Juli: The Basket Boys
The Monday after the Loskis’ dinner party, Darla tracked me down at school and forced Bryce Loski back into my brain. “Jules! Whoa, girl, wait up! How have you been?”
“I’m fine, Darla, how are you?”
“No, seriously,” she whispered. “Are you doing okay?” She shifted her backpack and looked over each shoulder. “I got to thinking, you know, that was just so cold of Bryce. Especially since you’ve got that soft spot for him.”
“Who told you that?”
“Like I haven’t got eyes? Come on, girl. It’s a given. Which is why I got to worryin’ about you. Are you seriously all right?”
“Yes, I am. But thanks for thinking about me.” I eyed her and said, “And Darla? It’s not a given anymore.”
She laughed. “How long’s this diet gonna last?” “It’s not a diet. I’ve just, uh, lost my taste for him.” She looked at me skeptically. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, I have. But thanks for, you know, caring.”
All through first period I was still feeling strong and right and certain, but then Mrs. Simmons ended the lesson a full fifteen minutes early and said, “Clear your desks of everything but a pen or pencil.”
“What?” everyone cried, and believe me—I was right along with them. I was not prepared for a quiz! “Everything!” she said. “Come on, you’re wasting valuable time.”
The room filled with grumbles and the sound of shuffling binders, and when we’d all pretty much complied with her request, she picked a stack of bright yellow papers off her desk, fanned them with an evil grin, and said, “It’s time to vote for basket boys!”
A wave of relief swept across the room. “Basket boys? You mean it’s not a quiz?”
She ticked through the stack, counting ballots as she spoke. “It is like a quiz in that I don’t want you conferring with one another. It’s also like a quiz in that you have a limited amount of time.” She slapped a set of ballots down on the first desk of row one, then went on to the second row. “I will collect them from you individually when the bell rings, and I will inspect to see that you have complied with the following instructions.” She scooted over to row three. “Choose five, and only five, of the boys on the list. Do not put your name on it, and do not discuss your choices with your neighbors.” She was on to row four now, talking faster and faster. “When you’ve made your
selections, simply turn your sheet over.” She slapped the remainder down on the last desk. “Do not, I repeat, do not fold your ballot!”
Robbie Castinon raised his hand and blurted out, “Why do guys have to vote. It’s lame to have guys vote.”
“Robbie…,” Mrs. Simmons warned.
“Seriously! What are we supposed to do? Vote for our friends or our enemies?”
A lot of people snickered, and Mrs. Simmons scowled, but he had a point. Twenty of the school’s eighth-grade boys would be made to pack a picnic lunch for two and be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
“Being a basket boy is an honor—” Mrs. Simmons began, but she was interrupted by Robbie. “It’s a joke!” he said. “It’s embarrassing! Who wants to be a basket boy?”
All the guys around him muttered, “Not me,” but Mrs. Simmons cleared her throat and said, “You should want to be one! It’s a tradition that has helped support the school since it was founded. There have been generation after generation of basket boys helping make this campus what it is today. It’s why we have flower beds. It’s why we have shade trees and a grove of apple trees. Visit another junior high sometime and you’ll begin to realize what a little oasis our campus really is.”
“All this from the sweat and blood of basket boys,” Robbie grumbled.
Mrs. Simmons sighed. “Robbie, someday when your children go to school here, you’ll understand. For now, please just vote for whoever you think will earn a high bid. And class,” she added, “we’re down to nine minutes.”
The room fell quiet. And as I read down the list of over one hundred and fifty eighth-grade boys, I realized that to me, there had only ever been one boy. To me, there had only been Bryce.
I didn’t let myself get sentimental. I had liked him for all the wrong reasons, and I certainly wasn’t going to vote for him now. But I didn’t know who else to vote for. I looked at Mrs. Simmons, who was eagle-eyeing the class between glances at the clock. What if I didn’t choose anybody? What if I just turned it in blank?
She’d give me detention, that’s what. So with two minutes left to go, I put dots next to the boys I knew who weren’t jerks or clowns, but were just nice. When I was through, there were all of ten names with dots, and of those I circled five: Ryan Noll, Vince Olson, Adrian Iglesias, Ian Lai, and Jon Trulock. They wouldn’t make basket boy, but then I wouldn’t be bidding, so it didn’t really matter. At the bell I handed over my ballot and forgot all about the auction.
Until lunchtime the next day, that is. Darla cut me off on my way to the library and dragged me over to her table instead. “Have you seen the list?” she asked.
“What list?”
“The list of basket boys!” She shoved a scrawled copy of twenty names in front of me and looked around. “Your main dish is on it!”
Five from the top, there it was—Bryce Loski.
I should have expected it, but still, this awful surge of possessiveness shot through me. Who had voted for him? Out of one hundred fifty names he must have gotten a lot of votes! Suddenly I was picturing a swarm of girls waving stacks of cash in the Booster ladies’ faces as they begged to have lunch with him.
I threw the list back at Darla and said, “He’s not my main dish! As a matter of fact, I didn’t even vote for him.”
“Oooo, girl! You are stickin’ to your diet!”
“It’s not a diet, Darla. I’m… I’m over him, okay?”
“I’m glad to hear it, ’cause rumor is, that bimbette Shelly is already stakin’ her claim on him.” “Shelly? Shelly Stalls?” I could feel my cheeks flush.
“That’s right.” Darla waved her list in the air, calling, “Liz! Macy! Over here! I’ve got the list!”
Darla’s friends fell all over themselves getting to her, then pored over the paper like it was a treasure map. Macy cried, “Chad Ormonde’s on it! He is so cute. I’d go ten bucks on him, easy!”
“And Denny’s on it, too!” Liz squealed. “That boy is”– she shivered and giggled—“fi-yi-yine!” Macy’s top lip curled a little and she said, “Jon Trulock? Jon Tru lock? How did he get on this list?” For a moment I couldn’t believe my ears. I snatched the paper out of Macy’s hand. “Are you sure?” “Right there,” she said, pointing to his name. “Who do you suppose voted for him?”
“The quiet girls, I guess,” Darla said. “Me, I’m more interested in Mike Abenido. Have I got any competition?”
Macy laughed, “If you’re in, I’m out!” “Me too,” said Liz.
“How about you, Jules?” Darla asked me. “Bringin’ spare change on Friday?” “No!”
“You get to miss the second half of school….” “No! I’m not bidding. Not on anyone!”
She laughed. “Good for you.”
That afternoon I rode home from school brooding about Bryce and the whole basket boy auction. I could feel myself backsliding about Bryce. But why should I care if Shelly liked him? I shouldn’t even be thinking about him!
When I wasn’t thinking about Bryce, I was worrying about poor Jon Trulock. He was quiet, and I felt sorry for him, having to clutch a basket and be auctioned off in front of the whole student body. What had I done to him?
But as I bounced up our drive, basket boys bounced right out of my mind. Was that green I saw poking out of the dirt? Yes! Yes, it was! I dropped the bike and got down on my hands and knees. They were so thin, so small, so far apart! They barely made a difference in the vastness of the black dirt, and yet there they were. Pushing their way through to the afternoon sun.
I ran in the house, calling, “Mom! Mom, there’s grass!”
“Really?” She emerged from the bathroom with her cleaning gloves and a pail. “I was wondering if it was ever going to spring up.”
“Well, it has! Come! Come and see!”
She wasn’t too impressed at first. But after I made her get down on her hands and knees and really look, she smiled and said, “They’re so delicate….”
“They look like they’re yawning, don’t they?”
She cocked her head a bit and looked a little closer. “Yawning?”
“Well, more stretching, I guess. Like they’re sitting up in their little bed of dirt with their arms stretched way high, saying, Good morning, world!”
She laughed and said, “Yes, they do!”
I got up and uncoiled the hose. “I think they need a wakeup shower, don’t you?”
My mom agreed and left me to my singing and sprinkling. And I was completely lost in the joy of my little green blades of new life when I heard the school bus rumble to a stop up on Collier Street.
Bryce. His name shot through my brain, and with it came a panic I didn’t seem able to control. Before I could stop myself, I dropped the hose and dashed inside.
I locked myself in my room and tried to do my homework. Where was my peace? Where was my resolve? Where was my sanity? Had they left me because Shelly Stalls was after him? Was it just some old rivalry making me feel this way? I had to get past Bryce and Shelly. They deserved each other—let them have each other!
But in my heart I knew that just like the new grass, I wasn’t strong enough yet to be walked on. And until I was, there was only one solution: I had to stay away from him. I needed to rope him out of my life.
So I closed my ears to the news of basket boys and steered clear of Bryce at school. And when I did happen to run into him, I simply said hello like he was someone I barely even knew.
It was working, too! I was growing stronger by the day. Who cared about auctions and basket boys? I didn’t!
Friday morning I got up early, collected what few eggs there were in the coop, watered the front yard, which was by now definitely green, ate breakfast, and got ready for school.
But as I was running a brush through my hair, I couldn’t help thinking about Shelly Stalls. It was auction day. She’d probably been up since five, making her hair into some impossibly pouffy do.
So what? I told myself. So what? But as I was throwing on my windbreaker, I eyed my money tin and hesitated. What if…
No! No-no-no!
I ran to the garage, got my bike, and pushed out of the driveway. And I was in the street and on my way when Mrs. Stueby flew right in my path. “Julianna,” she called, waving her hand through the air. “Here, dear. Take this. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get it to you. I keep missing you in the mornings.”
I didn’t even know how much she owed me. At that moment I didn’t care. All I knew was the top bill in her hand was a ten, and it was striking terror in my heart. “Mrs. Stueby, please. I… I don’t want that. You don’t have to pay me.”
“Nonsense, child! Of course I’m going to pay you. Here!” she said, and waved it out for me to take. “No, really. I… I don’t want it.”
She wedged it in the pocket of my jeans and said, “What utter nonsense. Now go! Go buy yourself a rooster!” then hurried back up her walkway.
“Mrs. Stueby… Mrs. Stueby?” I called after her. “I don’t want a rooster…!” but she was gone.
All the way to school Mrs. Stueby’s money was burning a hole in my pocket and another in my brain. How much was it?
When I got to school, I parked my bike, then broke down and looked. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I folded the bills together and slid them back into my pocket. Was it more than Shelly had?
All through first period I was furious with myself for even thinking it. All through second period I kept my eyes off of Bryce, but oh! It was so hard! I’d never seen him in a tie and cuff links before!
Then at break I was at my locker when Shelly Stalls appeared out of nowhere. She got right next to me and said, “I hear you’re planning to bid on him.”
“What?” I took a step back. “Who told you that? I am not!”
“Someone said they saw you with a whole wad of cash this morning. How much do you have?” “It’s… it’s none of your business. And I’m not bidding, okay? I… I don’t even like him anymore.” She laughed, “Oh, that’ll be the day!”
“It’s true.” I slammed my locker closed. “Go ahead and waste your money on him. I don’t care.” I left her there with her mouth open, which felt even better than getting her in a headlock.
That feeling carried me clear through to eleven o’clock, when the entire student body assembled in the gymnasium. I was not going to bid on Bryce Loski. No way!
Then the basket boys came out on the stage. Bryce looked so adorable holding a picnic basket with red-and-white-checked napkins peeking out from either side, and the thought of Shelly Stalls flipping one of those napkins into her lap nearly made the bills in my pocket burst into flames.
Darla came up behind me and whispered, “Rumor is you’ve got a wad of cash. Is that true?” “What? No! I mean, yes, but I… I’m not bidding.”
“Oooo, girl, look at you. You feelin’ all right?”
I wasn’t. I felt sick to my stomach and shaky in the knees. “I’m fine,” I told her. “Fine.”
She looked from me to the stage and back to me. “You got nothin’ to lose but your self-respect.”
“Stop it!” I whispered at her fiercely. It felt like I was having a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I felt light-headed and wobbly—like I wasn’t in control of my own body.
Darla said, “Maybe you should sit down.” “I’m fine, Darla, I’m fine.”
She frowned at me. “I think I’ll stick around to make sure.”
The Booster Club president, Mrs. McClure, had been fluttering around the basket boys, fixing ties and giving them last-minute instructions, but now suddenly she was slamming her gavel on the podium, calling into the microphone, “If you’ll all settle down, we’re ready to begin.”
I’d never seen six hundred kids quiet down so fast. I guess Mrs. McClure hadn’t either, because she smiled and said, “Why, thank you. Thank you very much.” Then she said, “And welcome to the fifty- second annual Basket Boy Auction! I know that your teachers have gone over the procedures with you in homeroom, but I’ve been asked to remind you of a few things: This is a civilized proceeding. No whistling, catcalls, or other degrading behavior will be tolerated. If you wish to place a bid, you must raise your hand high. Bidding without raising your hand is prohibited, and should you decide to be a funny guy, you will be caught and detained or suspended. Are we all clear on that? Good.” She looked from one side of the gym to the other. “Teachers, I see that you are in position.”
Six hundred heads turned slowly from side to side, looking at the blockade of teachers on either side of the gym.
“Man,” Darla whispered, “they’re not leaving much room for fun, are they?”
Mrs. McClure continued, “Minimum bid is ten dollars, and of course, the sky’s the limit, but we don’t accept IOUs.” She pointed to her right. “Winning bidders should go directly to the table at the north door when I declare the basket to be sold. And as you’re aware, winners and their basket boys have the rest of the school day off and are exempt from tonight’s homework in all classes.” She smiled out at the blockade. “Teachers, we appreciate your support on this.
“All right, then!” She put on her reading glasses and looked at a three-by-five card. “Our first basket has been brought by Jeffrey Bisho.” She looked over her glasses at him and said, “Come on up, Jeffrey. Don’t be shy!” He inched forward as she continued. “Jeffrey has brought a scrumptious lunch consisting of chicken salad sandwiches, oriental noodles, baby grapes, iced tea, and fortune cookies.” She smiled at him over her glasses. “Sounds delicious, and sounds like fun! Which,” she said, looking back at the crowd, “Jeffrey is! He enjoys skateboarding, skiing, and swimming, but ladies, he also enjoys a day in the park and watching Humphrey Bogart movies.” She turned to him and grinned. “They are a kick, aren’t they?”
Poor Jeff tried to smile, but you could tell—he wanted to die.
“All right, then,” said Mrs. McClure as she whipped off her glasses. “Do I hear ten?”
Not only did she hear ten, she heard twelve, fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five, too! “Going… going… gone!” cried Mrs. McClure. “To the young lady in the purple tunic!”
“Who is that?” I asked Darla.
“I think her name’s Tiffany,” she said. “She’s a seventh grader.”
“Really? Wow. I would never have bid last year! And I… I don’t remember bids going up that high, either.”
Darla eyed me. “Which tells me that maybe you would bid this year? How much you got?”
I looked at her and almost dissolved right on the spot. “Darla, I didn’t bring money on purpose! My neighbor made me take it on the way to school because she owed it to me for eggs and—”
“For eggs? Oh, like Bryce was talking about in the library?” “Exactly, and—” I looked at her looking at me and stopped cold. “How can you even think about bidding on that boy?”
“I don’t want to! But I’ve liked him for so long. Darla, I’ve liked him since I was seven. And even though I know he’s a coward and a sneak and I should never speak to him again, I’m having trouble focusing on that. Especially since Shelly Stalls is after him. And now I’ve got this money burning a hole in my pocket!”
“Well, I can understand the bit about Shelly Stalls, but if you know that boy’s just a big piece of fluffy cheesecake that you’re gonna regret eating, I can help you with your diet.” She put out her hand. “Give me the money. I’ll hold it for you.”
“No!”
“No?”
“I mean… I can handle this. I’ve got to handle it.”
She shook her head. “Oh, girl. I’m hurting for you here.”
I looked back at the stage. The auction was happening so fast! They’d be at Bryce in no time. As the bidding continued, the battle in my head got louder and fiercer. What was I going to do?
Then suddenly the gym fell quiet. You could have heard a pin drop. And standing next to Mrs. McClure looking completely mortified was Jon Trulock. Mrs. McClure was scouring the crowd with her eyes, looking very uncomfortable, too.
“What happened?” I whispered to Darla. “No one’s bidding,” she whispered back.
“Do I hear ten?” called Mrs. McClure. “Come on, out there! This lunch is delicious. Strawberry tarts, roast beef and Muenster cheese sandwiches… ”
“Oh, no!” I whispered to Darla. “I can’t believe I did this to him!” “You? What did you do?”
“I voted for him!”
“Well, you couldn’t have been the only one….”
“But why isn’t anyone bidding on him? He’s… he’s so nice.” Darla nodded. “Exactly.”
That’s when I realized what I had to do. My hand shot into the air and I called, “Ten!” “Ten?” warbled Mrs. McClure. “Did I hear ten?”
I put my hand up higher and said to Darla, “Say twelve.” “What?”
“Say twelve, I’ll outbid you.”
“No way!”
“Darla! He can’t go for ten, c’mon!”
“Twelve!” Darla called, but her hand didn’t go up very high. “Fifteen!” I cried.
“Sixteen!” called Darla, and eyed me with a laugh. I whispered, “Darla! I’ve only got fifteen.”
Her eyes got enormous.
I laughed and called, “Eighteen!” then held her arm down and said, “But that really is all I’ve got.”
There was a moment of silence and then, “Eighteen going once! Eighteen going twice… Sold! for eighteen dollars.”
Darla laughed and said, “Whoa, girl! What a rush!” I nodded. “Yes, it was!”
“Well, no dessert for you. Looks like you got cleaned out by something a little more… uh… nutritious.” She nodded toward the stage. “You gonna go up to the table like you’re supposed to? Or you gonna stick around and see the carnage?”
I almost didn’t have a choice. Before Mrs. McClure could say two words about Bryce or his basket, Shelly called, “Ten!” Then from the middle of the gym came “Twenty!” It was Miranda Humes, with her hand way in the air. They went back and forth, back and forth, higher and higher, until Shelly called, “Sixty-two!”
“I can’t believe it,” I whispered to Darla. “Sixty-two dollars! C’mon, Miranda, come on.” “I think she’s out. Shelly’s got it.”
“Sixty-two dollars going once!” cried Mrs. McClure, but before she could say, Going twice! a voice from the back of the gym called, “A hundred!”
Everyone gasped and turned around to see who had called the bid. Darla whispered, “It’s Jenny.”
“Atkinson?” I asked.
Darla pointed. “Right over there.”
She was easy to spot, standing tall above the others in the number-seven basketball jersey she almost always wore. “Wow,” I whispered, “I had no idea.”
“Maybe she’ll slam-dunk him for you,” Darla said with a grin. “Who cares?” I giggled. “She slam-dunked Shelly!”
Mrs. McClure was gushing into the microphone about the record-breaking bid when a big commotion broke out over by Miranda. I spotted Shelly’s hair, and my first thought was that there was going to be a fight. But instead, Shelly and Miranda turned to face Mrs. McClure and called, “One-twenty-two fifty!”
I choked down a cry. “What?”
“They’re teamin’ up,” Darla whispered.
“Oh, no-no-no!” I looked over Jenny’s way. “Come on, Jenny!”
Darla shook her head and said, “She’s through,” and she was. Bryce went to Shelly and Miranda for one hundred twenty-two dollars and fifty cents.
It was a little strange, meeting up with Jon and walking over to the multi-purpose room for lunch. But he was just so nice, and I think grateful that I’d bid, that by the time we got situated at our table, I wasn’t feeling so awkward or silly. It was just lunch.
Things would have been easier if they hadn’t seated me in direct view of Bryce and his little harem, but I did my best to ignore them. Jon told me all about this radio-controlled airplane that he and his dad were building from scratch, and how he’d been working on it for nearly three months, and that over the weekend they were finally going to get to try it out. He told me a funny story about soldering the wires wrong and practically starting a fire in their basement, and I asked him about how a radio- controlled airplane works because I didn’t really understand it.
So I’d relaxed a lot and was actually having a good time eating lunch with Jon. And I was so relieved that I hadn’t bid on Bryce. What a fool I would have made of myself! Watching Shelly and Miranda fawning all over him didn’t bother me nearly as much as I thought it would. Really, they looked ridiculous.
Jon asked about my family, so I was telling him about my brothers and their band when a huge commotion broke out over at Bryce’s table. Suddenly Shelly and Miranda were rolling on the floor like an enormous furball, smearing each other with food.
Out of nowhere Bryce appeared at our table. He grabbed my hand, pulled me a few feet away, and whispered, “Do you like him?”
I was stunned.
He held my other hand and asked again, “Do you like him?” “You mean Jon?”
“Yes!”
I can’t remember what I said. He was looking into my eyes, holding my hands tight, and then he began pulling me toward him. My heart was racing and his eyes were closing and his face was coming toward mine…. Right there, in front of all the other basket boys and their dates and the adults, he was going to kiss me.
To kiss me.
I panicked. I’d been waiting all my life for that kiss, and now?
I yanked free and ran back to my table, and when I sat down Jon whispered, “Did he just try to kiss you?”
I turned my chair away from Bryce and whispered, “Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?”
People were whispering and looking my way, and when Shelly Stalls came back from cleaning up in the washroom, everyone fell quiet. Her hair looked awful. It was sort of oiled to her scalp and still had little chunks of food in it. She glared at me so hard it looked like she was trying to get laser beams to shoot from her eyes.
A couple of adults steered her back to her seat, and then everyone started whispering double-speed. And Bryce didn’t even seem to care! He kept trying to come over and talk to me, but either he’d get intercepted by a teacher or I’d dash away from him before he had a chance to say anything.
When the dismissal bell finally rang, I said a quick goodbye to Jon and bolted out the door. I couldn’t reach my bike fast enough! I was the first one off campus, and I pedaled home so hard it felt as though my lungs would burst.
Mrs. Stueby was out front watering her flower bed and she tried to say something to me, but I just dropped my bike in the driveway and escaped into the house. I certainly didn’t want to talk about roosters!
My mother heard me slamming doors and came to check on me in my room. “Julianna! What’s wrong?”
I flipped over on my bed to face her and wailed, “I am so confused! I don’t know what to think or feel or do…!”
She sat down beside me on the bed and stroked my hair. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart.” I hesitated, then threw my hands up in the air. “He tried to kiss me!”
My mother struggled not to let it show, but underneath her composed expression was a growing smile. She leaned in a little and asked, “Who did?”
“Bryce!”
She hesitated. “But you’ve always liked him….”
The doorbell rang. And rang again. My mom started to get up, but I grabbed her arm and said, “Don’t get that!” The bell rang again, and almost right after that there was a loud knocking at the door. “Mom, please! Don’t get it. That’s probably him!”
“But sweetheart… ”
“I was over him! Completely over him!” “Since when?”
“Since last Friday. After the dinner. If he had vanished from the face of the earth after our dinner at the Loskis’, I wouldn’t have cared!”
“Why? Did something happen at the dinner that I don’t know about?”
I threw myself back onto my pillow and said, “It’s too complicated, Mom! I… I just can’t talk about it.”
“My,” she said after a moment. “Don’t you sound like a teenager.”
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, because I knew I was hurting her feelings. I sat up and said, “Mom, all those years I liked him? I never really knew him. All I knew was that he had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen and that his smile melted my heart like the sun melts butter. But now I know that inside he’s a coward and a sneak, so I’ve got to get over what he’s like on the outside!”
My mother leaned back and crossed her arms. “Well,” she said. “Isn’t this something.” “What do you mean?”
She chewed the side of one cheek, then moved over to chew the other. At last she said, “I shouldn’t really discuss it.”
“Why not?”
“Because… I just shouldn’t. Besides, I can tell there are things you don’t feel comfortable discussing with me….”
We stared at each other a moment, neither of us saying a word. Finally I looked down and whispered, “When Chet and I were fixing up the yard, I told him how we didn’t own the house and about Uncle David. He must have told the rest of the family, because the day before the Loskis’ dinner party I overheard Bryce and his friend making cracks about Uncle David at school. I was furious, but I didn’t want you to know because you’d think they were only inviting us over because they felt sorry for us.” I looked at her and said, “You just seemed so happy about being invited for dinner.” Then I realized something. “And you know, you’ve seemed happier ever since.”
She held my hand and smiled. “I have a lot to be happy about.” Then she sighed and said, “And I already knew they knew about Uncle David. It was fine that you talked about him. He’s not a secret or anything.”
I sat up a little. “Wait… how did you know?” “Patsy told me.”
I blinked at her. “She did? Before the dinner?”
“No, no. After.” She hesitated, then said, “Patsy’s been over several times this week. She’s… she’s going through a very rough time.”
“How come?”
Mom let out a deep breath and said, “I think you’re mature enough to keep this inside these four walls, and I’m only telling you because… because I think it’s relevant.”
I held my breath and waited.
“Patsy and Rick have been having ferocious fights lately.” “Mr. and Mrs. Loski? What about?”
Mom sighed. “About everything, it seems.” “I don’t understand.”
Very quietly my mother said, “For the first time in her life, Patsy is seeing her husband for what he is. It’s twenty years and two children late, but that’s what she’s doing.” She gave me a sad smile. “Patsy seems to be going through the same thing you are.”
The phone rang and Mom said, “Let me get that, okay? Your dad said he’d call if he was working overtime, and that’s probably him.”
While she was gone, I remembered what Chet had said about someone he knew who had never learned to look beneath the surface. Had he been talking about his own daughter? And how could this happen to her after twenty years of marriage?
When my mother came back, I absently asked, “Is Dad working late?” “That wasn’t Dad, sweetheart. It was Bryce.”
I sat straight up. “Now he’s calling? I have lived across the street from him for six years and he’s never once called me! Is he doing this because he’s jealous?”
“Jealous? Of whom?”
So I gave her the blow-by-blow, beginning with Mrs. Stueby, going clear through Darla, the auction, the furball fight, and ending with Bryce trying to kiss me in front of everybody.
She clapped her hands and positively giggled. “Mom, it’s not funny!”
She tried to straighten up. “I know, sweetheart, I know.” “I don’t want to wind up like Mrs. Loski!”
“You don’t have to marry the boy, Julianna. Why don’t you just listen to what he has to say? He sounded desperate to talk to you.”
“What could he possibly have to say? He’s already tried to blame Garrett for what he said about Uncle David, and I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it. He’s lied to me, he hasn’t stood up for me… he’s… he’s nobody that I want to like. I just need some time to get over all those years of having liked him.”
Mom sat there for the longest time, biting her cheek. Then she said, “People do change, you know. Maybe he’s had some revelations lately, too. And frankly, any boy who tries to kiss a girl in front of a room full of other kids does not sound like a coward to me.” She stroked my hair and whispered, “Maybe there’s more to Bryce Loski than you know.”
Then she left me alone with my thoughts.
My mother knew I needed time to think, but Bryce wouldn’t leave me alone. He kept calling on the phone and knocking on the door. He even snuck around the house and tapped on my window! Every time I turned around, there he was, pestering me.
I wanted to be able to water the yard in peace. I wanted not to have to avoid him at school or have Darla run block for me. Why didn’t he understand that I wasn’t interested in what he had to say? What could he possibly have to say?
Was it so much to ask just to be left alone?
Then this afternoon I was reading a book in the front room with the curtains drawn, hiding from him as I had all week, when I heard a noise in the yard. I peeked outside and there was Bryce, walking
across my grass. Stomping all over my grass! And he was carrying a spade! What was he planning to do with that?
I flew off the couch and yanked open the door and ran right into my father. “Stop him!” I cried. “Calm down, Julianna,” he said, and eased me back inside. “I gave him permission.” “Permission! Permission to do what?” I flew back to the window. “He’s digging a hole.” “That’s right. I told him he could.”
“But why?”
“I think the boy has a very good idea, that’s why.” “But—”
“It’s not going to kill your grass, Julianna. Just let him do what he’s come to do.” “But what is it? What’s he doing?”
“Watch. You’ll figure it out.”
It was torture seeing him dig up my grass. The hole he was making was enormous! How could my father let him do this to my yard?
Bryce knew I was there, too, because he looked at me once and nodded. No smile, no wave, just a nod.
He dragged over some potting soil, pierced the bag with the spade, and shoveled dirt into the hole. Then he disappeared. And when he came back, he wrestled a big burlapped root ball across the lawn, the branches of a plant rustling back and forth as he moved.
My dad joined me on the couch and peeked out the window, too. “A tree?” I whispered. “He’s planting a tree?”
“I’d help him, but he says he has to do this himself.” “Is it a… ” The words stuck in my throat.
I didn’t really need to ask, though, and he knew he didn’t need to answer. I could tell from the shape of the leaves, from the texture of the trunk. This was a sycamore tree.
I flipped around on the couch and just sat. A sycamore tree.
Bryce finished planting the tree, watered it, cleaned everything up, and then went home. And I just sat there, not knowing what to do.
I’ve been sitting here for hours now, just staring out the window at the tree. It may be little now, but it’ll grow, day by day. And a hundred years from now it’ll reach clear over the rooftops. It’ll be miles in the air! Already I can tell—it’s going to be an amazing, magnificent tree.
And I can’t help wondering, a hundred years from now will a kid climb it the way I climbed the one up on Collier Street? Will she see the things I did? Will she feel the way I did?
Will it change her life the way it changed mine?
I also can’t stop wondering about Bryce. What has he been trying to tell me? What’s he thinking about?
I know he’s home because he looks out his window from time to time. A little while ago he put his hand up and waved. And I couldn’t help it—I gave a little wave back.
So maybe I should go over there and thank him for the tree. Maybe we could sit on the porch and talk. It just occurred to me that in all the years we’ve known each other, we’ve never done that. Never really talked.
Maybe my mother’s right. Maybe there is more to Bryce Loski than I know. Maybe it’s time to meet him in the proper light.
第十四章篮子男孩
在罗斯基家吃晚餐之后的那个周一，达拉在学校里追着我，强行把布莱斯•罗斯基又塞进我的脑子里。“朱莉！嘿，姑娘，等等我！最近好吗？”
“我很好，达拉，你呢？”
“不好，真的不好。”她低声说，“你今天过得怎么样？”她把书包换到另一边肩膀，向四周扫视了一下，“我在想，嗯，布莱斯对你实在太无情了。尤其是，他本来就是你的死穴。”
“谁说的？”
“你以为我没长眼睛吗？拜托，姑娘。这是理所当然的。所以我才这么担心你。你真的真的没问题吗？”
“是的，我很好。不过，谢谢你的关心。”我看着她说，“还有，达拉，它再也不是理所当然的了。”
她笑了，“这次节食会持续多久？”
“这不是节食。我刚刚，嗯，对他倒了胃口。”
她充满怀疑地看着我，“啊哈。”
“好吧，这是真的。不过，还是谢谢你的关心。”
虽然一开始我仍然感到自己强大、正确而坚定，但是，西蒙斯夫人整整提前了十五分钟下课，并且说“收起桌面上的东西，只留一支钢笔或是铅笔”。
“什么？”人人都尖叫起来，相信我——我也是其中一员。我根本没准备好来一次小测验！
“收起所有的东西！”她说，“快点，你们在浪费宝贵的时间。”
教室里响起抱怨声和翻动活页夹的声音，当所有人都遵照她的要求准备好，她从桌上拿起一叠明黄色的纸，带着一抹邪恶的微笑把它们展开，说道：“现在，我们来投票选举‘篮子男孩’！”
一阵解脱的声浪席卷全班。“‘篮子男孩’？你是说，不测验了？”
她一边数着选票一边说：“和测验一样，我不希望你们和别人交换意见。也和测验一 样，你们的时间有限。”她在第一排第一张桌子上放下一摞选票，然后走向第二排，“铃响以后，我会一个一个地从你们手里收上来，检查你们在填写时有没有遵守以下规定。”她轻巧
地来到了第三排，“选五个，只能选五个列表上的男生。不准署名，不准和附近的同学讨论你的选项。”她现在走到第四排了，语速越来越快，“当你作出选择之后，把表格翻过
来。”她把剩余的票放在最后一张桌子上，“我再说一遍，不准折你的选票！”
罗宾•卡斯迪农举起手叫道：“为什么男生也要投票。没理由让男生也投票嘛。” “罗宾……”西蒙斯夫人提醒他。
“我是认真的！我们该怎么做？投给朋友还是投给敌人？”
很多人都发出了窃笑，西蒙斯夫人瞪着他，但他说的有道理。二十个八年级的男生被迫准备两个人的午餐，还要被拍卖给出价最高的人。
“当选‘篮子男孩’是一种荣誉——”西蒙斯夫人开口道，不过罗宾打断了她。“那是个笑柄！”他说，“尴尬极了！谁想当个‘篮子男孩’？”
他旁边的男生纷纷抱怨道：“反正我不想。”但西蒙斯夫人清了清嗓子，“你应该希望当选的！自学校建立以来，这就是协助筹款的一项传统。一代又一代的‘篮子男孩’帮助学校变成现在的模样。有了他们，我们才有了花圃，有了遮阴的树木，以及苹果园。去看看别的初中吧，那时你才知道，我们的校园是一片小小的绿洲。”
“而这些全是出自‘篮子男孩’们的血汗辛劳。”罗宾嘟囔着。
西蒙斯夫人叹了口气，“罗宾，有一天当你的孩子来到这里上学，你就会明白。现在， 请给你认为能赢得最高出价的人投上一票。还有，全体同学，”她补充道，“我们还有九分钟。”
教室陷入一片寂静。我顺着名单阅读八年级一百五十个男生的名字，却发现，对我来说，从来只有一个人。只有布莱斯。
我不想让自己变得太伤感。那么长时间以来，我一直错爱了他，而现在我当然不会选他。但我不知道还能投给谁。我看了看西蒙斯夫人，她正虎视眈眈地盯着全班同学，间或看着挂钟。如果
我谁也不选呢？如果我交上空白的选票会怎样？
她会让我留堂，就这样。还剩两分钟的时候，我在我认为既不像书呆子又不像小丑，人还不错的男生名字旁边打上点。当我勾完之后，发现有十个名字旁边做了记号，然后我从中选出了五个人：莱恩•诺尔，文思•奥尔森，艾德里安伊格莱西亚斯，伊恩•莱以及琼恩•楚洛克。他们不会当选“篮子男孩”的，但我也不会出价，所以这没关系。当铃声响起，我交上选票，把拍卖的事
忘得一干二净。
直到第二天午饭时分为止。去图书馆的路上，达拉拦住我，把我拉到她的座位上。“你看到名单了吗？”她问。
“什么名单？”
“‘篮子男孩’的名单！”她把一张笔迹潦草的二十人名单推到我面前，四下张望，“你的心头好也在里面！”
从上数第五个，就在那儿——布莱斯•罗斯基。
我早该预料到的，可是，一股汹涌而来的占有欲仍然袭上了我的心头。谁投了他一票？ 从一百五十人里当选，他一定得到了许多选票！突然间，我眼前出现了成群的女孩在推进者俱乐部的女士们面前挥舞着大把钞票，乞求能与他共进午餐的场面。
我把名单扔回给达拉，说：“他不是我的心头好！实际上，我根本就没选他。” “噢噢噢，姑娘！你还在坚持节食呢！”
“这不是节食，达拉。我……我已经不再惦记他了，好吗？”
“我很高兴听你这么说，因为有传言认为，雪莉那个妞儿已经对他志在必得了。” “雪莉？雪莉•斯道尔斯？”我觉得我的脸因为激动而发红了。
“没错，”达拉挥舞着她的名单，喊道，“莉斯！梅茜！在这里！我拿到名单了！”
达拉的朋友们全都扑过来，聚精会神地研究那张纸，仿佛那是一份藏宝图。梅茜喊道：“查得•奥蒙德被选中了！他好可爱。我愿意为他出十块钱，没问题！”
“丹尼也在里面！”莉斯尖叫着，“那个男孩真是”——她打着战，咯咯笑着——“太、太、太好了！”
梅茜撇撇嘴说：“琼恩•楚洛克？他怎么也在里面？”
有那么一刻，我几乎不敢相信自己的耳朵。我从梅茜手里抢过名单，“你确定？” “就在那儿，”她指着他的名字说，“你觉得谁会选他啊？”
“那些文静的女生吧，我想。”达拉说，“我嘛，我对麦克•阿比尼多更感兴趣。有人跟我竞争吗？”
梅茜笑了，“如果你想要他的话，我退出！” “我也是。”莉斯说。
“你呢，朱莉？”达拉问我，“周五打算带上零钱吗？” “不！”
“那你会错过后半场……”
“不！我不会竞价的。对谁都不会！”
她笑了，“对你有好处。”
那天下午，我从学校骑车回家，脑子里全是布莱斯和“篮子男孩”拍卖。我觉得自己对布莱斯有点死灰复燃的苗头。但是，如果雪莉喜欢他，我为什么要介意呢？我根本就不应该想他！
不想布莱斯的时候，我不禁担心起可怜的琼恩•楚洛克。他很文静，让他挎着篮子在全校面前被拍卖，我觉得很对不起他。我对他做了些什么啊？
不过，当我到家的时候，“篮子男孩”的事就迅速地被我抛到了脑后。我是不是看到了绿色从泥土里钻出来？是的！是的，没错！我扔下自行车，四肢趴在地上。它们好细，好小， 离得好远！
在宽阔的黑色土壤上面，它们几乎看不到，不过，它们确实在那儿。从泥土中钻出来， 沐浴着午后的阳光。
我跑进屋里，喊着：“妈妈！妈妈，小草长出来了！”
“真的？”她戴着清洁手套、提着水桶从浴室里跑出来，“我还在想，它们是不是根本不会破土而出。”
“嗯，它们现在出来了！过来！来看看！”
一开始，她没有什么感觉。但是当我让她趴到地上仔细看的时候，她笑了，说：“它们好精致……”
“它们看起来就像在打哈欠，是不是？”
她轻轻点了点头，又凑近去看，“打哈欠？”
“呃，也许更舒展一些，我想。它们仿佛是坐在小小的泥土铺成的床上，高高地伸着胳膊，嘴里说着，世界，早上好！”
她笑了，“是啊，没错！”
我站起来，解开水管，“我想，它们需要来个晨浴，你说呢？”
妈妈同意了，把我一个人留在在那儿一边浇水一边唱歌。我已经完全沉浸在这些新生的小小绿色叶片带来的快乐中，这时，我听到校车轰隆隆地停在克里尔街的车站。
布莱斯。他的名字瞬间击中了我，随之而来的是一阵我无法遏制的恐慌。还没反应过来，我已经丢下水管，冲进屋子里。
我锁上自己的屋门，试着做起了家庭作业。我平静的心情到哪儿去了？我的决心呢？还
有我的理智？就因为雪莉•斯道尔斯追求他，它们就全都离我而去了？我会有这种反应，是否只是因为旧日的竞争？
我必须放下布莱斯和雪莉的事。他们俩很合适——就让他们在一起吧！
但是，内心深处，我知道自己就像刚刚发芽的小草，还不够强大，禁不住别人的踩踏。在我强大起来之前，只有一个办法：必须远离他们。我需要把他隔离出我的生活。
于是，我躲开任何有关“篮子男孩”的消息，在学校里避开布莱斯。如果我不小心碰到了他，只是说一句你好，把他当成一个我不熟悉的人。
这个方法奏效了！我一天比一天强大起来。谁在乎拍卖和“篮子男孩”？反正我不在乎！ 星期五的早晨，我起得很早，捡起鸡窝里寥寥无几的鸡蛋，给前院浇水——现在那里已
经有了明显的绿意，吃早饭，然后准备去上学。
梳头的时候，我却忍不住想起了雪莉•斯道尔斯。今天是拍卖的日子。她也许五点钟就起床了，把头发做成某种蓬松得不可思议的形状。
那又怎么样？我对自己说。那又怎么样？但是当我匆忙穿上夹克的时候，我盯着存钱罐，犹疑着。假如……
不！不——不——不！
我跑进车库，找到自行车，把它推上车道。刚骑到路上，斯杜比太太就突然跑出来拦住我。
“朱莉安娜，”她喊道，冲我挥着手，“这儿，亲爱的。拿着这些钱。对不起，这么长时间都没有拿给你。早上我总是错过你。”
我甚至不知道她欠了我多少钱。那一刻，我也不在乎。我只知道她手里最大面额的是十元钞票，简直把我吓了一跳。“斯杜比太太，别这样。我……我不要钱。你不需要付钱给
我。”
“别这么说，孩子！我当然要付你钱。拿着！”她一边说，一边把钱塞给我。“不，真的不用。我……我不要这些钱。”
她把钱插进我的牛仔裤口袋，“别再说啦。走吧！去给你自己买只公鸡！”然后，她就匆匆地走回家去了。
“斯杜比太太……斯杜比太太？”我在她背后喊着，“我不想买什么公鸡！”但她已经走了。
去学校的路上，斯杜比太太的钞票似乎要在我的口袋上烧出一个洞，我的心里也几乎被烧出一个洞。到底有多少钱？
到了学校，我停好自行车，把钱铺开。十，十五，十六，十七，十八。我把钱拢在一起，放回口袋里。这会不会比雪莉带的钱更多呢？
整个第一堂课，我都在对自己居然有这个念头而大发脾气。整个第二堂课，我一直努力不让目光停留在布莱斯身上，但是，哦！这太难了！我以前从来没见他戴过领带和袖扣！
课间休息的时候，我来到自己的储物柜那里，雪莉•斯道尔斯突然不知道从哪里冒出来了。她径直走到我身边，说：“我听说你打算对他竞价。”
“什么？”我向后退了一步，“谁说的？我没有！”
“有人看到你早上带了一大卷现金。你有多少钱？”
“这……这不关你的事。而且我不想出价，好吗？我……我甚至一点儿也不喜欢他，再也不喜欢了。”
她笑了，“哦，今天会是美好的一天！”
“没错，”我砰的一声关上储物柜，“去把你的钱浪费在他身上吧。我不在乎。”
我留下她一个人目瞪口呆地站在那儿，感觉甚至比给她来个过肩摔还要好。
这种感觉一直留存到上午十一点，全体学生聚集到体育馆为止。我不会为布莱斯•罗斯基竞标的。绝对不会！
“篮子男孩”们走上台。布莱斯拿着野餐篮子，边沿上露出红白格子餐巾，他看起来多可爱呀。随即，一幅雪莉•斯道尔斯抽出其中一块餐巾铺在腿上的画面，几乎点着了我口袋里的钱。
达拉出现在我身后，低声说：“据说你带了很多钱。是真的吗？” “什么？不！我是说，是的，但我……我不会竞标。”
“噢噢噢，姑娘，瞧你。你还好吧？”
一点儿也不好。我胃里翻腾着，膝盖打软。“我很好，”我告诉她，“很好。”
她的目光在我和舞台之间转来转去，最后回到我身上，“除了自尊以外，你不会有任何损失。”
“别说了！”我恶狠狠地在她耳边说。就像犯了焦虑症一样，我快不能呼吸了。我感到一阵头晕，整个人摇摇欲坠——仿佛我无法控制自己的身体。
达拉说：“也许你应该坐下来。”
“我很好，达拉，我很好。”
她冲我皱着眉头，“我想我得在这儿多待会儿，保证你没事。”
推进者俱乐部主席麦克卢尔夫人刚才穿梭在“篮子男孩”身边，帮他们整整领带，下达最后的指示，现在她忽然站在台子上，敲着手里的小木槌，声音通过麦克风传出来，“等你们都坐好了，我们就准备开始。”
我还从来没见过六百个学生这么快就安静下来。我猜麦克卢尔夫人也没见过，因为她露出一个微笑，说道：“哎呀，谢谢大家。非常感谢。”她接着说，“欢迎参加第五十二届年
度‘篮子男孩’拍卖会！我知道老师已经在教室里给你们讲过拍卖流程，但我还要提醒你们几件事：这是一个文明的过程。不允许做出任何吹口哨、喝倒彩、或其他有失身份的行为。如果你想竞标，必
须把手举高。禁止不举手就出价，假如你决心做个小丑，将会被抓住并延缓或禁止出价。都清楚了吗？很好。”她环视着体育馆，“老师们，我看到你们已经就位了。”
六百颗脑袋慢慢地左右巡视，看着体育馆两侧由教师组成的封锁线。
“上帝啊，”达拉悄声说，“他们留下这么大的空间不是为了娱乐的，对不对？”
麦克卢尔夫人接着说：“最少出价是十美元，当然，上不封顶，不过我们不接受赊
账。”她指了指右边，“当我宣布篮子成交之后，胜出的竞拍者直接去北门那里的餐桌。就像你们听说的那样，胜出者和她们的‘篮子男孩’可以不用上今天剩下的课，并且免除今晚一切家庭作业。”她对封锁线笑了笑，“教师们，我们十分感谢你们的支持。”
“好吧，就这样！”她戴上老花镜，看着一张三乘五的卡片，“第一个篮子，由杰弗里•毕肖提供。”她从眼镜上方看着他，说道，“走上来，杰弗里。别害羞！”他往前蹭了几寸，她接着说，“杰弗里带来了一顿顶级大餐，包括鸡肉沙拉三明治、中式面条、迷你葡萄、冰茶以及幸运饼。”透过眼镜，她冲他微微一笑，“听起来很美味，也很有趣！这就是——”她回头看着人群，“杰弗里！他喜欢滑板、滑雪以及游泳，不过女士们，他也喜欢在公园里度过一整天以及观看亨弗莱•鲍嘉的电影。”她转向杰弗里，笑着说，“意外之喜，对不对？”
可怜的杰弗里试着微笑，但你能看得出来——他恨不得去死。
“好啦，”麦克卢尔夫人摘下眼镜，“有人出十元吗？”
不止十元，她听到有人说十二、十五、二十还有二十五！
“继续……继续……成交！”麦克卢尔夫人喊道，“那位穿紫外套的年轻女士！” “那是谁啊？”我问达拉。
“我想她是叫泰芬妮，”她说，“她是七年级的。”
“真的吗？哇。去年我根本就没出价！而且我……我也不记得价格涨得这么快。”
达拉盯着我，“也就是说，你今年也许会竞标咯？你有多少钱？”
我的目光几乎能在她脸上烧出一个洞，“达拉，我不是有意带钱来的！我的邻居在我上学路上非让我收下不可，因为她欠我鸡蛋的钱，而且——”
“鸡蛋？哦，就是布莱斯在图书馆说的那些？”
“没错，而且——”我看着她，她也看着我，然后我冷冷地停了下来。“你怎么会想要去竞标那个男孩？”
“我不想！但我曾经喜欢过他很长时间。达拉，我从七岁就开始喜欢他了。虽然我知道他是个懦夫，是个鬼鬼祟祟的家伙，我不应该再和他说话，可是这很难做到。尤其是，雪莉
•斯道尔斯在追求他。现在我的钱都快把我的口袋烧出洞了！”
“好吧，我能理解关于雪莉•斯道尔斯的部分，不过，要是你认为那男孩是一大块奶酪蛋糕，吃下去是种罪恶的话，我可以帮你把节食坚持下去。”她伸出手，“把钱给我。我帮你拿着。”
“不！”
“不？”
“我的意思是……我能控制住。我一定要控制住。”
她摇摇头，“哦，姑娘。看来我伤害到你了。”
我转过头看看舞台。拍卖进行得真快！马上就该布莱斯上场了。竞标还在继续，而我内心的斗争也愈演愈烈。我该怎么做？
突然，体育馆陷入一片寂静，静得能听到一根针落地的声音。站在麦克卢尔夫人身边， 窘迫得要死的正是琼恩•楚洛克。麦克卢尔夫人正在扫视着人群，看上去同样很不自在。
“怎么了？”我悄悄问达拉。
“没人出价。”她也悄悄答道。
“有人出十元吗？”麦克卢尔夫人喊道，“来呀，出价啊！这顿午饭很美味。草莓挞，烤牛肉和门斯特干酪三明治……”
“哦，不！”我低声对达拉说，“我不敢相信自己竟然对他做出这种事情！” “你？你做什么了？”
“我投了他一票！”
“好吧，不可能只有你一个人选了他……”
“但是为什么没人为他出价？他……他人很好。”
达拉点点头，“没错。”
我忽然知道该怎么做了。我举起手，喊道：“十元！” “十元？”麦克卢尔夫人颤声说，“有人出十元吗？” 我把手举得更高，对达拉说：“报十二元。”
“什么？”
“报十二元，我会比你出价更高的。” “没门！”
“达拉！他不能只拍到十元，快点！”
“十二！”达拉喊道，不过她的手举得并不高。“十五！”我叫着。
“十六！”达拉喊，笑着看我。
我低声说：“达拉！我只有十五块钱。” 她瞪大了眼睛。
我笑了，喊道：“十八！”然后把她的手拽下来，“不过这真的是我所有的钱了。” 片刻安静，“十八元一次！十八元两次……十八元成交。”
达拉笑了，“哇，姑娘！好激烈的竞价！” 我点点头，“没错！”
“好吧，你吃不上甜点了。看来你把钱全花在了更……呃……健康的食物上。”她用下巴点点舞台，“你是不是要去餐桌那边了，就像你该做的那样？或者你想再待一会儿，观赏下面的厮杀？”
我几乎没有别的选择。麦克卢尔夫人还没来得及对布莱斯和他的篮子说一句完整的介 绍，雪莉已经喊道：“十元！”然后，从体育馆的中间传来了“十二！”那是米兰达•休姆斯，手臂高高地指向天空。她们此起彼伏地喊着，价格越来越高，直到雪莉喊出“六十二！”
“我不敢相信，”我悄悄对达拉说，“六十二块钱！来啊，米兰达，快出价。” “我想她出局了，雪莉胜利了。”
“六十二元一次！”麦克卢尔夫人喊，但是，在她说出“两次！”之前，从体育馆后排传来
一个声音，“一百元！”
人人都屏住呼吸，转身朝后看去，到底是谁出的价。达拉低声说：“那是珍妮。” “阿特金森？”我问。
达拉指着人群，“就在那里。”
她很容易被认出来，站在那儿比周围的人都高，穿着她几乎天天穿的一件印着七号的篮球背心。“哇，”我悄声说，“我都不知道。”
“也许她会为你给他一记重扣。”达拉咧着嘴笑道。“管她呢，”我也笑了，“她给了雪莉一记重扣！”
麦克卢尔夫人通过麦克风激动地宣布这次出价打破了纪录，而米兰达身边涌起一阵骚动。我认出了雪莉的头发，第一个念头是她俩快要打起来了。但是，雪莉和米兰达一起转过身来面对着麦克卢尔夫人，喊道：“一百二十二元五角！”
我强忍着没有尖叫出来，“什么？”
“她们联合起来了。”达拉悄悄地说。
“哦，不——不——不！”我朝珍妮看去，“上啊，珍妮！”
达拉摇摇头，对我说：“她已经退出了。”确实。布莱斯以一百二十二元五角的价格卖给了雪莉和米兰达。
和琼恩碰头，一起去多功能厅吃午餐，这感觉有点奇怪。但是他人真的很好，我庆幸自己拍下了他。当我们在餐桌旁落座的时候，我并不觉得尴尬或是愚蠢。这只是一顿午餐。
假如他们没把我安排在正对布莱斯和他那两位后宫的位置，可能就不会有那么多麻烦了，不过，我尽可能忽略掉他。琼恩告诉我，他和他爸爸怎么从零做起，制造无线电遥控飞机的故事，他足足干了快三个月，而这个周末他们终于要试飞了。他还给我讲了个好玩的故事，关于他怎么焊错了电线，结果点着了他家的地下室，然后我问起无线电遥控飞机的工作原理，因为我没有真
的听明白。
就这样，我放松多了，而且跟琼恩一起吃午餐真的很愉快。我非常庆幸自己没有为布莱斯竞价。我差点就当了一次大傻瓜！看着雪莉和米兰达不断地奉承他，我并没有像自己想象的那样困扰。真的，她们看起来可笑极了。
琼恩问起我的家人，于是我讲起哥哥们和他们的乐队，这时，布莱斯的餐桌旁边掀起了一阵骚动。
突然间，雪莉和米兰达像一只巨大的毛球一样滚倒在地，用食物互殴起来。
布莱斯不知从哪儿冒出来，出现在我们的餐桌旁边。他抓起我的手，把我拖到一边，低声说：“你喜欢他吗？”
我惊讶得不知所措。
他抓住我的另一只手，又问了一遍，“你喜欢他吗？” “你是说琼恩？”
“是的！”
我不记得自己是怎么说的了。他直视着我的眼睛，紧紧地抓住我的手，然后把我朝他的方向拉了过去。我的心跳得飞快，而他闭上眼睛，他的脸离我越来越近……就在这里，当着所有“篮子男孩”、他们的约会对象，以及大人们的面，他要吻我了。
吻我。
我慌了。我一辈子都在等待这个吻，但是，现在？
我挣脱了他，跑回自己的餐桌，当我坐下的时候，琼恩低声问道：“他是不是想吻你？” 我把椅子转开，不再对着布莱斯，然后低声回答：“我们能不能聊点别的？聊什么都
行。”
人们正在窃窃私语，并朝我这边看过来，当雪莉•斯道尔斯在洗手间清洁完毕回到屋子里，大家都不说话了。她的头发看上去可怕极了。她头上油乎乎的，头发里还挂着小块的食物。她狠狠地剐了我一眼，就像她的眼睛能发射激光一样。
几个大人把她带回座位，这时屋子里窃窃私语的声音更大了。布莱斯看起来根本就不在乎！他一直试着靠近我，跟我说话，可他不是被老师拦住，就是在有机会开口之前被我推开。
当下课铃终于响起，我迅速地向琼恩道别，匆匆跑出大门。我从没这么快取过自行车！ 头一个冲出学校，我一路疯狂地踩着踏板回到家，肺里火烧火燎。
斯杜比太太正在房子前面浇花，她想跟我说些什么，可我只是把车扔在路上，逃进屋子。我根本不想说什么公鸡的事！
妈妈听见我砰地关上门，就走进房间来看我，“朱莉安娜！出什么事了？”
我仰面躺在床上，面对妈妈，哭着说：“我心里很乱！我不知道该怎么想，怎么做……” 她在我身边的床沿上坐下，抚摸我的头发，“告诉我发生了什么事，亲爱的。”
我迟疑了一下，然后绝望地伸出双手，“他想吻我！”
妈妈努力控制着自己，但她镇静的表情之下，一个微笑正在慢慢绽开。她靠近我，问
道：“谁？”
“布莱斯！”
她踌躇着，“你不是一直喜欢他……”
门铃响了。然后响了又响。妈妈想站起来，可我抓住她的胳膊，“别开门！”门铃再次响起，紧跟着是重重的敲门声，“妈妈，求你了！别开门！可能是他！”
“可是亲爱的……”
“我已经不喜欢他了！完全不喜欢了！” “从什么时候开始的？”
“从上星期五。那顿晚餐之后。我们在罗斯基家吃过晚饭之后，就算他从地球表面消失，我都不在乎！”
“为什么？晚餐上还发生了什么我不知道的事吗？”
我把自己埋进枕头，“这很复杂，妈妈！我……我没法告诉你。” “上帝，”她沉默片刻，“别耍小孩脾气。”
“对不起，”我呜咽着说，知道自己让她伤心了，我从床上坐起来，“妈妈，这些年我真的一直都喜欢他吗？我从没有真正了解过他。我只知道他有一双我见过的最漂亮的眼睛，他的笑容像阳光融化黄油一样融化了我的心。但我现在知道，他内心深处不过是个懦夫，是个鬼鬼祟祟的家伙。所以我必须忘记他的外表！”
妈妈向后靠过去，抱着双臂。“好吧，”她说，“这真伟大。” “什么意思？”
她抽紧一边的脸颊，接着又抽紧另外一边。最后她说：“我不该跟你讨论这个。” “为什么？”
“因为……就是不应该。另外，我敢说你也有不愿意跟我讨论的话题……”
我们互相对视着，谁也没说话。最后，我低下头，小声说：“查特和我修整院子的时
候，我告诉他房子不是我们的，还有戴维叔叔的事。他一定是告诉他家其他人了，因为去罗斯基家吃晚饭的前一天，我不小心听到布莱斯和他的朋友在学校取笑戴维叔叔。我当时很生气，可我不想让你知道，因为你以为他们请我们去吃饭，只是为了向我们道歉。”我看着妈妈说，“受到邀请，你看起来那么高兴。”
然后我忽然明白了什么事，“还有，从那天以后，你看起来开心多了。”
她握住我的手，笑了，“我有很多值得高兴的事，”她叹了口气，说，“而且我早就知道他们听说了戴维叔叔的事。你对别人提起他，这真的没有关系。他不是个秘密。”
我直起身，“等等……你怎么知道的？” “佩西告诉我了。”
我惊讶地眨着眼睛，“她说的？在晚餐之前？”
“不，不。晚餐之后。”她顿了顿，“这个星期，佩西来了好几次。她……她正在度过一段艰难的日子。”
“怎么回事？”
妈妈长长地舒了一口气，说：“我想，你已经足够成熟到保守这个秘密了，我只告诉你一个人，因为……因为我想这跟你也有关系。”
我屏住呼吸，等待着。
“这段时间，佩西和瑞克之间爆发了非常激烈的矛盾。” “罗斯基先生和太太？关于什么？”
妈妈叹气，“关于所有的事，我想。” “我不知道。”
妈妈用非常非常轻的声音说：“佩西有生以来第一次看清楚了她丈夫是个什么样的人。虽然晚了二十年，有了两个孩子，但她还是作出了决定。”她冲我悲伤地笑着，“看来佩西正在经历和你一样的过程。”
电话响了，妈妈说：“我去接吧，好吗？爸爸说，如果要加班，他会打电话过来，也许是他。”
她走了以后，我想起查特的话，他认识的某个人从来没有学会透过表象看到本质。他说的是自己的女儿吗？这一切怎么会发生在二十年的婚姻生活之后呢？
妈妈回来之后，我心不在焉地问：“爸爸今天要加班吗？” “那不是爸爸，亲爱的。是布莱斯。”
我坐起来，“现在他想起打电话了？我在他对街住了六年，而他从来没给我打过电话！ 他这么做是出于嫉妒吗？”
“嫉妒？嫉妒谁？”
于是，我一点儿一点儿讲给她听，从斯杜比太太开始，然后是达拉、拍卖、两个女生打
架，末尾是布莱斯试图在众目睽睽之下吻我。她拍着手，真的笑出声了。
“妈妈，这一点儿也不好笑！”
她努力坐直一点儿，“我知道，亲爱的，我明白。” “我不想落得像罗斯基太太一样的下场！”
“你不需要跟这个男孩结婚，朱莉安娜。你为什么不听听他要说什么呢？他不顾一切地想跟你说说话。”
“他想说什么呀？他已经把取笑戴维叔叔的错误都推到加利特身上了，抱歉，我不能接受。他对我说谎了，他没有为我站出来……他……他什么也不是，我根本不想喜欢上他。喜欢他这么长时间，我只是需要时间把他忘掉。”
妈妈坐在那里沉默了很久，脸上轻轻地抽动着。然后她说：“你知道，人是会变的。也许，他最近也受到了一些启发。诚实地说，任何一个敢于在大庭广众之下亲吻女孩的男孩子，在我看来都不是懦夫。”她抚摸着我的头发，轻声说，“也许你对布莱斯•罗斯基了解得还不够深。”
她把我一个人留在房间里继续纠结。
妈妈明白我需要时间来思考，但布莱斯就是不肯让我一个人待着。他不断地打电话、敲门、居然还绕过房子，来敲我的窗户！每一次我转过身来，他总在那里纠缠着我。
我想安安静静地给院子浇水。我希望在学校能躲开他，或者让达拉帮我挡住他。他为什么就是不明白，我对他要说的话根本不感兴趣？他还能说什么呢？
想一个人待着真的很过分吗？
今天下午，我正在门厅里读一本书，为了躲开他拉上了窗帘，就像我这个星期一直以来那样。这时我听到院子里传来一阵噪声。我朝外面偷看了一眼，是布莱斯，他正穿过我的草坪。踩在我的小草上面！他还扛着一把铲子！他想拿它来干什么？
我跳下沙发，冲出家门，跑到爸爸身边。“让他停下来！”我尖叫着。
“冷静点，朱莉安娜，”他说，并把我拉回屋子里，“是我允许他这么做的。” “允许！允许他做什么？”我跑回到窗户旁边，“他在挖洞。”
“没错。是我同意的。” “可是为什么？”
“我觉得这男孩的主意不错，就这样。”
“但是——”
“这不会伤到你的小草，朱莉安娜。就让他去做吧。” “可是，他要干什么？他在干什么？”
“看着他。你会发现的。”
看着他在我的草地上挖洞是一种折磨。他挖了好大一个洞！爸爸怎么会允许他在我家院子里挖洞呢？
布莱斯也知道我在这儿，因为有一次他看了我一眼，点点头。没有笑，没有打招呼，只是点了点头。
他拖过来一些盆栽用的土壤，用铲子划破袋子，把土倒进洞里。然后他消失了。回来的时候，他费力地扛着一棵用麻袋裹住根部的巨大的树苗穿过草坪，他一边往前走，树枝一边前后摆动，窸窣作响。
爸爸走过来，陪我一起坐在沙发上偷偷地看着窗外。
“一棵树？”我悄声说，“他要种一棵树？” “我想帮他，可是他说他必须自己动手。”
“这是棵……”剩下的半句话卡在我喉咙里。
我根本不用问，他也知道他用不着回答。从叶子的形状和树干的质感，我能看得出来。这是一棵无花果树。
我从沙发上跳起来，又坐了回去。一棵无花果树。
布莱斯把树种下去，浇水，收拾好东西，然后走回家去。我只是坐在那儿，不知道该怎么办。
现在，我已经在那儿坐了好几个小时，望着窗外那棵树。它现在也许还小，但它会一天天长大。一百年后，它将会超过屋顶。它会向着天空伸展好几英里！我已经能够看出——它将会是棵神奇、壮美的大树。
我忍不住在想，一百年后，会不会有个孩子像我在克里尔街那样爬到树上去？她会不会看到我曾经看到的风景？这会不会改变她的生活，就像它们改变了我的生活一样？
我也忍不住想起了布莱斯。他想对我说些什么？他在想些什么？
我知道他在家，因为他不时从窗户向外眺望。不久前，他刚刚举手朝我挥动着。而我实
在忍不住——我也微微挥手作为回应。
那么，也许我应该走过去，感谢他种了这棵树。也许我们可以坐在门廊上谈谈。我突然想到，我们认识了这么久，还从来没这样做过呢。
从来没有真的坐下来好好谈一谈。
也许妈妈是对的。也许我对布莱斯•罗斯基了解得还不够深。也许现在是时候了。
