chapter 55

AUROCHS IN THE ORCHARD

I sit by myself on the bus ride home. I hear the stink bomb of a story. Comes right up the aisle. The backseaters are talking about what happened to Calvin Chumsky. There is some lying going on.

I hear this: Calvin was upside-down in the hole. Blood rushed into his head and came out of his eyes. He was eaten by ants. He broke all his bones. He will never walk again.

I turn around. Look at the backseaters. I say, “No. He’s recovering, Calvin is. We got a call at my house. He will be okay.”

Lance says, “Buttle, who asked you?”

Matt says, “Yeah! Who did? And nice try, siccing the cops on us. When the whole thing was your fault! Ha-ha-ha! The hole thing!”

I say, “Been wondering something . . . What did you see? Like, when you said you lost the pygmy. Yesterday. Part of that chase.”

Tell you what, they look like they are thinking it over. Not trying to make up an answer. But like they aren’t sure what the answer is. And Corey McSpirit is listening from the next seat over. I can see him looking on. Side eyes.

Matt answers me. Kind of serious. He says, “We already told the cops. We came around the house and he . . . I don’t know.” He looks at Lance. Then he says, “It was like the kid vanished.”

Lance says, “What are you, Buttle? The big interrogator, here? If you or anyone thinks we stuffed that kid in the hole, you’re wrong. We didn’t even know it was there. And hey, Butt-hole, why do you have glitter on your sweaty mitts? Did you make arts and craps in the SWOOF today?”

I don’t answer. I turn back. Sit straight in my seat. I know who I am. I am the best friend of Calvin Chumsky.

And the glitter is because I am loyal.

When we get to the cluster stop nothing happens. They do not chase me. They do not throw anything. I walk up to the crumbledown. Uncle Drum has put a sheet of plywood over those joists. Just loose. I step on it. It thumps and rattles.

I clomp along it and go inside. I sit at the kitchen counter. I ask Grandma has she heard any more news on Calvin. She says it’s going well. The Chumsky parents still hope he can come home tomorrow. She will make them chicken dinner. Grandma hits the button on the blender. Makes one banana shake. She hands it to me. She says, “Maybe what you really need is a good nap.” She might be right.

But I got some funniness about me. Tired. But moving all around. I don’t know where to be or what to do. There is no root cellar. No Calvin. Moonie Drinker has not showed up. Wish he would. But wish he wouldn’t. That could mean trouble for him.

I walk into the orchard. Not far. I turn and look back through the rows of trees. I see the back of the crumbledown. Sure is dug up and different back there. I see the root cellar. What is left of it. That heap. Uncle Drum has to decide about trucking that mess to the transfer station. Or maybe getting a dumpster.

I can see the two good walls and the aurochs from where I am. It’s a strange thing my eyes do. And my brain. I know he is just charcoal and oil crayons on the old stony wall. And now a few scrapes from the digger. And his ankles are stuck under a mess of brambles and boards. But when I look through the apple branches—just the right way—it can look like he is in the orchard. Standing still.

I go up to our shed. Grab for the steel-toothed rake. I use that to free the aurochs. Just pull some of the mess from our condemnable hazard away from his feet. Then I smell maple and bacon.

Uncle Drum looks at the rake in my hands. He says, “We’ll get that mess cleaned up, Mason. I’ll figure it out. But probably better if you don’t go climbing and picking around in there. Last thing you want is an old rusty nail in your foot.”

I nod. I lean my chin on the rake. I say, “But can we really?” And I look at the aurochs instead of Uncle Drum. I say, “Can we get it cleaned up? And do like the town said. Put a new cap on it? I’ll help.”

Uncle Drum says, “We will do something. I promise.”