The Kid in the Red Jacket Read online

  I have to admit that the “horning in” part worked out pretty well. The next day at lunch I took a deep breath, sat down at the table with the other guys, and started eating. That was that. No one seemed to mind, really. They hardly even stared.

  After that it got easier. Once kids have seen you at their table, it’s not as hard to accept you the next time. Then pretty soon they figure that you must belong, or you wouldn’t be sitting there every day.

  I’m not saying that after horning in I automatically started to love Rosemont, Massachusetts; or that I still didn’t think about Thornsberry and Roger every single day. All I mean is, the more days that passed, the less I felt like an outsider. I guess you’d say stuff started feeling more familiar. Like at school, if a stranger had asked me for directions, I could have steered him to all the water fountains and lavatories. For some reason, knowing your lavatories sort of gives you a feeling of belonging.

  I guess moving to a new school is like anything else you hate. Even though you can’t stand the thought of it, and you plan to hate it for the rest of your life, after you’ve been doing it for a while, you start getting used to it. And after you start getting used to it, you forget to hate it as much as you’d planned. I think it’s called adjusting. I’ve given this some thought, and I’ve decided that adjusting is one of those things that you can’t control that much. It’s like learning to like girls. It sort of makes you nauseous to think about it, but you know it’s going to happen.

  By the end of the second week, most of the kids in my class knew my name. They didn’t use it that much, but when the teacher said, “Yes, Howard?” they turned around and looked. So I know they knew.

  There was still a big problem in my life, though. Very big. And you spelled it M-O-L-L-Y. She was coming over to “play” with me more and more. It was getting totally out of control.

  I used to think that if you didn’t want someone at your house, getting rid of them would be easy. You could just shout, “Go home!” and that would be that. It doesn’t work that way in real life, though. The only time you can feel good about shouting “go home” is when you’ve had a big fight with someone or if you hate that person’s guts.

  That was the trouble with Molly. She was kind of a funny little kid, really, and her guts were getting harder to hate. And even if they weren’t, my mother kept reminding me of all the mean divorce stuff that had happened to her. It was supposed to make me “think twice” about doing something mean to her.

  Still, I found it hard letting her come over every day. After all, a guy has his reputation to think of. And like I said, once word spreads that you’re hanging around with first-graders, it’s hard to live it down.

  I tried to talk to my mother about it, but the conversations were too short to do much good. Mostly she’d just find me hiding behind the couch while Molly was knocking, and she’d make me go to the door. “Stop being stupid and let Molly in,” she’d snap.

  Finally, one afternoon before Molly came over, I decided to just tell my mother the whole truth and get it over with. Maybe she’d yell and maybe she wouldn’t, but something had to be done.

  She was about to put Gaylord down for his nap when I stopped her in the hall.

  “It’s going to kill me,” I announced.

  “What’s going to kill you?”

  “Being friends with Molly. It’s going to kill me. You asked me if it would kill me to be nice to her and the answer is yes. I’m sorry. But it will.”

  My mother held Gaylord with one hand and put the other hand sternly on her hip. “How?” she demanded sharply. “How will it kill you, Howard?”

  I was prepared for her to ask this question. “The pressure. You don’t know how much pressure I’m under as a new kid. I’m trying to make these great friends, and every day Molly’s standing at my front door for the whole world to see. I practically have to yank her in the house so no one will notice. Don’t you get it? Kids are beginning to know me now, and I just can’t risk it.”

  “Risk it? Risk what, Howard?”

  I took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to try to make her understand.

  “Risk being turned into another Ronald Dumont,” I admitted reluctantly. “Ronald Dumont was this weirdo at my old school who didn’t have any friends his own age, so he ended up playing with the little kids all the time. He whinnied, Mom. I’m not kidding. He actually went around playing horses and whinnying. And after a while all we did was make fun of him.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Howard. You’re not actually afraid that just because Molly comes over here once in a while, you’re going to turn into another Ronald Du—”

  “Yes, I am!” I interrupted. “Why don’t you understand? I mean, I don’t think I’m going to start whinnying or anything. But I am afraid that kids will think there’s something wrong with me. They’ve already seen her walking to school with me. I’m practically positive. No one’s said anything, but I know they’ve seen us together. The next thing you know, they’ll start thinking that I don’t fit in with them. Then pretty soon I won’t. And before long I’ll be out on the playground, tossing my head around like a wild stallion.”

  My mother stared at me for about ten minutes. Well, actually it was probably more like ten seconds. But the expression on her face made it seem a lot longer.

  Finally she just shook her head disgustedly. “I can’t believe you’re serious. I can’t believe you are so worried about what people will think that you can’t be nice to a little girl who needs a friend. And what’s more, I can’t honestly believe that you think being nice to her will turn you into some kind of misfit. But I’m not going to argue with you about this anymore. I’m tired of it, Howard. I’m tired of you hiding behind the couch; and I’m tired of making you go to the door; and I’m tired of trying to make you understand how much she’s been through. I’m not going to push her on you anymore, Howard. You do what you want about her. You handle it your own way. But just think about one thing: Someday you may need a friend. Not want one. Need one. And if you do, you’d better hope that you’ll find someone who has a bigger heart than you do.”

  She didn’t understand. I knew she wouldn’t, and she didn’t.

  “Hey! Let me in!”

  I rolled my eyes. Molly was kicking at the front door, hollering her usual greeting.

  My mother stood there, waiting to see what I would do. I hate it when she watches me like that. It’s like I’m on trial or something.

  “I’ll let her in, okay?” I said, annoyed. Then, without wasting any more time, I reached outside and yanked her in as quickly as I could.

  My mother just sighed and walked away.

  Molly’s hands were spilling over with coloring books and crayons. She’d been coming over to color a lot lately. At first it really bothered me. But then I decided that letting a kid color at your house isn’t really the same thing as being her friend. When the painters come and color my walls, I don’t consider them my pals or anything.

  Sometimes she wanted me to color with her. Usually I didn’t. But once in a while I did a page. Just for the heck of it, you know. I’m not exactly too old to color, but almost. I guess you could say I’m right on the coloring border.

  Molly really loved it, though. The funny thing was, most of the time she only used lavender and lime green. Even for skin, she’d color it either lavender or lime green. Once, when she was coloring a pig, I handed her this color called light pink. She didn’t even look up from her book. “I only like lavender and lime green,” she informed me.

  “Yeah, I know. But pigs aren’t lime green. You need different colors in your pictures to make them look real.”

  Molly stopped what she was doing and stared up at me. “It’s just pretend, Howard. My nonny says pretend can be any color you want.”

  Then, for just a split second, she got another one of those sad expressions. “Besides,” she added, “I don’t always like real.”

  Sometimes I wondered how she did i
t. How did she go around acting so happy when there was all that hurt still inside her? Even I wasn’t any good at stuff like that. And she was only six.

  Anyway, as she sat there coloring, the telephone rang. I didn’t bother to answer it. When you’re a new kid, the telephone is never for you. I guess that’s why when my mother shouted, “Howard! It’s for you!” I felt sort of nervous and excited at the same time.

  “For me?” I asked, jumping right up. “I hardly even know anyone here.”

  Molly thought it over for a second. “Maybe it’s your teacher calling to tell you that she saw you bump Frankie Boatwright off the seesaw and you can’t teeter-totter anymore.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t bump Frankie Boatwright.”

  “I didn’t either,” replied Molly matter-of-factly. “He just wasn’t holding on tight enough, that’s all.” Then she frowned. “It’s not my fault he had slippery fingers.”

  “Howard! Are you going to get the phone or not?”

  I hurried to my mother’s bedroom and picked up the receiver.

  “H-h-hello?”

  “Hey, Howard. It’s Ollie. Ollie Perkins. From school, you know?”

  I was almost too happy to answer. A kid! A regular kid my own age calling me at home! Calling me by my name and everything! It was like a miracle!

  “Er, yeah, hi, Ollie. What’s up?” I managed to say, trying to sound casual.

  I was so excited, I can’t remember the rest of the conversation. All I know is that some of the kids were setting up a football game on Saturday, and Ollie asked me if I could make it.

  Could I make it? Was he kidding? Of course I could make it! This was just the kind of break a new kid prays for.

  “Yeehaa! A football game!” I shrieked as I hung up the phone. “Some guys are getting a football game together, and they want me to play!”

  My mother ran into the room and ruffled my hair. “See? I told you things would get better, didn’t I?”

  “Me too!” Molly chimed in. “I told you that too! Remember, Howard Jeeper?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” I replied, still grinning. “You told me.”

  “Hey!” she said then. “When is it, anyway? I can come, right? I like football, I think. Yup, I’m pretty sure I do.”

  The grin left my face in a flash. I should have known this would happen. I never should have mentioned the game in front of her.

  I looked hopelessly at my mother. Not much help there. She gave me one of those “Now what are you going to do?” expressions and left the room.

  I think this was the part I was supposed to handle.

  “Uh, listen, Molly. I’m going to tell you something. And you might not like hearing it, but I think it’s for your own good. Okay?”

  Molly closed her eyes like I was going to shoot her or something. I guess she was used to getting bad news by now, and she was trying to prepare herself.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she said after a second.

  “Well, it’s not that bad,” I began. “It’s just that it might not be such a great idea for you to keep hanging around with big kids like me. You might end up getting hurt, you know. Take football, for instance. It’s a really rough sport, Molly.”

  Molly looked positively relieved. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I can just wear something soft and fluffy. Then it won’t hurt if I fall down. I know! I can wear my snowsuit!”

  Oh, geez. Her snowsuit. That’s all I would need—I could just see me showing up for the big game, dragging Molly in her snowsuit.

  “No! No snowsuit!” I blurted. “It wouldn’t help. These guys are rough, and they’ll tackle you and drag you around and kick and …”

  “Hey! I got a better idea!” she interrupted. “I can be the cheerleader! I can bring my pom! I used to have two pom-poms. But I lost one, so now I only have a pom.”

  My face must have dropped right to the floor.

  “Don’t look so worried, Howard Jeeper,” consoled Molly. “I can still do good with just one. I’ll keep my other hand in my snowsuit. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Then, before I could stop her, Molly hid one hand behind her back and started yelling the stupidest football cheer I’ve ever heard:. “Push everybody down! Push everybody down! Push everybody down!”

  I collapsed on the couch and buried my head in the pillows.

  8 On Saturday morning I could hardly even eat my cereal. It might sound stupid, getting so excited about a football game, but I couldn’t help it. I even talked to Gaylord about it after breakfast.

  “I think this is the start of it, Gaylord,” I began. “See, there are different stages you have to go through to make friends, and I think I’m in the last one. First you meet them; then you learn their names; and then you begin to say hi and stuff. I’ve been hanging around them at school for a while now. But the most important stage doesn’t come until you start to do something with each other. Get it? That’s where I am now. I’m in the doing stage.”

  Gaylord smiled. He’d been doing that a lot lately. I think he was really starting to admire me.

  “Now, when Ollie and Pete come by to get me,” I continued, “I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t be in one of your crying moods, okay? Also, if they happen to see you, just smile and try not to spit up on yourself. They might think it runs in the family or something.”

  I wasn’t worried about Molly. I hadn’t told her the date of the football game, so I figured she’d still be running around in her nightgown or something, watching Saturday morning cartoons.

  Also, Molly had been spending more time with her friend Sally lately. Several times that week I had seen them in her front yard, pretending they were cheerleaders. First they’d scream, “Hit ’em in the head! Hit ’em in the head!” Then they’d throw the pom up in the air. It was humiliating just to watch.

  Anyway, a little after ten that morning, I heard Ollie and Pete knock at the front door. They only lived a couple of blocks away, on the same street. I think that’s why they hung around together. When you’re next-door neighbors, you almost have to hang around together.

  I was in my room, so my father let them in. I hoped he wasn’t down there shaking their hands, but I knew he was. My father treats everyone like a man, even women and children.

  When the guys came upstairs to my room, I was lying on my bed and pretending to read a comic book. I wanted to make it look like I wasn’t really expecting them. I didn’t jump right up either. I just sort of got up slowly, like this was no big deal.

  After a few minutes, they started going around my room, looking at my stuff. This is a pretty tense time for a new kid, if you want to know the truth. A guy can tell a lot about you by looking at your stuff. Like if I was a real brain, I’d probably have a chemistry set and a microscope. Or if I was Ronald Dumont, I’d have a big poster of the Black Stallion.

  But mostly what I have are games. You should see my closet. I have about thirty different kinds. They’re not baby games either. Most all of them say “12 thru Adult” on the cover. Also, I’ve got about a million Mad magazines. Mad magazines make you look like a normal kid. I mean, even if a guy had a microscope and a butterfly collection, if he had a couple of Mad magazines floating around, you wouldn’t be too worried.

  Pete didn’t check things out as much as Ollie. Ollie went into my closet and came out wearing my fuzzy slippers on his ears. You couldn’t pay me to put somebody’s stinky slippers on my ears. But that’s the thing about wise guys—anything for a laugh. You’ve got to respect a guy like that. You just do.

  Everything was going along pretty smoothly. We were kind of laughing and talking about stuff, nothing special, really. But at least I was starting to relax a little.

  That’s when I heard it. The front door. It was opening. I hadn’t heard anyone knock, but I was sure it was opening.

  I listened closer. Little feet … oh, no … it couldn’t be! Little feet on the stairs coming up to my room!

  Quickly I sprang up and darted for the door. It was!
It was Molly! I could see the top of her frizzy red hair bouncing up the stairs. I couldn’t believe it! My first big chance to start some new friendships, and she was going to blow it.

  I shut the door just in time. I locked it. My heart was pounding like crazy as I strolled back over to the bed.

  “Er, ah, listen, you guys,” I said, trying to warn them. “You, ah, might hear a little noise outside my door in a second. But don’t worry about it. If you just ignore—”

  “Hey!” came the yell, interrupting me. “What’s going on in there? Hey! Let me in!”

  Pete and Ollie stopped what they were doing.

  “Who’s that?” Pete asked, looking puzzled.

  “No one,” I insisted. “It’s no one important. Just this silly little kid from across the street. If we ignore her I’m sure she’ll go away.”

  She didn’t, though. She just stood outside the door and pounded harder. “Hey! Howard! It’s us! It’s Molly Vera Thompson and Madeline!”

  Ollie couldn’t stand it anymore. He hurried over and unlocked the door.

  Molly plowed her way past him. It wasn’t raining, but both she and Madeline were wearing black rubber boots.

  I covered my face with my hands and peeked through the cracks. Sometimes life isn’t as hard to take through the cracks. This wasn’t one of those times, though. Pete was just sort of staring at her in disbelief. Ollie was already starting to snicker.

  “Hey! Who are you?” she asked each one. “What’s going on here? Is this a party?”

  Ollie began to laugh out loud. “Hey, Howard. Is this a friend of yours?” he asked mockingly.

  Molly stuck out her chest with pride. “I’m Molly Vera Thompson!” she informed him loudly. Geez, why did she have to be so loud? “And this is my best baby, Madeline!”