Quinn waved goodbye to his mother and climbed into the backseat of Neally’s car. He ran his fingers over the worn leather of the driver’s seatback. It felt cool and smooth, like the skin of a lizard he’d caught in Sam’s backyard.
Last night on the telephone Quinn had eagerly accepted Neally’s offer of a ride, even as he wondered aloud whether the thing in her driveway was truly a car, and not a misplaced yard ornament. Neally didn’t mind Quinn’s teasing; it was she who’d pointed out the cobwebs in the car’s wheel wells to Quinn. She’d whispered into the phone that if her dad gave them a ride to school, it would be one of the few times in her life she’d seen him, or anyone, drive that car.
Quinn couldn’t imagine why anyone would have a car and not drive it. But Neally’s family didn’t seem to have much use for a car. Neally walked to school, her mother took the train to work, and her father rode his bicycle everywhere, even to the grocery store. But today was special: Mr. Standers had a load of supplies to take to school for their class’s field trip.
“This is a cool car. It’s so ...” Quinn searched for a better word than ‘old.’ “It’s a classic.”
“He means it’s old. Yee-ow!” Neally feigned anger when Quinn shoved his book pack into her ribs. “Watch the seat belt!”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be on time,” Quinn said. “I didn’t think the car would actually start.”
“Me neither,” Neally said.
“Me three-ther,” said Mr. Standers. “I’ve only driven it twice since we moved here, but it started up like a charm. Right, Neally?”
Neally made hacking noises deep in her throat, as if she were a cat trying to bring up a hairball. “Sure thing, Dad. Just like a charm.”
“It’s a 1975.” Mr. Standers stopped the car at the street corner and adjusted the rearview mirror. “These cars are built to last. Change the oil regularly and they’ll run forever.”
“Translation: we’ll never get a new car in my lifetime,” Neally muttered.
“How will the class be divided up when we get to the Noble Woods?” Quinn hoped to be in Mr. Standers’ group, but didn’t want to ask. Field trip assignments might be one of those mysteries that adults weren’t supposed to disclose to students.
“I’m not sure, Quinn. The last I spoke with your teacher she couldn’t decide between choosing the groups alphabetically, having everyone count off one-two-three, or ...”
“If she still hasn’t decided when we get there, don’t say anything about which group you want to be in,” Neally said. “If she thinks we want it a certain way, she’ll do the opposite.”
“Oh really?” Mr. Standers said.
“I wasn’t talking to the front seat.” Neally smiled innocently. “But yes, really.” She looked at Quinn. “It’s a grownup thing. They think it builds character, splitting us up and not letting us be with our same group of friends.”
“Being with different people is how you make new friends,” Mr. Standers said. “You get to see people in a new way when you’re outside of your usual setting. You might appreciate people you never cared for or thought much about when you work together outdoors.”
“Superb point, Dad. I can’t wait to appreciate Brandon looking for a bathroom pass in the middle of the woods.”
“All right.” Mr. Standers cleared his throat. “No smart remarks from the peanut gallery.”
“What’s the peanut gallery?” Quinn asked.
“It’s an elderly person’s expression,” Neally said. “The peanut gallery was in the back of a theatre, where the old geezers used to ...”
“Where dey put dem young whippersnappers!” Mr. Standers hunched over the steering wheel, as if he were one hundred years old. He smacked his gums and spoke in a high-pitched creak. “Dang young’uns make too much noise! Dad-gummit, who stole my teeth?”
The 1975 Volvo’s peanut gallery wobbled with laughter.
“You can put me with the peanut gallery,” Neally declared. “I don’t care what group I’m in. I can work with anybody.”
“Me too,” Quinn quickly offered. “I don’t mind being with kids I don’t know, even if there’s some I’d rather not be with.”
“I read you,” Neally said. “Matt Barker, ditto that.”
“He’s not my first choice.” Quinn tried to sound detached, as if he were considering the respective merits of PB&J versus tuna sandwiches. “But it’s no big deal.”
“Matt is a classic example of what I was talking about. What’s that flapping sound?” Mr. Standers pulled over to the side of the street. “The tarp is loose.” He unfastened his seat belt, reached out the window, and tugged at the rope that secured a duffle bag to the car’s roof. “Okay, where was I? If you got to see a different side of Matt, perhaps by working together to help restore a trail, or ...”
“Watch out,” Neally whispered. “He’s using his ‘make-the-world-a-better-place’ voice.”
“... You might be surprised.” Neally’s father glanced over his shoulder and shifted the car into drive. “Matt could be a good friend to you, to anyone, if ...”
“If he were on another planet,” Neally said.
“If he had a personality transplant,” Quinn added.
“All right.” The voice was stern, but Quinn saw that Mr. Standers was trying not to laugh.
“If he wasn’t such a complete waste of chromosomes,” Neally continued. “And a total disgrace to human DNA, and a gross example of ...”
“No.”
Quinn had never heard that simple syllable spoken with such quiet force. Mr. Standers stopped the car in the middle of the street without pulling over to the curb, and looked in the rear view mirror at his daughter.
“You do not talk about people that way, even if you think about them that way. Never. And if you find yourself thinking about someone that way, then you change the way you think.”
Quinn held his breath, waiting for Neally to give her father evidence about Matt. She could tell what happened at the four square court, and Quinn could add so many other things. Neally stared into the mirror. She said nothing, but never broke eye contact with her father.
“Matt’s a strong personality, no argument there. I gather he’s been a bully over the years?”
Quinn looked at his shoes, at his seatbelt buckle, out the window, anywhere but in the rearview mirror. Mr. Standers had resumed driving and was speaking in his normal voice, but Quinn did not want Neally’s father’s caring, perceptive eyes focused on him.
“It’s a shame, about Matt. In my experience, people give what they get in that regard.”
Quinn didn’t know what Mr. Standers meant, but he wasn’t going to ask for an explanation. By the look on Neally’s face, she wasn’t going to, either. Quinn knew he shouldn’t talk until Neally did. She’d been chewed out by her dad, and when your buddies get in trouble in front of you, you let them make the next move. You wait for them to act like everything is fine.
Mr. Standers turned onto the street that led to the school. “I’ve graded Matt’s papers, worked with his reading group, and done some one-on-one with him. He’s academically bright, if somewhat rigid. When I compliment his work he’s surprised and grateful, though he pretends not to be.” Mr. Standers sounded as if he were thinking out loud. “I don’t think he often hears the kind of words he needs to hear.”
“What kind of words?” Quinn’s curiosity overcame his sense of buddy-honor.
“Simply that,” Mr. Standers said. “Kind words.”
“There’s Lily’s mom, Mrs. L’Sotho.” Neally pointed to the school’s main entrance, where a slender, tall African women stood. “I bet that’s our line.”
“I’ll drop you off here,” Mr. Standers said. “I’m meeting Ms. Blakeman in the faculty lot.”
“Do you need help carrying the stuff?”
“No, but thanks for the offer, Quinn.”
“I’ve seen my dad carry a tandem kayak all by himself, over his shoulder,” Neally bragged to Quinn as they exited the car. They joined Sam and Tay and the other students standing in line by the curb. It looked as if their entire class was there.
“Why is she here?” Quinn glanced at Ms. Barnes, who was pacing in front of the No Parking Bus Loading Zone Only sign.
“She can tell we’re waiting for a bus,” Tay said.
“She can smell it,” Sam added, “like how rabid wolves can smell fear.”
“She’s not our bus monitor,” Quinn groused. “Can’t she find some sixth graders to torture?”
As if she’d heard Quinn’s suggestion, Ms. Barnes raised her whistle and turned her attention to the playground, where a group of older students loitered by the chain-link fence.
SSSSSSSQQQQQQQQQQUUUUUUUURRRRRRK!
“Whose book pack is that by the gate?” Ms. Barnes strutted toward the fence.
“I love watching her hassle sixth graders,” Sam said.
“I love watching her hassle anyone but me,” Quinn said.
“Have you ever seen her from behind, when she’s walking away from you?” Tay asked.
“I love it when she’s walking away from me,” Sam said.
“Look,” Tay insisted. “She has the weirdest shape.”
Quinn studied Ms. Barne’s retreating form. “Yeah, weird. She’s not exactly fat ...”
“Groooooow-tesque!” Sam said gleefully. “Her head and shoulders and stomach are skinny, and then everything puffs out. I suspect there are mutant pear genes in her DNA.”
“It’s all that marching,” Neally suggested. “Exercising a muscle makes it bigger.”
Lily, who was in line in front of Neally, clapped her hand over her mouth. Arturo and Janos turned toward the sound of Lily’s muffled giggles. “Da!” Janos joined in the laughter, shrugging his shoulders at Arturo, as if to ask what they were all laughing about.
“She’s big.” Arturo pretended to blow a whistle, and wiggled his hands by his hips. “La Señora, nalgas grandes.”
Janos’ eyes swelled as big as cow pies. “Da, da!”
“How inspirational!” Neally pinched her nostrils, sounding like the counselor who came to class once a month to drone on about how different cultures are good and different drugs are bad. “Unity in diversity! We’re all multilingual when it comes to dissing our fearless leaders.”