Saying Good-bye to Matt
On my way to Matt’s, I run into Joe Brennan at the tennis courts. He waves me over, so I pull my bike to the curb.
“Listen to this,” he says. “A chimpanzee who’s allergic to bananas—what do you think?”
I think it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but he’s got a huge rock in his hand, so I tell him the idea is brilliant. He tosses the rock into the air with one hand and catches it with the other.
“So the chimp ends up being the best climber in his tribe because he has to get peanuts instead of bananas.”
“Peanuts don’t grow on trees.” I keep my eye on the rock as I disagree with Joe. “They grow on plants, underground.”
“They do not.”
“Do, too.” What are we, five? I take a few steps away from Joe. “And groups of chimpanzees aren’t called tribes. They’re called cartloads.”
Joe bounces the large rock from one hand to the other even slower than before. “Cartloads of chimpanzees—that doesn’t make sense. They can’t drive carts.”
“Maybe in your story they should. Cartloads of chimpanzees in carts—might be funny.” Why am I wasting my time trying to collaborate with this knucklehead?
The rock suddenly stops; it appears to weigh a hundred pounds in Joe’s meaty hand. “Since when did you get so smart?” he asks.
“Just ’cuz I have a hard time at school doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” I skid back and forth on the sidewalk with my bike. “Besides, my mom’s a veterinarian. I know a lot about animals.”
“’Cuz you are one.”
I nod as if Joe got the last laugh, but inside I’m thinking, We’re all animals, you moron. I tell him I’d love to stay and chat—another lie—but I’m on my way to Matt’s.
“I might use that cartload of chimps idea,” Joe shouts after me. “But I won’t give you credit for it!”
As I bike past the school, I think about Pedro. A group of monkeys can also be a cartload, but they can be a barrel too. I wonder when the woman in Venice Beach will bring Pedro back for a checkup. If Pedro wants me to roll him down the street in our recycling barrel with the wheels on it, I’d be happy to oblige.
Matt’s family car is loaded with luggage and boxes for their trip. He tells me they will fly from L.A. to Boston, then drive to Cape Cod and take a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. I feel sad for lots of reasons—because my best friend is deserting me, because my family’s not going anywhere, and because the rest of my summer is going to be WORK, WORK, WORK.
“Learning Camp won’t be so bad,” Matt says. “Jamie went there when he was our age and said it wasn’t that terrible.”
“The worst summer of my life!” Jamie jams another bag into the car. “Doing math for an hour, then shooting hoops for ten minutes? That’s a formula for misery.”
I figure out that Jamie is just helping them pack the car and won’t be going on vacation with the rest of the family. His mother gives him instructions ten times about what to do and what not to do while they’re gone. I feel bad that he’s standing there taking orders from her, but I’m also glad I’m not the only one who gets treated like a kindergartner.
Matt pulls me aside. “First rainy day on the island, I’m going straight to the library.”
“You are?” I suddenly feel like I’m alone in protesting the summer reading books.
Matt can read my mind. “Not for the reading list, you goon. I’ll see what I can find out about Susan James.”
Not only is my best friend leaving, but he’s going to be having my adventure.
After they pull out of the driveway, Jamie runs into the house and blasts the stereo as loud as it can go. I stand outside for several minutes to see if he’ll invite me in, but he doesn’t. I ride back home and try to figure out how summer went from being the best season of the year to the absolute total worst.