Chapter Thirteen

The heron suddenly stretched its neck straight up and, beak pointing skyward, kept it there as if listening. “Frahnk!” it suddenly cried, deep and harsh. “Frahnk!”

– Blue Heron by Avi

 

 

                                              Chapter Thirteen

 

By the time November rolled around, me and Gabrielle was “good” friends again. Victoria, Jennifer and Clarrissa had been losing interest in Gabrielle. Josh, too, for that matter. So she’d been slowly drifting back to me. That’s one of my problems solved. But still, I ain’t solved my big problem – my Daddy. Worse, he ain’t written back yet.

I was daydreaming at my desk at school, still worried about what Mama was up to, figuring it was just a matter of time. What if she done figured out a way to keep me away from my Daddy FOREVER? Well, I got a newsflash for Mama. I ain’t giving up that easy! I thought. Lord, I just had to talk to Gabrielle before I’d burst! So I slipped her a note during Social Studies.

GG,

Hope Mrs. S. don’t call on me. She’s sooooo

boring. Sit by me at lunch. I have a secret to tell you.

EJJ

 

 

Gabrielle accidentally dropped my note on the floor. In horror, I watched Victoria swoop down – quick as a heron bird spearing a fish – and snatch it up. Then the brat gloated all the way up to Mrs. Stankoski’s desk. I wanted to punch her in her pretty, prissy face.

“I’m dead,” I moaned to Gabrielle, half-crazed at lunchtime.

Looking across the cafeteria table, I could see the brat was still glowing (like them glow-in-the-dark tennis shoes), which ticked me off. Just my luck, Mrs.Stankoski had lunch duty and was heading my direction! Nervous as a tick, I wanted to duck under the cafeteria table and hide. But couldn’t.

“So I’m boring, Emma June,” Mrs. Stankoski teased above the loud cafeteria chatter.

Embarrassed, I felt my checks burning berries again.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stankoski. I didn’t mean no harm.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she said, winking. “Actually I want to talk to you about something else. Your Veteran’s Day poem was very moving. Would you mind reading it to the class?”

“I reckon,” was all I could muster up, hoping she’d forget about it.

“We’re going to be studying W. W. II soon. I thought I’d talk to your mother at Conferences about getting your friend, Woody, come talk to the class. Aren’t many of those old soldiers left around.”

“I . . . don’t think he could come, “I stuttered. “He’s old and can’t walk none.”

“Your mother signed up for Conferences tonight, we’ll see what she suggests, dear.”

Then she sauntered away to another table.

“You look like you swallowed a whole turkey,” Gabrielle squealed in her irritating mouse squeak.

I felt sick like I’d eaten the doggone turkey, feathers and all.

Now what was I gonna do?

Feeling the need to talk, I poured out the whole sad story about my Daddy’s letter, me writing back, Mama’s lying, and about going to see Woody. Gabrielle’s mouth flung wide-open. She was stuffing her mouth when I spilled out my guts. In the shock of it all, she almost spit out a mouthful of chewed-up hot dogs onto her cutesy outfit that matched one of her “Chicago” dolls. Lord, wouldn’t that have been a sight!

“And Mama’s done got herself a lawyer,” I ended my story, watching Gabrielle trying hard to swallow. “Promise not to tell a soul.” I said, remembering her reputation as “gabby” at her other school.

“Promise on my Yin Yang necklace,” Gabrielle said, reaching for her jagged-

edged black half (she’d been wearing it again lately).

“What am I gonna do?” I groaned half-sick, not touching a bit of my hot dog lunch.

“Maybe your father’s a criminal or something. Maybe your mother’s doing the right thing getting a lawyer.”

“Gabrielle Gabbert, he ain’t no criminal,” I snapped back at Gabrielle, tears dripping down my cheeks. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop ’em. Or push away the ache in my heart, neither.

“Well, you don’t really know anything about your father. Do you?” She

asked.

“Nooo! ”I said shocked at her attitude, barely knowing what to make of it.

“My point exactly.”

“Gabrielle, I’m in trouble!” I confessed. “Conferences are tonight!”

“What do you expect me to do? I told you not to go over there,” Gabrielle said all snippy.

“Please I need your help, Yin Yang sister!” I begged, twirling my necklace in front of her eyeballs.

That done the trick. Gabrielle caved.

“Okay, give me a minute,” she said.

Then she starts crossing herself like them Catholics do. And gets real silent, which causes me to get mighty angry with her.

“Gabrielle, I don’t need your prayers! I need your help!” I burst out.

“I’m not praying. I’m thinking. Something you should have done before you got yourself into this mess!”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized.

“What time’s her appointment?”

“Four-thirty, Mama’s off today.”

“Good, plenty of time. Here’s what you can do. My father would call it ‘Plan A’. When recess is over, ask Mrs. Stankowski for the hall pass. Then come back and inform her that you’re sick.

“That ain’t hard. My stomach’s already a mess of worms,” I said holding my stomach.

“On to ‘Plan B’,” Gabrielle continued. “When you go home, act like you are coming down with the flu. I’ll call you at 4 o’clock sharp. Let your mother answer the phone. I’ll tell her you were sick in school. Then I’ll ask her if you’re feeling better.”

“You’re a genius!” I shouted overjoyed.

“To quote my father, ‘Always have a Plan A and Plan B ’,” Gabrielle said, flashing a full-mouthed braces smile.

Now, I was jealous as a jaybird and wanted to rip out them braces of hers. I didn’t have no father with them Plan A’s & B.’s! But then, I come to my senses. She was my only friend trying to help me.

“But what if it don’t work? What if Mama goes to her conference anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter. If your mother goes, they’ll be discussing your illness. It’s called a ‘diversion’ tactic.”

“Think so?”

“Guaranteed,” Gabrielle said with full confidence.

At 4 o’clock, I was smack dab in the middle of Gabrielle’s “Plan B”. “Plan A” had been carried out without a hitch. Mama was on the phone knee-deep in conversation with Gabrielle, and I was doubled over squeezing my stomach. Moaning. Next, Mama tucked me in bed, and headed out to her conference. For ten minutes or so after she left, I was a yellowhammer woodpecker of worry, pacing the floor of our apartment. Until I picked up the phone and dialed Gabrielle.

“She’s at Conferences,” I breathed heavily into the phone.

“Don’t worry. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” Gabrielle assured me.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have no secret life going on!”

“Okay, spill. Tell me more about your exciting secret life,” Gabrielle giggled into the phone.

“Ain’t nothing that exciting. Woody needs my help in the woodshop, since he’s in a scooter. He and his wife are sweet as tea. Sometimes I pretend they’re my grandparents, because I don’t see my real grandparents.

“Why not?” Gabrielle asked, confused.

“Mama’s weird about stuff like that. And bull headed as all git out!”

“I can’t imagine not seeing my Nanny. She’s awesome! I’m glad we moved in with her . . . Gabrielle rambled on and on, while my eyes clouded up.

Then I began choking on my words.

“Hey . . . if you don’t want to tell me . . .”

Suddenly I heard the sound of keys jiggling in the door.

“Gotta go. Mama’s home. I’ll call ya later.”

“Who you talking to, Blue? Whoever it is, you’re gonna have to end it. I’m expecting an important call,” Mama said as I was hanging up.

“From who?”

“Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, Blue. Your teacher says that all your grades are good except for your Social Studies. Who’s Woody?”

I gulped, hardly able to breathe. Then lied, “Some old Veteran Gabrielle knows.”

“Anyway, I told her I didn’t know no Woody. Now let’s go heat ya up some chicken soup. You look as white as a Halloween ghost.”

Later, soon as I heard Mama’s shower running, I rushed to the phone.

“I told Mama you knowd Woody,”I whispered into the phone to Gabrielle. “Your diversion tactics didn’t work.”

“WHAT! I’m not lying for you –Ying Yang sister or no Ying Yang sister,” Gabrielle yelled into the phone.

Later in bed I tossed and turned, uneasy, overhearing Mama talking “sweet” to somebody on the phone. For real, my stomach felt queasy-sick listening. Then later, I could swear I heard Mama dialing someone else.

“You ain’t getting her over my dead body!” Mama yelled into the phone.

I cringed. Was she talking to my Daddy? Or was I dreaming? Half-way asleep, I couldn’t be sure.