chapter 18

“The trouble with me is,” Al confessed, “I’m always standing back and looking at myself, contemplating my own navel. I’m too uptight. I know that. I wish I was more of a free spirit. I want to be a free spirit, but I can’t seem to cut it.”

“You’re a nonconformist,” I told her, “and that’s a good way to be. You’re tense because you’re afraid you might be too much of a nonconformist, that’s all.”

Al stared at me. “You think that’s it?”

“Sure. Smile more. People like people who smile.”

Al put a finger in each corner of her mouth and pulled her mouth as wide as it could go.

“How’s that?” she said.

I told her, “Not bad.”

“As I grow older,” Al went on, “I’m becoming less of a nonconformist than when I was thirteen. That’s one thing being fourteen has done to me. It’s made me cautious. Sort of apprehensive, if you know what I mean. But darned if I’m going to be totally conformist. Ever.”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of that,” I said.

“Conformists are boring,” Al said. “I may be a pain in the neck, but I’m never going to be a boring pain in the neck.”

We got a good laugh out of that.

“You know who’s uptight? Ms. Bolton.”

Al pulled my arm, warning me. “Shhh, there she is.”

Ms. Bolton came out of the teachers’ room right ahead of us. Her head was down. I don’t think she knew we were there. She had on her red tights. We figured she must have about ten pairs of red tights.

As if she’d heard us, Ms. Bolton turned, saw us, and said, “Hello, kids.” Probably she hadn’t memorized our names yet. We said hello back. I think she’s shy. Al says she’s aloof. Whatever. Yesterday we peeked into the teachers’ room and saw Ms. Bolton sitting by herself, mournfully eating a sandwich. The other teachers give her a lot of room.

We slowed down and followed her slowly. By the time we reached the street, Ms. Bolton was gone.

“Mr. Keogh seems down in the dumps,” Al told me. “He wasn’t his usual friendly self today.”

“Maybe his marriage is in trouble.”

“No, he told me he had to put his father in an old people’s home just before school started,” Al said. “He said it almost broke his heart. He goes to see his father every weekend, sometimes twice. His father has a wonky heart and hardening of the arteries. He didn’t want to go into the home. He’d been in the same apartment for almost forty years, Mr. Keogh said. Then his father fell and couldn’t get up. Mr. Keogh’s mother died four years ago, so he’s all alone. So they had to put him in the home.

“You know something? Kids think they have problems. But we’re pretty sure things will fall into place when we grow up and go into the world. We think the only reason we have problems is that we’re young. So then you look around and you see people like Ms. Bolton, who’s probably unhappy and lonely, and Mr. Keogh’s father, who’s old and unhappy because he doesn’t want to be in the home, and Mr. Keogh, who’s unhappy because his father’s unhappy. So what good does it do to grow up? It doesn’t solve anything.

“What it all boils down to, my friend,” Al gave me the owl eye, “is that happiness is elusive. The more you look for it, the more elusive it becomes.”

“Maybe the trick is not to look for it,” I said, “and maybe it’ll creep up on you when you least expect it.”

“You want to come with me? I’m going to the card shop to buy a card to send to Brian.”

“What kind of card?”

“One of those ‘Oooops, sorry I forgot’ cards.”

“What’d you forget?”

“His birthday. He sent me an ‘Oooops, sorry I forgot’ card after Louise told him I’d had a big birthday party.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?”

“It was when we were mad at each other. I wanted to tell you, but I was too mad at you. Anyway, it turns out,” Al flashed me a big grin, “his birthday was two days before mine. How do you like them apples? He’s sixteen. Two years and two days older’n me.”

“Well, I guess that means you’re opening up a whole new phase in your relationship,” I said. “Go for it, kid.”

“Does bad luck seem to follow you?” Al said in her swami voice. “Has the one you love found another? I, Mother Zandi, will set you on the right path, warn you gravely, suggest wisely, explain fully.”

“Bag it, Mother Zandi,” I said.