You May Already Be a Winner Read online

  Do I follow you Bart?

  “Be brave,” said the whisper. “Be brave.”

  And so I did.

  I rode right on into the water like it was nothing.

  And he was waiting for me.

  He and me, under the water where the fish said, “Hi,” and a gigantic purple octopus had set up a table and chairs and there was a Big Mac for him and an apple pie for me and he said, “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

  And I said, “I’ve never been brought anywhere before.”

  And he said, “I love you.”

  And I said, “Don’t love me.”

  And he said, “Why not?”

  And I said, “Please don’t.”

  And he said, “I can’t help it.”

  And I thought maybe he couldn’t. I thought maybe there was nothing I could do to stop it because I thought maybe I loved him, too. And maybe there would never be another him and another me that went together so well in the whole universe.

  Is that how it happened, Dad? Is that how it happened, Mom? You couldn’t help yourself?

  You couldn’t help yourself?

  And if that’s true, why can they help themselves now?

  Except really, we sat on the bank of Utah Lake.

  Our crappy bikes lying in the dirt.

  The water wasn’t clear. It was muddy and brown.

  There were loud WaveRunners and it stunk like garbage and Bart said, “Sometimes I think things in my head are going to be one way and then they turn out to be completely different.”

  I looked at him.

  He had his chin on his knees.

  I said, “How?”

  He sat there.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  Then he looked at me.

  And he said, “I’m supposed to be at my dad’s.”

  “What?”

  “It’s my dad’s weekend,” he said.

  A WaveRunner went by spraying water so close to us I could almost feel it on my face.

  “Where does he live?” I asked.

  “In some condos by the train station,” he said.

  Then I said, “Oh.”

  Then he said, “I hate going there.”

  I was quiet because I didn’t know what to say. But then I said, “Is he mean?”

  Bart shook his head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you hate it there?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s boring.”

  We sat there. It was hot.

  I said, “They’re divorced?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “How long?”

  He shrugged. “Since I was six.”

  “Six,” I said. Berkeley was five.

  “Yep,” he said.

  Then we sat.

  “Is it bad?”

  He looked at me. “Is what bad?”

  “Them being divorced?”

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  It’s fine, I thought.

  Then he said, “Are yours divorced?”

  A big fat lump got in my throat.

  “No.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  Then I said, “But my dad’s gone.”

  He looked at me. “Where is he?”

  I looked at my hands. “I think Bryce Canyon.”

  He said, “Bryce Canyon? I’ve been there.”

  “You have?” And I was about to ask if he’d seen him or if he thought maybe park rangers didn’t get internet or if Bryce Canyon had girlfriends there but instead I said, “They’re not divorced. He’s just on a break. He needed a break.”

  I waited for him to say that was stupid. That my dad was never coming back. That they pretty much were divorced.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  But then he said, “Do you know how to swim?”

  When we got back, our clothes were almost dry because we rode so fast, and my mouth was aching because I’d been laughing and laughing and laughing. We dropped our bikes and then I saw our car, which meant Mom and Berk were back and I wanted to bring Bart inside.

  I wanted Mom to meet him.

  I wanted to say, “Mom, this is my friend, Bart.”

  I was about to invite him in, maybe tell him he could stay for tuna fish sandwiches or maybe we could even get Little Caesars pizza, I was about to do all that when Bart whispered hard, “Get down, get down.” He pulled me to the grass, hiding behind Mom’s car parked badly on the patch of lawn.

  “What’s wrong?” I looked around. There was no screaming. No fights. No cop cars. No fireworks. Nothing.

  Just the sounds of a softball game. The pinwheels in Delilah’s yard spinning. Tandi’s herb garden putting off the smell of mint. The park actually looked pretty, I thought.

  The only person outside was Grant on his beach chair.

  Bart said, “Don’t let him see us.”

  “Who?”

  “Him,” he said.

  I looked over at Grant. “Grant?”

  “Yeah. Grant.”

  Grant burped. His bare belly jiggling.

  “Why can’t he see us?”

  And he said, “Because. FBI.”

  And I said, “What?”

  And he said, “FBI.”

  And I said, “Really?”

  While we were swimming he told me that something was going on in my neighborhood. That he was doing surveillance. I could see there being concern about the Conways or that motorcycle guy or even that Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson could be smuggling in those dolls. But Grant? Why would anyone care about Grant’s dumb-bum life?

  But clearly Bart did.

  We watched Grant put grease all over his fat belly, drink Mountain Dew, and sing We Built this City on Rock an’ Roll.

  And then we saw Melody. She wasn’t on the steps anymore. She was moving boxes or something around the outside of her trailer and Grant said, “Melody. Go get me another Dew.”

  And she said, “What?” And he said, “Get me a Dew.” He pointed to a box that was by his door.

  And she said, “Get your own Dew, butthead.”

  And Bart whispered, “I like her.”

  And I said, “I like her, too.”

  And then we watched Grant sit there and sit there and sit there and finally I said, “Are we going to do this much longer because my back hurts?” and Bart said, “Shhhhh,” and we had to keep lying there but thankfully Bob got back soon and he and Grant got in a fight because Grant left work early and wasn’t supposed to be lying around and he kept staying out late at night and not turning off the lights when he got in and then they started arguing about a football team and then they went inside.

  That’s when we finally sat up.

  “If you’re really watching Grant, he’s not a criminal.”

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “Because he doesn’t do anything. He just sits around. Eats. Drinks. Goes to work.”

  “That guy said he goes out at night.”

  I shrugged. “So?”

  “So. That’s when he does bad things.”

  I thought about how much I knew Grant. He’d been here for as long as I could remember. He sometimes helped Mom fix her car radio or gave us leftover headphones from his store that were sort of broken. He liked to play catch with a football whenever anyone would do it with him because he used to play in high school and he was a big star according to him, and at Halloween he always dressed up as Frankenstein and gave out king-sized candy bars.

  One time he’d had a girlfriend named Trinity, the only time I’d ever remembered him having someone, and she had lots of tattoos and thick dark sunglasses that she always wore and she was nice beca
use she said, “You girls want some gum?” It was Hubba Bubba Grape.

  She gave us each two pieces.

  Grant said to her, “These girls are sort of like daughters to me,” and I looked at him because we weren’t like daughters at all but he was smiling and so then I thought I’d smile, too, because everyone deserves to get a chance at love.

  And Trinity said, “Aren’t you the sweetest,” and Grant said, “I really am the sweetest,” and they started rubbing noses and I said, “Gross,” but not out loud.

  She ended up dumping him for a man named Mickey and everyone knew because Grant cried and cried and cried and told everyone and couldn’t think straight and Mom gave him peppermint tea back then and Dad said, “Dude, you got to pull it together. A woman is not worth this kind of torment,” and he said, “I know, I know but we were together two months, you know? I thought this was going somewhere,” and Bob said to Dad that Grant was a big fat baby.

  So Grant, though a big fat baby and everything, was nice for the most part. He didn’t seem like he’d do anything illegal.

  Bart disagreed. “He’s into some things that could hurt a lot of people.”

  I stared at him. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “What about Bob?”

  “What?”

  “Bob. I would think Bob would be the one who would be more of a threat. He’s smarter.”

  “Who?”

  “Bob. His brother.”

  Bart thought about this for a minute, which was strange because why wouldn’t he know about Grant’s brother? Like if there was an FBI case, surely Bob would have his own folder.

  “Who’s older?” he asked.

  “Uhh.” I had no idea. “I think maybe Grant?”

  “It kind of seemed like the other guy was older.”

  “That’s because Grant is lazy but more fun.”

  “Is he more fun? How is he fun?”

  This was weird. “Why do you care? How do you know him?”

  Bart got professional all of a sudden. “He has a file at the FBI a mile high. He’s a dangerous person and he could possibly be a part of a gang.”

  I started laughing. “A gang?”

  “Yeah,” Bart said. “Why is that so funny?”

  “Because he just lies around.”

  “So.”

  “So he’s like a teddy bear.”

  Bart didn’t seem satisfied. He stared over at the trailer.

  “Can you start documenting details about Grant?”

  “Details?”

  He wanted me to make a list of facts I knew about Grant.

  “Like everything.”

  He also wanted me to write down when Grant left and came home every day. He wanted me to write down who came and went from his trailer. He told me to keep track of anything suspicious and how many beers he drank.

  “How many beers? How do I do that?”

  Just count the boxes.

  And it was true; Bob and Grant always had a growing mound of Budweiser boxes outside their place that were taken away by the garbage guy each week.

  “Bob drinks, too,” I said.

  Bart said, “Just count the boxes.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  He stood up to leave.

  I stood up, too.

  “Will I see you at the lunchroom?” I asked. I hoped that maybe since today happened, he’d stop pretending he didn’t go to Dixon. We could walk together at school. He could maybe get me a job in the cafeteria, too. We could stand around together at fifteen-minute break. Maybe we could even hold hands someday.

  He looked at me for a long time and I looked at him for a long time and he said, “Sure.”

  My heart soared like a rocket.

  Before he left he gave me his email address and I said thanks and I didn’t tell him that the computer was broken because I could just go to the library and he said you’re welcome and then he left and he kissed me but he didn’t but if he had I would have kissed him back and then I would have done a cartwheel and I wouldn’t have cared that he saw or anyone else.

  I almost skipped up the stairs to our trailer but then, when I went inside, everything changed.

  Mom had tears on her face. “Where the hell in nations have you been?”

  My stomach dropped. “I went for a bike ride.”

  I looked over. Berkeley was huddled in the corner.

  “You went for a bike ride? What are you talking about?”

  The air was tight and I tried to take a breath.

  I knew she was saying that because I hadn’t been on my bike for so long she’d probably forgotten I knew how to ride.

  I said, “I’m sorry.”

  And she said, “Sorry? Sorry? Why didn’t you leave a note?”

  That would have been a good idea. In fact, that was what I normally would have done at least for Berkeley’s sake. I was the one who was responsible. The one who did the right thing. How long had I been gone?

  I didn’t think they’d care but I realized it must have been hours.

  She said, “You smell awful.”

  “I was in the lake,” I said.

  “In the lake? Swimming?”

  I smiled even though I didn’t want to because it had been funny and we’d floated for hours and I’d never realized how beautiful that dumb-bum dirty lake actually was. No one went swimming there because they said it was too polluted. Shows what they know.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Swimming.”

  She looked shocked and I liked it. Maybe I wasn’t who she thought I was. Just like she wasn’t who I thought she was.

  “Who were you with?”

  I was about to say Bart, my friend. My best friend. A boy.

  I was about to say I was with one of the best people I know but then I got scared.

  What if she said I couldn’t hang out with him?

  She didn’t want me talking to Melody.

  She told me to stay away from Earl Bowen or any of the renter trailers.

  What if she didn’t want me talking to Bart?

  “No one,” I said.

  She stared at me and I stared at her and I waited for her to do something. Yell at me or slap me or say I know you were with Bart Harrison and you can never see him again.

  But then she just deflated, like an old balloon.

  “I got the computer fixed,” she said.

  “You what?”

  “It was a surprise. You didn’t even notice it was gone.”

  I looked over. There it sat. Like it had for over a week. But now it had a sticker on it that said GEEKSQUAD.

  “McDonald’s and computer guys,” she said.

  “Oh,” I said. I tried to swallow but it was hard. She got my computer fixed. I wanted to ask how much it cost. Maybe I could pay her back someday. I wanted to say I was so sorry but she had already turned and walked back to her room.

  I went over to Berkeley who hadn’t said a word and I went over there and she was shaking. Hard.

  I was sorry.

  Really really really sorry.

  Sometimes people do stupid things. Stupid things to people for stupid reasons.

  I’d done something stupid to my sister.

  I whispered it into her ear. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

  She looked at me. “I didn’t know where you were.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “I didn’t know if you were coming back.”

  “I know,” I said. Then I said, “I’ll always come back.”

  “You promise?” she asked.

  And I said, “I promise.”

  She picked up her doll. Held it.

  ~

  Then she said, “We got you an apple pie.”


  My mom and dad used to take Berk and me biking on the river trail.

  Like we were normal people.

  Like we didn’t actually LIVE on the trail, but we were a family that had a house and chickens and a dog and maybe a playground all our own and we rode our bikes because we liked the sound of the river and the peacefulness of the trees and not because it was how we got home from school or how we got to the grocery store.

  And we said hi to people, especially Dad who knew just about every person everywhere he went, and Mom would laugh and you could tell she loved him and loved that he was so popular and funny. And then we stopped and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and real carrot sticks that Mom had peeled and cut, and once we even had lemonade.

  I think about that and I wonder if he thinks about it.

  I wonder if he misses it.

  One time I asked Mom if we could go on a ride after he left and she said, “Go ahead.”

  And I said, “Can you come, too?”

  And she said, “I’m exhausted.”

  I sat next to her on the couch. She smelled like cleaning solution and her hands looked old. Way older than she was.

  “What about tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I have to work.”

  “What about on your day off?”

  “I have to run errands and Judy wants me to come over and do her house.”

  “You’re cleaning Judy’s house?”

  Judy was one of my mom’s friends from high school.

  Mom laid her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “She’s paying me double, so yeah.”

  “Can I come help?”

  She opened one eye. “You want to help me?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

  And I suddenly really did. Really.

  She closed the eye again. “Nah. You need to stay here and watch Berk.”

  I laid my head on the couch, too. I was tempted to ask if me and Berk could come but I already knew Judy wouldn’t like that.

  I watched as she sat there, or slept there, whatever she was doing, her chest going in and out and in and out.

  She was so little. Like a bird. And some days she looked like she was going to break. Or get shot out of the sky and fall down dead.