Odd, Weird & Little Page 6

  I fish out some beef chunks and slurp up the Jell-O, then dump my tray into the trash and head outside. Toulouse is up in his tree.

  “How do you get up there?” I yell.

  He stares at me a long time, then shrugs.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I walk around, scanning the playground for something to drag over and climb on, though I know there isn’t anything. The adults have removed everything a kid could make something fun out of, or use as a weapon. All I find on the playground are kids, a recess teacher, some balls (which are, at the moment, being used by Garrett and Hubcap as weapons), and heavy play equipment sunk in concrete.

  I turn around and trip over Toulouse.

  “How do you do that?” I ask, helping him up and dusting him off.

  He makes a hacking cough and a puff of dust comes out his mouth.

  I’m relieved that it’s only dust.

  “You want to swing?” I ask. I see that two swings next to each other have opened up, a rare occurrence.

  Toulouse picks up his briefcase, dusts it off, coughs again, then nods.

  I take off running, yelling, “Dibs on the swings! Dibs on the swings! Oof!” I trip and fall on my face. And on a couple of rolls of duck tape, a compass, and my steel pencil sharpener, all of which are in my front pockets. Ouch.

  No way will we get the swings now. I climb to my feet and look back at Toulouse.

  He’s not there.

  I look at the swing set. There he is, perched on a swing, holding the chain of the one next to it.

  “You can’t save swings,” Ursula says to him, her arms crossed angrily.

  Toulouse stares at her.

  I run over and dive at the swing. I land on it on my stomach. My momentum sends the swing back and up; it twists, then unwinds as it swings back down. I get dizzy, lose my balance, and fall off.

  Ursula catches my swing and sits on it.

  Toulouse hops off his and helps me up.

  “Get out of the way!” Ursula yells at us.

  Toulouse turns his head toward her and stares.

  “Do it,” she growls. “Move! Move now! Move, you little freak!”

  “Respect,” he says in his flutey voice.

  24. Lion Eats Most of Boy

  Toulouse shows me a story in another one of his old books. The book is called Cautionary Tales for Children and the story’s title is “Jim, Who Ran Away from His Nurse and Was Eaten by a Lion”—which is a spoiler, if you ask me. The lion doesn’t eat all of Jim. It doesn’t get to his head, but only because the zookeeper comes along before it can. It doesn’t seem fair to me that the lion eats Jim. All he did wrong was wander away from his nurse in a crowd. Getting eaten by a lion for wandering off seems harsh.

  Strange that Toulouse showed me this story. Maybe he’s a little angry at Ursula?

  Next he shows me a story called “Godolphin Horne, Who Was Cursed with the Sin of Pride, and Became a Boot-Black.” Godolphin is smug and rude. He doesn’t shake hands and always smirks. He gets a chance to work as a page for the court, but, because he’s so nasty, the king and a duchess and some bishops all say they don’t want him. So Godolphin gets fired and becomes a poor shoeshine boy.

  I think Toulouse is angry at Garrett, too.

  When I finish it, I glance up at Toulouse and he has to cover his mouth to hide his laughter.

  “Well, look at the worms,” Garrett says from below us. We’re sitting on the Ladder to Nowhere.

  Hubcap: “Yeah, worms!”

  “Worms?” Toulouse whispers to me. He seems scared. Or is he excited? It’s hard to tell with his huge eyes.

  “He means ‘bookworms,’ ” I say. “It’s what people who don’t read call people who do.”

  It doesn’t make sense that Garrett, who likes Read-Aloud so much, would make fun of reading. But then Garrett rarely makes sense.

  “Who reads books on a playground?” Garrett asks, though it’s not a question. He can see who does.

  “Freaky bookworms!” Hubcap says.

  “Worms,” Toulouse says again, and licks his lips. He sure has a pointy mouth. It comes out at the center when he talks. Maybe it’s because he grew up speaking French. People who speak French speak with real puckery lips. At least they do in movies. I haven’t met anyone who speaks French except Toulouse and Mr. Weldon, and they both speak with puckery lips.

  “What did you call us?” Garrett snarls.

  Hubcap: “Did you just call us worms?”

  “That’s not … he didn’t …,” I say.

  “Why don’t you come down here and say that?” Garrett says.

  Hubcap: “Yeah!”

  “He was … he just said … you know … he was repeating …”

  “Just get down here, you chicken!” Garrett says.

  Hubcap: “Bluck, bluck!”

  “Chicken?” Toulouse says. Again, he licks his lips. Is he hungry?

  “It’s another expression,” I whisper. “He’s calling us scaredy-cats.”

  “Cats?”

  This time he definitely looks scared.

  “That’s right, they’re scaredy-cats,” Garrett says, and elbows Hubcap.

  Hubcap: “Yeah! Scaredy-cats! Meow, me — Oof!”

  Toulouse lands on Hubcap’s chest, knocking him flat on his back on the ground. Hubcap is stunned. Garrett is stunned. I’m stunned.

  Toulouse stares deeply into Hubcap’s wide eyes. Waiting for him—daring him?—to speak.

  “I … I … I …,” Hubcap stammers.

  “Not cats,” Toulouse says to him, leaning in close. “No. Cats.”

  I wait for Garrett to jump in and help Hubcap, but he doesn’t. He just stands there with his mouth moving like he’s talking, but nothing comes out.

  It’s nice to see both of them speechless for once.

  The bell rings. Saved again. It’s not a coincidence. Recesses are just really short.

  Toulouse hops off Hubcap. Garrett rushes to his henchman and helps him to his feet.

  “We’ll take care of them later,” he snarls.

  Hubcap: “Yeah. Later.”

  They hurry away toward the building, glancing nervously back at us over their shoulders.

  I’m still on the Ladder. I tuck Toulouse’s book into his briefcase and click it shut. Suddenly, he’s sitting next to me.

  “Wow” is all I can think of to say.

  He shakes his head. “No cats.”

  25. Our Zone

  Toulouse enters a stall in the boy’s locker room carrying a long gray duffel, then exits half a minute later wearing a baggy gray sweatsuit, black high-tops, and a red stocking cap. He’s still wearing his gloves.

  Garrett snickers and nudges Hubcap.

  “Toulouse the athlete,” Garrett says.

  Hubcap: “Yeah!”

  I’m tempted to point out how Toulouse just flattened Hubcap on the playground but decide to leave it alone. I’d probably just stutter anyway.

  We’re playing volleyball in P.E. this week. Ms. Otwell divides us into two teams. I volunteer to sit out the first game when it turns out the class is uneven. I pretend to be crushed as I walk toward the bleachers, but I don’t mind at all. I avoid competitive sports whenever I can. I don’t like them, and I’m clumsy, which gives Garrett and Hubcap more to taunt me about.

  Toulouse follows me to the bleachers.

  Everyone watches him. Garrett and Hubcap, of course, snicker.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper to Toulouse. “Go on and play. Have fun.”

  He stays where he is.

  Ms. Otwell comes over. “I have an idea, Woodrow. Why don’t you and your new friend share a position.”

  How did she know Toulouse is my new friend?

  “Yeah,” Garrett says. “Put them together and you might make one whole player!”

  Hubcap: “One who stinks!”

  They both get warnings from Ms. Otwell. One more disrespectful outburst and they will sit out the game.

  Toulouse and I tak
e our position on the court, and the game begins. We’re on the same team with Garrett and Hubcap, and they keep stepping in front of us to hit balls coming our way.

  “Hit only the balls that come to your zone!” Ms. Otwell orders.

  Garrett and Hubcap obey.

  I don’t know if volleyball is big in Quebec, but Toulouse seems pretty experienced at it. He easily returns the ball hit to us, though usually he sets up other players rather than hitting the ball back over. When someone sets him up, he leaps up and spikes. For such a little guy, he really gets off the ground. This could explain how he’s able to get up and down from his tree and the Ladder and the swing set so fast, but it doesn’t explain how he got across the creek. The creek is way too wide to jump across.

  When our turn to serve comes, Toulouse aces it. Everyone stands there, gaping. Some people clap and cheer.

  Is the kid good at everything?

  Garrett and Hubcap aren’t clapping or cheering. They are fuming. They have also noticed that I’m not exactly participating. I’ve been letting Toulouse hit all the balls that come to our zone.

  “Hey, Woody!” Garrett says. “Can I get you a chair?”

  Hubcap: “Yeah, Woody! Don’t do something. Just stand there!”

  Ms. Otwell gives them another warning. One more and they’ll have to sit out the game.

  Ms. Otwell doesn’t always stick to her guns.

  Toulouse holds the ball out to me. It sure looks huge in his hands. You can’t even see his face.

  “You serve, Toulouse,” I say. “You’re good at it. I’m not.”

  “Who?” he asks.

  “Me! You serve.”

  He won’t. He just keeps offering me the ball.

  “I think Toulouse is saying it’s your turn to serve, Woodrow,” Ms. Otwell says.

  Everyone starts getting restless and grumbling at me, so I take the ball. I toss it in the air, punch at it, miss, then it lands on my head. Everybody but Toulouse and Ms. Otwell crack up. Garrett laughs so hard I hope he chokes.

  “Will you please serve?” I ask Toulouse.

  He shakes his head. The kid’s stubborn.

  “Okay then,” I say. “Get ready for strike two.”

  I toss the ball again, but this time I manage to hit it—into the back of Monique’s head.

  “Hey!” she screeches.

  The gym echoes with laughter.

  “Side out!” Ms. Otwell calls.

  As we change positions, Garrett sticks his foot out and trips me. I don’t fall all the way to the floor. I just squawk like a parrot because I think I’m going to.

  Ms. Otwell finally follows through. “Take a seat on the bleachers, Garrett, and stay quiet or I’ll send you to the office.”

  Garrett glares at me, then stomps over to the bleachers.

  “Woodrow, take his zone,” Ms. Otwell orders.

  Hubcap glares at me as I obey.

  I do the best I can during the game, which isn’t great, but I do sometimes manage to hit a ball up in the air instead of miss it, or punch it into the net, or into the ground, or into one of my teammates’ heads.

  Toulouse gives me encouraging smiles and nods whenever I look over at him. When I do particularly well, he claps.

  I’m sort of enjoying myself.

  In P.E.

  Now that’s weird.

  26. Wink

  People are different toward Toulouse after the game. Interested. Attentive. All because he was good at volleyball. That’s what happens when you excel at competitive sports. Before that he was the weird freak in the weird clothes who maybe swallowed, then regurgitated our fish and definitely coughed up a furry golf ball. Now, he’s fascinating. A star.

  He’s not crazy about it. After the game, he hides behind me as best he can. Then he disappears. A couple of minutes later, he walks out of the locker room, fully dressed.

  When we’re back in class, Monique comes up to me.

  “Woodrow, can you make duck-tape bangles?”

  “What?” I ask. I’m not sure she’s talking to me. She doesn’t usually ask me things out of the blue. Also, I’m not sure I know what bangles are.

  “Can you make me some bangles out of duck tape.” She shakes her arm, and her bracelets clink together.

  “Oh, bangles,” I say. “Sure … I guess … but they wouldn’t … I don’t think they would … duck tape doesn’t … well … clink.”

  “Good point,” she says seriously, and shakes her bangles again. “I need them to clink.”

  “Come on, Woody, can’t you make them clink for her?” Garrett asks. “What kind of girl’s-jewelry maker are you?”

  Hubcap snickers.

  I ignore him.

  “They won’t clink, but I could make … if you want one … I could make a … what do you call it?… A … one of those princessy crown things … if you … you know … want …”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want a tiara.”

  “Right—a tiara. No, okay … how about a little purse thing?… maybe a wallet?” I pull out my duck-tape stash. “Like, a small bag with a flap … maybe Velcro?… for your hand sanitiz—”

  I don’t finish because I’m not sure I should be mentioning her hand sanitizer. She always has some with her, and it’s never in the same bottle, like she has a collection. I’m not sure what it’s all about, but I’m not judging. I’m sure she wonders about me and my duck tape. I know she does. She’s made fun of me about it before. I don’t want to make fun of her.

  Monique has collected a lot of different things over the years. She used to love erasers, the kind you stick on the ends of pencils. She had a million of them. Then one day, no more erasers. Instead, she loved stickers. She stuck stickers on everything. Then, gone. Next it was buttons, the kind with pins on the back and sayings on the front, like YOU SAY POTATO, I SAY TATER TOT and I’M CORRECTING YOUR GRAMMAR IN MY MIND. Her jackets and her backpack were covered with them. Now it’s bangles.

  “Yeah,” she says dreamily. “A clutch purse. I like clutches.”

  Maybe clutches will be her next thing. Maybe duck-tape clutches.

  “Why don’t you draw … you’re a good … draw a picture of … you know … what you want?… And write down the colors you want … where you want them … and I’ll … I can make it … easy.”

  “Well”—she says, ripping a piece of paper out of her notebook—“it should be a rectangle, of course …” And she draws one, then adds a triangular flap.

  “Okay,” I say. “I could make a hole?… For you to close it?” I draw a line across the flap. “It could … you know … tuck in.…”

  She nods, and draws a second line. “Two slits. It could go in one and out the other. That would hold better.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “Very … clever.” My face feels hot.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  “I can … I’ll make it … as soon as I can.”

  “Okay, gang, let’s line up,” Mr. Logwood says. “A good day. Well done.”

  We line up to leave. I’m behind Ursula and Toulouse. Toulouse turns his head all the way around and winks at me.

  I wonder why.

  Did he have something to do with Monique’s request?

  Maybe he’s just letting me know he noticed that Monique was nice to me. Does he understand already how unusual that is?

  Maybe the wink had nothing to with Monique. Maybe it was just a friendly wink. When it comes to people acting friendly toward me, I’m not the best judge. I’m a little rusty.

  Maybe I’m overthinking this. I have a tendency to do that.

  Maybe it was just a wink.

  I wink back.

  27. Little Weirdo

  While we’re waiting in line to leave, I overhear Garrett talking to Hubcap.

  Garrett: “So the little freak can hit a volleyball. Big deal.”

  Hubcap: “Big deal.”

  Garrett: “I can hit a volleyball better than he can, but the teacher wouldn’t let me play.”

&
nbsp; Hubcap: “Right. So unfair.”

  Garrett: “He’s still a little weirdo.”

  Hubcap: “So weird.”

  Garrett: “A freak.”

  Hubcap: “Exactly. A weird little freak.”

  I look for Mr. Logwood, hope he’s hearing this, but he’s across the room at his desk, stapling together papers, probably for us to take home.

  “Watch this,” Garrett says.

  Hubcap: “What are you going to do?”

  “Just watch.”

  He walks up to Toulouse and me.

  “Hey, Toulouse,” he says. “Your shoe’s untied.”

  Is he kidding? That’s the oldest trick in the book. But before I can warn him, Toulouse tilts his head forward to look at his shoes, which, of course, are tied. Garrett quickly slaps the brim of Toulouse’s red bowler and it sails up into the air.

  While everyone else watches the hat twirling overhead, I watch Toulouse scoot under the nearest desk. He doesn’t even have to duck. He peers out with terrified eyes.

  I spring up and snatch the hat out of the air. I smoothly feed it to Toulouse under the desk, then turn to face Garrett. If blood boils, that’s what mine is doing. Garrett has done a lot of mean things to me over the years, but I don’t think any of them ever made me this mad.

  “You …,” I say. That’s the only word that comes out.

  He covers his mouth and snickers. So does Hubcap. This makes me even madder.

  “You … are …” Oh, dear. Is this going to come out one word at a time?

  More snickering. Toulouse steps out from his hiding place, the hat back on his head, and stands beside me. This gives me courage. And purpose.

  “Cruel,” I finish. “You are cruel. From now on … from now on …”

  I know what I want to say, but suddenly I’m aware everyone is listening, and the words get literally stuck in my throat. I can feel them down there, hiding like Toulouse under the desk, afraid to come out. Finally, my anger pushes them free.

  “Leave … Toulouse … alone,” I say. This time I’m not stammering. I’m speaking slowly and clearly, so that he can’t misunderstand me. “And while you’re at it, leave me alone, too.”