True (. . . Sort Of) by Katherine Hannigan
At the old Hennepin place, RB told Tubatales while Ferris Boyd played ball. Delly and the cat listened, with their mouths curling.
And in the hideawaysis, when Delly brought out three peanut butter sandwiches, RB got something out of his pack, too: a jar of marshmallow fluff. He set it between them.
“Shikes.” Delly ogled it. “Where’d you get that?” Because Clarice didn’t keep it in the house.
“I bought it, with my birthday money,” he answered.
“For us?”
He smiled and nodded, like he’d given her Christmas.
Delly felt a banging in her chest. It was pride, thumping through her.
“What do you want to do with it?” she asked, because it was his.
“Put it on the sandwiches,” he sang.
She opened them up and set the slices in front of him.
He took a spoon from his bag. He dropped a big gob of fluff on each slice. When he put the bread back together, the fluff squeezed out to the crusts.
“Sweet cloud sandwiches.” Delly sighed.
RB passed them around.
Delly smacked her lips like she’d kiss hers. Ferris Boyd’s eyes were wide with wonder.
“One, two, three,” RB called out.
Altogether they bit into the fluffy deliciousness.
“Mmm,” the Pattisons hummed and gobbled.
But Ferris Boyd took tiny bites. She chewed and chewed like she didn’t want the taste to leave her tongue.
“Hey RB,” Delly asked when they were done, “what are you going to do with the rest of that?” Because there was half a jar left.
He thought about it, then he grinned. “Put out your hands.”
So they did.
He plopped giant gobs of fluff onto their palms. They licked it till it was gone. It left their skin sticky.
Then RB and Ferris Boyd lay down, with their fluff-filled bellies in the air.
Delly went to the ladder.
“Where are you going?” he asked sleepily.
“To get sticks.”
“For what?”
“Spears,” she told him.
“Hmm.” He nodded off.
Delly clambered down the ladder.
When she’d gathered enough long, skinny branches, she hauled them up the tree and stacked them in a corner of the hideawaysis.
She woke RB at the whistle. “Shh,” she whispered. They laid the blanket over Ferris Boyd and tiptoed to the ladder.
Walking down the River Road, Delly still had fluff stuck to her teeth. Every time she got a taste, the pride started thumping again. It wouldn’t stop till she told him.
“RB,” she rasped.
“Huh?”
“You did good.”
“Thanks, Del.” He smiled; then he set his fluff-sticky hand in hers.
And they went on like that, stuck to each other with spit and sweet deliciousness.
Chapter 43
Wednesday after school, they were at the old Hennepin place again. Ferris Boyd played ball, and RB told about the time Tuba got in bed with Boomer. Boomer thought the dog was Clarice, till he kissed her and got a big, wet slobber back. “Oof oof oof.” Tuba let him know she liked it.
When RB was done, he slid off the stoop and strolled over to Ferris Boyd.
“Hey.” Delly scowled. “Get back here.”
But RB stood there, smiling. “Can I play?” he asked.
“Ferris Boyd, he doesn’t know . . . ” Delly started to explain, so she wouldn’t freak out.
Instead, Ferris Boyd handed him the ball.
“Huh?” Delly muttered.
“Thanks,” RB said. He set the ball over his head and flung it as hard as he could. “Ooooof,” he groaned.
The ball flew a few feet, then dropped to the ground like he’d killed it.
Ferris Boyd passed it to him again. Again, RB committed basketball homicide.
“I’m not doing so good,” he told her. He gave her the ball and headed to the stoop.
There was a smack, smack behind him. It made him stop.
Ferris Boyd was slapping her thigh.
“What the glub?” Delly murmured. She’d never heard the girl make a noise, let alone a loud one.
Ferris Boyd was staring at RB and pointing to her eye.
“I’m watching,” he replied.
She spread her legs and held the ball between them. Her arms swept up over her head, heaving it into the air. It soared over the drive and dropped through the hoop.
“Nice,” RB sighed.
She passed the ball to him.
“Now me,” he said. He spread his legs and put the ball between them. Then he hurled it.
The ball went straight up. It came straight back down. RB had to jump out of the way so it wouldn’t bop him.
“Oh,” he said. He looked at Ferris Boyd.
She stomped the drive to show him where to stand. She pointed to her eye, then the basket.
“I’ll watch the basket,” he told her.
He windmilled his arms to warm up. Then he flung the ball, like a tiny human catapult. “Oooowooof,” he grunted.
It sailed through the air. It hit the rim and passed through it.
“Holy shikes,” Delly breathed.
RB was still watching the hoop. “Ferris Boyd?” he whispered, asking if it was true.
She got her pad and pen. She wrote something and put the paper between them.
RB took it, and his face bloomed a smile. “I want to quit with that,” he said, and went to the stoop.
“Now I got two of you playing that bawlgram game.” Delly pretended to grumble. But it was something, to see him so happy.
“What’s that paper say?” she asked.
He passed it to her. There were no words; just a star in the center of it. “She thinks I’m a star,” he breathed, like if he said it out loud, he’d be lying. He was shining, though.
Delly understood. That’s how having a friend made her feel, too.
“You’re the star,” she rasped, wanting him to feel that way forever.
In the hideawaysis, RB didn’t waste any time shimmying over to Ferris Boyd and sharing her book.
But Delly didn’t worry now. She got up to go.
“Huh?” he asked.
“Getting spearheads,” she answered, and went to the woods.
The forest floor was covered with limestone. If Delly banged two chunks together, small, pointy pieces broke off.
She made enough for thirty spears. When she went back, she piled them by the sticks. Then she sat down across from those two.
She watched RB leaning on Ferris Boyd, pointing at the pages, and the girl nodding so her chin rubbed against his hair. And Delly’s heart got so big it was hammering her chest.
“RB,” she rasped. Not to stop him, to let him know she was wrong.
Because Ferris Boyd had given Delly a world away from trouble, and she loved it. She’d thought RB would wreck it. Instead, he’d made it better. He filled it with his warm softness, so the hideawaysis felt like the happiest place ever.
RB glanced up at his sister.
She nodded. Without saying a word she told him, I’m glad you’re here.
RB smiled so all his teeth showed.
And Delly had to turn away, before her heart busted out of her.
Chapter 44
Thursday, the Pattisons were telling tales before they even got to the stoop. On the River Road, RB started it. “Delly, remember that time Tuba snuck into the IGA?”
“Yep,” she answered. “She went straight for the doughnuts.”
“She used her nose to open the case.” RB went on. “She gobbled up all the cream-filled ones, so she was drooling white goo.
“Then Clayton Fitch spotted her. ‘That dog’s foaming at the mouth,’ he screamed, and shot out the door. And Tuba ran after him, because she thought he was playing tag.”
The Pattisons were laughing so hard they didn’t see it.
But Ferris Boyd did. She
They followed her gaze down the drive.
The green Impala was parked in front of the garage, right where Ferris Boyd played ball.
“What’s he doing here?” Delly demanded.
The girl didn’t move.
The day was warm, but Delly shivered. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want her friend to go where the man in the green Impala was. “Hey,” she said, “how about we go straight to the hideawaysis?”
Ferris Boyd kept staring.
So Delly stood between the car and her friend. “Ferris Boyd, how about you come home with us?”
She saw Delly then. She took out her pad and pen and wrote, You go home.
“We’re staying with you,” Delly answered, and RB nodded.
Ferris Boyd pushed the pen hard into the paper, tracing go home over and over.
“You sure?” Delly rasped.
Ferris Boyd glanced at the green Impala and nodded. Then she slumped down the drive and into the house.
“Delly,” RB started to say, “I don’t want to—”
“We’re not leaving,” she told him. “Come on.”
She led him to the ditch, and they dove in. They peeked over the edge. “We’ll watch from here,” she announced.
But Ferris Boyd didn’t come out with her ball or the cat’s bowl.
The Pattisons were concentrating so hard on the house, they didn’t notice something creeping behind them. “Maow,” it called.
They jumped. “Bawlgram cat,” Delly barked.
The cat cringed. It was worried, too.
“Well, shikes,” Delly said. “Get over here.”
The cat slid up to her.
“We’re waiting for Ferris Boyd,” she explained.
“Mooooowr,” it cried.
Then the three of them watched. Nothing moved around that place, though; even the birds were quiet.
When the whistle blew, Delly told him, “RB, go home.”
“I’m not leaving,” he replied.
“If you don’t go, Ma’ll be scared. They’ll come looking and . . . ”
RB understood. “What do I say about you?”
“Say I’m in trouble at school.”
“They wouldn’t keep you so late.”
He was right.
Delly was staring at the house, trying to come up with something, when she spotted a pale, skinny girl in the upstairs window. She looked like a ghost. She put one hand against the glass.
“There she is,” Delly whispered.
“Oh,” RB sighed.
And she was gone.
Delly turned to the cat. “You all right?”
It blinked once.
Then the two Pattisons ran, like something was after them, all the way home.
After dinner they lay on Delly’s bed. They both had questions begging to be asked, like Why would somebody be so scared of her dad? and What happened to her when she went inside? But the only answers they could think of made their stomachs turn and their hearts sick. So they kept quiet.
“Lights out,” Clarice called, and RB shuffled to his room.
At 2:00 A.M., Delly was standing beside Clarice’s bed again. “Ma,” she rasped.
“Delly,” Clarice murmured.
“Ma, you ever worry about somebody being in trouble?”
“Mmm,” Clarice answered. Because she had, a lot.
“You ever think . . . you ever wonder . . . ”
“Say it,” Clarice mumbled, because sleep time was ticking away.
“You ever worry somebody’s getting hurt?”
And Clarice was wide awake. She was sitting straight up, shouting, “Who’s hurt?”
Delly knew that tone. Clarice smelled trouble, and she was hunting for it. If Delly didn’t throw her off the scent, Clarice’d track down the truth about her and RB’s project. They’d be dead as ducks in a bird dog’s mouth.
So she said, “You know how on TV there’s a kid getting hurt, but nobody knows because she doesn’t tell?”
Clarice had her arms crossed. “Mm-hmm.”
“Well, how would you know if somebody’s getting hurt when she doesn’t say anything?”
“Is this about something on TV?” Clarice demanded.
“I saw something,” was Delly’s almost true answer.
Clarice calmed down. “Delly, TV isn’t real.”
“But I need to know,” she insisted.
Clarice lay back again. “Well,” she said, “if somebody was getting injured, there might be marks. There are ways to hurt people without it showing, though.”
Delly was listening.
“Maybe she’d seem sad. Maybe if she had a friend she’d tell her, or give her hints.”
“Like what?” Delly wondered.
Clarice was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know,” she said.
Then Clarice’s voice was steel, so sharp it would cut through any untruth. “Delly, is somebody hurting you or one of your brothers or sisters?”
“No, Ma,” she told her.
Clarice let out a sigh. After a while her breaths got farther and farther apart.
“Ma,” Delly whispered, “can I?”
Clarice lifted the covers.
Delly crawled in. She wouldn’t cuddle up to Clarice, because she wasn’t a baby. But she kept one arm against her mother, the warm softness of Clarice telling her she wasn’t alone.
Chapter 45
Friday morning, Delly and RB were waiting at the back door to the school.
“There.” Delly pointed.
They watched her shuffle toward them. She was still pale and skinny. She still hunched over.
“She’s okay?” RB asked, and they both nodded, because they wanted it to be true.
When she got to the door, they fell in on either side of her. They walked her to her desk, then stood beside her like sentries.
“Mr. Pattison,” Lionel Terwilliger announced, “your presence is required elsewhere.” So RB had to go.
“See you later, Ferris Boyd,” he said softly.
When he was gone, Delly leaned over. “You all right?” she whispered.
Ferris Boyd just sat there, but Delly waited. After a long time, her head dropped to her chest.
Like a nod, Delly thought. Or giving up.
All day Delly watched her friend from her seat. At recess she left Alaska for the tree next to Ferris Boyd’s. The creatures stayed close, too.
It was a long, slow walk to the old Hennepin place.
When they got to the drive, they saw it: no green Impala.
Delly let out a big breath, like she’d been holding it all day. “It’ll be okay.” She sighed.
And it was. Almost.
The cat came. They told stories. Ferris Boyd and RB played ball.
But everywhere they went, a shadow followed them. It cast a gloom over every happiness. It was shaped like the man in the green Impala.
At the hideawaysis, Delly took out some string and Boomer’s pocketknife. She cut a groove in the end of each stick, slipped a piece of limestone in, then tied it tight.
“Those are nice spears.” RB touched the tip of one.
“For invaders,” she told him.
She set them standing around the rails, like soldiers. “Nothing can hurt us here,” she breathed.
But all the while Delly was working, a question pestered her. What if the enemy’s not at the hide-awaysis? it asked.
She was too busy to answer.
When the whistle blew, she kneeled down beside her friend. “Okay, Ferris Boyd, you got rocks and spears. There’s the blanket, food, and the rope for quick escapes. You going to be all right?”
Ferris Boyd gazed at all her friend had done. She looked into Delly’s eyes; they were filled with wanting her to be safe. And she nodded.
Then they left her, surrounded by every protection Delly knew how to give.
Saturday was the first-ever Delly Day. “Happy Hallelujah!” she hollered when she woke up. She galloped downstairs, smiling so big you could see her tonsils.
After breakfast, Clarice asked her, “Well, Delly, what do you want to do?”
But Delly didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted most. So she said, “Can we get doughnuts?”
“Sure,” Clarice told her, and they headed out the door.
At the IGA, Clarice got a bag. “How many do you want?”
Delly didn’t need a dozen, because she had Clarice, but two seemed too few. “Six,” she announced, and selected them.
“Hey, Norma.” Clarice greeted her at the checkout.
“Hey, Clarice. What you up to?” Norma replied. “Celebrating.” She smiled at Delly. “No trouble, for a month.”
Delly waited for Norma to snort or snicker. Instead she stood there thinking, It had been a long time since she’d kicked Delly out for spitting or writing nocuss words on the windows. “Huh,” she said.
Outside, Clarice asked, “What do you want to do next?”
“Could we go to the river?”
So they did. They sat on the bank and watched the water, just the two of them.
Delly opened up the doughnuts. She picked a chocolate-iced chocolate-filled chocolate one and passed the bag to Clarice. She was about to load her mouth with lusciousness, when her mom stopped her.
“Let’s have a toast.” Clarice raised her doughnut in the air. “To Delly,” she said, and took a bite. “Now you eat it,” she told her.
But Delly couldn’t move. Clarice toasting her made her insides so warm and mushy, her whole body got floppy. Her floppy fingers dropped the doughnut in her lap.
Delly didn’t mind. Because suddenly the whole world was a doughnut: sweet, beautiful, and delicious. And she was the floppy cream filling. She hummed the song of gooey, goopy happiness, “Hmmmm.”
When Clarice was done with her doughnut, she turned to Delly. “You ready to go home?”
Just like that, all the deliciousness disappeared. Even on a Delly day, Clarice had something else to do.
“Okay,” she started to mumble. Till the question paper pinched her.
Still, she could only whisper it, she wanted it so much. “Ma, can we stay for a while?”
Clarice heard the wanting in that tiny whisper. “Sure,” she said.