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wayward bees。 If she caught wind of this； I'd be the
one stung。
Then Garrett reaches over to snag a piece of paper like he does about fourteen times a day；
only I have a plete mental spaz and slam down
on his hand with mine。
“Dude！” he says。 “What's your problem？”
“Sorry；” I say； tuning in to the fact that he was only going for lined paper； not newspaper。
“Dude；” he says again。 “You know you've been really spaced lately？ Anyone else tell you
that？” He rips a piece of paper out of my binder； then
notices the edges of the newspaper。 He eyes me； and before I can stop him； he whips it out。
I pounce on him and tear it out of his hands； but it's too late。 He's seen her picture。
Before he can say a word； I get in his face and say； “You shut up； you hear me？ This is not
what you think。”
“Whoa； kick back； will ya？ I wasn't thinking anything…。” But I could see the little gears go
click…click…click in his brain。 Then he smirks at me and
says； “I'm sure you've got a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you're carrying a picture
of Juli Baker around with you。”
The way he said it scared me。 Like he was playing with the idea of roasting me in front of the
whole class。 I leaned over and said； “Zip it； would
you？”
The teacher hammered on us to be quiet； but it didn't stop Garrett from smirking at me or
doing the double…eyebrow wiggle in the direction of my
binder。 After class Darla tried to act all cool and preoccupied； but she had her radar up and
pointed our way。 She shadowed me practically all day；
so there was no real window of opportunity to explain things to Garrett。
What was I going to tell him； anyway？ That the paper was in my binder because I was trying
to hide it from my sister？ That would help。
Besides； I didn't want to make up some lame lie about it。 I actually wanted to talk to Garrett。 I
mean； he was my friend； and a lot had happened in
the last couple of months that was weighing on me。 I thought that if I talked to him； maybe
he'd help get me back on track。 Help me to stop thinking
about everything。 Garrett was real reliable in that arena。
Luckily； in social studies our class got library time to do research for our famous historical
figure report。 Darla and Juli were both in that class； but
I managed to drag Garrett into a back corner of the library without either of them noticing。
And the minute we were by ourselves； I found myself
laying into Garrett about chickens。
He shakes his head at me and says； “Dude！ What are you talking about？”
“Remember when we went and looked over her fence？”
“Back in the sixth grade？”
“Yeah。 Remember how you were down on me for wondering what a hen was？”
He rolled his eyes。 “Not this again…。”
“Man； you didn't know jack…diddly…squat about chickens。 I put my life in your hands and you
dumped me in a bucket of bull。”
So I told him about my dad and the eggs and salmonella and how I'd been intercepting eggs
for nearly two years。
He just shrugged and said； “Makes sense to me。”
“Man； she caught me！”
“Who？”
“Juli！”
……… Page 56………
“Whoa； dude！”
I told him about what I'd said； and how almost right after that she was out playing weed
warrior in her front yard。
“Well； so？ It's not your fault her yard's a mess。”
“But then I found out that they don't even own that house。 They're all poor because her dad's
got a retarded brother that they're； you know； paying
for。” Garrett gives me a real chumpy grin and says； “A retard？ Well； that explains a lot；
doesn't it？”
I couldn't believe my ears。 “What？”
“You know；” he says； still grinning； “about Juli。”
My heart started pounding and my hands clenched up。 And for the first time since I'd learned
to dive away from trouble； I wanted to deck
somebody。
But we were in the library。 And besides； it flashed through my mind that if I decked him for
what he'd said； he'd turn around and tell everyone that I
was hot for Juli Baker； and I was not hot for Juli Baker！
So I made myself laugh and say； “Oh； right；” and then came up with an excuse to put some
distance between him and me。
After school Garrett asked me to e to his house and hang for a while； but I had zero
interest in that。 I still wanted to slug him。
I tried to talk myself down from feeling that way； but in my gut I was flaming mad at the guy。
He'd crossed the line； man。 He'd crossed it big…time。
And what made the whole thing so stinking hard to ignore was the fact that standing right
next to him； on the other side of the line； was my father。
The Visit
Sunday mornings are peaceful in our house。 My father lets himself sleep in。 My mother lets
herself not fix breakfast。 And if my brothers have been
out late playing with their band； you won't even know they're around until noon。
Usually I tiptoe out to collect eggs while everyone else is asleep； then spirit a bowl of
Cheerios back to my room to have breakfast in bed and
read。
But that Sunday—after spending most of the night feeling upset or uneasy—I woke up
wanting to do something physical。 To shake off the
confused way I was still feeling。
What I really needed was a good climb in my sycamore tree； but I settled for watering the
lawn while I tried to think of other things。 I cranked open
the spigot and admired how rich and black the dirt looked as I sprinkled back and forth
across the soil。 And I was busy talking to my buried
seedlings； coaxing them to spring up and greet the rising sun； when my father came outside。
His hair was damp from a shower； and he had a
grocery sack rolled closed in his hand。 “Dad！ I'm sorry if I woke you。”
“You didn't； sweetheart。 I've been up for a while。”
“You're not going to work； are you？”
“No； I …” He studied me for a moment； then said； “I'm going to visit David。”
“Uncle David？”
He walked toward his truck； saying； “That's right。 I …I should be back around noon。”
“But Dad； why today？ It's Sunday。”
“I know； sweetheart； but it's a special Sunday。”
I turned off the spigot。 “Why's that？”
“It's his fortieth birthday。 I want to see him and deliver a gift；” he said as he held up the paper
bag。 “Don't worry。 I'll rustle us up some pancakes for
lunch； all right？”
“I'm ing with you；” I said； and tossed the hose aside。 I wasn't even really dressed—I'd
just pulled on some sweats and sneakers； no socks—
……… Page 57………
but in my mind there was no doubt。 I was going。
“Why don't you stay home and enjoy the morning with your mother？ I'm sure she would—”
I went over to the passenger side of his truck and said； “I'm ing；” then climbed inside and
slammed the door back in place。
“But—” he said through the driver's door。
“I'm ing； Dad。”
He studied me a moment； then said； “Okay；” and put the bag on the bench seat。 “Let me
leave a note for your mother。”
While he was inside； I strapped on the lap belt and told myself that this was good。 This was
something I should've done years ago。 Uncle David
was part of the family； part of my father； part of me。 It was about time I got to know him。
I studied the paper sack sitting next to me。 What was my father bringing his brother for his
fortieth birthday？
I picked it up。 It wasn't a painting—it was much too light for that。 Plus； it made a strange；
muted rattling noise when I shook it。
I was just unrolling the top to peek inside when my father came back through the front door。 I
dropped the sack and straightened up； and when he
slid behind the wheel； I said； “It's okay with you； isn't it？”
He just looked at me； his hand on the key in the ignition。
“I … I'm not ruining your day with him or anything； am I？”
He cranked the motor and said； “No； sweetheart。 I'm glad you're ing。”
We didn't say much to each ot