playing with his trucks at the other end of the room, wouldn’t hear.

Mrs. Blue sighed. “I don’t know. We bought him a little potty some time ago—you may have seen it in the bathroom—but so far he’s shown no interest in using it. And the books I’ve read all say that parents should wait until the child shows interest. But one of my friends said that her children never showed any interest, so she just had to train them anyway. She used stickers.”

“Stickers?”

“As a reward. She made a chart and put it on the refrigerator. But I don’t know. Edison is such a sensitive little boy … And he gets upset so easily.”

Julius wasn’t about to disagree.

“Edison’s daddy doesn’t seem worried about it, but he doesn’t really worry about anything. What do you think, Julius? You’ve gotten to know Edison pretty well during the past two weeks. Do you think he’s ready?”

It took Julius a moment to realize that Edison’s mom was actually asking him—a twelve-year-old boy—for advice. Somehow he had always assumed that moms just knew these things, like what foods their kids should eat, and what time their kids should go to bed, and when their kids should start using the potty. But Mrs. Blue plainly didn’t have a clue.

Julius thought about her question. He was ready for Edison to be potty-trained, but was Edison ready?

“I think so,” he finally said. “The other day, when I was changing his diaper, he told me that he wanted to change it himself.” Never before had so many gruesome details been left out of a story.

“Maybe you’re right. On my way home today, I’ll stop and buy some stickers. You might try mentioning it to him—casually at first, so as not to put him off. You know how negative he is.”

Julius made no comment.

“Maybe you could play some sitting-on-the-potty games.”

“Sure,” Julius said, as if he had been playing sitting-on-the-potty games all his life.

Sitting-on-the-potty games sounded pretty terrible, but not as terrible as changing-poopy-diaper games. Julius had taken his first step—a small step, but nonetheless a real step—toward his biggest summer goal. It might not be his mother’s top-ranked goal for him, but for Julius it would be a real accomplishment.